Is it possible to be merciful with fascists? In Robert Carsen’s reading of Mozart’s “La Clemenza di Tito” the answer must be a reverberant “No”—otherwise, the moment one turns their back, they will not miss the opportunity to stab it. Robert Carsen often enjoys updating opera plots, making them reflections of current politics—often achieving some whimsical results and thought-provoking answers. It is his way of uncovering the political messages the past has to offer the present.
However, “La Clemenza” is a hard pill to swallow. Composed during the aftermath of the French revolution, the idea of “clemency” or “mercy” for those who might have killed King Leopold II’s cousins on the guillotine is a radical idea—though a proper message for the decaying days of absolutism. Carsen reformulates the problem by asking the question: shall we show mercy on the January 6 th rioters? And, he even expands it by making his Vitellia the personification of Italy’s Giorgia Meloni.
The question then becomes: can we be merciful—or, perhaps, simply enter into dialogue, with the current right-wing movement? To Carsen, such conversation is impossible. In a surprising plot-twist, Tito’s clemency leads Meloni/Vitellia to commit a second coup, this time, successfully. As Maya Angelou once said: “When someone shows you who they are, believe them the first time.
” And, perhaps, a bit of Cobra Kai’s motto: “No Mercy.” On the surface, there is little wrong with Carsen’s take. Why not update the plot? The issue is about respecting certain differences.
Mercifulness in the latter days of the Ancient Regime is completely different from the current crises of democracy in the West—the regime is different, and the dispositif of mercifulness and forgivingness was a major mode of conducting politics, which is impossible in the current criminal justice system. Even the eighteenth-century understandings of regret and self-improvement seem completely divergent from today’s. We are convinced that some figures are beyond redemption and shall be punished, if possible, for life.
But, what would happen if we actively showed piteous mercifulness towards our oppressors? Musical Highlights Gianluca Capuano conducted a Mozart full of edges: harsh sonorities, and rather punctuated sounds. Forget the Mozart of sublime sounds: everything here had to be fierce and piercing. Although one might see the reason for such an approach, which stressed the aridness of current politics, its briskness compromised much of the singing, and hardened many vocal lines.
Nevertheless, the second act—not as musically interesting as the first—had a better pace than usual. Also, the riot scene worked well under Capuano’s hammering baton. There is no mystery that this “La Clemenza” was the star-vehicle of Cecilia Bartoli .
Although she had recorded Sesto earlier in her career, it is surprising that this was the first time she has sung the role on stage. Listening to Bartoli nowadays has something uncanny about it. No other singer has so much charisma and such evident goodwill towards the public.
She has been recording CDs since Luciano Pavarotti was in his prime. Attending a performance of hers implies being immersed in a musical realm that is not only of the present, but also from the past. Her extremely recognizable voice, and famous over articulations—prized with her unique coloratura—looms over her.
It is hard to attend a Bartoli performance and not bear in mind a voice that has been registered on so many albums. A little prejudicated by Capuano’s harshness in the orchestra, Bartoli delivered a Sesto that is seasoned and weary—still hooked and tangled with Vitellia—, but also a bit discredited with her own self. It was interesting to see such a solar performer embracing the role in such a nocturnal way.
Her voice, brighter, less rounded, shone the best in the pianissimi with a panging articulation of the Italian consonants. Her “Parto” aria, certainly a showstopper, blossomed when Capuano allowed Bartoli to take care of the tempo—when she was on her knees, singing, almost praying, waiting to hear the basset clarinet solo. The other star of the night was certainly Daniel Behle ’s Tito.
It is common to say that Tito is not the master of his own opera, but I was rather impressed by how Behle impersonated the most compassionate of all democratic leaders. In the transition from autocracy to democracy, Tito was always searching to do everything justly, listening to everyone, and acknowledging the complexities of power. In his first aria, “Del più sublime soglio,” Behle serenely managed to distinguish a long, languid, intonation of the word “sublime” with hurtfully asper: “tutto è tormento il resto.
” The effect was precisely the pondering and fully understanding monarch. A similar situation happened in his second aria, “Se all’impero,” but now with an even bigger disdain for the consequences of his job—clearly a Tito under Damocles’s sword. More Cast Highlights The Giorgia Meloni/Vitellia of Alexandra Marcellier was an interesting character.
On the one hand, she is meant to possess a cocaine-like sex-appeal; on the other, although villainous, she is meant to seem capable of redemption (especially through the power of a basset horn solo). Marcellier was tart, with an explosive and loud upper register for most of the opera. Her phrasing was full of edges, but its aggressiveness worked.
Her redemption aria, “non più di fiori”, was interesting, though it built few parallelisms with Sesto’s “Parto”. It did provide a disingenuous realization—a true achievement when thinking about the opera’s plot-twist. Annio was sung by the congenial Anna Tetruashvili .
Carsen’s decision to make Annio a woman had an interesting outcome: in the aftermath, the revelation of Annio’s affection for Servilia felt almost like a coming out—and Tito’s reaction, a moment of acceptance. Although such a “coming out” is not so evident, Tetruashvili’s sincerity when singing the role was present. Her voice, livid, seemed to go along well with Capuano’s briskness.
Nevertheless, both Tetruashvili, and Melissa Petit as Servilia, had a bit more vibrato than usual—partially given the orchestral demands—, but also as a reaction of their attempt to sound more determined in their desires and reactions to others. Ildebrando D’Arcangelo felt like an almost luxurious choice for a coadjutant role such as Publio. His immense vocal talent and charisma was evident in the rather short “tardi s’avvede” aria.
He voice was solid and generous, with imposing timber and a sonority kin to Mozart that is hard to find. In the end, “La Clemenza” is a major provocation: showing mercy for those who once tried to kill us feels like an impossible request. However, one might agree “La Clemenza” is not necessarily Mozart’s most inspiring work.
In its core moments, especially the arias that include wind instrument solos, there is belief in a path of regret to transformation that might sound like a perfect future utopia. Categories.
