I may still not be convinced that La Clemenza is as great an opera as some of its supporters wish to make it out to be, but I must admit it is growing on me. So much right off the bat: Had I seen the Salzburg production and consequently some of the possibilities in how to present this story with at least some degree of credibility and believability before last May, I would not have been quite as forgiving to the Washington National Opera’s production which, in contrast, never bothered to go through the trouble of trying to do the same and contented itself with letting La Clemenza helplessly slide into the ridiculous; with audiences laughing outright at story and production. No one was laughing at the Salzburg performance, be assured – and not just because the high-society types in attendance at the Felsenreitschule are such dour snobs.
Staged in a three level industrial concrete building stretching the width of the wide stage, only the royal quarters at the centre of the lowest level are set off from the rough-hewn look of the set. The tier structure allows not only for some visually arresting shots of the singers but also for subtler points about story and plot to be made – such as the conspiring and going-ons that surround, but never involve Titus, who sits or lies alone on his bed. When the chorus first enters, it does as a horde of photographing and gawking tourists. Amidst all, at the center of all the action, Titus is yet alone, isolated, prisoner of his fame and status; an animal exhibited and for all his omnipotence: powerless.
![]() W.A.Mozart, La Clemenza di Tito, Mackerras / Scottish CO Trost, Martinpelto, Kožená DG ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() |
Compare to that the fake, stilted, awkward Drottningholm production where La Clemenza is stomped back into a period piece full of costumes, fake smiles, women in unflattering trouser costumes that make them look like, well… women in trousers or, worst of all, in Maria Höglind’s case, a fat cow that she really isn’t. The chorus is an assortment of brown-faced tributaries to Tito... replete with Leopard Skins, Palms, Gold, Myrtle – the entire cliché-ridden treasure chamber on their arms and clad in every equally clichéd costume that might have found its way out of a 1970’s B-movie about Sinbad and the Seven Seas. I don't believe that Anita Soldh's mannered, cold, superficially involved Vitellia could motivate any man with a spine even to open the door for her, much less murder a best friend. Pretty Pia-Marie Nilsson is similarly hampered by the direction and the costume but likeable. This production also makes visible the qualities that might go unnoticed in the Salzburg version seen on its own: Namely that direction is most important for the moments in which a singer does not sing. On the small Drottningholm stage, there is lots of meaningful looking and head-nodding and shaking, small meaningful hand gestures, a few, tiny anticipatory steps forward or backward. (Wide-eyed Lani Poulson’s Sesto, always and ever so moved, overjoyed, distraught, remorseful is the worst offender.) All in all: The kind of behaving that makes the “acting” in Opera wooden and unnatural. Those who think that ignoring the theatrical aspects of opera is the calling card of a true Opera aficionado and voice-snob will be delighted: Such beautiful glittering costumes, such amply applied rouge on those cheeks.
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I have slight difficulties with Schade’s (whose singing I admire) characterization of Titus – although that character is admittedly hard to pull off for any singer/actor – being on a relentless forgiving-spree and deciding to marry three different women in one day as he is or does. Compared to Stefan Dahlberg’s picture perfect little prince in ermine and purple coats, however, Schade is brimming with life and realism. Still: Less neurotic, modestly more composed, not as much ‘acted’ and I’d find the character much more appealing. Dahlberg’s singing is good, Schade’s better.
The Chorus and Orchestra of the Drottningholm Court Theatre under the Mozart Veteran Arnold Östman know how to do ‘HIPerformances’ of Wolfgang Amadeus’ operas and have recorded much admired versions of the Da Ponte operas and especially the Magic Flute for Decca. With original instruments but also costumes and wigs (!!) (this performance was originally recorded for Television and the musicians are very visible in this small theatre) they turn in a fine, not always secure, very fast performance with some arias taken at speeds that first appear implausible. Harnoncourt’s Vienna Philharmonic is of course not a period instrument band, emits a mightier sound (necessary for the larger space) but can be light-footed just the same which is not surprising since arguably no great modern orchestra has more Mozart in their blood, than the Viennese. Harnoncourt’s undogmatic understanding of period performance surely helps, too. He allows for a more relaxed reading than Östman which supports the beautiful arias and duets to really shine.
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Recorded live for Television (they show things like Clemenza on Swedish Television, believe it or not), the production is obviously not as meticulously thought out as the one Brian Large directed for release on DVD. There are understandably no fireworks or billowing clouds of smoke when the Capitol is set ablaze (in Drottningholm there are a few bleached-out orange projections cast on the painted backdrop – in Salzburg the chorus is forced to the edge of the three-tier construction by a truly threatening smoke) and there are some - albeit judicious - cuts that make (together with the faster tempi) the performance almost half an hour shorter. The quickness does not redeem this performance, the bredth and length does not harm the Salzburg performance.
It is the Salzburg production that shows the possibilities of reviving an opera like La Clemenza, making it meaningful and riveting, despite its inherent weaknesses. Bravo. The Drottningholm production, however, for all its beauty of playing and singing, only goes to show why the opera fell out of favor in the first place.
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The correct Italian would be, I think, "La Clemenza dei Titi"...
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