La Traviata in Dresden: Emily Pogorelc is one to watch
This was a bizarre interpretation of Verdi's masterpiece but American soprano Emily Pogorelc nailed the role of Violetta.
Curtains for Violetta. In the final scene of Semperoper Dresden’s La Traviata, Violetta, Verdi’s tragic heroine, was to die alone. As she uttered her final, spoken words.
“The spasms of pain have ceased!
I feel reborn in me the strength
That once was mine!
I feel I'm coming back to life!
Oh, joy!”
Oops! Wrong. Self-diagnosis seldom works. She was unconventionally cut off from the stage action and the rest of the cast in swathes of red velvet. I think the point was, she had crossed a delusional event horizon. The singularity of death beckoned her. A spotlit figure in white, Violetta collapsed and died. Cut to black.
I had gone to Dresden to see Violetta, American soprano Emily Pogorelc. She memorably sang the roles of Museta in the Met’s first cast of Puccini’s La bohème last fall and Lisette in his La Rondine the previous season. Then, she dominated the stage, with voice and character.
The role of Violetta was a step up. Spoiler alert. She nailed it. Within the constraints that a loopy production from Czech director, Barbora Horáková, allowed.
Now what did I find iffy in Dresden? Was it the supernumerary, legs-dangling-into-the-orchestra pit dwarf gazing out at the audience painting his face with lipstick? A grinning grotesque.
Perhaps Violetta’s entrance, descending from the heights in an ornate chair, or the skeleton under her bed. The setting as a cabaret simply didn’t work as it involved two tiered staircases counterrotating – incessantly. Regardless of scene. Violetta and her enamorata Alfredo Germont were required to follow directions to the letter, else they risked being swept out of sight.
And La Traviata just isn’t cabaret. Violetta is a courtesan with all the dubious social moral overtones of the Parisian era that implies. She mingled in high society. At one point she transformed into a singer in the band, singing into an enormous microphone,
Dottore Grenvil, who appears conventionally toward the end of action to shake his head, uttering doom-laden diagnoses was instead a looming presence in his white coat throughout.
Maybe it was the interval curtain, a projected skull with maggots crawling all over it, or the grotesque lookalike Violetta descending from the same chair, or the donning by the chorus of mocking “Violetta” masks. But by the end, I was nearly screaming “I get it. For the courtesan it’s lights out”.
The plot, as conventionally understood. Violetta Valéry knows that she will die soon, exhausted by her restless life as a courtesan. At a party, she is introduced to Alfredo Germont, who has been in love with her for years.
Rumour has it that he has been enquiring after her health every day. The guests are amused by this naivety. They ask Alfredo to propose a toast. He celebrates true love, and Violetta responds in praise of free love.
She is touched by his candid manner and honesty. Suddenly she feels faint, and the guests withdraw. Only Alfredo remains behind and declares his love.
There is no place for such feelings in her life, Violetta replies. But she gives him a camellia, asking him to return when the flower has faded. Quick on the uptake. He realises this means he will see her again the following day.
Alone, Violetta is torn by conflicting emotions—she doesn’t want to give up her way of life, but at the same time she feels that Alfredo has awakened her desire to be truly loved. This is a highly personal moment. In the setting of the cabaret, it is absurd.
In Act II, Violetta choses a life with Alfredo, and they enjoy their love in the country, far from society. That implies requires a change of scene. Which we do not get. “Making do” with the whirling sets from Act I does not distance the scene for Paris.
When Alfredo discovers that their life is only possible because Violetta has been selling her property, he immediately leaves for Paris to procure money. In his absence, Alfredo’s father, Giorgio Germont, pays her a visit. He demands that she separate from his son, as their relationship threatens his daughter’s impending marriage.
Another gripe. The daughter appeared as another supernumerary, kitted out bridal in gown and veil – in case no-one got the point - which she petulantly dropped on the floor. I’ve seen this in other productions. It’s not original and it lessens the focus on the Germont (father’s) evolving relationship with Violetta. The fulcrum of the plot.
It’s the moment when in their exchanges Germont comes to realise that Violetta is not after his son’s moolah - she is a woman who loves unselfishly. Of honour, who has abandoned her libertine way of life. He appeals to Violetta’s generosity of spirit and explains that the daughter’s fiancé will not marry because of the scandal. Personally, I long to punch the finicky fiancé’s lights out.
Violetta’s resistance dwindles and she finally agrees to leave Alfredo forever. Only after her death shall he learn the truth about why she returned to her old life.
She accepts an invitation to the ball and writes a goodbye letter to her lover. Alfredo returns, and while he is reading the letter, his father appears to console him. But all the memories of home and a happy family can’t prevent the furious and jealous Alfredo from seeking revenge for Violetta’s betrayal.
At the masked ball, gossips talk of Violetta and Alfredo’s separation. There are bawdy dance entertainments, ridiculing the duped lover. Meanwhile, Violetta and her new lover, Baron Douphol, have arrived. Alfredo and the baron battle at the gaming table and Alfredo wins a fortune: lucky at cards, unlucky in love.
When everybody has withdrawn, Alfredo confronts Violetta, who claims to be truly in love with the Baron. In his rage, Alfredo calls the guests as witnesses and declares that he doesn’t owe Violetta anything. He throws his winnings at her. Giorgio Germont, has witnessed the scene. He excoriates his son. The baron challenges his rival to a duel.
Act III finds Violetta, dying. Her last remaining friend, Doctor Grenvil, knows that she has only a few more hours to live. The whole point of his being Violetta’s “last friend standing” is somewhat undermined in Horáková’s production by his presence throughout, white coat, stethoscope, doctor’s bag et al.
Alfredo’s father has written to Violetta, informing her that his son was not injured in the duel. Full of remorse, he has told him about Violetta’s sacrifice. Alfredo wants to rejoin her as soon as possible. Violetta is afraid that he might be too late.
The sound of rampant celebrations are heard from outside while Violetta is in mortal agony. Alfredo does arrive and the reunion fills Violetta with a final euphoria. Her energy and exuberant joy of life return. All sorrow and suffering seems to have left her—a final illusion, before death claims her.
At that point, this production ended. It totally missed the sting in the tale. Germont and Alfredo realise with horror they are responsible for her death. There is no closure without that. Annina is Violetta’s faithful maid.
Germont, Doctor
Oh, heavens! She is dying!
Alfredo
Violetta?
Annina, Germont
Oh, God, she needs help!
Doctor
after feeling her pulse
She is dead!
Annina, Alfredo, Germont
Oh, my grief!
It was a case of Horáková duking it out with librettist Francesco Maria Piave. He only wrote ten of Verdi’s libretti. Of course, Horáková knows best. Regietheater rules.
Semperoper Dresden is a beautiful 1,300 seater theatre restored to former glory – as was most of Dresden’s centre – 40 years after the Second World War. It is a tribute to its restorers that it has relaxed into its former guise. The house boasts cutting-edge repertoire, so I should not have been surprised at a licence to kill Horáková.
The auditorium was packed. I found a solo seat months ago. Lucky. And it was a mixed crowd. Age, ranging from sharp businessmen with glam wives to bierkeller regulars and hausfraus, judging by some generous girths. Hausfraus not excepted.
One of the hausfraus had made it on stage. Annina the maid was a dead ringer for 30% of the audience. You could almost sense the murmur of approval. A sensible brunette, set off with a brown fustian suit she clip-clopped about at speed. Just the thing to shoo off Germont. Except she didn’t!
All in all, a bizarre interpretation. But I’m not complaining. I found what I was seeking. Proof that Emily Pogorelc has the ability to move on to fresh heights.
The beauty of that voice in quiet reflective passages and the occasional descent into a ferocious snarling growl. Vibrant, compelling, chilling. She catches the audience’s attention and never lets go. They loved her. One to watch.
Someone casting Tosca please note. I fear for Scarpia.