Verdi’s Macbeth at the Met – post-war Scotland setting grates
“Is this a handbag that I see before me”? Excellent question, Thane of Glamis. You can get around to the bloody dagger stuff later in the plot.
Imagine. Here you are, Macbeth, Scene I, wandering across a blasted heath with your pal Banquo, minding your own business and this phalanx of busybody witches dances up, blabbing on about you being Thane of Cawdor, and King of Scotland. And the old trouts are brandishing handbags. Not “witchy”, “Halloweeny,” scary handbags, but smart items straight from Saks on 5th Avenue. “A handbag?”, as Lady Bracknell incredulously intoned.
As did the lady on my left, Stalls Row X, New York’s Met, at the interval; “Say, whad’ya think’s with the handbag thing? That where they keep their eye of newt and toe of frog? And, how about the yellow Mad Men specs. Witches really wear those in Scotland?”
I was at a bit of a loss. After all, Scotland is a nation contemplating a reversion to the Groat as its currency. Bonkers specs pale into insignificance. My new friend had cut, with Bronx frankness, to the central flaw in this Adrian Noble production of Verdi’s Macbeth – the composer’s favourite opera – which debuted at the Met in 2007.
It is inappropriately set, in post-war Scotland, where to my recollection Bosnian guerrilla-type soldiers were not stalking the forests in dun coloured ankle length coats, wielding sub machine guns, witches did not buy their handbags in Jenners – upmarket Saks-type Edinbugh Princes Street store – and usurping kings did not appear from behind birch trees to lead their renegade militia, wearing Harrods crackers’ gold crowns.
There is nothing wrong with pitching the Macbeth plot in any era. Mac Bethad mac Findlaich – the “real” Macbeth – was king of Alba from 1040 until 1058, the period in which Shakespeare set his Scottish Play. But, as few of the facts are historical, it matters little when subsequent tinkerers – theatrical or operatic – set it. Save, that unless the setting is consistent with the libretto, everything jars.
It is a pity, as apart from the glam, accessorised witches, the badly dressed militia, the incongruous crown and the Jeep parked with its headlights on in Birnam Wood, there was much in this Macbeth to admire.
Verdi found his way to Macbeth through the works of August Schiegel, a German author and essayist who lived from 1767 to 1845. In an essay on Shakespeare’s play, which Verdi read, Schiegel made much of the ambiguity of the nature of the witches. They equivocate between demons of random malevolence and ordinary, nasty, old women. They are rooted in reality.
Adrian Noble so nearly pulls it off. His scurrying chorus of witches, dazzlingly choreographed by Sue Lefton, one of Britain’s foremost Movement Directors, would have been truly scary if the distracting smart ass adornments had been junked. Ms. Lefton has cooperated with Mr. Noble for more than twenty years and delivered an intimidating flow of motion.
The Act III apparitions were a triumph. The fatal prophecies were delivered by misty, tortured holograms within large crystal spheres, which rose eerily from the stage floor. The procession of the future kings – Banquo’s heirs – is usually a dull line of extras processing backstage. Not here. They descended from the flies, images encased in large, shimmering green ampules, artfully illuminated by green lasers as they rose and fell, making the audience feel it was penetrating Macbeth’s turbulent mind.
Željko Lučić, the Serbian baritone, sang Macbeth. He has been singing at the Met since 2006 and I recall him as a menacing Iago in Verdi’s Otello. He replaced Placido Domingo after his last minute, outrageous, dismissal one day before the first night of this run. Frankly, Señor Domingo has not made a happy transition from tenor to baritone and probably Mr. Lučić made a better Macbeth.
Lady Macbeth was sung by Anna Netrebko, the Russian soprano, who was simply fantastic. She is very much at the top of her game and ideally suited to the part of the pushy, determined spouse.
There are two pivotal moments. The Act I Scene 2 duet, after Duncan has been murdered and she needs to egg on her vacillating husband, snatches the bloody dagger from his hand and returns to the scene of the murder, smearing blood on the king’s bodyguard; and the Act IV Scene II sleepwalking scene, when she walks with candle and begins the duet, “Una macchia è qui tuttora … via, ti dico, o maledetta!” (“There is still a spot here … out damned spot … out I say”!)
Ms. Netrebko blazed. The cast on stage seemed to fade into the background as Lady Macbeth’s enigmatic soul was laid bare, for all to see. This was a spellbinding performance.
Italian Conductor, Marco Armiliato, was in the pit. He has an international career, and has directed eight operas at Lincoln Center. He has a real feel for his fellow countryman’s novel effort to create a true music drama, instead of the conventional operatic form. The score, strong and intense, received more than justice from Maestro Armiliato.
Verdi wrote two versions of Macbeth, revising the score comprehensively after the opera had been in the repertoire for twenty years. The revised version, with a new third act and ending premiered at the Théâtre Lyrique in Paris in 1865. Flop! It is the original version that is performed today.
For the casual attendee, Macbeth lacks gutsy, big hit arias; Celeste Aida, La donna è mobile, that genre of crowd-puller. Stylistically, the work is a foretaste of his last great works – Ottelo and Falstaff – in which the move to blended onstage action and musical dialogue confined to the actors onstage was completed. No more belting out personal aperçus to the audience, in static posture on the Apron, while the rest of the cast shuffles in the background.
Macbeth is one of the most powerful dramas in the repertoire, delivering Wagnerian intensity, but confined to this planet and needing no Valhalla or flying Valkyrie to underpin the action. In a more coherent setting and minus some ridiculous props Adrian Noble’s production might have been truly great. It just missed.