From the moment the curtain goes up until the death of the slave-girl Liu in Act III, Puccini’s last opera, Turandot, is one of the tightest, best-crafted works in all of the common repertory. Very nearly a perfect work of art. The plot and situation with its fantastical mythological Chinese setting is consistently entertaining—alternately engaging, enthralling, horrifying, and funny.
The characters are complex and interesting.
The music is the work of an experienced master at the height of his powers, not content to rest on his laurels but striving for new heights. It preserves the lyrical and sentimental themes on which Puccini had built his reputation in the gorgeous arias given to Liu, Timur, and Calaf but adds to that exciting new material that combines traditional Chinese melodies, the dissonance and percussive effects of early 20th century classical music, even jazz and popular music of the time. It is, perhaps, Puccini’s finest job of orchestration.
Only…the opera doesn’t end with the death of Liu. As Arturo Toscanini, the conductor of the opera’s performance in 1926, nearly two years after the death of Puccini from throat cancer, put it, laying down his button: “The opera ends here; it is here the maestro died.â€
Most performances continue with the completion of the opera written by Puccini’s friend and student, Franco Alfano, using Puccini’s nearly incomprehensible notes. Those fifteen minutes are confused, far-fetched, and unsatisfying, culminating with the detestable reprise by the chorus of Calaf’s aria, the most famous music in the opera, the glorious Nessun dorma.
Last night’s performance of Turandot at Chicago’s Lyric Opera was, like the Alfano conclusion of the opera, unsatisfying. We’ve seen this production a couple of times before; the sets are monumental, the costumes are wonderful, tinted with eyepopping fluorescent reds, greens, and purples. It’s a fine production. Pictured above is the Act II riddle scene. Calaf, downstage left, contemplates Turandot’s riddle. Turandot is upstage center.
Andrea Gruber in the title role just did not seem to be up to the part. She just didn’t have the vocal power; she didn’t portray the emotion. She frequently seemed to be having problems working with her costume. Johan Botha as Calaf was competent. His singing was workmanlike, his acting adequate. Someday, somewhere, somehow I’ll see a portrayal of Calaf in which he’s portrayed as a real prince—a hero. This wasn’t that performance.
All of the other principle performers were excellent. The chorus had the expectedly feeble Lyric staging.
I was disappointed with the orchestra. There were too many fluffs by the horns at critical places; at other times I thought it was muddy-sounding. A world-caliber company like Lyric should be able to do better.
That’s my reaction to this performance of Turandot, generally: Lyric should be able to do better.
The season so far: Roméo et Juliette, Salome, Turandot, Iphigenie en Tauride, Il Trovatore. Advantage to Roméo et Juliette.
Turandot is one of my favorite operas—it was produced here last year not by Opera Theatre of St. Louis, but by our fledging alternative opera company, the Union Avenue Opera Theatre. It was glorious and riveting. Even done sometimes clumsily, with sometimes amateur-ish semi pros mixed with professionals, and staged in a church (with the world’s undisputedly most uncomfortable wooden seats) it was a never-to-be forgotten event.
Dave, have you caught any broadcasts of The First Emperor? Or read the kind of bad review in the New Yorker? I heard only a portion of it on Saturday, Live At The Met, and I am counting the days until the next broadcast to hear it in its entirety. Love, Ann