Francesca da Rimini, Metropolitan Opera HD Live, March 16 2013

Now here is a rarity: an Italian opera, nearly 100 years old, worthy of being produced at the Met, that I had never seen before. (Someone once asked me whether I had seen every opera ever written, and I had to tell her no, there are operas that I know of that I have not seen, operas that I have never heard of, even opera composers that I have never heard of.) Francesca da Rimini is rare enough that the previous Met performance was in 1986, 27 years ago. It’s based on a short passage in Canto 5 of The Inferno, although it’s a longer passage than the very few lines that served as the basis for Gianni Schicchi. 

They made fabulous sets in 1986 (or 1984, when the opera was produced for the first time since 1926). Act 1 was set in Francesca’s palace. The lovely marble floor led a few steps up to a landing, with stairs left and right ascending to a balcony; the walls above and below the steps were of the same lovely marble. In back of the balcony was a huge window, as tall as the Met stage and a third as wide, that looked out on meadows and trees, with a couple of very tall trees visible above balcony level. Back at the landing, there was a small flower garden, from which Francesca plucked a rose to give to Paolo at the end of the act.

Things got much darker for Act 2. We saw part of the ramparts of Giovanni’s castle, a tall wooden tower made of gigantic (8x8?) timbers, with a first story and a second story. To the right and left there were wooden structures, thicker than just walls, with drawbridges that later in the act were lowered to connect with the tower in the center. When the act opened there was a hemispherical brass cauldron, but when it came time to douse the attacking Ghibellines with boiling oil, this cauldron had been replaced by a brass bull’s head.

For Act 3 we were in Francesca’s bedroom, with a small bed on a platform four steps above the main floor. The elaborate headboard (the design could also serve for a balcony railing) was at the right; the same design was also used to form a “sideboard” behind the bed that we could look straight at. To the left was a pedestal supporting a circular shelf on which a page of a handwritten, illuminated book (presumably the story of Lancelot and Guinevere) was displayed. Subtle tapestries hung on the walls, and in the center was another tall window, though much narrower than the one in Act 1.

Act 4 has two scenes. Scene 1 must have been set in a prison, for there was a hatch that Malatestino could open to descend below stage to behead an unnamed prisoner, whose significance to the story remained a mystery. Four steps above the stage was a rustic wooden table made out of 6x6 timbers, and a couple of rude stools to go with it. In the center, at back, was another wooden tower, which could even have been the tower of Act 2, with a circular staircase in it. To the left and right of the tower were racks of pikes. Scene 2 was back in Francesca’s bedroom, looking a bit different this time. Instead of one tall window, there were half a dozen smaller windows with arched tops arranged left to right. But it was the same bed.

Our cast:
Francesca: Eva-Maria Westbroek
Paolo, her lover, “Paolo the Fair”: Marcello Giordani
Giovanni, her husband, “Gianciotto the Lame”: Mark Delavan
Malatestino, brother of both Paolo and Giovanni: Robert Brubaker
Smaragdi, Francesca’s slave: Ginger Costa-Jackson
Conductor: Marco Armiliato
Production: Piero Faggioni
Set Designer: Ezio Frigerio
 
 When an opera isn’t produced for 27 years (or 58), there’s got to be a reason. Perhaps it’s the fact that three intermissions and five set changes are necessary. More likely is that there’s not enough action to fill four hours in the opera house. (A comment overheard at the first intermission: “This opera makes Parsifal seem speedy.”) And although Zandonai’s music seems to fit with the music that Puccini would have written in 1914, it never soars the way that Puccini’s can. The highlight of the opera, or at least this performance of the opera, was Act 4 Scene 1, in the prison. In the intermission interview after Act 2, in which we had seen a lot of Giovanni but not much of Malatestino (who had little to do besides be carried in after having been struck and bloodied by a rock thrown at his eye), Robert Brubaker cautioned the HD audience, “You think he’s bad? [Pointing to Mark Delavan, Giovanni] I’m the really bad one.” And that’s what we saw in Act 4 Scene 1, one of the most evil characters I’ve ever seen on stage, comparable to Lado Ataneli’s Scarpia of San Francisco Opera’s Tosca of 2009. And Mark Delavan was a close second in the “evil” department, and sang the best of any of the principals. A beta—it’s worth seeing again for the sets and the evil characters and the fact that it’s not likely to be produced again any time soon.