Marlies'Artbeat: Puccini/Zeffirelli's "Turandot" -- Nothing Grander in Live-at-the-Met-in-HD

By Marlies Wolf

It was during the 2009-2010 Met-in-HD season that we were offered Franco Zeffirelli’s spectacular production of Giacomo Puccini’s Turandot. With the recent, often bare-boned (and sometimes quite unattractive) new versions of many operas, it is a visceral pleasure to experience this opulent, fantastically resplendent revival. Let us hope they never replace it.

Not that Turandot would not be able to survive in any form. It has become a great favorite with the public, listed as #17 in operas most performed world-wide; always part of any “best in opera” line-up. (This is in face of the fact that only major opera companies can put it on, because of the huge cast, chorus and staging demands.)

And, of course, the Met is well prepared to handle that -- outdoing itself for Zeffirelli’s super requirements. As expected, the Met chorus, so important in this opera, was simply superb. And with the talented orchestra under Maestro Paolo Carignani’s baton, we were given a bona fide musical treat.

So this gorgeous Turandot was not only a feast for the eyes. I am convinced Puccini would have loved this production of his last opera, unfortunately, unfinished by himself, because of his untimely death, caused by a heart attack during his treatment for throat cancer.

Puccini (1858-1924) was a “Lebenskünstler” – wine, women, & song – really can describe his life. He owned fast cars, a yacht, entertained famously and evidently was known to have adulterous adventures. A fantastic showman, he was wise enough, for instance, to limit his arias to fit onto the newly invented phonograph records of his time. He also was adept at spotting a good story to set to music.

The origin of Turandot leads back to the work of a 12th Century Persian poet named Nizami, about a “Daughter of Turan.” Next it surfaces as a play by Carlo Gozzi in the 18th Century. Seems Puccini saw a German production of that by Max Rheinhardt (the imaginative director of early movies.) It is noted, however, that he was even more intrigued by reading an 1801 version by the German poet Friedrich Schiller. Subsequently the play underwent many changes before he committed himself to tackle it. And it is said, that a music box with several authentic “Chinese” melodies was the deciding factor.

But Turandot had a difficult birth. Puccini started work on it in 1921 when he assigned the playwright Giuseppe Adami and the journalist Renato Simoni as librettists. He worked intermittently until 1924, with many changes, and supplying parts of the libretto himself and almost abandoned the entire project several times.

At his death, he left 36 pages of sketchy notes for the ending of the last act. That ending was assigned to Franco Alfano, a composer whose orchestration was somewhat like that of Puccini.

We all know that the complex, thoroughly mesmerizing score, with the exception of the few “Chinoise” themes, is far from any real concept of Chinese music. It also is very different from Puccini’s earlier Verismo scores. Suggestion has it, that with Turandot, he was trying to keep up with the 12-Tone opera composers without going to their extremes. The result, though innovative, is sumptuous, “catchy” and, over the years, obviously very successful.

The storyline involves Turandot, a beautiful, cold-hearted princess, who “avenging” the unfortunate fate of a distant ancestor, decrees that whoever attempts to marry her, will have to solve three riddles. And if he fails, he will forfeit with his head. Calaf, a deposed prince is reunited with his dethroned, blind Royal father, Timur, who has been kept alive by Liu, a loyal slave who has always been in love with Calaf. When Calaf sees Turandot, he is immediately smitten, and cannot be persuaded from wooing her, even by her own ministers, Ping, Pang and Pong.

Calaf solves the riddles, only to find that Turandot is still unwilling to go through with the marriage. Calaf generously offers her a way out. If she can find out his name, by the next dawn, he will forfeit his head. (That gives the tenor, what is probably the world’s most popular aria, [since the 3-Tenors in 1990] -- “Nessun dorma” – “No-body sleeps.”

Turandot in her wild attempt to learn the name, has Liu tortured – which gives the loyal slave a fabulous aria: “Tanto amore segreto” – before killing herself so she doesn’t betray him. Turandot is bewildered that love can be so powerful a motivation.

Calaf reveals his name; kisses Turandot, explaining that he will gladly die for her. The next morning she explains to the court that she knows his name: it is “Love.” And because this is a fairy-tale, they live happily ever after.

At the opera’s first performance, Arturo Toscanini, a great friend of Puccini, put down his baton at the point that the composer had stopped working. Subsequently it has always played completed.

But we were robbed of what Puccini might have come up with, had he lived. The “in-love duet” that Turandot and Calaf are given, probably would have been a real show-stopper. Instead it simply is a tepid reworking of earlier themes.

Never mind! What looked like a sold-out audience at the Met, and our huge HD audience gave thrilling applause to it all. They know a master opera when they hear it – and, of course, 95% of this grandiose musical feast, is just that.

The adulation for the Swedish soprano, Nina Stemme in the title role was well deserved. I have often wondered that such power can come out of such a small-sized person.

Anita Hartig made a musically, dramatically and physically beautiful Liu. She made the most of her lovely arias that always bring down the house.

The tenor Marco Berti was our Calaf. He has a big voice, that at times was strident. But he is a good actor and tackled the role with persuasive vigor. Let’s admit it, his “Nessun dorma” had to battle that of each of the 3-tenors, and now Kaufmann’s. He lost the battle.

Alexander Tsymbalyuk was a very convincing
old, blind Timur. When we met him at the backstage interviews, we learned that he is a very young man with obviously a great future in opera.

And that leads me to recommending the intermission features, this time again hosted by the super-star Renée Fleming. They are really the frosting on an already delicious cake!

During the opera’s two intermissions, not only did we meet all the singers, were shown the complexities of the staging, but were taken to the “armory room” for instance. There we learned about the hundreds of swords, rifles, crossbows etc., needed for the many operatic face-offs. The weaponry exists in such quantity and variation, because everything has to be historically correct for the setting of the particular opera.

Next we were privy to a rehearsal of a major aria by soprano Kristine Opolais for the upcoming performances of Puccini’s Manon Lescault. An added plus was hearing the explanation as to why the director Richard Eyre mounts the opera in occupied WW2 Paris to make it a film noir experience. (Unfortunately Jonas Kaufmann had to cancel his Manon Lescault performances, because of an undisclosed illness. We can only hope it is nothing lasting and wish the great tenor a speedy recovery.)

Over the years we have been taken on many fascinating Met tours this way, making “insiders” of all non-New Yorker, national and international audiences that could not possibly attend one of the coveted actual tours. Thanks, Mr. Gelb, for a wonderful idea.

Do catch the encores of this spectacular Turandot on Wednesday, February 3rd, or the matinee, in selected theaters on February 4th, 2016.