Il Trovatore

It Trovatore is one of Verdi’s most popular operas of romantic love and villainous deeds, leading to violent deaths. It was first staged in 1853 following quickly after Rigoletto and La Traviata. Yet, apart from the forceful march of Verdi’s great music, it is radically different. Realism is given no place; even mother love is dangerous. God, Heaven and Hell, figure more prominently than in any other opera. Superstition is just as important, with a curse, from long ago inexorably leading to a terrible outcome. This is melodrama, a no-holds-barred musical presentation of the best and the worst of human nature, with the worst more often in the ascendant.

This ROH production, first staged in 2022 -23 recognises this and indeed empahsises it. The two opposing forces, one led by Count de Luna and the other by Manrico, are equally fantastical, one scarcely able to stand and moving constantly in grotesque shapes contortions and the other who sing the famous Anvil Chorus dressed like something out of a childrens’ monster movie. Satire, verging on comedy, is part of the mix. As Director, Adele Thomas says, the production is medieval, ‘rooted in the world of Hieronymus Bosch’. She adds,’It’s a platform to explore these notions of obsessions, ecstacy and superstition – of that grinding force of destiny.’

The story is told in eight scenes, all presented on a great ramp of steps, which alters its shape as the scenes change. In the first scene the Count de Luna sets out the story, a curse thrown out by a gypsy (or witch) when she is burnt at a stake for apparently cursing the old Count’s younger child. Later the child disappears and bones of a small corpse are found. It is presumed murdered in revenge by the gypsy’s daughter. The present Count de Luna has never given up searching for this murderess, but meanwhile he is falling passionately in love with Leonora.

Leonora, however, is equally passionately in love with a young stranger, a troubadour who stood singing under her window, before joining the forces opposing the Count. In the second scene she hears his voice again and when Manrico appears, he is challenged to a dual by the jealous Count. So now we have three of the four principals on stage. Count de Luna sung by Russian baritone Aleksei Isaev gives all the weight of power in his voice, pouring out his love and rage in wonderfully righteous tones. Leonora, an American soprano, Rachel Willis-Sorenson, has an impressive range and, in her own way, equally strong voice, holding the stage with her dignified resistance to the Count. Manrico completes this trio of people determined to hold their line. He is sung by American tenor, Michael Fabiano, slighter in frame but not in voice.

In the next scene we meet the fourth member of this extraordinary group. This is Azucena, the original gypsy’s daughter, and apparently Manrico’s brother, although, as we learn, the baby murdered was her own and Manrico is the old Count’s lost son and the present Count’s brother. That great singer, Caruso, is quoted as saying, that all you need for Il Trovatore is ‘the four best singers in the world.’ It is certainly true that with a plot as unconvincing as this one, singing and staging is what makes it a tremendous experience. If I say Agnieszka Rehlis as Azucena is not quite up to the other three this is possibly unfair; the role is extremely challenging as she shifts from loving mother, to vengeful fury, to wily witch. It is a role for a mezzo-soprano which should be full of sinister undertones and Rehlis just underplays that card.

So we wind our way to the great denouement, via a dramatic convent scene when Leonora, thinking her beloved dead, decides to become a nun. As the obsessive Count tries to kidnap her, Manrico comes to the rescue and they flee, at last together. But the news that Azucena is captured and in prison sends Manrico to save his supposed mother. Michael Fabiano’s delivery of Di quella pira , ‘On that pyre...’ is particularly affecting. Soon they are both in prison and a tragic end comes closer. Leonora’s self-sacrificing plan to save Manrico ends in her own suicide. Manrico is murdered by the enraged Count, only to be told by Azucena that he has killed his own brother. Vendicata, o madre’, as Azucena comments, ‘Mother, you are avenged.’

It is an utterly gripping two and half hours, greeted with roars of appreciation from the audience. The conductor, Giacomo Sagripanti keeps the pace flying along without losing a grip on the melody while what at times verged on farce turns into the darkest tragedy.


Photo credit: Grace Allwood