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RECORDINGS
Video
ZANDONAI: FRANCESCA DA RIMINI
 Dessì; F. Armiliato, Mastromarino, Altomare; Coro Lirico Marchigiano "V. Bellini," Orchestra Filarmonica Marchigiana, Barbacini. Production: Gasparon. Arthaus Musik 101 363, 137 mins., subtitled
Zandonai's best-known opera has seen many revivals over the past few decades without ever really becoming a repertory staple. Its pounding, pulsating score is full of dramatic tension and vivid orchestration, yet it lacks the melodic staying power that would help qualify it as an audience favorite. It is also a demanding piece to stage, and despite its large cast, it is almost a one-character opera, with a heroine who spends most of her time front and center. This is a work that stands or falls by its soprano.
In this case, she's Daniela Dessì. With this haunting 2004 Sferisterio Opera Festival staging by Massimo Gasparon, she is given the support of a fine cast, as well as sensitive conducting by Maurizio Barbacini. Unfortunately, she doesn't quite bring the role to life. Those of us lucky enough to have heard or seen some of the memorable Francescas of the past — Scotto, Kabaivanska, Olivero — were treated to performances of febrile intensity. Francesca is, after all, in a state of near hysteria through much of the opera, wracked by desperate feelings of fear, guilt and romantic yearning. Dessì's approach is too studied and slow, lacking in abandon and almost tentative. She doesn't communicate a true identification with her character. The voice, too, is problematic: although she has a properly ripe, rich sound, it is plagued by an unfortunate wobble at any volume above mezza voce. And her chest register, so important in Italian music of this late-verismo era, tends to thin out.
Her Paolo, Fabio Armiliato, projects the right youthful, impassioned tone and dark-browed intensity. If at times he overacts, it comes as a kind of welcome relief against Dessì's underplaying. Alberto Mastromarino looks more cuddly than threatening as Francesca's betrayed husband, Gianciotto, but he sings his lines with an appropriate baritonal snarl. Slovakian tenor L'udovít Ludha, apparently the only non-Italian singer in this idiomatic cast, creates a memorably slimy Malatestino dall'Occhio in the little stage time Zandonai allots him. Standouts among the smaller roles include soprano Roberta Canzian's crystal-toned Biancafiore, the elegant Giullare of Domenico Colaianni and the spectral-sounding Angela Masi, who uses her burnished contralto to great effect as Francesca's slave Smaragdi.
This is virtually an "auteurist" production, in which one man — Massimo Gasparon — is responsible for direction, decor, costumes and even lighting. His unit set, centered upon a bisected Byzantine gold dome with a balustrade supported by Corinthian columns, is restrained yet dazzling, forming an intimate playing space for the drama with ample room at the sides of the stage for choruses of courtiers and soldiers. (One torchlight procession creates a particularly striking effect.) Where Gasparon falters somewhat is in the women's costumes. Though opulent and richly brocaded, their shoulder-strap forms reveal far more flesh than is appropriate for the late thirteenth century. In fact, set off by campily excessive wigs, they give all the female characters the look of slave girls in a late-1950s Italian gladiator epic. Despite this flaw, Gasparon proves himself a director to watch, one who can put a personal stamp on a work without resorting to drastic regie distortions.
Video director Michelangelo Rossi expertly captures Gasparon's impressive staging, leaving one with the feeling that his camera has missed very few details of this gorgeous production.
ERIC MYERS
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