Aida – an opera review by Murray Dahm
Verdi’s Aïda (1871) is a remarkable opera for all sorts of reasons.
David Parkin as The King and the Opera Australia Chorus and Dancers in Opera Australia’s 2023 production of Aida at the Sydney Opera House
Photo Credit: Keith Saunders
It was initially commissioned for the opening of the Suez Canal but Verdi was reluctant to accept. He did so eventually but the Franco-Prussian war being fought in 1870 caused the sets to be stuck in besieged Paris. That meant, when the opera finally did appear, in Cairo on Christmas Eve 1871, it didn’t really celebrate anything in particular. Aïda became, however, an enormous triumph – and it has remained one; the perfect blend of pageantry and intimacy, with wonderful tunes and moments of high music drama coming thick and fast – especially when they were played and sung so well as everything was on Monday night under the baton of maestro Stuart Stratford. Before I can get to complimenting the singing and playing, however, I’ve got to raise a few points about the production (originally directed by Davide Livermore and revived by Shaun Rennie).
The story of Aïda, we are told in the program, is set in an unspecified period of Egyptian history (the original story was set in the Old Kingdom (ca. 2700-2200 BC). This sumptuous production was presumably designed to show off the capabilities of the then-new LED panels which make up the majority of the set. The imagery of the ten LED panels (with digital designs by D-Wok) are not Egyptian, however, more Egyptian-esque or even Egyptaiserie (like the trend of Japonaiserie to celebrate all things Japanese at the end of the nineteenth century). Ancient Egypt has thousands of years of history to call upon. Much of the iconography for one period did not continue into the next – for instance, the pyramids were only being created in the Old and Middle Kingdoms (ca. 2600-1700 BC) and so there are great swathes of Ancient Egyptian history where they were not being built or even referred to in the iconography. So, too, in terms of costume and other iconography (such as crowns) – there are many from different periods of history which would never have been seen together but they are all mixed in here and some worn by people who would never have worn them.
They are, nonetheless, in combination a stunning visual experience. There is even a pyramid (although this one is inexplicably inverted). I noticed the Aten (the Sun disc) headdress for Amneris on her first entry which dates to a very short period indeed (the reign of Akhenaten which lasted only 20 years in the 14th century BC). Amneris also wears several pharaonic crowns which should have been the reserve of the pharaoh (the unnamed King in Verdi’s opera) and his queen, not his daughter. So, there was a mishmash of things which look Egyptian here but weren’t. We only got hieroglyphs in two scenes – the triumph and final scene and I suspect they were not hieroglyphs at all but the images used in hieroglyphs for visual effect (there was not, for instance a single cartouche (the oval (actually a shen ring – a stylized loop of rope) which usually surrounds a royal name. The panels actually had geometric motifs which reflect more the imagery of the 1930s Art Deco era than anything actually Egyptian – they also evoked Fritz Lang’s 1927 film Metropolis more than any authentic Egyptian period. So, too, the animal masks of the male soldiers – there is a rich history of animal and anamorphic imagery in ancient Egyptian history and this was tapped into here in both the supernumeraries’ masks and those we saw projected on the LED panels. They too were Egyptian-esque but not actually Egyptian – they evoked far more the stylised masks of the Egyptian science fiction film Stargate (1994) and were worn by guardsmen and not representing the gods or the pharaoh (as they should have). These Egyptian-esque effects extended to the costumes – the soldiers had long modern coats (even the Ethiopian prisoners had modern dress). The helmets were more Assyrian than Egyptian and other headdress items also seemed to be out of period or from science fiction. This was combined with entirely Egyptian-looking dress for other characters (especially Amneris), many of which were over-the-top (with an immense amount of gold) but then they almost had to be to compete with what was on the LED screens which were shouting for attention and threatened to overshadow the singers.
The King, however, was not in any kind of Egyptian costume I know. He wore a silver suit of all-encompassing body armour and a face-covering headdress which must have made it very difficult to see and sing – so kudos to David Parkin there! This was akin to a much later period of Egyptian history, after they had been conquered by Alexander the Great in the fourth century BC – it was far more Greek or Macedonian than Egyptian (so the production seems to call upon bits of Ancient Egyptian history covering almost 3,000 years but all at the same time).
Perhaps the biggest problem of the panels for me is that, as deployed in this production, they are incapable of subtlety. Everything is over-the-top, brash, garish and exaggerated. And whilst that may suit the large scenes of pomp and celebration such as the Triumphal March, it does not suit, at all, the intimate scenes of personal interaction, which are at the opera’s core and make up much more of the music and drama. The panels came closest to working in the Nile Scene in Act III but even there they were too much and soon spoilt by (unnecessary) lightning flashes. Perhaps the worst perpetrator of this unsubtlety was the giant black panther which appeared whenever Amneris was on the prowl (get it?). This was sledgehammer-like in its subtlety, unnecessary and entirely off-putting. Other items, too, were overwhelming and unnecessary (giant nudes added nothing to the story or the drama and several of the images did not correspond with who we were seeing doing the singing). The most effective use of the panels for me was the switch to the rolling red clouds during Aïda’s first aria (when she got to the ‘numi pieta’ (‘gods have mercy’) section) although this too, was soon overdone. The lack of subtlety in their surroundings may also have had an influence on the singing – sometimes the singing had to almost compete to be seen and heard amidst the giant panels. Again, the most affecting singing of the night was that in the third act where Leah Crocetto’s ‘O Patria Mia’ (‘Oh my homeland’) was stupendous and gave us a chance to applaud, not only that aria but her first (‘Ritorna Vincitor’ – ‘Return Victorious’ from Act I) where the staging robbed us of the chance to applaud. The duet with Amonasro (Warwick Fyfe), her father, followed and had real drama as did the following touching duet with Radames (Najmiddin Mavlyanov). This, for me, was the best singing of the night where true emotions and feeling got to shine through.
There was subtlety, light and shade in both Mavlyanov and Crocetto’s voices from their first entrances. I worried at first if their subtlety and soft singing might be overwhelmed – not only by their surroundings but also by the orchestra playing a touch too-loudly. That last concern soon evaporated and the balance between orchestra and singers settled – helped by much of the singing being done in front of the proscenium arch so it communicated directly with the audience. Both Mavlyanov and Crocetto also gave us thrilling and shimmering high notes in turn, as the moment demanded. Mavlyanov’s aria which opens the opera (‘Celeste Aïda’- ‘heavenly Aïda’) was lovely and crowned with a ringing top note. This set the tone for all the singing – it was of an extremely high standard across the board and, at several moments, genuinely thrilling. From the Messenger (Thomas Strong) to the Chorus and every role, this performance was fabulously sung. As mentioned, I thought the Act III singing was the best – true tenderness and drama in the duets, trio and arrest; the final duet (‘O terra addio’ – ‘O earth farewell’) was also exquisite and the final picture with the love triangle of Aïda, Amneris and Radames highly effective. The chorus sang and acted everything with great gusto and tone.
Above, I mentioned how the sets may have influenced some of the singing. The Amneris of Elena Gabouri seemed to embrace the full-on, over-the-top nature of her surroundings – her voice from top to bottom was always heard and her thrilling chest voice a wonder. The un-subtle suited her character (the giant panther may have helped here!) – and in Act III she had some true drama (her panther baring its teeth but disintegrating when she realized she still loved Radames). My only criticism of Gabouri is that on occasion she sings out of one side of her mouth which can be off-putting. The sonorous Ramfis (Roberto Scandiuzzi), too, also suited his surroundings (and Ramfis is a religious zealot who only wants the death and destruction of the Ethiopian enemy of the Egyptians). I loved Scandiuzzi’s ringing high notes on ‘Immenso Ptah!’ to close Act I. Amonasro, who makes the last entry of the principals (in Act II) also sang to match the big surroundings he found himself in during the Triumphal scene. Fyfe has always had a beautiful voice, but I thought he missed a trick in the middle section of his aria ‘Quest? Assisa Ch’io Vesto Vi Dica’ (‘This uniform is witness’) which could have had more subtlety and legato to contrast with what had proceeded it (the ‘Ma tu, Re, tu signore possente’ – ‘But you, O King, are a mighty lord’ section). However, his violent character came to the fore in Act III when he forced his daughter to learn the secrets of the Egyptian army’s whereabouts and betray her lover by doing so – this was the most effective drama of the night for me – a violent father who plays on his daughter’s sense of patriotism to get what he wants (‘Rivedrai le foreste imbalsamate’ – ‘You will see again our fragrant forests’). Here, Fyfe’s ringing tone played the part to great effect – and Crocetto’s Aïda’s heartbreak was palpable.
Special note to the nine female dancers who did stellar work throughout (with choreography by Allie Graham). They were almost omni-present and took the load of the Triumphal March where there was not an animal to be seen paraded victoriously before the king (one of the cliché’s Aïda is famous for and the only un-over-the-top aspect of the production). The only part of their performance I did not care for was the religious ecstasy/frenzy scene in Act I – perhaps their war cries and ‘ah I’ve been shot by an arrow’ were also unnecessary. Having the six trumpets in the auditorium (three on each side) for the Triumphal March was thrilling – a visceral presence and they played tremendously. My favourite anecdote about Aïda is that the trumpets commissioned for the Triumphal march were modelled off ones shown in Egyptian reliefs – when Tutankhamun’s tomb was excavated in 1923, they found trumpets which matched and – miraculously – they were tuned to the same pitch! Of course, a certain length of brass tubing would be the same tuning but seeing an Aïda in the 100thanniversary year of the discovery and excavation of Tutankhamun’s tome was a small additional thrill for me.
Various productions of Aïda have caused controversy in recent years because the Ethiopian characters (Aïda, Amonasro and the prisoners in Act II) are usually not performed by people of African descent but often are made up with various shades of make-up to ‘look’ the part. This has afflicted productions of Otello too. Here, there was no attempt whatsoever to make Crocetto, Fyfe or the chorus ‘look’ Ethiopian – and this removed an unnecessary distraction if they had been – we could, instead, concentrate on the singing, music and the drama.
Aïda plays until July 21 (with a cast change on July 8). For the singing alone, it will be one not to miss.
