VIENNA — “Without her, hell would be heaven for me!” declares Rodolfo, the hero in Verdi’s tragic romance Luisa Miller. In a new staging at the Vienna State Opera, the character sings in a stunned state from a twin bed that is dragged by the armed forces of his father, Count Walter. Rodolfo’s courtship of the title character, a non-aristocratic woman, has no chance. A red teddy bear stands by and will console the Count’s son in his famous aria “Quando le sere al placido.”
The production by director Philipp Grigorian, seen Feb.16, is only the second in the history of the company. While mature works such as Don Carlo and La Traviata are regular fixtures, Verdi’s earlier operas do not enjoy widespread popularity in the German-speaking world. The 1849 score embodies a transition from bel canto formulas to a heavier dramatic style, yet the characters are sketched with undeniable musical clarity.
The melting exchanges of Luisa with her father, particularly in the third act, foreshadow those of Alfredo and Germont in Traviata — another drama about love that cannot surmount class differences — while the sinister Wurm, the steward of the Count, points to the evil Iago in Otello. The smaller role of the Duchess of Ostheim, whom Rodolfo is to marry, comes to life as cold but vindictive, while the Count himself is both seductive and domineering.
Grigorian, who also designed the sets, approaches the drama with a touch of sarcasm that has left some viewers perplexed. Luisa works at a food-delivery company whose headquarters are decked out in bright yellow and red. The Count resides in a lavish Roman-style abode, replete with consorts and a sauna, where Rodolfo is outfitted with armor and a plumed helmet rather than a McDonald’s-like uniform (costumes by Vlada Pomirkovanaya).
A tram station lifted directly from the streets of Vienna serves to anchor the drama in contemporary terms. While at first gratuitous, the set transforms into a nightmarish but romantic landscape in the third act (culminating in the suicide pact of Rodolfo and Luisa), where the transportation signpost has melted over and turned pink. Overgrown roots hover above the characters as they drink poison together, unable to consummate their love on earth. Sitting downstage is the Count with Rodolfo’s teddy bear on his lap.
The stuffed animal may be a symbol of childhood innocence, comfort, or just a silly gag. Yet in a work that lives from emotional exchanges, rather than the political dimensions of the tensions between the aristocracy and middle class, the characters often appear estranged from one another. Rodolfo, in particular, bears the expression of a mental patient, while Luisa projects the naiveté of an illiterate virgin (is all this a hidden commentary on the excesses of Regietheater?).
Fortunately, the musical performance makes a strong argument for airing the work more often. Michele Mariotti drew lightness from the house orchestra but also intensity and incisiveness in stormy passages. The low strings, not so easy to bridle, were occasionally bulky, but the accompaniment rarely sounded routine (which is a lot in a repertory house).
The soprano Nadine Sierra, stepping in for Federica Lombardi, brought a rich tone and moving authenticity to the title role, although her diction could be even clearer. As Rodolfo, Freddie De Tommaso nailed his high notes while sounding slightly tired in the middle range (although solid, especially for a tenor of his young age, this performance of “Quando le sere al placido” may not enter the annals of history as a benchmark). Roberto Tagliavini proved a standout in the smaller role of the Count as he expressed every word with clarity and conviction.
Marko Mimica was an appropriately menacing, bureaucratic Wurm, Daria Sushkova a snooty Federica. In the role of Miller, George Petean warmed up to an earnest exchange with Sierra in the final scenes but proved more convincing in fast-moving than in melodramatic passages during the first act. Teresa Sales Rebordão brought a pretty tone to the character of the peasant girl Laura; Adrian Autard was compelling enough as a male peasant (here, a food delivery man).
The cast was rounded out by five ballerinas (Julia Köhler, Tainá Ferreira Luiz, Kristina Ermolenok, Nina Cagnin, and Lena Dobija), whose classic moves by turns created ironic counterpoint to the music and brought out its buoyant, lyrical qualities (choreography was by Anna Abalikhina). The house chorus, which also danced freely to the music in the opening act, brought expert phrasing to numbers, but Italian pronunciation could stand improvement. While haphazard in its aesthetic, the production provided an opportunity to dig into a work that is as timeless in its exploration of class struggle as it is key to understanding Verdi’s development as an opera composer.
