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Simon Boccanegra (Placido Domingo) in Simon Boccanegra. Photo by Robert Millard. |
By Ed Rampell
Widely perceived as a hoity-toity elite art form for the one percent, opera often gets a bum rap as a stuffed shirts’ sonic sphere, but Giuseppe Verdi’s Simon Boccanegra (based on a similarly named historical figure) gives the lie to this cliché. Marx and Engels wrote in 1848’s Communist Manifesto that “the history of all hitherto existing society is the history of class struggle,” and with its plebians versus patricians battle, this clash is clearly reflected in Simon Boccanegra, which premiered nine years later at Venice. Verdi’s opera opens in medieval Genoa (the Italian coastal city-state Christopher Columbus hailed from) as Simon Boccanegra (Placido Domingo) is voted Genoa’s first “Doge."
According to conductor James Conlon’s pre-opera lecture, in the 14th century Venetian dialect Doge is the 20th century Italian language equivalent of “Il Duce”-- Benito Mussolini’s title -- and means “duke” or “leader.” But Simon was no Blackshirted fascist. Indeed, he is a man of the people, a former pirate who represents the aspirations and interests of the masses against the patrician class -- the Middle Age’s aristocratic one percent. Originally, Genoa’s Doge was elected by popular suffrage, although his term of office was for life. If I understood Conlon correctly, this 1339 election marked Europe’s first democratically elected head of government.
Set against this background of power struggles, Verdi agilely interweaves a complex personal story full of mistaken identities, as the opera jump cuts to circa 1364. No simple Simon, Boccanegra still serves as Genoa’s Doge, as he tries to balance the plebian-patrician strife plus possible war with the competing city-state of Venice. Like a prototype of Flower Power leaders, Simon says “peace and love” and pursues policies to implement them. Harboring quarter century old grievances, the base bass Jacopo Fiesco (Vitalij Kowaljow) plots to topple the Doge and assumes the identity of Andrea Grimaldi. In the process, he unwittingly adopts a girl called Amelia Grimaldi (Ana Maria Martinez) who -- unbeknownst to all at this point -- is not only Fiesco/Andrea’s granddaughter, but Simon’s long lost love child.
Fiesco’s fiasco triggers a series of complicated events your spoiler adverse reviewer is loathe (and too lazy) to reveal. The golddigging Paolo Albiani (Paolo Gavanelli) and Gabriele Adorno (Stefano Secco) each woo Amelia. For some dubious reason the hotheaded Adorno is a hero of this opera, although he not only threatens to murder Simon -- whom he mistakenly believes to be likewise courting Amelia -- but his beloved, too, when Adorno suspects Amelia of being unfaithful to him. At one point, I wanted to shout out, “Hey Amelia! Why don’t you just tell Adorno that you found out Simon is actually your father, moron?” -- but I don’t think the crowd at the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion and Verdi’s ghost would have appreciated it. (Ironically, just as Grimaldi is now the name of Monaco’s royalty, Theodor W. Adorno was a prominent 20th century Marxist thinker of the so-called Frankfurt School, whose students included Angela Davis.)
Suffice it to say, this being a non-comedic opera, a melodramatic death with a requisite amount of staggering about onstage is required, and Verdi, but of course, delivers the goods, the bads and the uglies in this action packed precursor to those Spaghetti Westerns. (Take one wild guess who gets to chew the scenery during the big scene?) What Verdi doesn’t deliver, however, is a toe tapping aria fans leave the theatre humming. This, along with the overtly political nature of the subject matter, may have prevented Simon Boccanegra from scaling La Scala’s heights in the operatic pantheon, alongside of, say, Verdi’s La Traviata and Aida (which I still remember being staged at the Roman Forum with live camels and elephants when I was 12).
That’s not to say that the score isn’t sonorous, as well as wide ranging in its tonality. Harps and understated wind instruments convey a sense of serenity, while at other times brassy instrumentation and drumming conjure up the martial mood necessary for much of this class struggle text, with its libretto by Francesco Maria Piave and Arrigo Boito. Conlon’s supple baton nimbly presides over the orchestra and work which he clearly dearly loves.
Director Elijah Moshinsky’s mise-en-scene of this Les Miserable-type mass drama is masterfully staged, as what I imagine must be the entire L.A. Opera cast (and crew?), 50 or so performers by my count, bring alive the historical epic sweep of this saga inspired by actual events. Fight (club) director Charles Currier’s brio on the boards evokes the dueling and demos of a restive populace. Costume designer Peter Hall’s brilliantly colored medieval apparel captures the spirit of that bygone age, and helps to transport us back in time.
But kudos go to scenic designer Michael Yeargan’s colossal sets, once again bringing medieval Italy back to life, as they did last year with Yeargan’s scenery for L.A. Opera’s production of Verdi’s Rigoletto. Yeargan’s Genoa imparts a sense of the sea worthy of the burg that produced Columbus, while his massive columns evoke an imperial sensibility. Act I’s Council Chamber scene is bravura, and the map room in the Doge’s palace during Act II isn’t too shabby, either. And I don’t know if Yeargan is responsible for the graffiti scrawled on the wall, proclaiming in Italian “Victory to the people!” and similar slogans during a scene of mass protest, but it’s a worthy addition, considering that the Occupy L.A. encampment was just a stone’s throw away at City Hall, which is visible from the Music Center.
Simon Boccanegra premiered in 1857 as Italy was on the verge of a unification the politically-minded Verdi agitated for, both on and offstage, as a deputy in unified Italy’s parliament. Similarly, L.A. Opera continues to present socially relevant works, and one likes to think that Placido Domingo’s Simon would have supported the Occupy Wall Street movement, just as Domingo’s Pablo Neruda in 2010’s Il Postino most assuredly would have. Despite the pricey seats, these are operas for the 99 percent that express the tenor of their times.
Simon Boccanegra runs through March 4 at L.A. Opera at the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion, 135 N. Grand Ave. For more info: 213/972-8001; www.laopera.com.
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