Don Giovanni
Debauchery with a Health Warning
Don Giovanni
by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, libretto by Lorenzo Da Ponte
Glyndebourne Productions at Glyndebourne Festival Theatre until 2nd December.
Review by Mark Aspen
Mozart and his librettist, the worldly-aware Da Ponte, knew what pulled in the crowds: sex and violence, especially if it comes with a strong whiff of society gossip. La plus ça change!
Don Giovanni, widely regarded as one of his finest operas musically (although some may prefer Le Nozze di Figaro), certainly has all these crowd-pullers. And perhaps therein lies its difficulty. Is it a tragedy or a comedy? Mozart described it as a dramma giocoso, but attempted rape and murder are far, far from joyous. Some productions truncate the final scene of the happy(ish) ending and finish on the stern moral lesson of the unrepentant reprobate of the title being dragged to hell by the ghost of his murder victim (the so-called Prague versus Vienna endings, after the locations of the premières). Glyndebourne’s production retains the (Prague) upbeat ending and skilfully manages to keep the delicate balance between the parallel streams of humour and horror that run throughout.
By setting the opera in the present time, director Mariame Clément pitches the ambiance of the piece away from hubris towards humour, away from the overweening amoral self-confidence of the macho of Don Giovanni towards the pragmatism of the hapless scapegoat Leporello, his loyal, in spite of himself, manservant.
The modern setting also allows Clément to explore the roles of the three principal women in the opera, to make them more three dimensional. There is Anna, the object of Don Giovanni’s assault at the opening of the opera, and for whom her father is murdered by Giovanni; here much more assertive than just the victim turned avenger. There is Elvira, deranged outcast of Giovanni’s shallow passions, the epitome of the, inexplicably still devoted, beaten partner; here much more manipulative and in charge of her own destiny. There is Zerlina, a peasant girl, ripe for the plucking, in Giovanni’s mind, in a droit de seigneur sort of way, taking her from her fiancé; here perceptive and shrewd, at least after she survives Giovanni’s initial onslaught of love-bombing.
Julia Hansen’s set firmly cements the 21st Century theme, with neat acuity. It is a four-star hotel, owned by Don Giovanni (so presumably he has all the master keys). Landings on three levels form the access to the rooms. William Morris wallpaper deceptively reassures that this is an established institution. In Act II, it inverts to the exterior gardens of the hotel, where lighting designer Bernd Purkrabek, with the inventive help of projection designer Étienne Guiol, has a field day with lots of spooky supernatural effects.
There are two main sets of hotel guests. There are the Sloanies, Don Giovanni and his straightforward friend Don Ottavio, with Donna Elvira and Donna Anna, and The Commendatore, Anna’s father. Then there are the chavs, a stag party and a hen party out celebrating the forthcoming wedding of Zerlina and Massetto. The glittery pink girls and the glittery blue boys are clad in TK Maxx’s best. There is quite a bit of naughtiness as they chase each other’s conga lines, teased on by joke costumes. The girls’ plastic falsies are a particularly cheeky come-on. The Glyndebourne Chorus has enormous fun as the party-goers, in a typically energetic performance. It could be however that a serious point is being made here of the ambivalence in today’s society, titillating encouraging on one hand and draconically censorious on the other, Love Island versus #MeToo. At times during the opera’s intense moments, they gather, ringed around on another level from the action, physically and metaphorically, as silent voyeurs.
In this production, Don Giovanni is no longer the jack-the-lad, boys-will-be-boys, likable rouge. Ukrainian baritone Andrei Bondarenko plays him as devoid of scruples and totally self-absorbed. The style is rather more a brash, red-braces, nouveau-riche than an aristocrat. He is totally without remorse at the death at his hands of The Commendatore His moto Chi a una sola è fedele, verso l’altre è crudele (Being faithful to one deceives the others) epitomises Giovanni’s cocky and shallow attitude to women. Bondarenko edges his voicing, hardening the words, but has one piece where Giovanni almost seems genuine, the canzonetta Deh, vieni alla finestra (come to the window). This serenade is not genuine, but here, instead of being directed towards a hapless maid, it is delivered kneeling, while an older woman with a baby passes by. Is this simply alluding to the consequences of some of his dalliances?
The leavening of the opera with humour falls largely to Leporello. Sam Carl takes on the role with vigour in its knock-about physically. There are some very agile moments trying to escape down and across a set of banisters. With his horn-rimmed glasses and droopy moustache, though, he paints a hangdog picture, and his soft-edged bass-baritone puts a downbeat feel to the role. Leporello gets a big moment towards the beginning of the opera with his famous “madamina” aria, a catalogue (literally, from a notebook) of Giovanni’s conquests, which total 2,065, including the much emphasised mille e tre, the 1003 women in Spain. However, rather than the usual jaunty patter-song style, Carl imbues the aria with a mournful, regretful feel, which perhaps is more appropriate as this is delivered to Elvira, to whom he is trying to put across the idea that the man is not worth her doting over. However, the madamina does trigger a nice visual gag, the hotel’s framed pictures suddenly and simultaneously flipping from the bland landscapes to naked women’s breasts in all sizes, shapes and colours. The point though is made: these pictures are all cropped at the neck; here are faceless women. Leporello wears an office lounge suit and has an archetypical d-o-m raincoat, but he never wears it, only carries it, in much the way that he is obliged to carry his master’s lechery.
The three principal women are all sopranos, but each has a very different style. Kseniia Proshina’s Anna is a feisty lady, resolute and with direction. Her reactions to the shock of her father’s death is soon revived by rage, extracting an oath from Don Ottavio, her fiancé, to avenge his murder. Proshina’s resilient and spirited soprano just gets underway in this scene, before Anna’s suspicions that her assailant could be Don Giovanni come to the fore and she launches into her vehement aria calling for revenge. Here is some exhaustingly forceful singing.
The impassioned impetuous Donna Elvira is often portrayed as the butt of a misplaced sense of fun, but Alexandra Lowe portrays her as more assertive, although still not able to resolve her conflicted feelings towards Giovanni. Her bounding emotions give Lowe plenty of opportunity to display her coloratura skills, and the despair in her voice is palpable. However, Elvira’s determination, against all the odds, to tame Giovanni’s debauchery is beautifully expressed in Lowe’s decorated aria, mi tradi quell’alma ingrate (that ungrateful soul betrayed me), with the touching punch-line that she still feels pity for him, provo ancor per lui pietà.
Zerlina is a different prospect altogether; she may be initially distracted from her pre-nuptial partying by the prospect of a nobleman wanting to marry her and make her a lady (cor!) but she soon gets Giovanni’s number. Charlotte Bowden’s Zerlina is very sweet, her direct ringing tones putting across the openness of the character. Zerlina might be naïve, but she is savvy enough, with the jog of Elvira’s intervention, to see through her would-be seducer. Zerlina is also quite aware, in a little-girl sort of way, to know how to twist a man around her finger, a skill carefully exercised in making her peace with Masetto, her fiancé. Batti, batti, pleads Zerlina, beat me … but only playfully as Bowden’s coquettish delivery makes clear, and then we’ll make up … pace, pace.
Masetto is an easy-going sort of bloke, willing to give the benefit of the doubt, even to Giovanni, although somewhat reluctantly under the pressure of his bluster. However, it is poor Masetto who takes the beating, and rather viciously in this production. Don Giovanni is disguised as Leporello, conveniently as his servant later takes the blame, and goes as if to confide in him, but then, suddenly gives him … a mighty Glasgow kiss. This a quite an out-of-nowhere moment and a coup for fight director, Keith Wallis. The press night audience gave an audible gasp, and one could almost hear the sharp crack of skull against nose. (In contrast the murder of The Commendatore is far less effective and looks more like an unfortunate accidental on the stairs.) Bass-baritone Michael Ronan portrays Masetto as a happy-go-lucky type, although one can sense an air of frustration there. Masetto makes the most of his injuries with Zerlina and is rewarded with the promise of something sweet to ease his sore head.
Marriage is an anathema to Don Giovanni, hence his treatment of the two fiancées, Zerlina and Donna Anna, betrothed to his good friend Don Ottavio. That it is a sacrament he is more than willing to desecrate, is lavishly illustrated in Hansan’s design. A stage-filling wedding cake is wheeled in for the feast, ostensibly for the forthcoming marriage of the partygoers. Giovanni uses it as the podium for his “Champagne Aria”, fin ch’han dal vino, before preparing to add a dozen more women to his catalogue. We later see the cake, a squigged mess, with a debauched and drunken Giovanni sitting in it, bottle in hand.
Don Ottavio is quite uncomfortable with all this, although he remains incredulous almost to the end that a fellow nobleman could be a seducer, let alone a murderer. Nico Darmanin, dressed in Sloaney pressed shirt and chinos when not black-tie, plays Ottavio as a straight-bat nice chap, whose patient softly-softly approach contrasts with the impetuosity of the others. He is a man dependable, honourable and virtuous, in fact the complete opposite of Giovanni. Unusually the only tenor role in an opera, Darmanin makes full use of the opportunity to shine. His arias are clean and lyrical, with sentiments ranging from the sympathetic s’ella sospira, sospiro anch’io (if she sighs, I sigh too) to the concerned il mio tesoro I … andate a consolar (go and console my darling). Ottavio is one of the few grounded characters in the opera.
The Commendatore is a great operatic bass role and Ivo Stanchev has the rich mahogany tones and power to make the most of it. The entrance given for him at the end of the opera is however a little pedestrian after the big the big build-up. The graveside statue of The Commendatore (in the hotel’s fairy-lit garden) has spoken, Stanchev offstage, and Giovanni has brazened it out and invited it to dinner. Dinner comes against the background of a thunderstorm and Leporello and Elvira, who has come to save him, are terrified at the approaching titanic statue crossing the garden. But Stanchev just walks in. Nevertheless, Stabchev makes an impression with his voice, rich and resonant, it puts over all the authority of the dead Commendatore. Ferma un po’! Stop a while, he commands, before giving him one last chance to repent. Giovanni doesn’t. The final decent to hell is very impressive Giovani in the statue’s arms disappearing through the floor in ring of (very real) fire.
The main strength of this production of Don Giovanni is the excellence of its music and its impeccable singing. Conductor, Stephanie Childress takes the Glyndebourne Sinfonia through the complexities of the multiple voiced pieces and the various moods of the music with great energy and élan, in a well-paced and thoroughly enjoyable performance.
Mariame Clément has laden this production with symbolism to underline her points, many already mentioned. A forensic outline of The Commendatore’s corpse glows from time to time in a bootless attempt to stir the guilt of Don Giovanni. The omens of the inscriptions on the plinth of the statue here become labels on the fobs of the hotel room keys, they drop one by one, like the lives that he has ruined. Oh, and the trashed wedding cake, with the plaque reading 2075, Don Giovanni’s total by the end of the opera for his catalogue of abused women.
Glyndebourne’s Don Giovanni has the sex and the violence, and the gossip. They are all there … but they come with a health warning!
Mark Aspen, November 2023
Photography ©Glyndebourne Productions Ltd. Photo: Richard Hubert Smith
Mark Aspen 