Lincoln Center, New York; July 19, 2023—Most of Donizetti’s 70-plus operas tend to lean on the soprano as the evening’s focus, but Poliuto, his 57th, is more evenly distributed among soprano, tenor, and baritone. It contains some of his finest, most rousing music, including a processional chorus that must have been on Verdi’s mind when he was composing Aida. It is not often revived and that may be due to the difficulty of the tenor part and the relatively small role for soprano–few lead sopranos are comfortable anywhere but in the front seat. It was Maria Callas’ last-learned role for La Scala, which she chose for her return to the theater in 1960 after a three-season absence. A private recording has been long available that offers more than a glimpse into Callas’ art, the opera’s many qualities, and the star power of her tenor that evening, Franco Corelli.
On July 19th, Will Crutchfield’s Teatro Nuovo brought the opera to Jazz at Lincoln Center, and those who knew it only through that 1960 recording, with its cuts, discovered a finer, better-balanced opera, and judging from the reception, the rest of the audience had a “where has this been all my life?” reaction.
Poliuto, an Armenian nobleman, has married the Roman Paolina; she had thought her betrothed, the Roman general Severo, killed in battle. Poliuto has converted to the banned Christianity and when Severo returns and is urged to murder all Christians by Callistene, the high priest of Jove, Paolina is deeply conflicted between morals and duty. Paolina confesses to Severo but convinces him that she has remained chaste. Callistene, a zealot who was rejected by Paolina previously, jealously has Nearco, another Christian, arrested, driving Poliuto to confess his conversion. Paolina visits him in prison and he refuses to recant. He refuses and she converts–the two go off to the arena to be devoured by lions.
Crutchfield has assembled a youngish cast–closer to the start than the middle or end of what will probably be illustrious careers. He’s taken the fresh voices and schooled them in the style of bel canto, with its emphasis on colors, dynamics, legato, embellishments, and, of course, tonal beauty, which ruled Italian opera until the mid-19th century. It turned into an evening of wonderful, dramatic, and unexaggerated singing.
The semi-staged performance was performed on a bare stage, with handsome projections of the sets from the later French version of the opera, on which the English text was projected. The characters interacted–and sang to one another, rather than directly to the audience–and created a remarkable sense of drama.
Chelsea Lehnea, a tall, stunning soprano (who only enters a half hour into the opera), was the conflicted Paolina, and she convinced at every turn. Striding authoritatively, Lehnea made us believe her vacillating character. The voice is bright and brilliant and sits high; she seems afraid of nothing. Her coloratura was effortless, even at the top, and later in the opera she used a chest voice that gave gravitas to her every phrase. A fine performance.
Even finer were the two male leads. Ricardo Jose Rivera, a Puerto Rican baritone with Figaro, Miller, Silvio, and Don Carlo (in Ernani) already in his quiver, sent forth beautiful, burnished, rolling sound as Severo. Angry, hurt, confused–each emotion was clear due to textual shadings, dynamics, and seemingly endless breath. Because there was little or no true stage direction, Rivera occasionally looked lost, but that voice!
All ears were on the star tenor, Poliuto, here sung by Santiago Ballerini. Any opera lover who knew anything about the opera most assuredly was familiar with Franco Corelli’s 1960 performance, which showed the tenor at his most magnetic. Ballerini need not have feared: after a vaguely uncertain opening, his youthful, full, large-lyric sound filled the hall. A hero after all, his second-act aria, a grand display of strength (a serious precursor of Verdi’s grand tenor roles) which was performed uncut, was capped by the type of high Cs that people recall for months. His last-act duet with Paolina rocked the house. Hans Tashjian, a tall, imposing bass, sang Callistene with warm tone that seemed, sadly, to fade just in time for his third-act aria.
First violinist and conductor Jakob Lehmann led the period-instrument orchestra with fierce precision and great care for the singers. The orchestra was at audience level, so he and the players were visible. The clarity was remarkable–spicy woodwinds, braying (valveless) horns, and gut strings brought the music forward.
More ideally performed bel canto, please.
