Mirandolina is Bohuslav Martinu’s take on 18th century commedia dell’arte. His Italian was good enough for him to adapt Carlo Goldoni’s play, La locanderia, himself, and the opera was premiered in 1959 in Prague. The score is light and airy, very tonal–and while it’s not particularly Czech-sounding, neither is it truly Italian. It is Italian-like, moving along at a conversational scherzo, with occasional real Italian dances or folk songs thrown in. Its opening moments seem more closely related to Strauss’ Die Schweigsame Frau and Ariadne auf Naxos, but that having been said, it’s only a means of identification. In temperament, it’s close to such 18th-century Intermezzi as La serva padrona, although the cast here is larger (as is the orchestra) and the plot is more involved. The down side is that although there are bits of arioso and pretty cantilena, none is long enough to qualify as a real melody; our sense is of a play in music, which is probably just what Martinu was aiming for.
This performance was taped live at the Wexford Festival in October, 2002. The plot concerns the clever title character, an innkeeper, who manipulates four men who surround her. Three live at the inn as guests–the Count of Albafiorita (tenor), the Marquis of Forlimpopoli (bass-baritone), and the woman-hating Cavaliere di Rippafratta (bass-baritone)–and they all try to make an impression on her with their money or social position. Fabrizio (tenor), the inn’s servant, loves her too, and she’s attracted to him although she doesn’t let him know it until the end. Two actresses happen on the scene in Act 2 dressed as aristocrats; Mirandolina sees through their disguises but the men don’t. Merriment ensues, and at the end, Mirandolina winds up with Fabrizio as the Cavaliere fumes and the other two men relish the fact that at least the other hasn’t got Mirandolina either. To be frank, the overall message of the piece is a bit sour–not unlike Cosi fan tutte: Don’t mess with Mirandolina-types.
Daniela Bruera, as Mirandolina, has a healthy lyric soprano, and she manages to avoid sounding shrewish or hard-edged in a truly long, wise-guy role. (It’s an “…ina” role: Desp, Zel, Ad, etc.) She’s flirtatious and sarcastic and sure of herself, and as the focal point, she keeps the momentum going. The part also calls for coloratura, and she has it; if her sound were capable of warmth she’d be ideal. Enrico Marabelli has the best of the low-voiced roles as the Cavaliere. He has a clean, bright, buffo sound, his facility with quick syllables is noteworthy, and he can sound soupily amorous as well as enraged. Simon Edwards (who has recorded some Rossini) as Albafiorita sings with energy, but he has little volume and doesn’t make the effect that his rival, Simone Alberghini, does as the Marquis. However, their quick repartee is entertaining throughout.
Massimiliano Tonsini’s Fabrizio is vocally substantive but he isn’t as alluring as we’d like this character to be (he’s appealing enough to get Mirandolina). This may be Martinu’s fault–he underwrites the role and the guy doesn’t even get an aria (nor does anyone else, really, save for Mirandolina), and he could use one. The two “actresses”, soprano Tereza Matlova and mezzo Elena Traversi, seem to be having a ball, with the latter’s darkish sound being used to particularly good effect.
The handsome chamber-sounding score is beautifully played by the Belarus Orchestra, and Maestro Frizza keeps the instrumental lines clear and clean. Late-ish in the opera he seems to tire–and who can blame him, leading at the same, quick tempo most of the time?–but it’s not a real concern. In sum, this is a strange work that’s probably a delight on stage. On discs, the listener has a problem with Martinu’s polyglotism–the opera winds up being neither fish nor fowl–and the lack of tunes becomes an issue. Neverthtless, it’s worth hearing, although I doubt it will ever be anyone’s favorite.
