Ermione is Rossini’s darkest, angriest opera. It was such a resounding flop at its premiere that after its initial run Rossini withdrew it entirely. It takes place in the aftermath of the Trojan War. Pirro, engaged to Ermione, has fallen in love with Andromaca, widow of Hector, who he is holding prisoner, and so forsakes Ermione. Oreste loves Ermione, who only wants Pirro. Pirro asks Andromaca to marry him and she falsely agrees in order to save the life of her son. Ermione, enraged and mad as a hatter, demands that Oreste kill Pirro. He does so, and when he shows her the bloody dagger, she regrets her decision, blames Oreste, goes even madder, and calls down the Furies upon him. Near hysteria, he is whisked away by his compatriots. Everyone is unhappy.
There is almost no denying that the work is a masterpiece. The eponymous heroine is carefully drawn–she’s clearly bi-polar–and her rage, unpredictability, and inability to control the action of others makes her crazier and crazier. All of the characters are obsessed (and three are thoroughly unpleasant); love, both requited and unrequited, is explored and mixed with politics. The sheer sound of the work–plenty of winds, a chorus behind the closed curtain that interrupts the overture, huge “numbers” that do not follow the rules of the day (arias are disrupted by choruses, tempos change suddenly and frequently, cabalettas are put off, recitatives, particularly late ones for Ermione, are devoid of melodic or rhythmic thrust and seem more “stream of consciousness”)–perhaps confused the otherwise sophisticated San Carlo audience in 1819. But all revivals of the work in the past 20 years have been successful; at last Ermione is getting its due.
This new recording is partially successful, and even with a hole in its middle, it is good to have it. Both tenors, with near-impossible music to sing, are outstanding: Colin Lee’s neurotic Oreste is made clear by his highly florid music, excellently executed, his sharp delivery of the text helped by his quick vibrato. Paul Nilon’s Pirro is cruel and self-contained, and he has no trouble with the role’s two-plus octaves and even offers a fine trill once or twice. Patricia Bardon’s Andromaca is stunning–dignified, morally upright, richly and accurately sung from top to bottom. Bulent Bezduz impresses in the third tenor role, Pylades.
The hole in the center is Carmen Giannattasio’s Ermione. She isn’t bad, but she does not control and rivet our attention as she should. Granted, her music is outrageously difficult and makes almost as many emotional as physical demands on the singer, but she sings the first act with far too much care and not enough frenzy, although her coloratura is precise and her tone appealing. She opens up for her marathon-like second act, but still does not imply this character’s lunacy.
David Parry does his best with the score, giving it a forward propulsion and helping the singer as best he can, but again, the entire production lacks the mania a great performance of this opera should have. I can compare it only to Strauss’ Elektra in hate-and-grotesquerie quotient, and a vaguely tame performance of that work, no matter how thoughtful, also would fall short of the mark.
The competition is a no-longer-available, pretty good Warner release led by Claudio Scimone with a somewhat too-light Cecilia Gasdia in the title role, and a disgraceful, “private” recording from Pesaro with Montserrat Caballé at her most slovenly and inaccurate. Both DVDs–on Dynamic and Kultur–are better. By default–and despite a less-than-riveting central portrayal–this Opera Rara set is highly recommended. And not to know this great, great work would be a pity.
