In Simon Boccanegra, an ordinary man has greatness thrust upon him, meeting his eventual demise through a confluence of fate and circumstance. Along the way, he loses and regains a daughter, quashes a revolution or two, and unites Italy with his dying breath. Many listeners revere Verdi’s masterful score while simultaneously sniffing at the convoluted plot, but Laurence Dale’s production for Opera Philadelphia’s Festival O23 makes a compelling case for the work’s dramatic unity.
The director keeps the period intentionally vague, with towering sets by Gary McCann that subtly suggest a fascist aesthetic. That comparison might seem slightly unfair to the title character – a man who is moral to the core, even if he cannot entirely avoid the trappings of autocracy – but it underscores the reality that one person’s savior is another’s tyrant. Dale employs extra-textual devices that accentuate the backstory without contradicting Piave and Boito’s libretto. In a lovely recurring moment, a white-gowned supernumerary haunts the periphery as Boccanegra’s late wife and Amelia’s mother; she eventually leads Simon to the afterlife. The director and performers manage an admirable level of specificity in storytelling, considering the wide expanses of the Academy of Music’s stage and the opera’s occasionally static stretches.
In the pit, Corrado Rovaris unflaggingly supports the action onstage while confirming the brilliance of the score, beginning with elegant textures in the stately prelude. By the end of the Prologue, where Boccanegra is elevated to Doge of Genoa, he whips the orchestra into a phantasmagorical frenzy, which complements the intense singing of the plebian chorus. (Opera Philadelphia chorus master Elizabeth Braden continues to work wonders with her forces – I’d hate to lose her locally, but she should be in contention for the soon-to-be vacant Metropolitan Opera gig.) Throughout the evening, Rovaris makes one hear familiar music with new ears, as when he ravishingly layers the strings, winds and percussion in “Come in quest’ora bruna” – simultaneously making Verdi sound like the progenitor of both Debussy and Berg.
For his first outing in the title role, Quinn Kelsey continues to burnish his bona fides as the premier Verdi baritone of his generation. Although he never struggled with vocal projection, he favored lyricism throughout, shading his melting legato singing with suggestions of age and indecision rather than barking lines to convey Boccanegra’s mounting psychological distress. His final utterances sounded appropriately haunted, although his robust tonal beauty remained. With the assistance of Fernand Ruiz’s costumes, he demonstrated his character’s evolution from simple corsair to grand ruler, and throughout the opera’s later acts, he reminded the audience that Boccanegra is still a fundamentally good man at his core.
Soprano Ana María Martinez lacked some of the hallmark traits associated with Amelia, the daughter of Boccanegra who is raised by his archenemy, Jacopo Fiesco. Don’t expect ethereally floated high notes or a particular expansiveness of tone. A slight beat crept into Martinez’s voice at moments, too, but overall, she delivered an intelligent and highly musical interpretation of a Verdi heroine who can occasionally come across as pretty and vacant. Her Amelia is headstrong and confidant, though it’s hard to comprehend what attracts her to Richard Trey Smagur’s hooty, overacted Gabriele Adorno.
Christian Van Horn cut a regal, dignified figure as Fiesco, although the role sits an octave or so below the comfort zone of his essentially lyric bass-baritone. As Paolo Albiani, Boccanegra’s turncoat advisor, baritone Benjamin Taylor was a discovery, pouring acres of plangent sounds into what could easily be a standard-issue villain. One can hear in Taylor’s voice the potential to evolve into a great Verdi baritone in his own right.
