PUCCINI: Il Tabarro

The term verismo awakens strong feelings among opera
lovers. Some view it as cheap, musically undernourished entertainment. For
others it is a great love. Yet for all that, the term “verismo”
can be rather hard to pin down. It was originally coined to describe the
operatic incarnation of literary realism, and was initially attached to two
brief but passionate shockers—Pietro Mascagni’s Cavalleria
in 1890, and Ruggiero Leoncavallo’s I Pagliacci
two years later. Both related tales of adultery and murder among the peasants
of southern Italy. But before long, both composers turned to wildly different
subjects—Leoncavallo started writing operettas, and Mascagni wrote such
non-veristic fare as Isabeau, a fairy-tale retelling of the Lady
Godiva story, and the Wagnerian-scaled Parisina which took on the
decadent, stylized, medieval world of Gabriele d’Annunzio. Eventually
the term verismo, depending on the context of its usage, grew to
embrace the musical style which clothed all these dramas, realistic or

And then, to complicate matters, there is Puccini. He’d been
Mascagni’s roommate during their conservatory days, but none of his
early subjects fit very neatly into the verismo-as-realism category. This has
led many to exclude him from being part of the “verismo
movement”—especially those who look down their noses at verismo.
After all, without the wildly popular Puccini, verismo appears to be a bit of
a dud, as movements go—at most producing three or four candidates for
the central repertory. But with Puccini, verismo suddenly looks a lot like
one of the most successful movements in operatic history, and the number of
verismo warhorses suddenly triples. And Puccini did, after all, write an
opera that fits the verismo category like a glove: his 1918 drama Il
, which premiered at the Metropolitan Opera as part of a
triple-bill of Puccini shorts.

In 1994, the same Metropolitan Opera put two contrasting pieces of the
verismo puzzle side by side—the belated verismo of Puccini’s
Il Tabarro and the classic verismo of Leoncavallo’s I
, which had reached the stage some twenty-six years earlier.
The comparison is enlightening. The stories are very similar. The music is
clearly fruit from the same tree. And yet the many intervening years have
also clearly left their mark. Leoncavallo’s warhorse is passionately
and unashamedly Italian, painted in primary colors. There is no guilt in his
hummable, clearly delineated melodies.

By contrast, Il Tabarro was written by a composer who’d
studied the shadowy world of Debussy, and the frenzied brilliance of Richard
Strauss. He knew Stravinsky’s Rite of Spring, and
Schoenberg’s atonal Pierrot Lunaire. Puccini was a great
melodist, yet here he is sly in their use—maybe too sly here for some
tastes. Leoncavallo’s primary colors have been replaced by a thousand
subtle shades. Yet everywhere in the score Puccini’s mature musical
genius and his judgment as a dramatist are well in evidence. The end result
is an opera of rare sophistication and dramatic truth, if at times it is a
little less memorable in its melodic material than is Pagliacci.
Leoncavallo’s opera would be a good selection for a newcomer to opera.
Puccini’s is more a connoisseur’s choice.

In this particular production, the Met cast the major roles from strength,
featuring the era’s two most renowned tenors in the leading roles. In
Il Tabarro, Placido Domingo sings the role of the interloper Luigi
with his characteristic golden tone and impassioned acting. The role of the
older, jilted husband was sung with impressive power and gravitas by Juan
Pons. If there are reservations to be felt about the cast, they might be
directed towards the Giorgetta of Teresa Stratas—a great singing
actress who knows how to thrill. My complaint is not directed towards any
lack of ability or dedication on her part. Rather she perhaps presses a
little too hard—turning a believable and human character into a bit of
a caricature. Her Giorgetta is a Parisian variety of “white
trash”—loud, loose, and lacking in feminine grace or refinement,
with chemically damaged red hair to match. Stratas regularly reaches for
something guttural in her lower register which reinforces this rather brassy
impression and makes her singing at times unlovely. Also, some things which
would go unnoticed on the stage spring to mind when viewed with the intimacy
of video. Pons, playing the older Michele, is clearly much younger than are
Domingo and Stratas, our “young” lovers! A vibrant cameo
performance is turned in by Florence Quivar as La Frugola.

Stratas and Pons reappear in I Pagliacci, with Stratas’s Nedda
largely being a reprise of her Giorgetta. Pons again does an admirable job,
though this time in the far less sympathetic role of Tonio. Luciano
Pavarotti, however considerable his vocal assets, is often a bit of a
dramatic dud—especially in comparison to the passionate Domingo. And
though Pav was no spring chicken in 1994 either, somehow he came across very
strongly on this night. Sure, he does sometimes revert to his old
“stand and sing” acting style, but there is a dignity in his
bearing that makes his Canio all the more human, and when he smears the
greasepaint on his face before launching into “Vesti la giubba”,
he generates pathos in spades. Dwayne Croft is a convincing Silvio.

It’s a shame the James Levine ventures into the verismo repertory so
rarely, as his reading here, at the helm of the now legendary Met orchestra,
is revelatory. The productions are of the most traditional variety, with lots
of period detail—especially Franco Zeffirelli’s
Pagliacci. Other fine accounts of the latter exist on video, but if
you’re looking for a compelling pair of verismo shorts in riveting, top
notch performances, you could do worse than this DVD.

Eric D. Anderson

image_description=Il Tabarro/I Pagliacci
product_title=Giacomo Puccini: Il Tabarro
Ruggiero Leoncavallo: I Pagliacci
product_by=Il Tabarro: Juan Pons, Teresa Stratas, Pl·cido Domingo, Charles Anthony, Federico Davia
I Pagliacci: Luciano Pavarotti, Teresa Stratas, Juan Pons, Kenn Chester, Dwayne Croft, John Hanriot, Glenn Bater
The Metropolitan Opera Orchestra and Chorus, James Levine (cond.)
product_id=DG 073 402-4 [DVD]