Verdi Otello, Royal Opera House, London

 

Edward Seckerson
Friday 13 July 2012 10:21 BST
Comments
Verdi Otello
Verdi Otello ( © ROH/Tristram Kenton 2012)

Your support helps us to tell the story

From reproductive rights to climate change to Big Tech, The Independent is on the ground when the story is developing. Whether it's investigating the financials of Elon Musk's pro-Trump PAC or producing our latest documentary, 'The A Word', which shines a light on the American women fighting for reproductive rights, we know how important it is to parse out the facts from the messaging.

At such a critical moment in US history, we need reporters on the ground. Your donation allows us to keep sending journalists to speak to both sides of the story.

The Independent is trusted by Americans across the entire political spectrum. And unlike many other quality news outlets, we choose not to lock Americans out of our reporting and analysis with paywalls. We believe quality journalism should be available to everyone, paid for by those who can afford it.

Your support makes all the difference.

It is the most resplendent of vocal fanfares that brings Otello to the stage in Verdi’s wonderful opera and Aleksandrs Antonenko - the latest in a most distinguished lineage (including Vickers and Domingo) to have strode into the tempest-tossed opening of Elijah Moshinsky’s ageless staging - at once raised the temperature in the house cleaving the air with his trumpet-toned delivery.

And considering it was already pretty high with Antonio Pappano’s chorus and orchestra venting the fury of Verdi’s writing with clean attack and vivid rhythms, anticipation of the Moorish warrior’s entrance could not have been higher.

But, of course, in this opera Otello’s heroics, to say nothing of his paranoia and rage, is only the tip of the iceberg and I think in time Antonenko - who looked marvelous, too (with thankfully only the merest hint of the swarthy complexion befitting his race) - will deepen his portrayal to show us in that hair-raising third act the darkest recesses of his soul. That’s where the lowest and most fearful notes in the role reside and whilst the cruel facetiousness of the scene with Desdemona hit the spot, the terrible loneliness of the ensuing monologue (always so heartbreaking in Domingo’s portrayal) was not yet quite there, the low notes a stretch. Even so, quite something.

As was Anja Harteros‘ Desdemona. This most perfect of Verdi voices, combining purity of production with a plangency that told you she could and would muster the necessary heft for act three, was heartbreakingly deployed in that act, her bewilderment at Otello’s growing irrationality palpable and scary. And how hauntingly her “Willow Song” grew more fearful, breaking down with that desperate farewell to Emelia.

And the architect of all this heartbreak and tragedy - Iago? It really helps having an Italian in the role and Lucio Gallo used words and inferences as only a native can. His subtlety of his word-colour in the “Credo” was mirrored in the orchestra, Pappano drawing thrilling contrast between its declamatory gestures and the hollow, clarinet-infused, void that is Iago’s vengeful soul. And as for those honeyed enticements in head voice - chilling.

But I shall long remember Antorenko’s entrance in the final scene, string basses murdering sleep with their sepulchral bottom E, and the unbearable poignancy of the tender kiss he plants on Desdemona. Final confirmation that just about everything was right about this revival.

Join our commenting forum

Join thought-provoking conversations, follow other Independent readers and see their replies

Comments

Thank you for registering

Please refresh the page or navigate to another page on the site to be automatically logged inPlease refresh your browser to be logged in