LA TRAVIATA | STAGE REVIEW
Wales Millennium Centre, Cardiff Bay, Fri 21 Sept
Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? In Rome, last month, when I watched La Traviata in a boutique theatre next to the Spanish Steps? Yes, I shall. No pressure then. But fear not, Welsh National Opera (the army of talent behind last night’s production), because although that experience was a perfect Roman holiday, the Italian team would have to re-double (triple?) their efforts to match up to your skyrocketing standards.
Speaking as someone getting to know opera later in life, it’s hard not to be impressed by a production of this magnitude. Long before the arias had even begun, ticket holders approaching the Wales Millennium Centre were treated to the views across Cardiff Bay, where the ever-growing vibe of the city meshes with the roughened edges of the world’s once-busiest docks. The impressive expanse of Roald Dahl Plaza, the speckled lights of Penarth above gently rocking sailboats in the navy blue marina and yes, that icy northeasterly wind that settles in from September to March, all combined to create an illusion of Nordic noir – and the perfect set up for a night of music and drama. Even one set in Paris and performed in Italian.
Inside the arena, that atmosphere seamlessly continued and was heightened further (whilst coats were still being removed and husbands shushed by wives) as the audience slowly came to realise that the action on stage was already underway – ever so subtly, but no spoilers… During the opening rendition of Brindisi (aka The Drinking Song), the towering gothic set, draped in blacks and greys, provided the ultimate contradiction to Violetta’s vibrant persona, and those of her gathered guests.
The audience were invited into a Parisian party adorned with character, warmth and joy, courtesy of outstanding performance and costume. It was here that we met Alfredo, the young man of good fortune beginning to fall in love with the doomed Violetta. But the fun ended rather swiftly for our lovestruck characters with the arrival of Alfredo’s controlling father.
If I had to pick holes, I would perhaps point out that this version of Alfredo and his father were much younger than the versions I’d seen in Rome. But as I write this now, I wonder why it bothered me at all: both men offered such dominant vocals that any preconceptions I’d had on seeing younger men in their roles were blown away.
Throughout the second act there was more fun to be had, by the audience at least, with the arrival of the balletic matadors and their raunchy counterparts, the gypsy dancers. The choreography was as exquisite as the dancers were engaging, and the result was a vivacious victory of high-kicking, foot-stomping fun.
Into the third act… that staggering set, perfectly pitched lighting, a magical orchestra and those rippling, rousing vocals, all combined to pull the audience in so close that they truly engaged with Violetta and Alfredo right through to their devastating finale. Here, once again, the dark stage was wickedly offset against Violetta’s ghostly white figure, making those high notes all the more haunting and the finale all the more dramatic. As with the rest of the show, the conclusion was a triumph of mood, music and melancholy.
words JON SUTTON photos BETINA SKOVBRO