Staging the classics can always present a risk, particularly in an era of evolved political sensibilities. However, director Barbara Lluch manages a balance between authenticity and modernity with her take on Vincenzo Bellini’s “La Sonnambula.”
The original, which premiered in Milan in 1831, is known for intricate melodic leaps and stunning arias, a masterpiece in the “bel canto” (beautiful singing) tradition. Its plot is set in a fickle patriarchal society where women are judged based on superficial appearances — the source of some criticism but, unfortunately, not something that is entirely foreign to our lives today.
“It's a matter of changing intention,” Lluch says regarding some of the problematic aspects of the original storyline ahead of her version’s Tokyo premiere. “Everything is already there in the libretto; opera is alive, but you must respect the tradition and perform exactly as written. Yet, perspective and intention are important. ... It’s the first thing you learn in dramatic arts.”
A collaboration between the New National Theatre, Tokyo (NNTT), Madrid’s Teatro Real, Barcelona’s Gran Teatre del Liceu and Sicily’s Teatro Massimo di Palermo, the new “La Sonnambula” had its world premiere during the 2022-23 season in Madrid and will be performed in Italian with both English and Japanese subtitles at NNTT’s Opera Palace in October. After Tokyo, the production will be performed next year in Barcelona and Italy.
From the very beginning, Lluch was clear-sighted about delivering an authentic vision.
“I always think we in the industry — directors, singers, dancers — we all work for the audience,” she says. “We are constructing a world to create emotions based on belief. If the audience can believe that they have human beings in front of them going through these situations, that’s what’s most important.”
Set in a village in the Swiss Alps, an orphan named Amina is unknowingly frightening the locals with her nightly sleepwalking, and they believe there is a ghost among them. Meanwhile, preparations are underway for the innocent and pure Amina’s wedding to Elvino, a local farmer. One person objects to the marriage: Lisa, the village innkeeper and Elvino's ex.
Things hit a snag after Amina catches the eye of a mysterious stranger, a count named Rodolfo. Elvino gets jealous and fights with his bride-to-be, triggering a bout of sleepwalking for the latter. Her nocturnal stroll leads her to Rodolfo’s room at the inn, and although he quickly realizes she is asleep, the count wrestles with the temptation to take advantage of her state. He overcomes his desires, though, and flees the room. Later, Amina is discovered in Rodolfo’s bed and Elvino breaks off their engagement in a fury.
In line with an operatic subgenre called semi-seria (semi-serious), Amina’s fall from grace is not framed as a tragedy but rather a convoluted tale of changing loyalties where both Amina and Lisa end up denigrated and rejected before an improbable happy ending.
“There are some matters that cannot be overlooked,” says Lluch, who carefully considered the opera’s subject matter and researched sleepwalking and psychology before accepting the commission. “Of course, I had seen previous productions, and when I reread the libretto, I thought it would be impossible to do this simply as it's written today because it sends the wrong message to the audience. We have a responsibility. There's a young woman in that audience who needs to understand that she cannot be treated (how Amina is treated).”
The original opera was inspired by a popular 1827 ballet-pantomime by French dramatist Eugene Scribe. Alongside spiritualism, interest in somnambulism, the mystery of sleepwalking, was fashionable in 19th-century Europe, a curiosity that the ballet capitalized on to great success. Bellini’s composition, with an Italian libretto by Felice Romani, transformed Scribe’s ballet into an opera that has outlived its inspiration.
Bellini’s lyrical composition includes numerous soaring, technically challenging arias that interweave with the chorus and require virtuoso performances from the entire cast and the leads in particular; the music was written specifically for soprano Giuditta Pasta and tenor Giovanni Battista Rubini, two of the most celebrated singers of the 1800s.
A revival over a century later at La Scala in Milan showcased Maria Callas, one of the most celebrated sopranos of the 20th century, at the height of her talents. Conducted by Leonard Bernstein, the La Scala performance is now considered one of the 20th century’s most legendary opera productions.
This October’s shows in Tokyo will feature the talents of rising star Claudia Muschio in the role of Amina and the highly renowned Antonino Siragusa in the role of Elvino, both experts in bel canto tradition. They will be led by Italian conductor and composer Maurizio Benini.
In matching the excellence of its past performances, Lluch first went back to the opera’s balletic roots and devised a tableau of dancers to represent Amina’s inner turmoil. The idea also grew out of her research on sleepwalking.
“Psychologically, it is quite uncommon for sleepwalking (to occur) past the age of adolescence,” Lluch says. “In an 18-year-old young woman, an orphan facing marriage and insecurities over her fiance’s jealousy, sleepwalking could be a sign of stress or anxiety. ... In my perception, they became like night terrors.”
The dancers — costumed in ragged, gray outfits and moving like eerie, tormenting furies — open each of the two acts and follow Amina during critical moments in the unfolding drama. They are a potent reminder of the woman’s fraught emotions, which roil beneath the surface as she seeks to appease the mercurial expectations of her small community, portrayed by the chorus.
“The chorus was the most frightening aspect of the libretto,” Lluch says, “this representation of the ruthless, polarizing views of society. They’re so black and white in their judgments, and they don’t believe Amina unless a man backs up her word.”
To convey such harsh judgment, Lluch’s chorus acts with little facial expressions.
“I’m sure the Japanese chorus will understand the staging in a different way, a sense of stillness apart from what the Spanish chorus in Madrid did,” Lluch continues. “From what I understand about noh and kabuki, there’s a respect for silence and stillness that comes more naturally to Japanese culture, so I’m sure the minimal movements, the intensity and impact of a small gesture where there has been very little, will really be effective.”
It’s no secret that opera fans can be judgmental themselves when it comes to any deviation from the classics, and the truth at the heart of Lluch’s vision — the psychological effects of gender expectations and the dubious promise of a happily-ever-after in a cold society that thrives on polarizing scrutiny — brings the troubled storyline of “La Sonnambula” very much into the now. With her long, varied career in the arts world, however, Lluch has weathered her own share of critics and has little fear of angering purists.
“In the end, you can’t make everyone happy,” she says. “You must believe in your project and idea and hope for the best. You work for the audience, but you can’t predict their reactions. I’m really proud of my team and what the artists accomplish.”
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