Opera Philadelphia's 'Don Carlo' (second review)

This is Verdi’s most Shakespearean opera. Although based on a drama by Schiller, not Shakespeare, Don Carlo presents a conflict between private anguish and public responsibility, a common theme for the Bard, and, like many of his history plays, the narrative depicts a monarchy in crisis and spans continents and time frames.

King Philip II is the autocratic ruler of a vast empire that currently is putting down a rebellion in Flanders. Philip’s son Carlo and Carlo’s friend Rodrigo want to gain freedom for the Flemish people. To add to the drama, Carlo is still in love with Elisabeth, to whom he was engaged before Philip decided to wed the young woman himself. The king is so afraid of Carlo’s radical politics that he considers having his son executed. Philip asks the Grand Inquisitor if he will be absolved of blame if he does this. The priest says that lives must be sacrificed for the greater good; after all, God sacrificed His own son.

This despot would be an unappealing central character, except that he reveals vulnerability and, for one fleeting moment, grudging respect for Rodrigo’s humanitarian agenda. Above all, he discloses his own impotence in the face of the Church’s implacable chief vicar. It’s fascinating to see the tyrant quaking before a greater power.

Stripped to essentials

Because of its budget limitations, the company chose to use a single-unit set. Instead of replicating royal gardens, a cathedral, a prison, a graveyard, and other specific settings, designer Andrew Lieberman presented one set that conceptually represented 16th-century Spain. The set changed only slightly throughout the opera, enabling quick, seamless transitions and thus reducing the opera’s length and accelerating its flow — a significant achievement for this monumental work.

The set was inspired by the repetitive architectural scheme of El Escorial, built near Madrid by Philip II in 1584. Escorial was simultaneously a monastery and a royal palace, representing the duality of church and state. On this stage, its walls were a burnished coppery gold and its windows were black rectangles that seemed like grave slabs in the floor of a church. The cupola in the distance was a silvery ivory color — a symbol of hope and escape.

After the Inquisition’s immolation of heretics, we saw that the fires apparently burned away the palace’s cupola, leaving its charred black edges and a pile of grey ash, an allegorical comment on how the Inquisition tarnished Spain’s reputation. For his monologue about how he cannot sleep, instead of being in his bedroom, King Philip sat in a bleak landscape that resembled the desert, a reference to Rodrigo’s description of Spain in his first meeting with the king.

The concept may have been over-intellectualized. Still, I’d rather see that than a cute but illogical reinterpretation. Some attendees might feel bored by the set and the severe grey and black costumes. Such a wardrobe was accurate for the time and place (conservative Catholic Spain during the Inquisition) but most operagoers do like to see glamorous and colorful gowns.

Outdoing the Met

This cast was a better ensemble than the one in the Met’s production this season. Dimitri Pittas in the title role was fresh-voiced, idealistic, passionate. Eric Owens sang Philip for the first time anywhere and brought out his character’s human qualities, creating effective vocal contrasts between soft introspection and resonant power. Morris Robinson used his imposing height and his deep bass voice in a superb embodiment of the Inquisitor. Troy Cook as Rodrigo lacked weight in the lowest part of his voice, but he more than made up for that with the beautiful legato of his middle and upper range, especially in his haunting death scene.

Leah Crocetto, a young soprano from Michigan, was impressive as Elisabeth with fine-spun Verdian phrasing, haunting pianissimi, and a perfectly-placed high C at the finale. Her “Tu che la vanità” ("You have known the vanities of the world") justifiably brought the house down. Michelle DeYoung, who has one of the world’s most gorgeous mezzo voices, made a resplendent Princess Eboli, lusting for Carlo while sleeping with the king. A nice directorial touch was having Eboli stroke Philip, trying to lure him to bed while the queen presumably was in the very next room. This was done, ironically, during the orchestral introduction to the king’s great aria about how no one loves him.

Conductor Corrado Rovaris did a fine job shaping the score, and the orchestra and chorus sounded better than I’ve ever heard them — seeing them at the end of an extended run was probably beneficial.

Having previously shown its nimbleness with contemporary pieces, OperaPhilly now has shown that it can stage world-class productions of mainsteam classics.

For Dan Rottenberg’s review, click here.