• Tosca Review – Scottish Opera 16 October 2019 – ****

    If the fascists came to power, how far would you go to stand up to them? Would you save a prisoner on the run? Would you betray a friend? Would you be prepared to die for love?

    Scottish Opera’s endlessly revived production of Tosca asks all these questions and more.

    Thirty nine years ago, almost to the day, Anthony Besch’s glorious production first came to the stage, updating Puccini’s melodrama to Mussolini’s Italy. Jonathan Cocker has blown fresh life into it as the revival director and proves that it still has something to say today.

    The sets look gorgeous, the singing is strong and Stuart Stratford’s conducting managed to bring off the difficult trick of making the orchestra sound expansive and rich without ever swamping the singers.

    In Act 1, Puccini takes us to church. From the first appearance of Dingle Yandell as Angelotti a political prisoner on the run it was clear that singing was going to be one of the strongest features in this revival. Both he and Gwyn Hughes Jones as Cavaradossi, Tosca’s love interest brought an easy confidence to their singing.

    The only big trouble in this production is the sheer volume of liturgical faux pas that have been seen before and still haven’t been corrected. People don’t cross themselves a dozen times whilst reciting the angelus. Nor do they turn their backs on the central statue of the Virgin Mary whilst doing so. Nor do bishops process anywhere other than at the back of a procession and when they do, they carry their crosiers in their left hand the better to bless those around them with their right hand. Women were not singing in choirs in Italian churches in the 1940s and when naughty choirboys misbehave (and they do!) they don’t do it like that. For a production that is so detailed and so deliberately set in one place and time, all this does rather jar.

    But on to Act 2, and Tosca’s showdown with the villain of the piece, Baron Scarpia. Natalya Romaniw was a revelation, bringing light, energy and bitter pathos to the great aria Vissi d’arte. It felt as though the whole theatre was still – the only movement being the tears gently rolling down a number of faces in the audience. Meanwhile, Roland Wood never seemed to have quite the click of the heels or stamp of the jackboots that one might have expected of a fascist tyrant. A bit more badness would have gone a long way.

    By the time we reached the battlements for the final Act, the audience had been on an emotional rollercoaster. Tosca brought it all to an end – betrayed and alone but utterly defiant to the last.

    It does seem astonishing that a production that has been revived so many times over nearly 40 years could still pack in a strong audience and still have so much to say. This production is reassuringly the same but times have changed. With the rise of the far right there is a need for art to stand up to oppression wherever it is found. Even opera has a role to play and this production offers courage and inspiration. The fight against tyranny isn’t over and this revival feels all too timely and more relevant than ever.

    Rating: ★★★★☆

    This review was first published by Scene Alba Magazine

9 responses to “The Lament Question”

  1. kimberly Avatar

    ask it in the singular, and the answer is: because you’re a four.

    you’ll have me playing the funeral ikos next.

  2. kimberly Avatar

    the other answer is about possibility being revealed in limits.

  3. kelvin Avatar

    Its not just me though, and not just fours.

  4. Aaron Orear Avatar

    I think because sorrow touches the core of the human condition – we are mortal but can perceive immortality. “He has made everything suitable for its time; moreover he has put a sense of past and future into their minds, yet they cannot find out what God has done from the beginning to the end.” (Eccl. 3:11)

  5. Erp Avatar
    Erp

    I understand Aristotle talks about catharsis and various philosophers have followed up on that idea.

    Perhaps it arouses sadness both from the art itself but also from our own sources festering within and allows us to let go. We feel better for the letting go, the lessening of our own internal sadness, and so perceive the art as beautiful.

  6. RosemaryHannah Avatar
    RosemaryHannah

    Kimberly was there before me. However, even I, a nine, can sometimes see the beauty in sad things. For me they do two things (may be more but two are most obvious). The first is the catharsis thing. The second is to make me less lonely. Look, here am I weeping, but all around me people sit in the same sorrow. It is not just my sorrow – I am not alone.

    I have long thought there is another answer, one I do not properly understand but I have (I think – and who am I to think it). Deep in God there is a huge well of sorrow. Unless we experience sorrow we cannot understand God. When we sorrow we tap into that well, and become closer to him.

    And being a nice cheerful nine, I will now add that I live in hope that having sorrowed with him, we will share also and even more fully in the joy which swallows the sorrow. Delete this last paragraph from your mind on reading, it will only spoil the joy of the sorrow.

  7. Elizabeth Avatar
    Elizabeth

    Edgar Allan Poe said the most beautiful thing in the world is a beautiful, dead woman. Nice, eh?

  8. Ritualist Robert Avatar
    Ritualist Robert

    Surely it’s because the concept of beauty is independent from concepts such as ‘sadness’ and ‘happiness’ – just as a G major chord might be loud or soft, but that volume has no effect on its G major-ness.

  9. Steve Avatar
    Steve

    I remember Augustine saying (don’t ask me where) that for a picture to be beautiful it requires dark colours as well as bright.

    There is also a hint of an answer in this poem by Edwin Muir:

    Yet still from Eden springs the root
    As clean as on the starting day.
    Time takes the foliage and the fruit
    And burns the archetypal leaf
    To shapes of terror and of grief
    Scattered along the winter way.
    But famished field and blackened tree
    Bear flowers in Eden never known.

    Blossoms of grief and charity
    Bloom in these darkened fields alone.
    What had Eden ever to say
    Of hope and faith and pity and love
    Until was buried all its day
    And memory found its treasure trove?
    Strange blessings never in Paradise
    Fall from these beclouded skies.

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