I due Foscari (review)

Verdi's sixth opera has so far enjoyed only one studio recording but already boasts two video versions. TDK's DVD release of a live performance of I due Foscari from the Teatro San Carlo in Naples competes with a 1987 production from La Scala, released in the United States on VHS by Castle Opera (CV1 2060, NLA). The San Carlo Foscari, taped in November 2000, features robust if imperfect singing and an unadorned staging. Marred by senseless cuts, the performance cannot match the musical standards or scenic grandeur of Pier Luigi Pizzi's Scala production, led by Gianandrea Gavazzeni.

I due Foscari ranks as one of Verdi's most compact and compelling operas. Based on Lord Byron's The Two Foscari, Francesco Maria Piave's libretto portrays a tragic Venetian doge and his exiled son, victims of a vendetta by an implacable foe. Verdi etched the characters and their conflicts in terse scenes with the kind of bold melodies and thrusting rhythms that characterize his early operas. This dark, brooding work concentrates on the doge, Francesco Foscari, and his son, Jacopo. Their nemesis, Jacopo Loredano, mistakenly believes the younger Foscari has murdered his father and uncle. Loredano is weakly drawn, but the two Foscari emerge as large, well-defined characters—especially the aged doge, who grandly commands the stage in the gripping final scene. Verdi gives Francesco a moving scena ed aria before he collapses and dies after learning of his son's death. Adding to the dramatic fire is Jacopo's anguished but fearless wife, Lucrezia Contarini. In vaulting Verdian vocal lines, she conveys outrage and scorn for the Council of Ten, the ruling clique that Loredano manipulates to bring down her husband and undermine his father's authority.

This austere opera receives focused and unfussy treatment from director Werner Düggelin. The action unfolds on a bare stage framed by Renaissance architectural details that evoke the Venetian setting. Projected images of the Basilica di San Marco—tilted and seen from a lower perspective—introduce most of the scenes and set a dark mood for the tragic action. Windows and galleries open in Raimund Bauer's boxlike set to reveal the chorus. A backlit stairway suggests the prison scene in the second act. Jorge Jara's costumes—choristers in basic black, principals in rich red and deep blue—add a strong visual accent to the staging. The chorus and the Council of Ten wear traditional robes that contrast with the nineteenth-century dress for the three principals.

Are the soloists up to the scrutiny placed on them by Düggelin's spare staging and Bauer's minimal scenery? Yes and no. Like many live performances, this one gains in intensity and coherence as the drama deepens. Leo Nucci looks uncertain and sounds uneven in Francesco's entrance scene; unsteady tone and yawning attacks mar his singing. But slowly his voice comes into focus as he conveys the emotions of the suffering doge, torn between his duty and filial love. In the grand finale, Nucci strikes form, singing and acting with a simple authority that draws an ovation from the audience.

As Jacopo, Vincenzo La Scola sings sturdily but stodgily, without much vocal nuance or dramatic imagination. In his first-act scena e cavatina, La Scola phrases squarely. He bulldozes his way to the top A-flats and seldom modulates his voice above or below a constant mezzo forte. Dodging the trills, he cannot produce a melting tone when the musical line invites sensitive dynamic shading. La Scola looks as stolid as he sounds. On the bare San...