Are the walls of tradition that enclose Grand Opera tumbling down?
The Metropolitan Opera opened its season with a spare, “avant-garde” Tosca that was roundly booed by the fuddy-duddiest of New York’s music lovers. Now, the Florentine Opera unveils its own “bare-bones” Tosca, which is inciting murmured discussion around town even though there were no boos evident on Friday night’s opening ovations.
Musically, this Tosca was top-notch. The three principals delivered their parts and the emotions behind them with great spirit and musicianship. The Milwaukee Symphony Orchestra, under Joseph Rescigni, sounded terrific.
But what of the story, the drama of Tosca, her lover Cavaradossi, and the evil Scarpia? How does it create suspense, emotion, pity, terror and all that stuff that great drama is supposed to deliver. And how does Noel Stollmack’s set contribute to the drama?
Tosca perhaps isn’t on the same scale as Aida or Turandot, but it carries with it an expectation of spectacle. The cathedral interiors of Act One. The darkly sumptuous surroundings of Scarpia’s apartment in Act Two. And the wind-swept parapet of Act Three.
But there are different ways of handling spectacle. Compare these two European productions from last year. 
Stollmack’s designs for the Florentine were more in the category of “anti-spectacle.” To be sure, they reflected the lean times facing arts groups today—and reflect, I think, a wise way to allocate available money to a production. But they also served the spirit of Tosca well. In Act One, for example, there’s a large projected painting, a shadow suggesting a statue of the Madonna, and a cross of candles stretching across the racked stage, suggesting the cruciform shape of a cathedral. Rather than overwhelm the setting with the baroque details of a church, Stollmack’s set evokes its shadowy emptiness. Instead of Scarpia standing out as a dark figure against the opulent backdrop of religious ritual, this world is one already transformed by his lust for power. .jpg){kind=small}
You don’t hear the term “Grand Opera” too much these days. Perhaps the opulence that it implies is old hat. But the Florentine showed that a production can rely on artistry rather than the grandiose. Puccini’s melodrama was “grand” in many senses of the word. Tosca photo by Richard Brodzeller for the Florentine Opera Company © 2009
Frode Fjellheim’s “Psalm,” evoked a childlike simplicity, buoyed by Les Thimmig’s soprano saxophone, and Part’s “Estonian Lullaby”—a lovely round sung by “mother and child” (Indra Brusabardis and Larissa Clopton) carried on in the same spirit. Taking advantage of the venue, Stalheim concluded with the finale to Philip Glass’s “Satyagraha” played by organist Karen Beaumont. Here, the almost imperceptible shifts between time signatures suggested a dialectic which leads to a powerful spiritual unity.
After the charged, metallic series of string quartet pieces by Osvaldo Golijov, the featured event, the world premiere of Alexandra du Bois’ “In Beauty, May I Walk,” captured the spirit of much of the music that had come before. Built on a lilting, almost ceremonial chant (a simple, descending fifth), it evokes nature with Messiaen-like birdsong, and spirit with marvelous overlapping sonorities—a kind of music of the spheres for our own time. True to its participatory heritage, the concert ended with song and dance in which everyone was invited to join.
