The photographs displayed above are so different that readers may wonder if they really can belong to the same production. And they would not be far wrong.
Although Il Bajazet carries the name of Vivaldi on the sleeve, it is the work of many hands, what in 1735 Verona was known as a pasticcio, to you and me rather like the local variety show that features a series of acts, largely singers of course, but with the odd comedy or tragic recitation thrown in.
In those days before copyright wrangles, Antonio was happy to throw in numbers written by popular younger composers, without much regard to how they fitted into the overall story—a pretty standard one of how the Tatar Khan Timurlane, having captured the Turkish sultan Bayazit, falls for the latter’s daughter Asteria, to the chagrin of his betrothed Irene and Asteria’s lover Andronico.
The story is told in 50 recitatives, each followed by an aria, and whereas the latter loosely relate to the plot in sentiment, any continuity of setting is completely abandoned in director Fabio Ceresa’s audacious and gloriously anarchic production, with sets designed by Massimo Checchetto and Giuseppe Palella’s costumes.
Thus Sonia Prina’s Tamerlano appears as a leather-clad biker and a gardener of insectivorous plants, before working up a jealous rage as a farcical housewife (this, remember, is the monstrous Sword of Islam who slaughtered tens of thousands), while Renato Dolcini goes through the changes as Bajazet in gaudy Turkish garb, as a Japanese samurai, deep sea diver, astronaut and, just as one assumes things cannot get any crazier, as a video game Super Mario.
Loriana Castellano, an Asteria supposedly already spoken for, has a whale of a time with a young man in his undies, indulges in a little kinky leather amusement with another and in a Betty Boop costume accosts a third, none of whom is the beloved Andronico. Valeria La Grotta is an appealing Idaspe, and it matters hardly at all that she appears as a fan dancer and in a Monty-Pythonish scene of battling Roman centurians, for her character plays almost no part in the story.
Some of the arias are undistinguished, but two stand out, the best of them a showpiece number for Irene with prodigious descending phrases, for which Vivaldi must have had a particular singer in mind, and for which Lucia Cirillo here receives justly rapturous applause. Incongruously—but then everything here is incongruous—although in the plot Irene survives and happily marries Timurlane, Cirillo’s Irene brings the work almost to its end as a prostitute victim of Jack the Ripper.
The production becomes even more amusingly indulgent as it progresses, the other highlight being a virtuoso solo by the wonderful, smooth-toned Baroque specialist Raffaele Pe as Andronico, who turns the bubbling aria “Spesso tra vaghe rose”into a comic tour de force, aided by a few hankies a la Pavarotti.
Attractive historical stage effects, amusing in their simplicity, alternate with prosaic modern designs. For light-hearted entertainment, there are many moments to enjoy here, and I suspect many will skip the rather pedestrian passages of recitative to enjoy them.
Reviewer: Colin Davison