Gaetano Donizetti's unfailingly charming, wonderfully boisterous L'elisir d'amore imported plenty of much-needed Tuscan sun to frigid Chicago Saturday night, as Giuseppe Filianoti (in his belated Lyric début), Nicole Cabell, Alessandro Corbelli, and the rest treated a hibernating, flu-ridden audience to some luscious and heartwarming Italianate singing not heard at Civic for some time; not since Aprile Millo's series of red hot Toscas here did I "hear" and "see" Italy so vividly. Filianoti—whose voice is the very sound of romantic longing—was the lovesick Nemorino. One could—and one would—listen to him toss a note in mid-air, suspend it for a moment or two, and bring it right back down to earth relatively unscathed. Most of the people in my row—if I read their minds correctly—seemed to want to bask in the splendor of his voice forever; an elderly lady sitting next to me actually said so, for to listen to it, if one can get past the oh-so-minor imperfections, is to glimpse not spring nor printemps, but primavera. "Una furtiva lagrima" throbbed with a young man's deepest yearning, eliciting rapturous first-time audience love unheard at Lyric in years. The man may hail from sun-scorched Calabria, but what I saw—through his picturesque, Ferruccio Tagliavini-esque timbre—was not that southernmost of Italian cities, but the sobering grandeur of Firenze. Why that man, clearly possessing in my opinion the most stunningly beautiful tenor heard today, does not have a recording contract, I simply cannot fathom! I think I shall have to go back for another helping of G-Fil, for this overflowing banquet of a feast celebrating every aspect of amore not only shows off the tenor's one-in-a-million voice and artistry but illuminates it sublimely.
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Cabell—whose rather placid career aboard a boat marooned within the confines of a modest bay, but ambitious enough to sail over into the more shimmering port that docks the enviable yachts of Gheorghiu, Fleming and Netrebko—was the evening's poised Adina, here disguised as a sun-kissed, mannequin-like gypsy in rich-peasant outfits that screamed: Umbria. Ms. Cabell was graceful, lithe, smart, and commanding, but her voice seemed at various points tentative when attempting to caress one of Donizetti's most alluring and sensual music; her top notes were executed well enough, but left one with the sense that these money notes were survived rather than mastered. Alas, her vocal palette is pretty limited as well. Cabell might profit in this department by asking A.G. for some of hers.
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Corbelli was a stout, robust, and brilliantly hilarious Dulcamara: who else could he have been?
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This production—as traditional as it gets, in a lovely bucolic setting and bathed with luminous lighting meant to evoke Italy's famed hill towns—is staged like an American sitcom: everyone barging in on everyone, unannounced. Simply brilliant! An inspired farce transpired every time Corbelli entered or exited. Filianoti and Cabell have good chemistry together, which is crucial if we are to believe their ardor for each other.
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Bruno Campanella conducted the orchestra as though he were a gondolier navigating his way across turbulent Adriatic waters.
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Just an afterthought: How could a tortured soul (I asked myself this as Giuseppe sang the darling cavatina that introduces the simple yet impassioned hero to us, the kind we love to root for) create such a light-hearted, life-affirming opera (brimming with youthful love) so atypical to his nature? Could this possibly be the same man who turned Lucia into the most hair-raisingly demented—next to Lady Macbeth—operatic heroine ever?
