Nessun Dorma

TURANDOT
Opera in 3 Acts
Music by Giacomo PUCCINI
Libretto by Giuseppe Adami and Renato Simoni

Metropolitan Opera (New York) 1987
James Levine, Musical Director
Eva Marton, Placido Domingo, Leona Mitchell

First performance: Teatro alla Scala di Milano, 1926

Very much like Mozart’s Requiem, Giacomo Puccini failed to complete his final operatic masterpiece, Turandot, succumbing to cancer. In fact, most standard productions make use of Franco Alfano’s completion of the missing orchestration of the duet in the last Act.

Turandot is significant because it marked the end of the tradition of 19th century grand opera, raised to new heights by Verdi, and even pushed further towards immortality by Puccini. Turandot was composed just a few years after the ground-breaking Pierrot Lunaire of Arnold Schoenberg, Elektra of Richard Strauss and Sadko of the Russian neo-classicist Rimsky-Korsakov. This opera rivals Giuseppe Verdi’s Aïda, along with Meyerbeer’s neglected works, in terms of grandiosity. In oriental splendor, it is second to none.

This masterpiece—grand, lush, exotic—is filled with strongly-drawn characters set in explosive situations. Set in legendary Peking, it tells of Princess Turandot, a cruel princess who invites would-be suitors of royal blood from wherever, to try their luck and win her as the bride by successfully solving three riddles. Failure meant their heads would be chopped on the block. Turandot is trying to avenge the rape and murder of her ancestress by a man of royal blood during the turbulent years of the war. When she narrates the horror, her voice floats eerily and assumes a dream-like quality, as if it were far away, and gradually assumes a violent and ugly color. It is as if the soul of the offended victim has possessed her, in mind, heart and spirit, angrily asking for bloody revenge.

The Metropolitan production, under James Levine generated a mixed reception during the curtain call. The hisses and the jeers were unmistakable. Placido Domingo, as the brave Prince Calaf who risked his head for the beautiful Princess, was splendid during the first two Acts, his voice rising over the oriental rhythms and bold harmonies, even the occasional drift to atonality, of Levine’s orchestra. Acting-wise, Placido has always been one of the better tenor-stage actors. During the last Act however, he faltered in his rendition of the world’s most popular aria, the great “Nessun Dorma” (popularized by who else, Luciano Pavarotti), Domingo failed to hold on to the high C a wee bit longer than what is called for in Puccini’s score, and there wasn’t much ring into it. I got disappointed too.

Eva Marton as Princess Turandot was stunning vocally, also during the first two Acts, although I detected slight shrillness during the last Act. The transformation from a revengeful, icily-cold, man-hating, blood-lusting vixen to a remorseful and submissive penitent, was astounding. Although the matronly Marton (she was probably in her late forties when she sang this role) isn’t exactly the type of maiden most men, let alone Princes, would risk their heads for, but then again, where in the world could you possibly find a svelte, angel-faced, sixteen-year old with a voice so powerful it can shatter glass panes? Marton’s voice is naturally loud, very suitable for a role like Turandot. In fact, she’s among the very few sopranos who can both sing Italian verismo and Wagner, both styles requiring voices that soar above the complex sonorities of the orchestration.

Leona Mitchell splendidly essayed the martyr role of Liu, who sacrificed herself to save Calaf and provided the catalyst to Turandot’s transformation. She was the perfect anti-thesis to Turandot: warm, loving and loyal.

Oh yes, love conquers all, even the most cruel, blood-lusting, revengeful people can succumb to its power to change and heal broken souls. And Puccini’s out-of-this-world music powerfully sends that message across.