Empire Theatre, Eden Court, 8 November 2008

Carmen Giannattasio, Alan Fairs, Federico Lepre and Katherine Allen in La Traviata (photo - Drew Farrell)

THERE IS culture, and there’s high culture. David McVicar’s production of Verdi’s evergreen tragedy, La Traviata, is triumphantly high culture. It is the perfect riposte to anyone who has ever voiced a qualm at the amount of taxpayers’ money being handed over to Scottish Opera.

Every penny of the production budget is evidenced on stage. Which is not to say that it was cluttered with props and gewgaws, far from it, but designer Tanya McCallin has had the luxury of time to consider, pare and source every detail.

The curtains are worth a review of their own. Acres of black brocade, intricately swagged and draped, drawn back in cinematic wipes, falling back funereally; vast swathes of white muslin half veiling the sunlit country home of tragic heroine Violetta Valery (Carmen Giannattasio) and her ardent young lover Alfredo Germont (Federico Lepre).

The costumes nod stylistically and stylishly to Lautrec, Degas, Renoir and – for Violetta’s darkest purple velvet in the initial party scene – the American portraitist John Singer Sargent.

But to begin at the beginning. As Scottish Opera’s orchestra delicately essay the opening bars of Verdi’s score, Alfredo crosses the stage shuffling through the fallen leaves, as behind him we see Violetta’s apartment, shrouded in dustcloths, waiting for the bailiffs. Her tombstone, etched diagonally, provides the floor for the whole opera, an everpresent memento mori.

Then the brocade is drawn up and we are thrown headlong into the luxurious gaiety of the Belle Epoque, where courtesan Violettta’s party to celebrate her return into society after a bout of tuberculosis is in full swing. Giannattasio does not recall Sutherland, arguably the best Violetta ever, but she is a strong contender for the crown currently held by Ileana Cotrubas, with her comparatively slight frame, beautiful, passionately soulful voice and superb acting ability.

Above all she has star quality; when she leaves the stage, the audience pines for her return. It is a shame that Lepre’s light tenor is no match for her, lending the major duets an unevenness which robs them of some of their fire. Luckily Richard Zeller’s Germont senior had the depth and strength to compensate for his onstage son.

But that’s a small quibble. The sensual, airy lightness of the country love nest and the sumptuous, scarlet, crimson and peach exuberance of the “Moulin Rouge” party will live long in the memory. And then it’s back to black, to Violetta’s apartment, the bed of sickness lit with a greenish tinge draining all colour from the scene as the strings moan and cry.

The dying Violetta crawls on her bed like a Burne-Jones sibyl, Alfredo appears at the last minute to sweep her into his arms, and can there be a dry eye in the house as she finally expires?

Not that this reviewer could see, through her brimming tears….. Why this tragic love story reprising Dumas’ La Dame Aux Camellias and spawning dozens of plays and films, including the saccharine Pretty Woman, should continue to have such power in the post-feminist 21st century is material for a handful of doctoral theses – but hey, that’s high culture for you.

I would be fascinated to hear what the Munlochy Primary School pupils who sat utterly enthralled at the Traviata Unwrapped session on Wednesday made of it. It will surely be hard for them now to be seduced by the two-dimensional television schtick of X Factor – other schools, please copy.

© Jennie Macfie, 2008

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