Ode to bel canto, dreamlike quality, Romanticism, and love vows in this work by Bellini “La sonnambula” in one of the first productions by tenor Rolando Villazon. Lisa, the innkeeper, lives and embraces her emotional solitude while the wedding of Amina (Sara Blanch) and Elvino (Edgardo Rocha) is being prepared.
The secluded village in the high mountains is in celebration, although the black of the costumes dominates.
It reflects the gravity of the solemn moment of this union: the vow of the married couple is seen engraved in the sky. The pearl of this place, the soprano in the role of Amina, says that “her voice does not obey her thoughts” so much does happiness fill her heart.
Only Lisa, the rival, denounces the hypocrisy in love. Except for this, “enchanting grace” bathes this splendid and profound music. It is then that Count Rodolfo, played by bass Adrian Sampetrean, indirectly disturbs this harmony. Without initially revealing his identity, he is involved in the mystery hanging over this corner of the mountain, its white walls blending with the peaks, on the scenography side. Indeed, he hovers like a ghost unfurling at night, hence the light, eerie aerial ballet (this opera drawn from two French playwrights, Scribe and Delavigne, was first made into a choreography). The phenomenon intrigues, and somnambulism provides a pretext for successive dramatic twists concerning Amina’s fidelity. One might think of Othello, the handkerchief theme, the piece of evidence. Could the tenor playing Elvino be an impulsive, angry Iago? While the village, in turmoil, relies on the authority of the Count and the black again drowns the whiteness in the heights of the stage, since the villagers ascend to him while on the ground the knot of the story unfolds. It is paradoxically in the whiteness of attire upon waking that clues betray the behaviors of everyone involved.
Will there be forgiveness, proof of the heroine’s purity, or rather sacrifice, or perhaps that supreme taste for freedom? Will the tears of the white Amina revive the flowers as well as love?
But let us not be deceived by appearances. There would be indelible marks, crosses on doors that seal unredeemable faults for life. Villazon surprises us at the very end and reignites interest in what might have seemed a bit naive in the unfolding of this drama, at times veering into Vaudeville.
