Attending a performance of “Il turco in Italia” at the Teatro Carlo Felice in Genoa will remain an experience. Beyond discovering this work by Rossini, which is certainly not one of the most unforgettable in the Italian repertoire, one must first let oneself be surprised by the auditorium, a large room that resembles a huge public square while maintaining a very pronounced local character. From one of its many balconies and windows on the walls of the parterre, one might expect at any moment to see a “mamma” who will accost a spectator, start hanging laundry, or loudly scold a neighbor over some dark tale of debauchery!
This performance obviously had an exceptional dimension due to its audience: hundreds of schoolchildren whom the few teachers had difficulty managing. Indeed, a floating buzz arose to the point of forcing the first Violin to wave his bow to get some silence, necessary for tuning the instruments. The young audience grew impatient and clapped to demand the start of the “performance,” cheering the entry of conductor Jonathan Webb, admirable for his opening that precisely respects the “sforzanti” so characteristic of Rossini’s music and for the generosity of his direction—a generosity understandable when knowing he himself wished to conduct in front of such a young crowd after successful experiences rehearsing symphonic concerts in the presence of school classes.
Schoolchildren drowned out the orchestra with shouts when the curtain rose to offer a spectacle as lively as it was colorful. The admiring “Ohs” triggered by stage effects—fire-eaters in the first act or tiny swirling lights in a darkened scene in the second—remind us, as Goethe said, that “the best in man lies in his capacity to wonder”…like a child!
In this production, one experiences somewhat directly what one might read about performances at La Scala in its early days, where the crowd, while attentive to the big arias, was also very busy cooking or dining in the boxes, chattering, and even heckling the orchestra and artists, making up a sensitive spur of the “performance.” Master Class professor Peter Elkus indeed states that many singers actually appreciate this unpredictable, warm, and authentic audience. It must be recognized in this regard that baritone Vincenzo Taormina, who played the role of the poet Prosdocimo, was breathtaking not only for his ease when he burst into the middle of the hall but also for his vocal qualities and acting, both pleasantly consistent throughout the two acts.
Once some apprehensions about this very young audience were overcome, but probably also after having won over the hearts of a large part of it, most other singers also “played the game.” With clear consequences on their voices: few maintained a vocal level of a “General,” a phenomenon sometimes felt in the first act. In contrast, in the second, they did not hesitate to “push” effortlessly a voice that had become more stable, more beautiful, too, like the young Angelo Scardina, eventually winning over an audience whose expectation for strong moments he understood.
A young audience particularly touching for its spontaneity, a character long forgotten in the regulated and conventional behaviors of the contemporary adult audience where a distant pout becomes the rule. If they were capable of applauding where one might not necessarily expect it, they could also spontaneously recognize pure emotion: towards the end of the second act, following the great aria of Fiorilla “Ahi quale asilo trouvar!”, beautifully sung by Irini Lungu, these young people made it a point to express their keen sensitivity with a round of applause, one of the best signals there is, of the success of the interpretation. And of their budding musical education.
Not to mention the stomping and shouting during the ovations—the author of these lines had never heard such “piu fortissimi,” and the time taken by these young people to salute each of the artists—several encores—with, at each appearance of one of the lead roles, “vivats” and “bravos” “even louder.” In response, the artists themselves displayed sincere smiles and clear joy, well beyond narcissistic contentment. Is art not the joy of free man?
