L'italiana in Algeri
Details
In Brief
After Il barbiere di Siviglia and La Cenerentola, Rossini's third most frequently performed opera is L'italiana in Algeri. This titillating tale belongs to the ranks of “rescue operas” - a favourite genre of the era that usually stipulated having a beautiful young woman being captured and awaiting torture or death until her heroic beloved arrives on the scene to rescue her. In this case, a resourceful Italian lass is kidnapped by an Algerian bey yearning for a new wife, and outwits him herself – to everyone else's great satisfaction. The title character, Isabella, is one of the wittiest and most wonderful female characters in the entire operatic literature.
This work is being presented at the Opera House in a production by Máté Szabó.
Age restriction
Events
Premiere: Nov. 18, 2017
Synopsis
Act 1
In Mustafà Bey's palace in Algiers, the potentate's sad wife, Elvira, is complaining to her confidante, Zulma, that her husband no longer loves her. The eunuch servants sadly state that, in the bey's household, women live only to suffer. Mustafà appears, accompanied by the corsair captain, Ali. Elvira pleads for her husband's pity, but Mustafà turns away in disgust and anger. He orders everyone out of the room, except for Ali, whom he commands to show him his Italian slave, Lindoro, as Mustafà has resolved to give the bored Elvira to the Italian. Having himself grown fed up with the tender fawning of the harem ladies, Mustafà is yearning for a temperamental Italian woman. He informs Ali that if he does not obtain him a woman like that within six days, then he will have him impaled.
Lindoro is pining for his far-away love. Mustafà informs him that he's going to marry him off. Lindoro struggles to come up with excuses for why he cannot accept the marriage proposal, but Mustafà eagerly pushes his wife on his new slave.
A new corsair ship sails into the harbour. Among the newly arrived Italian slaves is an extraordinary woman named Isabella, who went to sea in order to seek her true love, Lindoro, but then was taken captive herself. However, she has not fallen into despair, as she is well aware that her feminine charm and guile are enough to defeat any man. The corsairs also drag out another captive: Taddeo, whose unrequited love for Isabella is the reason for his current predicament. They lie to Ali that they are uncle and niece, there directly from the Italian city of Livorno. Ali happily exclaims that Isabella will be the glory of Mustafà's harem! Taddeo is crestfallen: now it's not just Lindoro he has to worry about; because of him, now he has to contend with Mustafà too. Irritated, Isabella puts a stop to her companion's attack of jealousy.
Lindoro and Elvira face each other hesitantly: neither of them is eager to marry the other. Mustafà bursts in on them to announce that he is allowing a Venetian ship to go free – and Lindoro may journey home on it with his new wife. Desperately, Elvira pleads with her husband not to make her go away, but Mustafà cuts her off impatiently. Ali enters in order to report the arrival of the Italian woman. Mustafà is immediately overcome by excitement: he is impatiently waiting for his wife to depart so that he can win over the Italian woman.
Isabella is solemnly led before Mustafà, who is completely smitten with the woman. Isabella immediately sees what kind of man she is dealing with and how she can use him to achieve her aim. Taddeo bursts into the room, pursued by Ali. Mustafà is ready to have the troublemaker impaled, but Isabella tells him that Taddeo is her uncle, leading to an instant show of mercy. Elvira, Zulma and Lindoro come before Mustafà to plead with the bey one more time before their journey. Isabella and Lindoro are astonished to recognise each other. Upon learning that the bey plans to give his own wife to Lindoro, the Italian woman loudly exclaims that the woman must stay. She also declares that Lindoro will be her own slave. Mustafà won't have any of this, but eventually he is incapable of saying “no” to the demanding Isabella.
Act 2
The eunuchs conclude that the Italian woman has made a fool out of Mustafà. The bey sends Elvira and Zulma to tell Isabella that he wishes to have coffee alone with her in half an hour. Elvira warns her husband that it will be no simple matter to seduce the clever woman. Mustafà, however, has already planned out how to achieve his aim: he will attempt to soften the heart of his adored Isabella through her uncle.
Left alone with Lindoro, Isabella angrily castigates him for abandoning her. It is only with great difficulty that he manages to convince her that he hasn't got the slightest intention of marrying Mustafà's wife and that he has never betrayed his love for Isabella. The beautiful woman eventually relents and, together with her beloved, starts planning their escape.
Taddeo rushes before Mustafà and pleads to be rescued from the fellow who is chasing him with a stake. Mustafà assures Taddeo that he has no wish for him to come to any harm – on the contrary: he appoints him his deputy, the kaimakam. In exchange for awarding him his new position, the bey asks Taddeo to intercede with his “niece” on Mustafà's behalf. The reluctant Taddeo is forced to consent.
While primping herself to prepare for her reception with Mustafà, Isabella tells Elvira point-blank that she has only herself to blame for the fact that the bey has tired of her. She does, however, offer to teach her how men have to be handled. Mustafà sends for Isabella, telling Taddeo that if he sneezes, that is the signal for him to leave him alone with Taddeo's “niece”. The Italian woman appears before Mustafà, who proudly reports that he has appointed her “uncle” to the post of kaimakam. The bey sneezes to signal Taddeo to withdraw, but the new kaimakam stubbornly refuses to move, no matter how much the bey snorts his nose. Lindoro and Isabella are greatly amused by the two buffoons. Isabella leads Elvira before the bey and demands that he reconcile with the poor woman. The raging Mustafà resolves that he will make them all pay for making a fool out of him.
Ali concludes that Mustafà deserved to be outwitted by the sly Italian woman.
Taddeo informs Lindoro that he is not really Isabella's uncle – he is in fact her true love; Lindoro merely finds this amusing and asks Taddeo to help him trick Mustafà. They let the bey know that Isabella would like to hold a ceremony initiating Mustafà as a pappataci – that is, to bestow on him a made-up title awarded to “admirers of the fairer sex”, whereupon all he will have to do in life is eat and sleep. Meanwhile, Isabella is preparing the plan for their escape: she dresses up the Italian slaves as pappataci and, with a rousing speech, gets them ready to go home. After Mustafà arrives, they initiate him with great pomp into the pappataci, seat him next to the new kaimakam Taddeo and have food and drink brought for them. As the two amorous clowns munch away, Isabella, Lindoro and the other Italian slaves board a ship. Taddeo is the first to notice the subterfuge, and rushes to the ship in time before it departs: even if he has to give up his hopes for love, at least he can go home. Only much later does Mustafà realise that he has been played for a fool. In his shame, he begs for Elvira to take him back. Peace is restored at last.
Media
Reviews
“Enchanting and witty music, enjoyable and professional acting-oriented directing (from Máté Szabó), original ideas, and atmospheric sets that bring smiles in and of themselves.”
Péter Spangel, Magyar Demokrata
“The Hungarian temperament fits excellently with Rossini’s Italian disposition – thus a lively, sparkling, full-evening opera performance was created.”
Charles E. Ritterband, Klassik Begeistert
“In the newly presented performance directed by Máté Szabó, there is always something happening on stage. There is never a moment when a character stands around idly – whether it be a chorister, soloist, dancer, or even an extra in one of the back corners of the stage. They keep themselves busy, talking, cleaning, dancing, reacting to the events unfolding in other parts of the stage. (…) The costumes, which appear authentic, are colourful and varied: the attire of the harem women, eunuchs, soldiers of Mustafa’s private army, and the arriving Italians are all elaborately crafted and eye-catching (costumes by Anni Füzér). The sets are imposing, with even the murmuring sea and the desert in the background creating just the right illusion (set design by Balázs Cziegler). The play of lights is also appealing, diverse, and at times downright dazzling.”
Balázs Csák, Operaportál
Opera guide
Introduction
Rossini’s unrestrained prank, composed in just twenty-seven days to save the honor of Cesare Gallo, the penniless impresario of Venice’s San Benedetto Theatre, remains astonishingly successful to this day. The opera is a sheer whirlwind of jokes, a sparkler-like glittering frenzy: the spectrum ranges from the incredible idea of the sneezing chorus, through patter songs and daring leaps in intervals, all the way to the Pappataci ceremony, which parodies the initiation rites of Freemasonry. The spontaneity of the vast invention immediately sweeps the listener along, and the music effortlessly carries one past even the seemingly silly effects: Rossini delivers precisely what is the very best of opera buffa. The sound effects in the finale of the first act are astounding – the bell ringing in the head (“Nella testa ho un campanello”), for instance, practically comes alive. As usual, behind the fooling around lies a serious message as well: Isabella’s rondo (“Pensa alla patria”) gained political charge and became one of the unofficial anthems of contemporary Italy.
Zoltán Csehy
The director’s thoughts
We could take the production in the direction of Islam, but I believe this story rather compels men to face themselves, and our staging will, according to our intentions, be a critique of unhealthy male dominance. When Rossini wrote the piece, by choosing its setting he distanced the plot from his own time, as if such a thing could not possibly have happened there and then. Balance is important to me – for instance, in the sense that we often say: it only appears as though man is at the top of the pyramid. This illusion must be demolished completely. At the same time, I also find it essential that we create a sober production. In this respect it helps that Rossini built his characters from the commedia dell’arte: we have a Colombina, Isabella, whose cleverness punishes Capitano, that is, Mustafa Bey, and Pantalone, that is, Taddeo. One is spineless, the other aggressively masculine, and the exchange of costumes becomes a kind of annihilation for both.
The sets are designed by Balázs Cziegler, the costumes by Anni Füzér. Both are highly sensitive artists. I asked them to show us on stage the home of a modern, Italophile North African man – but without political allusions. With Balázs, we searched for the strongest visual representation of this southern Mediterranean world, and we found it in the silhouette created by bright sunlight: when, from inside the shadow, one glimpses someone outside, the strong light erases the face, leaving only the figure visible, but as the person approaches, the features become clearer, the individuality more precise. From Anni, I asked for authentic garments. We often hear and read stories about Muslim women who wear branded underwear, tracksuits, or jeans beneath the prescribed traditional clothing that conceals everything.
This strange duality was the main inspiration for the costumes: the women follow the rules, but when, among themselves, they remove the headscarf, the chador, the burqa, they stand there as their true selves. We did not want to place a museum on stage, yet we also do not wish to contradict the story, but Rossini allows us some flexibility. Our intention is to tell, through this comic opera, something about the Islamic world without making CNN come to mind. It is humanity that inspires the music, and in that sense, it is not at all a problem if music, in turn, inspires humanity.
Máté Szabó
An encounter between a macho Arab and an Italian femme fatale
The story takes us to the North African city of Algiers, which belonged to the Ottoman Empire between 1516 and 1830. Although the setting and the historical background were real, it was not authenticity or a discussion of religious, political or interracial questions that Rossini was striving for, but simply carefree entertainment. The outcome was an escape story, placed in an oriental setting but profoundly Italian, that closes with praise for Italy and, of course, a happy ending. The work focuses on the rivalries between genders and cultures: the triumph of the enlightened European ethos over a “barbarian” culture, and the emancipated woman’s victory over male dominance. Similar to many other operas, it is fuelled by desire too: Isabella yearns for Lindoro, Elvira for Mustafà, and Mustafà, Lindoro and Taddeo all want Isabella – that is, “the Woman”, this passionate and sanguine Italian donna. A whole range of male and female stereotypes are presented to us ranging from the servile and neglected wife to the femme fatale, and from the domineering macho male blinded by desire to the jealous and bamboozled suitor, the romantic lover and the castrated eunuch.
There are no heroes in L’italiana in Algeri. There is a heroine: Isabella, who clearly bears the hallmarks of the modern feminist ideology of Romanticism: she is a strong and independent woman who – as she states in her famous entrance aria, “Cruda sorte” – is completely aware of her allure and easily finds a solution to get out of any difficult situation. It is not a strong man who saves her: she herself sets off to liberate her captured love; and finally, in addition to freeing both herself and her beloved, she takes all the Italian slaves home from captivity in Algiers. (By modern standards, her patriotic aria, “Pensa alla Patria”, might sound strange in an opera, but it must not be forgotten that Italy was not unified until 1861.) Declaring war on barbarian morality, Isabella naturally teaches the bey a lesson. Bestowing an invented Italian “title” on Mustafà: she declares him to be a pappataci (a combination of two Italian words: pappa – “gobble” and taci – “be quiet”). whose only “responsibilities” are eating, drinking and sleeping. She immediately turns the domineering, macho sovereign into a “castrated”, impotent and henpecked husband who realises only at the end of the play that he has been fooled, and the humiliated bey begs for his “boring” and humble wife’s pardon. The Italian woman triumphs over everything, and the old order is restored in the “Orient”.
Judit Kenesey