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Florian Conquers in ‘Traviata’

by Evan Pengra Sult

There are not enough superlatives in all the world to describe Aurelia Florian’s performance on Sunday, October 1, at the War Memorial Opera House. The Romanian soprano, making her San Francisco debut in Giuseppe Verdi’s La Traviata, displayed such overwhelming artistic brilliance that it’s difficult to know where to begin. Perhaps with her effortless, effervescent coloratura? Or the way she caressed the softest of high notes with such heart-rending beauty? There was something of Maria Callas in the way she coaxed the emotional truth out of each phrase, making this familiar music sound fresh and appealing.

And familiar it is, for La Traviata is today the most-commonly performed opera in the world. The story is simple: boy loves girl, girl loves boy, boy’s father intervenes, girl dies in boy’s arms. The specific machinations get a little improbable but the music transcends it all: the ebullience of the party scenes, the poignancy of the love duets, the haunting final moments. On Sunday, the San Francisco Opera Orchestra, under the baton of Nicola Luisotti, offered a supple if somewhat sedate rendition of the score. With lesser singers, the slow tempi might have emphasized their weaknesses but with the stars in this production they instead offered an opportunity to showcase their remarkable vocal prowess.

In addition to the estimable Ms. Florian in the title role of Violetta, audiences also heard the San Francisco debuts of two rising talents: Atalla Ayan as the love interest, Alfredo, and Artur Ruciński as his unpleasant father, Giorgio. Mr. Ruciński possesses a sinister, penetrating baritone that perfectly conveyed the venal piety of his character, while Mr. Ayan’s creamy tenor was particularly effective at conveying Alfredo’s naïveté. In simple, powerful renditions of “Un di, felice” and “De' miei bollenti spiriti,” he soared over the orchestra with ease and in the various love duets, he blended beautifully with Ms. Florian, their remarkable chemistry adding sizzle and spark to the proceedings.

The tragic arc of the opera’s storyline was cleverly mirrored by the visual aspects of John Copley’s opulent production: Gary Marder’s lighting became progressively wintrier with each act, illuminating less and less of the fabulous Belle Époque sets by John Conklin. The costumes, too, told a story: David Walker’s gowns for Violetta moved from white and pale blue in the first scenes (ironically virginal, perhaps, but also indicative of the lighter tone of the story) to black and finally to a grey, shroud-like nightgown as the tale took its turn for the worse.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more convincing opera death than that of Ms. Florian – her gaunt features (helped by Jeanna Parham’s brilliant makeup) convulsed in pain with each wracking cough until her final collapse. To the end, though, her voice reigned supreme – no doubt the angels were overjoyed to lift this “fallen woman” into the ranks of their choir.