Pietro Mascagni
Guglielmo Ratcliff

I will not bore you by talking about the why and how I came to approach, then get passionate about, and finally fall madly in love with opera; suffice it to say that I've been venturing into these paths for some time now, focusing mainly on a repertoire that chronologically starts from Verdi and reaches Britten. The journey is still far from complete, but summing up what I've listened to so far, I can say that among many great masterpieces (and some minor disappointments), I've come across three operas that have taken a very special place in my heart, reaching the highest level of my personal satisfaction scale: these are Verdi's Macbeth, Richard Strauss's Salome, and, indeed, Pietro Mascagni's Guglielmo Ratcliff.

The first two are an integral part of the standard operatic repertoire, Ratcliff is not, and given the breathtaking beauty of this work, one naturally wonders why. I've read many reasons why, but honestly, I'm not very interested in dwelling on this discussion, given that fortunately, the Wexford Festival Opera exists. Instead, let's spend a few words on Mascagni, an adventurous and eclectic composer, endowed with sublime melodic intuition, certainly less skilled than Puccini in interpreting the public’s taste and the trends of the moment; Mascagni adored this opera of his, considering it (rightfully) his personal masterpiece. A masterpiece with a long and troubled genesis, whose composition largely predates his revolutionary and very successful debut, Cavalleria Rusticana.

Wexford is a picturesque coastal town in Ireland, and since 1951, an autumn festival has been held there where operas that don't find space in the "mainstream" circuit of major theaters are performed, both by relatively "obscure" authors and lesser-known works by big names. The highlight of the 2015 edition, exactly one hundred and twenty years after the premiere at La Scala, is a "birthday" celebrated in grand style with the release of this double CD in an elegant digipack box set accompanied by information on Mascagni in general and Ratcliff in particular, the opera's plot, the profiles of the performers, and, of course, the complete libretto. Guglielmo Ratcliff is a work fully definable as romantic, a story of violent passions and spectral suggestions, set against the rugged, fascinating backdrop of the Scottish Highlands. The plot unfolds on two levels, the "present" and the backstory, the latter represented by long, captivating narrations that constitute the most characteristic trait of this opera, giving it a singular beauty.

The sincere passion and feverish enthusiasm of the composer can be perceived in every single moment, and with the heart-wrenching majesty of the intermezzo commonly known as "Dream," a melody from which "Somewhere Over The Rainbow" would later emerge, Mascagni gives another masterful demonstration of his renowned orchestral creativity, which also abundantly shines through in a magnificent overture, also very "cinematic," and in the light, playful dance that deceptively opens the tragic final act; the epic finale of the duel scene in the third act, of great scenic impact, is the most evident testimony of the creeping Wagnerian influence that characterizes much of the late 19th-century Italian opera, including Verdi’s. The scenes of the second act featuring the innkeeper Tom and his unsavory patrons remind us that we are still dealing with the inventor of verismo, giving the story a more concrete, more "earthly" dimension anchored to its setting.

The character of Margherita is quite fascinating, serving as a contact point between the two narrative tracks, a role for a dramatic mezzo-soprano but with ethereal colors, closer to Dalila than to Azucena or Ulrica, that reaches its peak in the ballad of the fourth act, a wonderful narration that calls upon the famous tradition of British murder ballads; as for Maria, the female protagonist (although somewhat overshadowed), she carves out her remarkable space with "D'indole dolce e mansueta," a melancholic romance requiring a beautiful lyrical soprano timbre.

Guglielmo Ratcliff, however, towers over all the other characters; it’s a role whose difficulty is almost legendary, and in the second act, it reveals itself in ten minutes of spine-chilling narrative/monologue, the highest moment of the entire opera and, at least in my opinion, one of the greatest peaks in all of music: "Quando fanciullo ancora,” which stands to Ratcliff as "In questa reggia" does to Turandot. That is to say, here the antihero explains himself, bares himself, painting a self-portrait and a motive for his actions, and such a complex and multifaceted character can’t help but inspire a masterpiece. Obsession, a sense of honor, feverish erotic charge, temperamental instability, a distant yet vivid memory of a paradisiacal idyll; all of this is packed into ten minutes where mournful pianissimos and orchestral outbursts alternate with vivid, heartrending high notes, the voice of frustrated desire and lost happiness. Even in my substantial technical ignorance, it's impossible for me not to perceive the extreme difficulty of a piece like this, a difficulty that is not just technical, linked to the continuity of singing in a high, strained register and high notes, it's equally an interpretative challenge, requiring a tenor who is truly dramatic in every possible sense of the term. A role for the few, very few, certainly not within the reach of "popera" singers and show business tenors.

A role that, in this production, the very talented Angelo Villari interpreted impeccably, as did mezzo-soprano Annunziata Vestri, who portrayed Margherita with great evocativeness and sense of proportion, and bass Gianluca Buratto in the role of MacGregor, especially in the elegant narration of the first act. And that's all, I would say.