Full-on Falstaff

By TARA WERNER

Debauched seducer, shameless braggart, great lover of wine - that's Falstaff.

Shakespeare's comic buffoon clearly fascinated Verdi. When creating the opera the 77-year-old composer would often burst into laughter. He wrote to his librettist, Arrigo Boito, "Big Belly is about to go mad. Some days he does not move; he sleeps and is in bad humour. But, at other times, he shouts, runs, jumps and tears the place apart. I let him act up but, if he goes on like this, I will put a muzzle and straitjacket on him."

Boito, a collaborator who became like a son to Verdi, responded, "Great. Let him do it. Let him run. He will smash all the glass and furniture in your room. It doesn't matter; you will buy more. He will smash your piano. It doesn't matter; you will buy a new one. Let him wreck everything, just so long as the great scene gets finished. Hurrah. Give it to him. What pandemonium. But it is a pandemonium that is as bright as the sun and as crazy as a madhouse."

By writing operatic comedy at such a venerated old age, was Verdi just as crazy as his fat and outlandish idol? Only two years earlier, on February 5, 1887, after the world premiere of Otello had come to an end, he mentioned to his loyal supporters, "I am old ... It is all over. Leave me in peace: it is the last time."

But Boito knew better. Yes, Verdi could well have stopped with that sombre drama. He was tired, and doubtful of his creative powers. And he was at the pinnacle of his fame, respected, even venerated. Grand yet enigmatic, he cut a lonely figure in a cultural landscape riddled with selfishness.

Something with a bit of humour, that would lighten Verdi's final days and make him laugh, would surely appeal to the composer.

Boito, who fully understood Verdi's love of Shakespeare, had secretly compiled a libretto: Falstaff - the man with a paunch. On February 9, 1889, he wrote a crafty letter, "There is only one better way to bring one's oeuvre to an end than with Otello, and that is to do so victoriously with Falstaff."

Verdi thought carefully about the proposal. He had suffered a painful defeat years earlier in 1840, near the start of his career, with his lively comic opera Un giorno di regno and had since avoided this dangerous arena with a long list of magnificent tragedies.

Yet the Bard's rascal, who does all sorts of villainous things but always in a diverting way, suddenly came alive in Verdi's mind. Throwing all caution to the wind, Verdi replied, "Dear Boito, Amen. So be it. Let's do Falstaff."

Not long afterwards, Verdi began composing and discovered that he had excellent material to work with.

Boito's libretto is one of the most significant adaptations of Shakespeare.

Condensing The Merry Wives of Windsor and incorporating aspects of Henry IV, Parts I and II, the opera captures the delicacy and wit of Shakespearean comedy as well as the huge personality of Shakespeare's overweight anti-hero.

Combined with Verdi's music, the fast-moving plot is one of the most integrated in the operatic repertoire.

Working in secret for two years, the pair premiered Falstaff in 1893, to immediate acclaim, when Verdi was 80.

The opera follows the antics of Sir John Falstaff, a portly old cad who, being short of drinking funds, decides to write the same love letter to two wealthy married women. Discovering his trickery, the women decide to teach Falstaff a lesson.

They lure him into humiliating situations, even dumping him into the River Thames.

At the end, Falstaff concedes his defeat but says, "Were it not for the salt I give your lives when you laugh at me, your life would be really boring."

Conal Coad, who sings the lead in the National Business Review New Zealand Opera's production at the Aotea Centre, views the role with affection.

"The glory of Falstaff is that although he is justifiably humiliated at the end, he comes out of it with great dignity.

"Everyone enjoys people getting their comeuppance, but since Falstaff is essentially a deeply human, even sad figure, he is easily forgiven," he says.

The opera leaves an important lesson in learning to laugh at oneself, Coad says.

"Falstaff is an overblown knight who decides he wants to increase his finances, and feels he's irresistible to women. But they get their own back totally. Quite a feminist opera," he jokes.

In the Auckland production the classic Shakespearean characters include the "merry wives", Alice Ford, Meg Page and their friend Mistress Quickly (sung by Patricia Wright, Carmel Caroll and Helen Medlyn), who all plot revenge after learning of Falstaff's trick. Alice's angry husband, Ford (Roderick Earle), and the simpering Dr Caius (Richard Greager) also try to get even with the fat knight.

Nannetta and Fenton (Deborah Wai Kapohe and Paul Chappory) are hopelessly in love despite her father's wishes; Bardolph and Pistol (Brendon Mercer and Richard Green) are Falstaff's comic cronies; and the citizens of the Garter Inn, where Falstaff holds court, provide a changing backdrop to the action.

Yet Falstaff is a difficult opera to communicate. In some ways it is a sure-fire success since the singers are forced into an exuberant sense of camaraderie because of the complicated vocal ensembles, including a fully blown fugue in the final scene.

And Verdi creates a remarkable partnership between vocalists and orchestra.

Often the orchestra assumes a dramatic role equal to the singers.

On the other hand, the opera is not easily sold to opera-goers used to Verdi's various tune-filled hits such as Rigoletto, La Traviata or Il Trovatore.

Nonetheless Falstaff has all the melodies associated with the composer, but they are far shorter than in his other operas. Boito's witty verse encouraged Verdi to create music of amazing velocity. In every performance of Falstaff the audience is swept along without a moment to catch breath.

Not bad, for a tired old octogenarian.

* The National Business Review New Zealand Opera's production of Falstaff opens this weekend at the Aotea Centre.