By Robert Croan
In her first two seasons as general director of Florida Grand Opera, Maria Todaro has been particularly successful in enhancing the visual quality of her productions.
Noteworthy were her opening Magic Flute in October 2024, a high-tech re-thinking by Jeffrey Marc Buchman of a standard classic; an updated Carmen staged by Todaro, once a successful protagonist of the title role herself; and a cogent staging of Kevin Puts’s modern-day masterpiece, Silent Night.
To close the present season with Giacomo Puccini’s final opus, Turandot [seen at Broward Center on March 26], Todaro relied on the well-worn scenic and costume designs of Allen Charles Klein (1938-2023), a stock production that has been making the rounds of regional opera companies for nearly half a century. As refreshed by lighting designer Robert M. Wierzel and projection designer Erin Teachman, superbly choreographed by Rosa Mercedes and — most important — directed by the returning, limitlessly creative Buchman, the ancient Klein sets took on new life and looked quite gorgeous on Broward’s Au-Rene Theater stage.
Puccini died in 1924, leaving Turandot unfinished. The final scene was completed by composer Franco Alfano for the posthumous premiere at Milan’s La Scala Opera two years later. Based on Asian folklore and a play by Carlo Gozzi, adapted by Friedrich Schiller, the plot centers on a Chinese princess who wants to avenge the abuse of one of her ancestors by forcing any man hoping to marry her to solve three riddles — on pain of death if he should fail. The unknown prince Calaf solves the riddles, and wins her over by his love.
Turandot remains a flawed masterpiece. Parts of the score contain Puccini’s most advanced forays into modernism, but the first halves of Acts 1 and 2 are overlong, with extraneous material that, one may conjecture, the composer would have trimmed, had he lived. Alfano’s finale is workmanlike but uninspired. And the opera demands singers of near superhuman power in the two leading roles.
It was largely a novelty among Puccini’s works until the Metropolitan Opera revived it in 1961 with the powerhouse cast of Birgit Nilsson and Franco Corelli. Even so, it took superstar tenor Luciano Pavarotti, singing “Nessun dorma” at the 1990 World Cup, to confirm its global popularity and turn that aria into one of opera’s greatest hits.
Buchman maintained interest with inventive tableaux and shrewd touches of character interactions. He even made the executioner of the unfortunate Prince of Persia a woman. Conductor Jonathan Brandani kept a good balance between the orchestra and singers, achieving precision of ensemble and bringing out Puccini’s colorful instrumental palette.
Jennifer Rowley made a successful first foray in the formidable title part, her sizable sound projecting in all but the lowest notes, scaling the high dramatic passages without signs of strain. She phrased with nuance, making the ice princess more human and likable than most. In her entrance blockbuster, “In questa reggia,” she told the story of her ancestor credibly, building to the climactic phrase in which she is joined by Calaf on a ringing high C. In the final scene, she was commendably expressive in her often omitted solo, “Del primo pianto,” a hard piece to carry off.
Dominick Valdés Chenes was less successful as Calaf, his pleasant tenor sound pushed to its limits by the high tessitura. He tended to clip the ends of high lines when the going got rough, and seemed vocally tired by the time he got to “Nessun dorma” in Act 3 — a perfunctory rendition in which he barely touched the awaited high B before going to the next note that ends the final phrase.
It should be noted that Aleksandra Kurzak and Roberto Alagna performed the leading roles earlier, in two of the three Miami performances.
As the slave girl Liù, the opera’s most likable character, Yulan Piao was disappointing in a different way. Her sound was slim but penetrating, and she had no trouble sustaining high lines or cutting through the orchestra. Her delivery was all a single vocal color, however. She seemed to be singing individual notes rather than shaping the lines. Her Act 1 aria, “Signore, ascolta,” went by with little emotional effect (and was answered with an equally dispassionate “Non piangere, Liù” from the tenor). Piao acted well, physically, especially in Act 3, where she made more of her torture and death scene.
Adam Lau enacted Timur — Calaf’s blind father, an exiled king — with conviction and solid bass timbre, imparting cogency to every word and phrase. His final utterances, following Liù’s death, were among the most affecting moments of the evening.
The trio of ministers, Ping, Pang and Pong (Raymond Diaz, James Mancuso and Levi Adkins), was unusually compelling in their lengthy segment at the start of Act 2, a scene that can be dull and tedious. Credit Buchman’s lively staging along with their bright vocalism and esprit. Special praise goes to tenor Ray Gonzales, who sang the meager but all-important lines of the 90-year-old Emperor Altoum with unexpected power and potency that filled the hall.