Passion killer

The late arch-Rossinian Philip Gossett regarded Semiramide as a neoclassical work, vaguely and alarmingly suggesting to me a musical equivalent of Canova, a sculptor I detest. Actually, I don’t think the terminology is helpful. Nor is Semiramide monumental in the way that the programme book suggests. There is a notable lack of ensembles and of anything except accompanied recitative and arias. The duets are as rare as in Handel, and come as just as great a relief. The culminating duets in Act Two are as balm to the soul. They even remind one that there is such a thing.

Most popular

Julie Burchill

Will I ever pee again?

Semiramide is called ‘a tragic melodrama’, and derives from a play by Voltaire, but the librettist was also influenced by Metastasio, so with two such baneful sources it isn’t surprising that as a drama it doesn’t seriously begin to exist. There is no possibility of giving a damn about any of the characters, even when they are portrayed with such liveliness as in this musically superb account. Warwick Thompson, in the most helpful essay, writes: ‘The opera falls between two stools: on the one hand it has its roots in an Italian celebratory piece with a happy ending, and on the other, a French tragedy with somewhat sketchy motivation.’ To put it more brutally: if you aren’t a canary fancier, stay away.

David Alden has the task of persuading us that we are witnessing a drama, but since I can’t imagine Semiramide yielding up any significance of that kind, he has to construct — in the way that contemporary directors are only too happy to do — a work of his own imagination, and somehow fit in the singers and their songs. If he doesn’t succeed, he does at least provide, with the collaboration of the set designer Paul Steinberg and the costume designer Buki Shiff, something that is often agreeable to look at, though working out how it relates to the characters is not rewarding.