The ending of Puccini\u2019s \u201cTurandot\u201d is one of opera\u2019s great tragedies. The composer, at the peak of his power, had composed his most musically daring work to date with some of his most phenomenal strokes of dramatic genius alongside some of his most riveting and enduring melodies.<\/p>\n
And yet, when he was ever so close to completing it, he hit a creative slump and eventually succumbed to an illness that prevented him from overcoming it.<\/p>\n
A New Perspective Through A Revised Ending<\/strong><\/p>\n We know how the story goes from there. Franco Alfano, aided by Arturo Toscanini, devised an ending based on the sketches Puccini left behind. While effective, it ultimately failed to convince of the psychological transformation that the main heroine undergoes at the work\u2019s climax.<\/p>\n Years later, there have been other attempts to create a more effective ending, none more successful than Luciano Berio\u2019s, which is presented in Decca\u2019s new release of the opera from the Teatro Alla Scala.<\/p>\n In this writer\u2019s opinion, Berio\u2019s ending is far more intriguing than Alfano\u2019s offering more psychological depth and better pacing to the final confrontation. The kiss, which bombastic and sudden in Alfano, gets a slower buildup, a subtle nudge to Wagner and Puccini\u2019s own desire that this be his \u201cTristan\u201d moment. After the kiss, an orchestral interlude allows for Turandot\u2019s psychology to come to the fore. As staged by Nikolaus Lehnhoff, Turandot, here played by Nina Stemme, moves about the stage picking up the fragments of her costume that had just been ripped off, reflecting on who she was and whether she remains that same rigid and closed-off human being.<\/p>\n The ending lacks the bombast of the final Alfano chorus with its victorious reprise of the \u201cNessun Dorma\u201d theme. While a show-stopper for audiences, it also seems rather lacking in creativity and risk, a hallmark of Puccini\u2019s work on the opera as a whole. Berio excises the chorus and ends the opera on a series of quiet, sustained notes that generate emotional ambiguity. While a fairy tale, it is impossible to overlook the fact that both characters are rather unhealthy from a psychological standpoint. The hero, Calaf, has a suicidal obsession with Turandot, while she is frigid, guarded and violent. A happy ending just doesn\u2019t seem and shouldn\u2019t be all that easy.<\/p>\n The Scala production is rather bare in its set, with a box-like structure featuring two levels and a massive circular window dominating the center of the stage. Color is employed throughout to create mood, the palette jumping from blue to red and to black to create a mix of violence and serenity. The costuming hints at Ancient China, but the bareness of the stage leaves the mind open for re-interpretation and imagination.<\/p>\n Where the True Dramatic Substance Comes From\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n The performances all translate poignantly on camera, particularly the two leading ladies. Stemme\u2019s Turandot is an imposing figure, her rigid stance, unflinching gaze and robotic walk making her stand out in major contrast to everyone on stage. She is unattainable, but that sense comes from how she distances herself from others in her behavior and aura. The costume she wears, a massive black cloak, a dark veil and a heavy and awkward headpiece add to the sense of her uniqueness. Just looking at her is uncomfortable, especially with the red noose she carries around. Her rendition of \u201cIn Questa Reggia\u201d drives home the characterization with rather precise and even harsh singing, every consonant accented brutally and every ascension into the soprano stratosphere vicious and even violent. It is thrilling to view and delineates a very clear perspective on this most brutal of characters. The veil shields us from her eyes in close-ups, shielding her humanity and making her feel all the more unempathetic. But during Li\u00f9\u2019s famous third act scene, the restrained and precise movements gives way to wilder ones, the violence growing, but the unsteadiness building as well. And in the final duet, she comes completely undone as Aleksandrs Antonenko\u2019s Calaf strips her down garment by garment until all she wears is a silky black dress that exposes a more vulnerable self. Her face is alight with confusion, hints of smiles being immediately eradicated by anguish. As she moves around during the aforementioned interlude to reflect on her current stage, the agitation builds. During these moments, Stemme\u2019s plush legato takes over, the singing freed from the sharp edge it had wielded in earlier scenes. But for a moment, as she remarks on finally knowing Calaf\u2019s true name, that hard sound comes back, a hint that the transformation is not necessarily complete.<\/p>\n