Tosca

TIFF [2001]

(France, 2001, 120 minutes)
Written and directed by Benoit Jacquot
From the opera by Giacomo Puccini
Cast: Angela Gheorghiu, Roberto Alagna, Ruggero Raimondi

Movie Review

Back at the turn of the century, Italian opera had its two giants: Giuseppe Verdi and Giacomo Puccini. Verdi was considered the "artist": his work was infused with politics and passion, inspiring revolutionary changes in Italian society. Puccini was the "populist": an entertainer first and foremost, presenting light comedies and tragic melodramas that were guaranteed crowd-pleasers. Puccini was always annoyed at not getting the critical respect that Verdi received, so eventually he got political and created "Tosca." I never thought he quite succeeded, but I've always loved Tosca for its gorgeous music and vocals. And if this particular performance of "Tosca" were merely a recording on a CD, I'd buy it in an instant. As a film, I can take it or leave it.

This particular filming is brought to the big screen by producer Daniel Toscan du Plantier (whew, what a name!), who also produced my favourite film of an opera, Francesco Rosi's 1984 film of "Carmen". But what I loved in "Carmen," such as its naturalistic setting and modulated performances, are missing from "Tosca," leading to a few winces and even some head-scratching on my part.

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The story is pretty simple. Painter Cavaradossi (Roberto Alagna) is lover to Tosca (his real-life partner Angela Gheorghiu) but he's hiding a revolutionary who has just escaped from prison. Rather than confide in his love, he hides this from Tosca, leading her to believe he's seeing another woman. The villain Scarpia (played by veteran baritone Ruggero Raimondi) uses her jealousy to catch Cavaradossi and then uses her love for him to force her to betray him. This is a tragedy so, of course, it ends badly for everyone, but not before a couple of really beautiful arias ("Vissi dell'arte" for her, "E lucevan le stelle" for him), lots of passionate bombast, murder, double-crossing and suicide. In other words, everything that opera lovers love and opera haters hate.

Director Benoit Jacquot immediately establishes an air of non-reality by starting with black-and-white footage of the recording studio - so much of it that I wondered where the traditional-looking still in the festival programme came from. But eventually he brings forward the action on the sets, which, since there are no walls to be found anywhere, are presumably meant to evoke the stage. The lack of walls allows characters to emerge from and disappear into darkness, which is quite haunting. But Jacquot often suddenly cuts back to the recording studio, which I found jarring, especially in the second act, where we linger on the sets for a longer period of time. The head-scratching bit came during the overture to the third act, where we're shown previous scenes, but played backwards and in slow motion. I'm not sure what kind of response Jacquot was looking for with this, but I'm certain it wasn't the laughter I heard in the audience.

And speaking of laughter, I suppose it's easy for me, as an opera lover, to dismiss much of the giggles I heard throughout the film to ignorance, but part of me also sees how the film could have provoked that laughter. The performers are clearly giving stage performances: lots of exaggerated facial expressions, arm waving, running around. From the back row at La Scala, it'd be great; in the more intimate medium of film, it looks hammy, even silly. I found myself wincing once or twice. So when it came to my favourite aria - the tenor's solo mentioned above - I simply closed my eyes and listened as Alagna's effortless singing did its job and melted me into a little puddle on the floor. That was more than enough for me.

- Lidia Ferrari

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