When opera is working at full throttle, it enters a state of delirium where narrative logic is liable to go up in flames. Too often, though, the passion suffocates under a cloak of misplaced decorum, as if opera is too delicate to be treated rough.
If ever an opera demanded that decorum be cast aside, it’s Verdi’s Il Trovatore (The troubadour, 1853). Set in 15th-century Spain, it has an impenetrable back story. Two deadly rivals for a woman’s love turn out to be long-lost brothers who hate each other’s guts, which they urgently want to spill; a somewhat unhinged gypsy is guilty of a particularly brutal infanticide that happened long ago, and before the opera ends, there will be several more dead bodies scattered across the stage. Add Verdi’s extravagant melodic gift and you have an opera that starts at fever pitch and drives upwards from there.
