This opera about love, fidelity and loyalty, based on the 1760 play by Voltaire, is set in the early 11^th century. Two warring Sicilian families in the Greek-founded city of Syracuse are forced to make peace in the face of an onslaught by the Saracen Solamir and his Muslim invaders. Tancredi, whose noble family had been banned from Syracuse, nevertheless, returns for love of country and love of Amenaide, daughter of King Argirio.

With the use of panels, scrims and superb lighting, the opera came to life in unexpected ways. Designer Yannik Larivée, who has an impressive Canadian and international background, came aboard to adapt the setting for this a-typical Rossini, which the COC had originally planned to be performed to the background of sets rented from the Teatro di San Carlo in Naples. Larivée created the perfect solution for what is to some extend a very static baroque opera that became a bridge to the romantic period. It is, to say the least, a revolutionary work on behalf of the then 21-year-old Rossini, which led to a dramatic change in the way opera would be composed in future years. The COC's answer to its set problem, together with lighting designer Bonnie Beecher's brilliant illuminations, is no less revolutionary because it allowed the genius of Rossini's music to soar without impediment. I say this with considerable emphasis because I am, on the whole, not a lover of baroque music, and yet here I could not contain my enthusiasm for what turned out to be a visual and musical delight.

Having thus praised the set solution, let me get to what makes Tancredi so great: its music and its drama. When it was first performed in February 1813, the opera had a happy ending. Somehow, Rossini was not satisfied and I, for one, am happy he was not. For his next production of the opera he chose to defy neo-classical convention of presenting a lieto fine by following the advice of Luigi Lechi, lover of contralto Adelaide Malanotte (the first one to sing the role of Tancredi). It ensured the opera a more dramatic ending in which the hero, Tancredi, is mortally wounded in the victorious battle with the Saracens. The hero finds out just before dying in her arms that Amenaide had always loved him and had not betrayed him as he had believed.

What makes this opera so interesting and at the same time so frustrating is that in a most Pinteresque manner, the two lovers never manage to really communicate. Instead they talk above and below each others comprehension, making it impossible for them to connect their thoughts. This, of course, leads to disaster, but also makes for considerable tension, and allows Rossini to create some fine music. There is a certain psychological insight here into how often we fail to say out loud what is on our minds, for one reason or another.

The director of this COC production is Serge Bennathan, who when not directing opera, choreographs dance. This intimate knowledge of movement allowed him to effectively use abstract movements to portray battle scenes in front and behind a well-lit scrim. It also allowed him to set what are generally fairly static scenes in such a way that they offered the eye pleasing arrangements of warriors of the opposing houses of Argirio and Orbazzano, who must now stand together against a common enemy.

One of the highlights of this dance-like imagery is the scene in which Amenaide (sung quite beautifully by soprano Nicoleta Ardelean) has been thrown into prison for supposedly having betrayed her countrymen to the Saracens. The accusation is based on a letter she wrote to Tancredi that had been intercepted by Orbazzano, the man she was supposed to marry to seal the pact between the two families. She lies in the middle of a brightly lit rectangle, rolling back and forth as if in chains though none are visible. As achingly beautiful music rises from the orchestra pit under the baton of Will Crutchfield, we get the point far more strongly than had she been bound.

The vocal highlight of this opera is, without question, contralto Ewa Podles, who has made the role of the hero her own. Her entrance song, "Di tanti palpiti" (With what beating of my heart) riveted the audience at once. No one at present surpasses her powerful voice and commanding presentation in this part. She can speedily switch pitch from high to low notes without any apparent strain, never compromising tone and emotion. Here I must interject that Rossini chose to write the part for a mezzo (contralto), and that during his lifetime Tancredi was also often sung by well-known castrati before the practice of castrating boys was finally abandoned toward the late 19^th century. The Sistine Chapel was the last stronghold of this practice.

Bass Robert Pomakov sang the wicked Orbazzano. He knew how to bring out vocally and physically the menacing greed and desire for power of the man who had just won the estates once belonging to Tancredi's family. Tenor Michael Colvin sang Argirio. One can surely find no fault with his heart-wrenching rendition of the second act aria "Ah! segnar invano io tendo" in which he struggles with his emotions whether to be a loving father or a stern ruler, who must sign his daughter's death sentence. Contralto Marie-Nicole Lemieux's Isaura, Amenaide's friend, also sang with finely nuanced tones.

Maestro Crutchfield, in this, his debut with the COC, fully exploited Rossini's lyricism and rhythmic vitality of the score with full co-operation of the orchestra. The secco recitatives between the more dramatic numbers were well integrated into the whole and never appeared "dry" in their presentation.

Lastly, I must mention the costumes, originally designed by Nanà Cecchi for Teatro di San Carlo. They were well chosen in their combination of the medieval with the Greek heritage of Syracuse, and stood out particularly well on the minimal setting created by Larivée and Beecher.

Photo Credit: Michael Cooper