The Elixir of Love

Synopsis

Donizetti's Elixir of Love" (L'elisir d'amore) is a comic opera in two acts that tells the story of a young man named Nemorino, who is hopelessly in love with a wealthy and beautiful woman named Adina. Nemorino is convinced that he needs a love potion to win Adina's heart, and he buys a bottle of elixir from a travelling salesman, who claims that it will make any woman fall in love with the person who drinks it. However, the "elixir" is actually just a bottle of cheap wine.

As Nemorino drinks the wine, he becomes increasingly drunk and behaves strangely, causing Adina to become even more distant from him. Meanwhile, a wealthy and handsome soldier named Belcore arrives in town and begins to court Adina, who is initially uninterested but is eventually won over by his charm and confidence.

Despite all of this, Nemorino continues to believe that the elixir will work, and he becomes more desperate as he realizes that Adina is about to marry Belcore. In the end, Adina confesses her love for Nemorino, and they are reunited in a joyful and comic finale. The opera is known for its beautiful arias, lively ensembles, and charming humor.

Chorus

Understudies

Musical Director Notes:

It’s a mystery, really. The way in which some composers can take basic note patterns and chord sequences and turn them into memorable melodic ideas - tunes - that leap out in performance and lodge themselves in the listener’s mind. The year 1797 turned out to be a vintage year in this respect, with the birth of Schubert and Donizetti, both of whom were prolific tunesmiths. Whilst Schubert’s melodies were often concentrated into lieder, Donizetti - as any self-respecting C19 Italian composer would - poured his ideas into opera.

L’Elisir d’Amore was composed in 1832, by which time Donizetti had already written over forty dramatic works. The most famous number in the opera is, of course, Una furtive lagrima (Who can deceive), Nemorino’s plaintive moment of realisation towards the end of Act II. With its elegant and expressive lines it has rightly become a staple of tenor recitals, but it has, perhaps, overshadowed the wealth of melodic invention which flows through the opera.

Take the opening chorus, for example. A lilting 6/8 dance tune which immediately characterises the villagers as open-hearted, simple souls, ready to listen to a tale of Tristan and Isolde and to hang on Dulcamara’s every word. The good Doctor himself uses fast patter song to sell his dubious potions, but his vocal line can burgeon into grandiose phrases as he extols his ‘love of country’. Dulcamara also has a nice line in simple, catchy melody, heard in the barcarole which he sings with Adina early on in Act II and which returns at the end of the opera to bring the piece to a good-natured close.

Belcore introduces himself with a poised aria which grows ever more elaborate in his self- satisfaction. The florid ornamentation typical of Italian opera at this time is never used by Donizetti merely to flatter his singers. It is always an integral part of the dramatic picture, as in the scene in Act 1 between Adina and Nemorino, in which the elaborate vocal lines express both her sense of freedom and his devotion in terms of flowing natural forces. Likewise, Adina’s spectacular vocal lines towards the end of Act II are thrilling to hear, but they also give substance to her overflowing heart at this point in the story.

Dulcamara tricks Nemorino into believing that Adina will fall for him with a cheap bottle of wine, but the true elixir is Donizetti’s music, an uncorked fountain of melody which transforms a simple story into enchantment.

Director Notes:

The first time I read the libretto for The Elixir of Love, I was struck by two things.  The first was just how much fun it was; the first time I watched a version of it on stage I laughed out loud, the language barrier notwithstanding.  The second was how very modern the characters were; Adina, with her unapologetic refusal to cede to any man; Belcore, an arrogant 'alpha male' of the most ridiculous sort; Dulcamara, the charismatic showman who can sell anything to anyone (and who is not overburdened with scruples about doing so).  And anchoring the whole opera, poor, simple Nemorino - credulous and guileless, the 'nice guy' who wants the girl but doesn't feel entitled to her affection.  Meanwhile around them life goes on in a small Italian village much as it has done for centuries.

This timeless element, curiously enough, steered me towards arguably the most controversial artistic decision of the whole show - to set this mid-19th century opera in the mid-1940s.  I will be honest, the first historical aspect that guided me to this period didn't make it into the final staging - putting the 1944 eruption of Vesuvius on the Joseph Rowntree stage proved to be at best distracting from the opera in hand, and at worst prohibitively expensive.  However, the characters once again stepped forward to position themselves squarely in that highly turbulent decade in Italian history.  Villages being conquered, and then reconstructed, by occupying Allied troops; in many cases the villagers delighted to be rescued from the retreating Nazi forces - and particularly when the rescue was by well-dressed, charming American GIs with Italian families.  In this context, the swaggering Belcore becomes a Hollywood wannabe; a man who read about Clark Gable's heroics in the Air Force and sees a chance at fame and glory, and the attendant wine, women and song.

Dulcamara likewise responded well to this reinterpretation.  The quack doctor becomes a shady spiv and black marketeer, using his undoubted charm and salesmanship to earn a fast buck from his dubious wares, before disappearing into the night just one step ahead of dissatisfied customers and the authorities.  To support him, we provided him with two glamorous assistants; we felt that our 1940s doctor would definitely use that hint of glamour to make a few extra lire.

But central to it all was the idea that while life outside the village might be full of chaos, and soldiers, and the bigger issues, inside the village life goes on much as it has for 400 years.  True, there's a civilian mayor rather than a baron, and the bar has a poster advertising Martini, and there's talk that one of the rooms in the hotel might be getting hot water on tap, but the quiet, slow pace of life warmed by the midday sun will not be hurried.  I found these villagers incredibly likeable - easily wooed by glamour and excitement, but fundamentally hopeless romantics who are delighted for things to all work out in the end. 

To conclude, a few words of thanks.  Without the myriad talents and hard work of everyone whose names feature in this programme, there would be no show - indeed, there would be no company.  Particular thanks, though, to Maggie for working tirelessly, from a base of having basically nothing in hand, to create a complete suite of 1940s costumes for the cast.  John Soper's set design excited me from the first moment he showed it me (having first talked me down from my more unrealistic ideas with far more patience than I deserved), and the Sugar Hill Mob turned it into a reality.  Pat has ensured that the right props found the right people at the right time.  Paul, our esteemed former chair, has been kindness itself as I have navigated the challenges of directing with a new company for the first time.  James and Tim have accompanied rehearsals with verve and aplomb from the first note bash to the final dress, and it is no exaggeration to say that we could not have done this show without them.  The whole cast have dealt with my vagaries with good humour and minimal outbursts.

And finally, huge thanks to Liz and to Steve.  It's been a pleasure to direct with you both.  Let's do it again some time. Enjoy the show!

Orchestra