Ethereal sounds and comedic chaos

Suor Angelica is set in a Catholic convent—a protected space centered around a female community. How do you approach this setting today, in a time when few (young) people identify with strictly religious ways of life?

Florentine Klepper: I would agree with you that today, for young people, the idea of consecrating one's life to God and living in constant prayer feels alien and undesirable, especially in our Western world where the Church has significantly lost its status as a moral authority. On the other hand, our modern society struggles increasingly with isolation and a lack of direction; the desire for community and life guidance is growing steadily across all age groups.

Regarding Suor Angelica, we were primarily interested in the backstory and the reason why Angelica is in the convent. According to the libretto, it wasn't a voluntary decision; she became the mother of an illegitimate child and—to save the family's honor—was forced to retreat to the convent without contact with her child. Thus, the convent was not a "protected space," but rather a kind of prison and a way to banish women from society, thereby erasing female identities.

We asked ourselves how we deal with themes like grief, guilt, and forgiveness today. In a modern world, almost every conceivable lifestyle seems socially accepted—even outside of marriage. However, this freedom also means more personal responsibility. In our interpretation, we therefore change the premise of the story: Angelica seeks solace in religion voluntarily to process a loss. She clings to rituals and the prospect of salvation, provided she practices her faith "well enough." From the perspective of a modern meritocratic society, Giovacchino Forzano’s libretto suddenly becomes modern again, and the line "Son qui per servire" ("I am here to serve") becomes the internalized mantra of a psychologically fragile woman who has lost her footing in life.

Interviewer: You chose an ending that leaves a lot of room for interpretation. How did you and the students approach this process during rehearsals?

Florentine Klepper: According to the libretto, Angelica commits suicide and, at the moment of the act, experiences grace and forgiveness. We looked for a way to let her survive and therefore changed the setting in which the story takes place. Especially in the classical opera repertoire, it is important to repeatedly and critically question plot lines and role models and compare them with our contemporary world. What kind of fates are we manifesting, and who is supposed to identify with them? These questions are also part of our teaching.

Interviewer: As different as Suor Angelica and Gianni Schicchi are, they are linked by the theme of death. Did you try to relate the two operas to each other, or does each work stand on its own?

Florentine Klepper: In both pieces, the confrontation with death sets different actions in motion. However, the stories are told in very different ways, both in terms of content and music. Valentina Vorwahner’s set design allows us as a team and the audience to "establish a connection," but without weakening the uniqueness of the pieces or painting them with the same brush. Both operas are musically incredibly multi-layered. The influences range from Romanticism to Modernism; elements of church music meet high-comedy music with daring dissonances and complex rhythms.

Interviewer: What challenges does this present for the orchestra?

Kai Röhrig: The special appeal for the orchestra lies in the enormous stylistic breadth that Puccini demands in these two works. The musicians must switch by the minute between sacral simplicity, late-Romantic opulence, and almost modern, sharp tonal colors. In Suor Angelica, an enormous tonal sensitivity is required to create that floating, almost ethereal atmosphere of the cloistered world—here, Puccini works with very fine nuances of color and detailed instrumentation. As the piece progresses, one gradually feels the mood becoming darker and more relentless; the score traces the thriller on stage step by step. The music is always psychologically close to the characters until the atmosphere literally freezes. I know of no score where a composer uses performance markings like ritardando/rallentando, meno mosso, or sostenuto/sostenendo so excessively—sometimes measure by measure. Puccini is composing "standstill" here: Angelica’s world stops turning, and we, as listeners, almost forget to breathe along with her.

In an Italian way, Puccini was a passionate Wagnerian—or at least there was a kind of love-hate relationship. There is a quote regarding Tristan und Isolde: "Away with this music! We are dilettantes: woe to us if we let ourselves be carried away! This powerful music destroys us!" The Wagnerian concepts of leitmotifs and the "knowing orchestra" can definitely be applied to Puccini as well. Often, the orchestra knows more than the characters on stage; it functions like a camera that captures the mood of a room and zooms deep into the soul. The score anticipates the dramatic progression or tells a subtext that often reveals more than the libretto. The music is—in the best sense—composed cinematically.

In contrast stands the orchestral "high-speed sport" of Gianni Schicchi. Here, fierce dissonances and complex rhythms demand almost mathematical precision. The orchestra does not act as an accompanist but as the driving motor of a fast-paced comedy. The challenge is to maintain this technical brilliance without losing the typical Italian "schmelz" (lyrical sweetness). Puccini uses the orchestra almost like a punchline instrument, where every accent and every sudden change in tone color precisely supports the slapstick on stage. This score demands a mental and technical agility that makes the orchestra an equal partner in the comedic chaos. Although both works—corresponding to their contrasting subjects—unfold completely independent sound worlds, they are united by Puccini’s incomparable sense of theatrical truth.

Interviewer: Greed, injustice, and selfishness are the driving forces in Gianni Schicchi. It’s not about nuance, but about putting the deficiencies of others on display—that is exactly where the great comedy comes from. Why is it so much fun to make fun of others and, in this case, even be entertained at the expense of a deceased person?

Volker Wahl: "Schadenfreude is the greatest joy." Why do we feel pleasure at the misfortune of others? Whether it’s the famous banana peel sketch or the failure of Count Almaviva’s romantic advances in Le Nozze di Figaro. Schadenfreude is often linked to a sense of justice: it hits "the right person." In Gianni Schicchi, too, it hits "the right people": the money-grubbing relatives who are only concerned with their own advantage and who despise and exclude the strangers from the countryside (Gianni Schicchi and his daughter Lauretta).

However, Gianni Schicchi, the charming and cunning trickster, teaches the arrogant establishment figures a lesson. Schadenfreude becomes an instrument of social justice here. The relatives, who think they are something better, are exposed by Schicchi. They have to watch as their inheritance is given away without being able to intervene. The power of the state, in the person of the notary, prevents any interference. This helplessness of the unsympathetic characters is the purest form of dramatic schadenfreude. The entire opera stands in the tradition of Commedia dell’Arte: the apparent elite is undermined by the "peasant cunning" of a "clown." In this whole cruel game, it was nevertheless important to us to show a utopia: alongside intrigue, greed, avarice, and xenophobia, there is still pure, true love, embodied by Lauretta and Rinuccio.

Interviewer: There is so much to "act" in this opera; the performers can really let off steam histrionically. How do you strike a good balance between singing and acting so that neither is neglected or becomes overwhelming?

Volker Wahl: Gianni Schicchi is an ensemble piece. That is an important experience for our students. It only works together; one wrong entrance or a missed reaction throws the entire structure out of balance. This is a huge challenge. The singers must combine the extremely difficult score with theatrical agility. Creating precise comedic timing, the greatest possible clarity between moments of action and stillness, and an awareness of group dynamics is crucial here. The opera is a fast-paced farce, the gags follow every second, and the musical cues are complicated. To make matters more difficult, almost the entire ensemble is on stage at all times.

One of the most important tasks was to establish clarity. First, Christina Winkler (costume design) and I divided the ensemble into groups: the family, the officials (doctor, notary, witnesses), and the group from the outside (Schicchi and Lauretta). In Valentina Vorwahner’s stage design, it was also important to us to create clear, delineated spaces. Another part of the rehearsal process was to define exactly what the respective status is within the group structure: who is "high status" and who is "low status," and where does that change? Crucially, despite all the passion for acting, all the fun, and all the comedy, a certain theatrical "coolness" is required. Otherwise, precision—both theatrical and musical—cannot be achieved.

Interviewer: Aside from Lauretta and Rinuccio, there are no arias in the traditional sense in Gianni Schicchi. What does that mean for the singers of the many other roles? Does it affect the dynamics within the ensemble?

Kai Röhrig: The fact that Puccini largely dispenses with classical arias in Gianni Schicchi fundamentally changes the statics on stage. For the singers, this means they act less as isolated soloists and more as part of a highly complex musical clockwork. This requires extremely sharp timing, as the music often functions like fast-paced, set-to-music conversational theater. This is a valuable experience for our students, and the structure of the work forges the ensemble together in a special way: the "greedy relatives" act musically like a single organism. The dynamic arises less from individual bravura performances and more from a collective exchange. When Lauretta then interrupts this flow with her famous aria "O mio babbino caro," it acts like a moment of pause in an otherwise breathless chaos.

These two one-act operas form the conclusion of a trilogy of great Italian ensemble pieces, which we began in 2022 with Ermanno Wolf-Ferrari’s Il Campiello and continued in 2024 with Giuseppe Verdi’s Falstaff. With this, we consistently underline our aim to work on pieces where togetherness on stage is the focus. That is exactly the challenge for our students: engage with one another and be strong together. The fact that the students are once again going through this process as a sworn-in team, from the first rehearsal to the last performance, is the most beautiful message an opera class can send.