Olivero, who began her career in her twenties and was still performing well into her sixties, was a complete artist. If you want to know why she has been so much revered by cognoscenti over the years, you have only to encounter her here when she was at the height of her powers, aged 48, in a 1960 television film of Tosca, well refurbished in excellent black-and-white copy and more-than-adequate sound. She encompasses every facet of the role, jealous, sensual lover, imperious diva, frightened woman (when confronted by Scarpia’s lascivious, dictatorial behaviour), and eventually unexpected, courageous heroine. All the appropriate emotions are expressed in her eyes, facial expression and body language, and these advantages are seconded by fine-grained singing at the very apogee of verismo accomplishment.
She imbues words with meaning, and changes tonal colour in a manner that has been virtually lost today when vocal power is, on most sides, thought paramount. Everything that she achieves in the part comes from inside her, whether it is erotic charge between her and Cavaradossi or fear and loathing of Scarpia. It is a rounded, unforgettable portrait that all interpreters ought to learn from even if they may find some of the actual gestures a shade old-fashioned. No other complete reading on video matches Olivero’s except perhaps that of Kabaivanska – under de Bosio – who is the one singer of recent times who understood, like her senior, the importance of activating the text.
In support Olivero has in Floravanti a truly menacing, implacable and in every way nasty police chief, typifying a petty man abusing the power given him. As with the soprano herself, everything is sung off the words in support of a well-thought-through acting performance. Less aristocratic in mien than Gobbi, he is more credible because less histrionic. Misciano also sings in idiomatic style, but his voice is not in the first flight and becomes strained under pressure. The conducting and direction, the latter within a confined studio space, are unobtrusive; nothing is allowed to come between us and Olivero’s riveting interpretation.
The other issue is of more limited interest. The best parts of it derive from another 1960 TV staged appearance by the prima donna singing a vivid account of Violetta’s Act 1 scena, again filled with a myriad of detail welded into a convincing whole. So is Iris’s big scene from Mascagni’s opera; Iris was one of Olivero’s most noted roles and if anyone can make the music sound significant it is she. The same is true of Alfano’s Risurrezione. Then there is a bit of a duet with Gigli from a live audio performance of Adriana Lecouvreur taken in 1938, but there’s no film, only a few stills to support it. The rest consists of souvenirs of the singer speaking and singing in old age, the former gracious and illuminating, the latter best forgotten. So this one is only for addicts: the Tosca should be for everyone.'