With the subtitle ‘a Paris’, this recording is presented as the soundtrack of the recent film, conceived and produced by Andrea Andermann, which is supposed to put the scenes of the opera in authentic settings, rather as an earlier film of his did for Tosca. Of course in Tosca the exact locations are specified whereas La traviata is more a matter of types of place. According to the booklet, ‘Traviata, more than any other novel or opera, is a magnificent celebration of Paris.’ Hence the subtitle.
If people enjoy the film or cannot get to see it and would like to do so, then they may well be interested in a video. But a soundtrack? There’s no ‘a Paris’ about that: no aural effect which is especially Parisian (unless it be the brief snatch of carnival outside Violetta’s window in the last act). Everything here depends on the quality of the musical performance, and no comparison of available recordings would be likely to come up with a vote in favour of this one.
The old half-truth that a Traviata stands or falls by its Violetta hardly applies here. Eteri Gvazava sings and acts endearingly. Without being rich in timbre or resources, her voice is of likeable quality and she uses it well. Its youthfulness rather precludes that sense of experience and greatness of soul which the most memorable exponents of the role have conveyed, yet there is nothing facile in her pathos, and her part in the scene with Germont pere is touchingly faithful in detail and overall effect. She is singing to the highly experienced Germont of Rolando Panerai, and this is part of the trouble; for wonderful though it is that a singer of his age (he was born in 1924) should retain his voice in such fine condition, one is constantly aware that this is, so to speak, a ‘negotiated’ performance. In that scene and in the ‘Di Provenza’ he doesn’t want to linger any longer than he has to; his ‘Bella siccome un angelo’ is a miracle of grace considering his 75 or so years, but still cannot be called graceful; and a habit has grown of ending phrases with a kind of declamatory downward pull. His voice has kept its firmness, and from time to time one recognises the old (young) vibrancy. There is never a note out of tune, and his characterisation has unquestionable authority. In one way, he is the principal, or perhaps the single, cause for any recommendation of the set; in another, he limits it as one to buy for the opera itself.
Jose Cura limits it further. He, like his father in the opera, seems to be a man in a hurry, but with less cause. His ‘Dei miei bollenti spiriti’ must, I should think, be the quickest ever, and is certainly among the least charming and reflective. His ‘Un di felice’ is sung in heterogeneous tones, as indeed is his performance as a whole. One thing: he is considerate in matching his voice with the soprano’s. But then at other times he seems to have mistaken his role, and the opera, for Manrico in Il trovatore.
Neat chorus work raises the level which indifferently sung supporting roles then lower. Zubin Mehta conducts in a variable manner, dully in the slower passages, coming to life in the quicker ones. For a soundtrack, the recording is remarkably free from sounds from the stage – no party-noises, for instance, only some mildly surprising 40 seconds or so of footwork by the Spanish dancers. The conditions of performance – a live telecast beamed around the world to tens of millions, with all the dangers this implies – may have brought a pressure that accounts for the variable nature of the purely musical achievement; but of course while this may mitigate it hardly recommends.'