Rossini’s Zelmira, last composed for Naples in 1822, was once a staple at one of Europe’s great operatic centres, before vanishing from the stage after 1826. It re-emerged only in 1989 in Rome, later revived at Pesaro with Juan Diego Flórez. This year’s new production has been created for the vast Scavolini Arena.
The opera belongs to the popular late-18th-century genre of “rescue opera,” where loyalty and courage triumph over treachery. The plot follows Zelmira, daughter of Polidoro, King of Lesbos. To protect him from his enemies, she hides him in secret. Her husband Ilo is away defending his country when the invader Azor believes he has killed Polidoro by burning the temple. Antenore, aided by Leucippo, then murders Azor and seizes the throne. Ilo returns, Zelmira reveals her father is alive, and Polidoro reclaims his crown. The traitors Antenore and Leucippo are captured and brought to justice.
Musically, Zelmira is among Rossini’s most demanding bel canto operas, requiring agility, lyricism, and stamina. It was written for the same exceptional singers who inspired Ermione: Isabella Colbran (Rossini’s future wife), Giovanni David (a high tenor of astonishing range), and Andrea Nozzari (a baritone with tenor qualities). The opera abounds in powerful ensembles and soaring vocal lines that test even today’s finest singers.
Calixto Bieito’s staging, however, offers little support to the music. The production is set on a giant chessboard, with four corner pits—one filled with water, the others too distant to discern. The cast traverse the sprawling arena, singing some of Rossini’s most complex music while constantly in motion. Unfortunately, this undermines projection and ensemble cohesion: singers are often inaudible, facing away from the audience, or placed so far apart that intimacy is lost. The final ensemble, which should resound with vocal unity, barely registers. Characters move like zombie chess pieces, and occasional “immersive” entrances through the audience only add to the disjointed effect.
The absence of supertitles compounds the problem. Although a phone app translation was available, few used it. Key narrative and emotional moments were staged at great distances, while other encounters—such as Antenore and Leucippo, or Zelmira and Emma—were oddly intimate.
Bieito’s imagery is often bewildering. A corpse wrapped in plastic is dragged on stage and grotesquely reanimated. Ilo buries himself while Emma unspools a tape. She later sings her cabaletta soaked in water and, mid-aria, produces a baby. Antenore plays at being a man-child, blowing bubbles with a teddy bear. Leucippo repeatedly attempts to drown himself in shallow water, showing off his torso. The High Priest appears with green hair and a nappy. Meanwhile, an olive tree—the universal symbol of peace—remains pushed aside, an ignored witness to the chaos.
Yet despite the staging, the singers rise to formidable challenges.
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Anastasia Bartoli (Zelmira) is outstanding, her performance a true tour de force. She negotiates treacherous coloratura with ease, combines lyrical legato with thrilling top notes, and commands the stage—even while pacing the huge arena.
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Lawrence Brownlee (Ilo) sings fiendishly difficult music with elegance and brilliance. Burdened with battle gear, he still delivers radiant vocal lines and dazzling coloratura. His ovation after “Terra amica” was well deserved.
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Enea Scala (Antenore), superb in last year’s Ermione, again astonishes. Forced into absurd positions—including singing upside down—he nevertheless defines Antenore’s split personality through his dual vocal registers: tenor for petulant politician, baritone for ruthless murderer.
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Gianluca Margheri (Leucippo) displays a fine voice and physique, though the role disappointingly offers no aria.
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Marina Viotti (Emma) brings warmth and tonal richness to her arias, despite being made to sing in water and give birth on stage. Both numbers stopped the show.
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Marko Mimica (Polidoro), when audible, offered a velvety bass sound.
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Paolo Nevi (Eacide), however, struggled with intonation, often singing flat.
In the end, this production does Rossini—and his sublime interpreters—no favours. The staging obscures story, disrupts ensemble balance, and undermines dramatic intimacy. The singers, giving their all, deserve better.
Zelmira – Opera seria in two acts
Music: Gioachino Rossini (1792–1868)
Libretto: Andrea Leone Tottola, after de Belloy
Conductor: Giacomo Sagripanti
Director: Calixto Bieito
Costumes: Ingo Krügler
Lighting: Michael Bauer
First performance: Teatro San Carlo, Naples – 16 February 1822
Cast: Marko Mimica, Anastasia Bartoli, Lawrence Brownlee, Enea Scala, Gianluca Margheri, Paolo Nevi, Shi Zong
Running time: 3h20 (incl. interval)
Performances: 10, 13, 16, 19 August 2025
Photo: Amati Bacciardi