Balducci Sergei Aleksashkin Teresa Anna Netrebko Cellini Chris Merritt Francesco Kor-Jan Duseljee Bernardino Sorin Coliban Fieramosca Nikolai Gassiev Innkeeper Alexei Grigorev Ascanio Monica Bacelli Pompeo Marten Smeding Pope Stanislaw Schwets Conductor Valery Gergiev Netherlands Radio Choir, London Voices Rotterdam Philharmonic Orchestra The end and climax of Berlioz' Benvenuto Cellini is the moment when a statue, commissioned by the pope, is cast from any and every bit of metal lying around in Cellini's workshop. The cast explodes noisily to reveal an artistically and technically perfect statue (this is for music-lovers not metallurgists). Cellini is pardoned for the murder of the pope's metal founder in a brawl, and gets to marry his beloved Teresa. Fieromusca, his rival in love and sculpture, is resoundingly humiliated. The opera itself seems to try to act out the idea of furious creativity, inspired and earthy at the same time, leading to a perfect result. The drama is made up of various genres: the skeleton of the plot is taken from Cellini's self-justifying autobiography; the form owes something sixteenth-century Italian drama (think The Alchemist and Bartholomew Fair, and Romeo and Juliet for English derivatives); the characters are Romantic transformations of commedia dell'arte types -- luscious girl, buffoon father, nebbish rival; there are a couple of rhetorical arias straight out of Metastasio; and an included puppet play is based on a tale by E.T.A. Hoffman. It could have been written in 1914 or 1934, not 1834, except for the total lack of irony about the value of the artist. Cellini is Don Giovanni redeemed because his obsession is art rather than sex. The music is also fast and furious, relentlessly rhythmical and complex. Benvenuto Cellini was the opera which Berlioz wrote just before he realy got stuck into symphonic drama with Romeo and Juliet and The damnation of Faust. It seems to have failed mainly because it was already too symphonic, and not nearly flattering enough to the singers, for an audience that wanted bel canto. All of which makes it an ideal work for Valery Gergiev, who seems to fly around the world improvising furiously, with often exhilerating results. Today his coat tails were crumpled, and he needed a haircut, and the Rotterdam Philharmonic seemed to get through the performance by the skin of their teeth. They sounded as though they were sight reading at times but finding it all wonderful to play -- which I'm sure it isn't. Berlioz' skill with the roller coaster of tension, excitement and closure is so great that the audience clapped without fail after every scene, even when the performances were lacklustre until perhaps the last few bars in the orchestra. But the crowd scenes at the carnival and the last tableau were genuinely genuinely exciting, and the choirs were first rate. Chris Merritt stood in for Leonid Lubavin at "short notice", and was all over the place, but just about got through in one piece. Even with more preparation, I don't think he's right for the charismatic scumbad with total dedication to art. Except that he is alleged to have no personal life at all, Gergiev himself fits that description as well as anyone, of course. Anna Netrebko looks gorgeous, like a very young Gorchakova, with an oval face, creamy skin and dark hair and eyes, in a stunning red dress tonight. She isn't a Gochakova vocally, though, and seemed to be producing sound with not much behind it some of the time. She also had problems with intonation in chromatic passage, and gave me the general impression that she wasn't quite in control of her voice. She also substituted cute gestures for dramatic projection too much of the time. The contrast in both dramatic style and vocal technique between Netrebko and Monica Bacelli was striking. Bacelli is clearly an old hand, and has a tough, slightly abrasive voice that can be stirring or ironic. She delivered what might have been the high point of the performance in Ascanio's exuberant premature celebration of Cellini's victory. It should be made poignant by Cellini's following aria in which he wishes he were a shepherd and not in all this trouble, but Merritt make such a hames of that that the point was lost completely. It all went on a bit long, and it wasn't perfect. But it was always entertaining, and enjoyable, and often exciting. And the tuba sounded wonderfully rude.