We came, we saw and we were conquered. Not just by the city but by the by-product of that city, opera, for we were in Verona for the 100th Anniversary of the performance held in the ancient arena, an arena older than the Colosseum in Rome. In ancient times it held 30,000 people for its circuses and gladiatorial events but as the stage for opera performances decreases the available seating, it now has places for only 22,000.
We came to Verona, my friend Jane and I, for Giuseppe Verdi’s Aida, the signature opera of the city. Although there had been some productions during the 1850s, it wasn’t until 1913 that opera began in earnest in the Arena, due to the zeal of the famous Italian tenor Giovanni Zenatello and the impresario Ottono Royato. The first opera to be produced in the arena on 10th August 1913 to mark the centenary of Verdi’s birth in 1813, was Aida, and since then, Aida opens the yearly festival of opera.
As dusk settled over the amphitheatre and a pale moon floated in the velvety blue sky above, anticipation was high. We’d watched the stage-hands sweep the tiered stage, watched the lighting engineers fiddle with the lamps, and wondered at the meaning of the objects that decorated the set, crystal pyramids, giant hands, and lighting designs which, although technologically modern, blended easily into the ancient Roman amphitheatre. Later I read that the giant white hands that dominated the stage represented power.
The arena was full, from the front padded seats to the tier upon tier of stone seats (no back rests but with hired cushions for comfort), and the audience milled around taking photographs, chatting in groups and in Italian fashion, jumping over seats to shake hands with old friends before the performance began at 9.30 pm. It was an audience as enthusiastic as any I’d ever seen – and noisier than most.
Then suddenly the orchestra was filing on to rapturous applause and the opera was about to begin.
There was a hush as Alexander Vinogradov as Ramfis began singing, a hush that continued throughout the First Act and every subsequent Act. I have never, ever, known an audience be so quiet, enraptured even, so receptive of the story being told in voice and music from the stage, so totally engrossed in what was happening in front of them.
I can’t even begin to guess how wide the stage was: one’s eye just couldn’t take it all in at once, yet somehow, the war-stricken world of Aida materialised in an intimate setting on the vast arena stage, as over 300 performers – soloists, chorus members, dancers and mimes – cast their spell. Their costumes were inspired by Paco Rabanne and Capucci, silver robes and helmets radiating brilliance across the expanse of the tiered stage.
The gigantic wire hands which towered over the stage and had puzzled us when we first saw them now moved menacingly or soothingly as the music and the story demanded. Stefano Podo’s avant-garde production included LED-laser lights that formed shapes and changed colours from red to blue to green, to great effect, plus impressive lighting effects at the back of the arena as actors brandished what looked like light rods used to great effect during the judgment scene.
And as for the Arena itself! Built in AD30 out of white and pink Valpolicella limestone (a few repairs since then), the arena has perfect acoustics (amplification was only brought in in 2011). In its heyday it hosted gladiatorial fights and blood sports, horse races and medieval jousts but nowadays the crowds come not for blood and gore in the sand but to be transported to another realm by the beauty of the human voice.
I’m failing as a writer here because I can’t describe what the experience of seeing and hearing the opera was like; it was a spectacle that needed to be seen in order to understand the power it had. I had been to the Arena years ago when the stage effects for Aida included ancient Egyptian scenes to rival those of Cairo. We were younger then, my husband and I, and we sat on the stone seats way, way up on the terraces. The excitement of opera under the stars past midnight (it starts about 9.30 pm and finishes, usually, around 2.00 or 2.30 am) – meant that I wasn’t aware of any discomfort.
But the 2023 100th Anniversary Performance was even better, it was uncomplicatedly magical. Possibly helped by the fact that age now demands a padded seat and some space so we had expensive seats front centre (still nearly half what a similar seat would cost at Covent Garden). I would recommend paying that bit extra for the comfort if you are aged from 30 upwards!
And then jostling for seating at the café opposite the Arena with others who’d shared the experience, sipping a glass of wine at 2.30 am when the heat from the ochre-coloured stones was still intense, not wanting to go back to the hotel, and feeling part of something great and grand was somehow life-affirming.
Was it the settings? The music? The atmosphere? Maybe some of the silver dust drifted from the costumes and covered us with its magic? I don’t want to be a third-rate critic so I’ve found a clip on You Tube with a selection of scenes from the performance in Verona and if there are any opera fans among you, you might like to take a look and enjoy what we enjoyed.
Factfile:
Purchase tickets directly online, at www.arena.it/buy. You can check the availability of seats by consulting the seating plan, which can be found on each performance date. You will be asked to give a password so have one ready. If you want to book by phone, call +39 0458005151 Monday to Saturday 9 am to 6 pm.
British Airways flies direct to Verona.
MARI'S TRAVELS WITH HER CAMERA 
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