Operatic plots are notoriously ludicrous. Take Mozart’s masterpiece, Don Giovanni, for example.While musically sublime, its characters are a bizarre collection of angry, hysterical women running away from lots of insecure and jealous men, all of whom are being pursued by a singing statue. And then there's the female protagonist in Puccini’s Turandot: an unmarried, psychotic princess who orders the systematic execution of those suitors who are foolish enough to come looking for her hand in marriage. (The aria ‘Nessun Dorma’ comes from this opera and roughly translates as ‘Please don’t kill me, crazy princess').
Opera was never meant to be believable.It was conceived as an over- the-top artform the purpose of which is to carry dramatic situations and heightened emotions to their limits and far beyond. That's what makes the story of La Fenice, the famous opera house in Venice, quite extraordinary. The dramatics surrounding this landmark building, which has been at the very heart of Venetian life for centuries, are even more incredulous than those that take place on its stage. It is a classic case of life imitating art - and then upstaging it.
The original Teatro San Benedetto was built on the site of the present opera house in 1792 by a wealthy Venetian family who chose their design as a result of an architural competition. The new theatre quickly became the centre of cultural life in Venice. During French rule of the city (1806 – 1814) a grand royal box was built with in the theatre to accommmodate the Emperor Napoleon, even though he only attened on one occasion in 1807. Probably the result of a faulty heater, a huge fire swept through the theatre on 13th Decemebr 1836 and Venetians feared it was lost for ever. But within ten years, the building had been reconstructed and, to celebrate its rebirth, it was given an evocative, theatrical new name: ‘La Fenice’ (The Phoenix). By the 1850s, it had become a legendary venue for opera in Italy, second only to Milan's great La Scala and, furthermore, as the city of Venice had changed hands and was under Austrian rule, La Fenice became a focal point of a powerful wave of Italian nationalism. It was there that Venetians gathered to celebrate their beloved country through the passionate language of Italian opera and reaffirm their fervent belief that the enemy would be driven out and Vittorio Emanuele would soon be crown King. (He finally was in 1861).
Opera composer Guiseppe Verdi, the very embodiment of Italian nationalism, wrote many of his greatest works for La Fenice. The first performance of La Traviata took place in 1853, although it was a dismall failure, as the audience refused to suspend their disbelief as they watched the hugely over-weight soprano lead attempt to waste away from consumption. (Contemporary accounts imply she could have survived on bread and water for at least six months.) Indeed, La Fenice became the frequent haunt of some of the finest singers ever to have graced to operatic stage. In 1949, the great diva Maria Callas, in her pre-Onassis days, made operatic history when she took over the perilously high role of Elvira in Bellini's I Puritani, learning the entire part in only three days and alternating it with one of the heaviest Wagnerian roles, Brunhilde, in between performances. (Callas remained very proud of this supreme achievement for the rest of her life and, as a result, bestowed upon herself the rather royal sounding title: Soprano Assoluta.)
With such a colourful and important operatic history contained within its walls, the classical music world was deeply shocked when La Fenice was burned to the ground again in 1996. As details of the events continued to unfold, it emerged that the fire in the building had not started accidentally. Enrico Carella and Massimi-Liano Marchetti, two electricians working on rewireing the old builing, realised that they would not complete the project within the specific time limits. Rather than incur the fine of around 5000 euros, they sprinkled petrol through the auditorium and backstage area, lit a match and ran out the back door, hoping they would never get found out. But they did, and after an extensive court case at which the then Mayor of Venice, Signore Cacciari, was charged with negligence, the two electricians were finally jailed for six and seven years respectively. (Perhaps not surprisly, Mayor Cacciari got off - this is Italy, after all.)
Plans were put in place to rebuild La Fenice ‘as it was, where it was’ (Com'ere Dov'era) and the renowned architect, Aldo Rossi, was employed to oversee the project. Tragically, he died in a car accident the following summer before work began. With the final date at the end of 2003 already looming and the enormous costs spiralling out of control, it looked like La Fenice would never be completed. Firing the previously incompetent contractors, the new mayor of Venice, Paolo Costa, appointed himself in charge of the project. He took the draconian measure of fixing a digital clock backstage with the time counting down to the revised completion date at the end of 2004.
Finally, and against all odds, and at a cost of around 60 million euro, the building was completed by the end of 2003 and Maetro Riccardo Muti flew in to conduct the opening grand gala. Audiences were dazzled by the immaculately reconstructed interior, as the gold leaf cherubs glisteneed like new born babies and the central chandelier drew focus to the ornate ceiling, depicting scenes of rococco opulence. The quality of the craftmanship was immaculate. The interior of the great theatre was a paradox: La Fenice was now a perfectly-formed 19th Century opera house but was as fresh and bright as on the day it had first opened in 1837. And, as a typically romantic Venetian gesture, the back door of the theatre was re-opened onto the canal, allowing audience memebers to arrive by gondola, as they had not done for nearly two centuries. The Phoenix had risen out of the ashes and was more glorious than ever.