At the time of writing I have not seen the film, but when reading-the-magazine time comes round it will have been shown on Channel 4 and no doubt fond, foul or indifferent memories will be evoked. It is rather difficult to assess the desirability of soundtrack recordings. This one is from a Zeffirelli production. They filmed in Vizzini, said to be the original village of Giovanni Verga's play, and there will be lots of atmosphere: dust and sun, with probably unforgettable shots of the villagers, shadowy alleyways, crosses and candles. If, as you listen to the recording, all these things are recalled ( ''That's where she sits by the fountain'', ''Do you remember the old woman's face there?''), then the musical standard, as assessed by comparison with other recordings, will hardly matter. And of course many of those who have not seen the film will be incluned to approach with caution as a result of experience with other soundtracks. What follows is principally for doubtful readers in-between.
It could probably be said in three words but they are not to be written all that lightly. Pretre, for instance, conducts with much care and the opening bars illustrate it; but it's with that fidgety kind of nuance that breaks the line and still doesn't achieve point and clarity of texture to compare with either the Karajan (DG) or the Muti recording (HMV). The Siciliana, on the other hand, goes almost entirely without nuance; Domingo phrases-over well at one point, but there is no breadth, no refinement, the quick tempo and inflexible beat depriving it of charm, abjuring even such rough magic as exercised in the Serafin/di Stefano recording (HMV). Domingo sings throughout the opera with customary beauty of tone and sincerity of feeling, yet not so as to lodge in the memory.
Obraztsova lodges surely enough, but not entirely for the right reasons. It is a huge sound, even when nominally piano, but too edgy and uneven as recorded to give a pleasure that can properly be called musical. Two moments are impressive: one, the darkly-lowering admonition to Lola about the Lord seeing all things, and the other when she loads the curse ( ''A te la mala Pasqua'') not so much with venom as with misery. The duet with Alfio also goes well, Bruson singing and acting lustily. The Lola is no asset to the soundtrack, and the Mamma Lucia provides a half-sad pleasure, for we hear the once splendid voice of Fedora Barbieri. Some wobbly sopranos spoil a good deal of the chorus work, but the woman who screams the bad news at the end is as bloodcurdling as any. Extraneous sounds (of feet, ear-biting and so forth) are mostly confined to the Second Act, and these may help to recapture the atmosphere of the film for those who saw and enjoyed it. For others, as I said, it is really a matter of three works: approach with caution.'