A moving and memorable Traviata, more so than the sound recording on Teldec (2/93) with the same principals and conductor, who, to my mind, is a relatively weak element in both. Rizzi favours slow speeds, but that is not the trouble. There is something nerveless, unresponsive, about his handling of this score which is itself continually changing in mood and impulse. The great ensemble ending Act 2, for instance, finely sung and well acted, is almost lifeless in musical direction. The playing itself is of a good standard and well-recorded, but the great merits of the performance lie elsewhere.
One of these is that it has a real Alfredo: that is, an Alfredo who is an individual, and an interesting one – not at all a stock operatic hero, but a bespectacled young man, rather naive and vulnerable, utterly sincere, with a gift for happiness and an unpreparedness for loss. Schicoff is perhaps strangely matched with this Violetta, who is clearly older than him and too sharp of feature and homely of manner for her role of beautiful and brilliant courtesan. What she is inwardly, though, Gruberova catches to the life: and the further into the opera we go, the clearer it becomes that she knows this woman as from the inside. Her scene with Germont pere is touchingly and painfully convincing as, stage by stage, she sees her way ahead, the sacrifice becoming steadily more absolute. In the last scene, acting and singing are so powerfully fused that at the end it is quite difficult to shake off the tragedy and join in the curtain-calls.
As in the CD recording, Gruberova sings a brilliant ‘Sempre libera’ and an ‘Addio del passato’ of rare beauty. In the entire role no phrase is given without some evidence of imagination and intelligence. Schicoff certainly matches her well in this respect, and his solo (shorn of its cabaletta) is a scrupulously observant piece of singing. In Zancanaro as the father we have the best Italian baritone of the post-Bruson generation: less remarkable, perhaps, for new insights than for old virtues such as a fine voice and steady production.
For other kinds of production – those for stage and television – much gratitude is due, in that all appropriate skills are put to the service of Verdi. The opera has an intimacy that takes well to the small screen and the tragedy is made affectingly real. A different tragedy, no less affecting, is the sight of La Fenice, so beautifully viewed at the end of the opera, so shortly to be reduced to ashes and a shell.'