The theater was not quite as full as I had expected. I allowed plenty of time to get my favorite seat, but excellent seats were still available an hour before start time. A number of “regulars” were not there. Was something else going on?
The production looked familiar, though I thought I had missed the previous presentation. Act I began “in the Scottish moors,” mounds of earth punctuated by trails and rocks, with trees silhouetted against the background. The camera focused on the left half of the stage, which became apparent only when the black curtain obscuring the right half of the stage was raised to reveal the fountain in which the body of a murdered woman still rests. In an interesting bit of direction, a “ghost,” portrayed by a super dressed in a white gown and with white makeup, appeared from behind a small mound and climbed into the fountain. Act II opened in Enrico’s very dimly lit study. Enrico had a magnificent desk with an elaborate parquet surface; the rest of the furniture was covered with dark gray drop cloths. As scene 1 turned into scene 2, a number of servants came in, removed the drop cloths, uncovered and raised the chandeliers, and revealed a room large enough to hold a wedding with many guests—it was the Met stage, after all. In a slightly anachronistic bit of staging, not to mention a considerable distraction during the famous sextet, the wedding photographer poses most of the principals for the “official” photograph. Our host for the broadcast, Renee Fleming, pointed out that the timing had been moved up to about 1835, which was about the time that the daguerreotype was invented. To the Met’s credit, Act III began with the frequently omitted Wolf’s Crag scene. Here the stage was basically dark. All we could see were the large easy chair on the left side of the stage and the lower steps of what turned into the grand staircase in the next scene. For scene 2, we got the full staircase that made a 180° turn, terminating in a balcony that ran high above the stage from one side to the other. The stage was completely reset, without pause, for scene 3, as the staircase and balcony were pulled away, a wall with a large arch was dropped from above, and a few graveyard monuments were added. During Edgardo’s death scene, Lucia herself appeared as a ghost.
Our cast:
Lucia: Natalie Dessay
Edgardo: Joseph Calleja
Enrico: Ludovic Tézier
Raimundo: Kwanchul Youn
Arturo: Matthew Plenk
Alisa: Theodara Hanslowe
Normanno: Philip Webb
Conductor: Patrick Summers
Production: Mary Zimmerman
Ludovic Tézier was our first hint that we were in for something special. His Act I Cruda, funesta smania was sung with tremendous authority and malevolence. I would love to see him as Scarpia. Natalie Dessay’s Lucia was everything it ought to be. Kwanchul Youn's Raimundo was impressive, and his stage presence conveyed the gravitas of his role as chaplain. Arturo, the husband that Enrico has chosen for his sister Lucia, often comes across as fairly wimpy, but Matthew Plenk made him fairly respectable. Overall, a very fine performance, worth somewhere in the middle between beta and alpha.
Monday, March 21, 2011
Saturday, March 12, 2011
Carmen in Spanish, Martinez Opera, March 12 2011
This performance might be better described as “Scenes from Carmen, in Spanish.” The production was advertised as the first ever of Carmen in Spanish, based on the inability to find a Spanish translation locally, or in the libraries of Paris, or in the libraries of Madrid. Lacking such a resource, Cesare Curzi made his own singing translation. To this listener, possessing the scantiest possible knowledge of both French and Spanish, the translation worked. I did catch the word “muerta” (death) rather than “mort” and a few other Spanish words, but primarily it was Bizet’s music that came across.
The production was a simple one, with eight singers, a children’s chorus, a piano, and two dancers. With no Zuniga, Morales, or chorus of cigarette-factory women, the first act comprised the children’s chorus, the Habanera, the Don Jose-Micaela duet, and the Seguidilla. The remaining acts were similarly cut. Between musical selections, Curzi summarized the action for us. There was no set, just five wooden chairs arrayed at the back of the stage, and a projection of a red rose on the back stage curtain. In contrast to some concert performances, where it is literally stand and sing, we did have acting. Carmen threw a flower at Don Jose; her hands were tied during the Seguidilla; Carmen, Frasquita, and Mercedes had tarot cards in act 3; in the finale Don Jose “knifed” Carmen with a thrust of his fist, although she remained clutched in Don Jose’s arms rather than falling to the ground.
Our cast:
Carmen: Cybele Gouverneur
Don José: Antonio Nagore
Escamillo: Adam Meza
Micaela: Ariel Pisturino
Frasquita: Aimee Puentes
Mercédès: Jennifer Panara
Remandado: Gustavo Hernandez
Dancairo: Sepp Hammer
Director/Translator/Narrator: Cesare Curzi
The production was modest, as were the results. Gouverneur, Puentes, and Panara were acceptable as the gypsy women. Nagore has a large voice, but he lacked subtlety and came close to cracking on several occasions. Meza displayed the same commanding stage presence that he did in his recent appearance in San Jose as Figaro in The Barber of Seville, but his voice could use more character. Hammer struggled with his part. The best singing was provided by Pisturino, whose third act Micaela aria continues to pop back into my head.
The most notable performance of the evening was contributed by one of the dancers. A man and a woman (unfortunately, I did not get their names) danced in Lilias Pastia’s tavern and during the entractes to act 3 and act 4. The man was a superb dancer, with total control over his motions. I know about as much about ballet as I do about French and Spanish, but I could certainly stand to see more dancing of that quality. Nevertheless, the entire performance rates no more than a gamma.
The production was a simple one, with eight singers, a children’s chorus, a piano, and two dancers. With no Zuniga, Morales, or chorus of cigarette-factory women, the first act comprised the children’s chorus, the Habanera, the Don Jose-Micaela duet, and the Seguidilla. The remaining acts were similarly cut. Between musical selections, Curzi summarized the action for us. There was no set, just five wooden chairs arrayed at the back of the stage, and a projection of a red rose on the back stage curtain. In contrast to some concert performances, where it is literally stand and sing, we did have acting. Carmen threw a flower at Don Jose; her hands were tied during the Seguidilla; Carmen, Frasquita, and Mercedes had tarot cards in act 3; in the finale Don Jose “knifed” Carmen with a thrust of his fist, although she remained clutched in Don Jose’s arms rather than falling to the ground.
Our cast:
Carmen: Cybele Gouverneur
Don José: Antonio Nagore
Escamillo: Adam Meza
Micaela: Ariel Pisturino
Frasquita: Aimee Puentes
Mercédès: Jennifer Panara
Remandado: Gustavo Hernandez
Dancairo: Sepp Hammer
Director/Translator/Narrator: Cesare Curzi
The production was modest, as were the results. Gouverneur, Puentes, and Panara were acceptable as the gypsy women. Nagore has a large voice, but he lacked subtlety and came close to cracking on several occasions. Meza displayed the same commanding stage presence that he did in his recent appearance in San Jose as Figaro in The Barber of Seville, but his voice could use more character. Hammer struggled with his part. The best singing was provided by Pisturino, whose third act Micaela aria continues to pop back into my head.
The most notable performance of the evening was contributed by one of the dancers. A man and a woman (unfortunately, I did not get their names) danced in Lilias Pastia’s tavern and during the entractes to act 3 and act 4. The man was a superb dancer, with total control over his motions. I know about as much about ballet as I do about French and Spanish, but I could certainly stand to see more dancing of that quality. Nevertheless, the entire performance rates no more than a gamma.
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Nixon in China, Metropolitan Opera HD Live, March 2 2011
I had expected light attendance, what with this being an “encore” performance of a modern opera, but there must have been 50 people at our local theater. You brave opera lovers, you!
This was the first time that the Met had presented Nixon in China, even though the opera was premiered 24 years ago (at the Houston Grand Opera). To my mind, they need not have been in such a hurry. The music, by John Adams, was moderately interesting and never offensive. However, the libretto by Alice Goodman struck me as silly and pointless. Nixon arrives on Air Force One: well, that has some dramatic potential. Nixon meets the aged Mao in the latter’s study: yawn. The Americans and Chinese toast each other at a banquet: yawn. Pat Nixon visits a glass factory and a pig farm: yawn. The Red Detachment of Women as a ballet: ballets in the middle of an opera are a time-honored tradition. The characters reflect on what has/has not been accomplished during the visit: well, not much. Nobody dies. Nobody falls in love. Sort of like Hell as a place of unrelieved boredom.
The staging was by Peter Sellars, who among other avant-garde notions has set Cosi fan tutte in a Florida diner. The first act and the first half of the second act went reasonably well. The front half of Air Force One (with its large nose wheel) lands as a cardboard cutout descending from on high; Nixon walks down the stairway and greets his hosts. In Mao’s study, the characters stand or sit in easy chairs. Mao is hardly able to walk, and is assisted by a woman on each side of him. (An interesting anecdote from an intermission interview with Winston Lord, who was there in 1972: “We couldn’t tell whether Mao was being deeply philosophical or was just being senile.”)
Scene 3 featured three gigantic circular banquet tables. In Act 2, scene 1 is performed with much moving around of stage props to represent the glass factory, the pig farm (with a smallish plastic big), etc. Scene 2, with The Red Detachment of Women, is where things veer wildly off course. Henry Kissinger leaves his seat, gets up on stage (here, the right half of the Met stage), and molests one of the women performers. In Act 3 we see half a dozen simple beds with white sheets lined up from left to right, the feet of the beds facing us. After a segment with Mr. and Mrs. Nixon, Mao comes in, sits on the edge of his bed, and one of the women who supported him in the Mao’s study scene rubs his crotch for an extended period of time, with a perfectly blank look on her face. That’s when the picture in the theater went away. Five minutes later, the sound went away. Five minutes later, everyone (well, everyone who was left, after a certain amount of attrition at the intermissions) was getting a complimentary pass to a future movie. I have to hand it to the Pleasant Hill theater: when something goes wrong, they do their best to make up for it.
Our cast:
Richard Nixon: James Maddalena
Pat Nixon: Janis Kelly
Henry Kissinger: Richard Paul Fink
Mao Tse-Tung: Robert Brubaker
Chou En-lai: Russell Braun
Chiang Ch'ing: Kathleen Kim
Conductor: John Adams
Of these, Richard Paul Fink was the standout, with a hefty, authoritative baritone. But he couldn’t redeem the remainder of the production. A delta. Perhaps a different production, which we will see in San Francisco next year, will improve my attitude. I hope so.
This was the first time that the Met had presented Nixon in China, even though the opera was premiered 24 years ago (at the Houston Grand Opera). To my mind, they need not have been in such a hurry. The music, by John Adams, was moderately interesting and never offensive. However, the libretto by Alice Goodman struck me as silly and pointless. Nixon arrives on Air Force One: well, that has some dramatic potential. Nixon meets the aged Mao in the latter’s study: yawn. The Americans and Chinese toast each other at a banquet: yawn. Pat Nixon visits a glass factory and a pig farm: yawn. The Red Detachment of Women as a ballet: ballets in the middle of an opera are a time-honored tradition. The characters reflect on what has/has not been accomplished during the visit: well, not much. Nobody dies. Nobody falls in love. Sort of like Hell as a place of unrelieved boredom.
The staging was by Peter Sellars, who among other avant-garde notions has set Cosi fan tutte in a Florida diner. The first act and the first half of the second act went reasonably well. The front half of Air Force One (with its large nose wheel) lands as a cardboard cutout descending from on high; Nixon walks down the stairway and greets his hosts. In Mao’s study, the characters stand or sit in easy chairs. Mao is hardly able to walk, and is assisted by a woman on each side of him. (An interesting anecdote from an intermission interview with Winston Lord, who was there in 1972: “We couldn’t tell whether Mao was being deeply philosophical or was just being senile.”)
Scene 3 featured three gigantic circular banquet tables. In Act 2, scene 1 is performed with much moving around of stage props to represent the glass factory, the pig farm (with a smallish plastic big), etc. Scene 2, with The Red Detachment of Women, is where things veer wildly off course. Henry Kissinger leaves his seat, gets up on stage (here, the right half of the Met stage), and molests one of the women performers. In Act 3 we see half a dozen simple beds with white sheets lined up from left to right, the feet of the beds facing us. After a segment with Mr. and Mrs. Nixon, Mao comes in, sits on the edge of his bed, and one of the women who supported him in the Mao’s study scene rubs his crotch for an extended period of time, with a perfectly blank look on her face. That’s when the picture in the theater went away. Five minutes later, the sound went away. Five minutes later, everyone (well, everyone who was left, after a certain amount of attrition at the intermissions) was getting a complimentary pass to a future movie. I have to hand it to the Pleasant Hill theater: when something goes wrong, they do their best to make up for it.
Our cast:
Richard Nixon: James Maddalena
Pat Nixon: Janis Kelly
Henry Kissinger: Richard Paul Fink
Mao Tse-Tung: Robert Brubaker
Chou En-lai: Russell Braun
Chiang Ch'ing: Kathleen Kim
Conductor: John Adams
Of these, Richard Paul Fink was the standout, with a hefty, authoritative baritone. But he couldn’t redeem the remainder of the production. A delta. Perhaps a different production, which we will see in San Francisco next year, will improve my attitude. I hope so.
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