Opera Wednesday

This week, the Minnesota Opera came out with its schedule for the 2018-19 season. It is, quite frankly, more interesting than some of the other, larger opera companies are offering. For example, I thought that both the Met and the Lyric of Chicago had very safe programs for the coming season, but there's a little adventure to the Minnesota lineup.

In honor of that, let's look at one of those operas on the schedule. Here's Angela Gheorghiu singing "Che il bel sogno di Doretta" from of Puccini's lesser-performed operas, La rondine. This performance was at the Metropolitan Opera in 2009; Marco Armiliato is the conductor.

Opera Wednesday

You'll understand when I say I don't want you to take this the wrong way. I'm grateful to live in a city that has live opera; when we lived in the Metroplex, we had two, and here in the Twin Cities, we're fortunate to have one that has frequently staged good productions, some very good.

That's why I wondered what we were to make earlier this month of a press release that announced a new mission, vision, and visual identity for said opera company, the Minnesota Opera. First things first, the new visual identity - or, as we used to call it, the logo. It's a flexible logo, we're told:

According to the press release, "The rotation of key letters within the logo shows the Minnesota Opera is always looking to present opera in unexpected ways." Now, I don't know about you, but when I see this, my first thought is, "Hey - it looks like someone kicked over the R!" Granted, that would be unexpected - I know of no reason why anyone would want to do such a thing, but there's no accounting for behavior anymore." Anyway, if the R was really flexible, it would have bounced back instead of laying on its back like a turtle, wouldn't it?

Then, there's the vision. I would have thought that the new logo - er, visual identity - was the vision, but apparently not. The vision, which tells you what the Minnesota Opera envisions, is - and I'm taking this verbatim, in it's entirety - "Minnesota Opera will sing every story." Which is a good thing, because if I'm not mistaken, an opera that doesn't sing its story is called a play. (An opera that only sings part of its story is called a musical, because it's usually rather lighthearted, unless it's sung in German, in which case it's called Singspiel, and it's probably written by Mozart. That would also be peformed at the Minnesota Opera, but it's probably best not to ask them to explain it.

Finally, we come to the mission. Again, I might have thought that the mission was to sing the story, while the vision was the new logo, but be that as it may, the vision of the Minnesota Opera is as follows: "Minnesota Opera changes lives by bringing together artists, audiences and community, advancing the art of opera for today and for future generations." Actually, as mission statements go, that's not a bad one, although you can tell it was probably crafted by a committee; I might have suggested something a little simpler, such as "Minnesota Opera makes lives better by introducing to them the pleasure that only opera can bring, performed to the very best of our ability."

So that's our hometown opera. If I sound a bit harsh, I really don't mean to. Regular readers know I've hammered away at them for years, and now that we're back I expect I'll probably pick up where I left out, but it's only done because I care. I'm underwhelmed by the new season, but again that's nothing new; it seeems as if every year I'm left pleading for the MN Opera (I'll have to get used to the new nomenclature, I guess) to go back into its heritage and produce some of the underperformed works of the past, and not simply to keep commissioning new works. I'll grant you Silent Night, and there have probably been noble efforts here and there, but certainly, in these volatile political times, someone could spare a thought for The Consul or The Crucible, both Pulitzer winners, couldn't they?

Anyway, a fella can dream, can't he? If the MN Opera wer to put one of those on, I'd get so excited I might just flip a letter myself.

Opera Wednesday: The Manchurian Candidate

I will admit that I was more than a little skeptical when my former home-town Minnesota Opera announced plans a few years ago to produce an operatic version of the classic political thriller The Manchurian Candidate.  Besides the almost-impossible task of living up to the original Frank Sinatra movie version (does anyone really remember Denzel Washington's remake?), the imaginative camera angles that were used by director John Frankenheimer (the famous tearoom scene, for example) seemed to suggest that this would be yet another example of opera companies commissioning productions that would be seen once and then (if one was lucky) forgotten forever.

But, in one of those cases I always hate to admit to, I may have been wrong about this.  The opera doesn't premiere until next March (and I won't be there to see it anyway), but some of the things I've heard and read about it are causing me to reassess my original opinion.  The synopsis that I've seen suggests a story quite close to the original (a slightly built-up role for the Janet Leigh character, but if you're going to have a female lead, that's to be expected), and the clip below indicates some quite interesting music that not only advances the plot but creates an atmosphere in tune with the story.


The jury should still be out on this until the production actually hits the stage, but I've moved from being a skeptic to having an open mind.  Perhaps I should have been there already, but given the track record not only of new opera but the Minnesota Opera in particular, you can understand my uncertainty.  At any rate, next year we should know if we have a new masterpiece on our hands, or just one more opera to forget.  I'm hoping for the former - if I were still living in the Twin Cities, I'd be certain to check it out.  As it is, if it's good, and if it goes on the road and winds up in Dallas, I'll stand in line to see it.

At the Opera

By Mitchell

This week the Minnesota Opera brings its 2008-09 season to a close with its acclaimed production of Il barbiere di Siviglia (The Barber of Seville). From the famous overture to the justifiably happy ending, Rossini's delightful farce is one of opera's most accessible pieces, the perfect choice for first-timers who might be surprised to realize they know more opera than they thought. Just because the music's familiar, don't think that means it isn't also brilliant, particularly the patter songs that, in their orchestral complexity, nearly manage to put Gilbert & Sullivan to shame. Hopefully we'll have a report upcoming on tonight's performance, but in the meantime here's a preview for those of you who can't be there:


Bugs Bunny Rabbit of Seville Uploaded by ThrowbackForums

UPDATE: OK, here's the skinny on last night:

1. What a delightful production. A bit over the top, which is just the way Barber ought to be. The comedy was very broadly played, without quite drifting into slapstick. The staging and direction were spot on as well. This is a much beloved production of Barber, which, of course, is why it's being retired after this year.
2. I'm reminded once again of just how lousy a place the Ordway is for opera. Up in the balcony, the orchestra sounded terrific, their sound floating all the way to the ceiling. Too bad the place isn't constructed so the singers' voices can do the same.
3. That being said, I thought Figaro's voice was not quite as strong as it should have been.
4. Neither was Count Almaviva's. Fiorello's was much stronger.
5. Rosina had real spunk. Reminded me of Roberta Peters (although not quite in the voice...)
6. The bass playing Don Basilio once again stole the show, as was the case when we saw it here in 2001.
7. Man, Rossini could really write music, couldn't he?
   
8. Every time I hear the overture, I think of Bugs Bunny (see above) and smile.
9. Unfortunately, the high school punks sitting behind us have no appreciation of music. Cretins. All they could do was count the minutes, and this is for an opera that runs under three hours. Oh well, if even one of them comes away with a greater appreciation of opera, it's worth it.
10. They probably don't know who Bugs Bunny is, either.
    
11. But who's complaining? What a terrific way to end the season, and proof once again that Il barbiere di Siviglia really is one of the great pieces in opera.
    

Losing by More Than a Nose

By Mitchell

We know from Parson Weems that young George Washington chopped down a cherry tree and, when confronted by the fact, bravely said to his father, “I cannot tell a lie.” History does not tell us what happened to the unfortunate piece of wood that young George cut down, but of this we can be certain: it did not turn into a lying, conniving, mouthy puppet.

And so, having drawn this tenuous link between two of history’s more famous wooden limbs, we turn our attention to the Minnesota Opera’s presentation of Jonathan Dove’s The Adventures of Pinocchio, which played here this week. We cannot tell a lie: it did not work for us.

First, the good news: this is a gorgeous production. Imported from the Leeds Opera in England, Pinocchio runs through a staggering twenty scenes during its three hours and two acts, and Francis O’Connor’s highly imaginative sets run the gamut from the interior of a forest to the inside of a whale, without so much as a stagehand running around pushing a piece of scenery. It cost the Minnesota Opera a bundle to bring the whole thing over from across the pond, and it was worth it.

Good words must be offered, too, for the astonishing performance of Adriana Zabala as the wooden-headed Pinocchio. On stage for virtually the entire performance, Zabala sings, dances and runs her heart out, managing all the while to convey the jointed movements of a puppet (not to mention the prosthetic nose which she wore for all but the final transformation scene).

For that matter, the cast as a whole did a pretty good job, although the lyrics frequently failed to make their way to the upper balcony at the oft-lamented Ordway. Thank goodness for supertitles, although one has to wonder once again why they should be necessary for an opera sung in English. Perhaps the Ordway’s notorious acoustics let us down once more, or possibly the notes were getting caught in that elaborate set, although people on the main floor seemed to hear all right. Good tidings as well to the orchestra, under Anne Manson’s baton, which turned in a very capable, if occasionally loud, job.

So where did it all go wrong? Well, first things first – dare we suggest that perhaps Pinocchio is just not all that appealing a character? He’s lippy, headstrong, foolish, deceitful, stubborn – in short, hard to like. We’ve been told from the outset not to expect that other Pinocchio, e.g. Walt Disney’s. And it is true that Disney’s version did much to sanitize Collodi’s dark and cautionary piece. But one thing it did accomplish was to present the irrepressible charm that even the most conniving little boy often has, and maybe that’s something you just have to depend on a cartoon to provide.

Mind you, it’s not that we doubt Pinocchio’s sincerity when he tells Geppetto and the Blue Fairy how much he loves them. But we’ve seen him do so many stupid – not to mention dishonest – things, it’s just hard to take him seriously. For example, after having been conned for the second time in three scenes by the conniving Fox and Cat, a court sentences the puppet to three months in prison for being so easy to fool – and you want to shout, “Good! Leave him in there!” (Not, perhaps, a very charitable attitude to take, but then opera audiences have not always been known for their charity.)

And this brings us to our biggest complaint: the sheer size and length of Pinocchio. (And no, we’re not talking about the nose here.) It runs, as we said, for three hours – longer than Tosca, longer than Das Rheingold, longer than Salome or Elektra or The Barber of Seville. Does one really need three hours to tell the story of a puppet?

Apparently one does, when trying to faithfully adapt Collodi’s original story. And it should be said that Alasdair Middleton’s libretto is a marvel; witty, literate and clever, one couldn’t help but be reminded of Eliot, or perhaps even Cole Porter. But it is, shall we say, very thorough. Forty minutes could easily have been chopped from this story without missing a beat. And in trying to cram all these somewhat unconnected episodes into the story, it necessitates rushing through many of them. When that happens, character development is bound to suffer. Pinocchio leaves us unaffected because we never really get to know him. His transformation and redemption at the end of the opera should be stirring and touching, but it isn’t. Pinocchio may be made of wood, but – like another Woodman, that from the Wizard of Oz – what he really needs is a heart. It’s hard to describe, how a three-hour opera can be too long and yet still feel incomplete, but there it is. Everything whizzes by too fast; it’s ADD night at the Ordway, Sesame Street goes to the opera. We were promised a fast-paced story, but this is almost frenetic, and there is a difference.

And, as we must be honest, Jonathan Dove’s music just wasn’t all that interesting. Big, bold and often brassy, it resembled John Williams more than, say, John Adams, lacking in subtlety and occasionally drowning out the singers (although, as we mentioned, there could be other factors at work). There wasn’t much there that tugged at the heartstrings, which is vital in a story that revolves around the trials and ultimate redemption of Pinocchio. It was virtually all recetitive, meaning there were no arias, few portions that could stand as excerpts, little in the way of hummable melodies that one could take from the opera house (save the four-beat “Pin-oh-key-oh” theme that, upon closer inspection, was reminiscent of that 60s song Aquarius). As we’ve said, Pinocchio just isn’t a very likable character; but a lot of opera heroes and heroines can be hard to take, and yet their operas still work because of the music. That didn’t happen here.

This was thoroughly modern music, but in an uninteresting way; and to the extent that one could detect signs of such 20th Century composers as Stravinsky, Puccini, Menotti, Britten or Rorem (personal favorites all), it was merely to remind us that Dove doesn’t measure up. Had it been done in, say, the Italian style that would seem to suit this story – but then, what is the use in dealing with what-ifs?

So what did we have? It was too much like pop to be classical, too much like a musical to be an opera, but in reality it was none of the above. Musical theater, one could guess, would be as accurate as you might get; but even that description, like this opera, is unsatisfying. We were told not to take it too seriously, to have fun with the production, and it’s evident that those behind the scenes and on stage, as well as many in the audience, followed that advice. But even fun sound and fury still signifies nothing.

In the end, The Adventures of Pinocchio is not the story of a puppet longing to be a boy; it’s that of a fairy tale longing to be an opera. And failing.

For, as we said, we cannot tell a lie.

Devilishly Good

By Mitchell

One doesn’t normally think of opera as adversarial sport, but there it is: oftentimes, the audience is pitted against the director, and there can be only one winner. Either the audience leaves happy with a production that is pleasing, lyrical and traditional (and, say some, hopelessly “old fashioned”), or the production team emerges triumphant with a “visionary” staging that is “relevant,” “bold” and “provocative.” (This kind of production often fails to, shall we say, move large numbers of the audience – except to the exits- to which the director will respond that such patrons “fail to understand,” and must be “educated” to appreciate such artistic vision.)

And so it was with some trepidation that we approached last week’s Minnesota Opera performance of Gounod’s Faust. The production was being directed by choreographer Doug Verone, who had last worked with the Opera on their Elephant Man of a few seasons ago, and would feature members of his dance troupe. Their goal, according to artistic director Dale Johnson, was to make the music breathe, so to speak, through the dancers’ movements. Well, one can hardly be blamed for being apprehensive, especially on the heels of the Mark Morris-produced Orfeo ed Euridice (to which I alluded in the comments section here).

So just what kind of night would it be? Who was going to come out on top?

Happily, one can report that both audience and creator were the big winners, in this lively, crowd-pleasing and lyrical performance. Verone did indeed have the Midas touch, as his choreography lent a sublime, evocative accent to the enduring story of the aged philosopher Dr. Faust and his bargain with the devil – youth, romance and riches, all for the amazingly low price of one soul. Who could pass up a bargain like that?

Kyle Ketelsen, who was so good as the devilish Don Giovanni of a few seasons ago, was wonderful in the scene-stealing role of Méphistophélès, and Judith Howarth, who shone in a previous production of La Traviata, was likewise luminescent as Marguerite, the innocent girl looking for love but getting more than she bargained for. Paul Groves, in the title role, took some time to warm up, and his tenor voice occasionally reached the balcony with some difficulty; nonetheless, he well portrayed the agony of a man at the end of life, who can’t shake the nagging suspicion that this bargain isn’t all it’s supposed to be cracked up to be. Jean-Yves Ossonce, leading the orchestra in the pit, provided a fine handling of Gounod’s lush music, and the combination of Andromache Chalfant’s sets and Jane Cox’s lighting created an appropriate atmosphere.

This production succeeded on many levels – one of Verone’s expressed desires was to bring some life to an opera that can, truth be told, be somewhat static and stagy. He also wanted to bring out the whimsy and liveliness inherent in Gounod’s story. He accomplished both through the effective use of a troupe of eight dancers – four to play the handmaids to Marguerite, and four to play Méphistophélès’ henchmen. They did indeed compliment the music, providing an accent, rather than a distraction, to the melodies flowing from the pit. It was as if the music itself was using the dancers as paintbrushes, their movements casting large swatches of color across the stage. No special effects-laden movie could have done any better. As well, the Walpurgisnacht ballet sequence from Act V, which is often omitted, is presented here in all its glorious, decadent intensity.

Legend has it that demons evolved from dogs, and Méphistophélès’ apprentice demons did indeed resemble a dog pack in the way they hovered around old Scratch, constantly moving and circling, their gestures at once both grotesque and fluid. (At one point they even make a noise in unison that sounded very much like a howl.), and James Schuette’s costumes should be praised for the subtle accents of black fur, underscoring the dog-like origins. They might resemble puppies eager to please, but they are demons, after all, and their underlying menace was never very far below the surface. The Devil, of course, never likes to get his hands dirty, not when he can rely on someone else to do the messy stuff.

And that leads me to a couple of observations on the story itself. Literature and real life both testify to the Devil’s immense ability to charm, and nowhere is this more apparent than in Méphistophélès’ constant flattery of Faust – unctuous without being totally subservient. You are the master, Méphistophélès reminds him, and I am here but to serve you. All the while, of course, he schemes to manipulate Faust into ever-more untenable situations.

Johnson also mentioned in the pre-performance talk that Verone was fascinated as to why Faust, at the opera’s beginning, chooses to renounce his faith in God and turn instead to the Devil for consolation. It is a dramatic, fateful and ultimately fatal decision, and one that causes us all to wonder. Why look to the Devil for what we must know is only temporary (and shallow) comfort, rather than the eternal truth of God? Is it that we have always demanded quick fixes to our needs? Do we have so little belief in our own worth that we think our souls are of such minimal value? Or, as Burgess Meredith so smoothly suggested in a classic Twilight Zone episode, do we consider ourselves to be too grown up and sophisticated to believe in something so outdated as the Devil?

At the opera’s climax Marguerite, kneeling on the gallows facing death for killing her illegitimate (with Faust) child, puts her life entirely at the disposal of Jesus’ mercy. (Anges purs, anges radieux), to which a chorus of angels respond that her faith has saved her (Sauvee! Christ est ressuscité). There is no white-washing by anyone involved in the production, no attempt to minimize the intense religious message in this scene (indeed, there is a bevy of religious symbolism to be seen throughout the performance).

And so while Marguerite is saved, Faust is whisked by Méphistophélès to eternal damnation. A happy ending? Well, in typical opera fashion, death is the ever-present spectre as the final curtain falls. But in this case it is the redemptive power of Jesus which carries the day and so, as a reminder that as we die with Christ so too shall we be raised with Him, this ending can’t help but be a hopeful one.

Mitchell's Guide to the Opera

By Mitchell

Last night was the first opera in our subscription series for the season – Verdi’s Un ballo in maschera (or, as the Minnesota Opera insisted on calling it, “A Masked Ball.” Right translation, but I still think the title should be rendered in the language in which the piece is performed. Hence, Un ballo in maschera it is.)

As longtime readers know, every production at the Minnesota Opera is a cause for apprehension. Will we see an example of the notorious “Director’s Theater” about which we’ve written in the past? Would we see a ridiculous “re-imagination” of the story, casting it as a Civil War epic or, heaven forbid, a science fiction piece? What will they do next?

Well, as it turned out, this was a pretty straightforward adaptation of Verdi’s tale of the assassination of Gustav III of Sweden in 1792 The staging itself, a co-production of the Boston Lyric Opera designed by Allen Moyer and directed by James Robinson, was reasonable if not inspired. The performance featured show-stopping turns by the Charles Taylor as Count Anckarström, Gustavo’s loyal secretary and cuckolded husband who turns assassin, Jill Grove as Ulrica the fortune teller, and Nili Riemer in the trouser role of Oscar, the page; Cynthia Lawrence as Amelia, Gustavo’s love interest (and Anckarström’s wife), who truth be told was stolid and a bit shrill (especially in Act II's Ma dall'arido stelo divulsa, which should have brought down the house), and Evan Bowers as King Gustavo in a dependable if unaffecting performance. The orchestra, under the baton of Miguel Harth-Bedoya, was dependable as usual.

With all this done, we can turn to the story itself, which is a marvelous example of the suspension of disbelief that grand opera so often requires. For you see, although Gustavo and Amelia are lovers, their love is apparently of the unconsummated type, though you wouldn’t know it from all the carrying on they do to other people and to each other. When Gustavo visits the gypsy fortune teller Ulrica in the final scene of Act I, she prophesies that he will be killed by the next one to shake his hand, whereupon he begins working the room, trying to find someone who will shake hands with him and prove the lie to Ulrica’s words. Well, these people aren’t stupid – especially the members of Gustavo’s court who actually are plotting to kill him. It’s left to Count Anckarström, who just then walks into Ulrica’s parlor, to take his friend’s hand in his. Bingo – I think we have a winner here! Or a loser, as the case may be.

Invariably, as Act II ends, the three of them – Gustavo, Amelia and Anckarström – wind up in the same place, with disastrous results. Amelia seeks to break the affair by ingesting an herb (recommended by Ulrica when she visited her) that would make her love for him go away; Gustavo follows her there in hopes of talking her out of it. Anckarström, naturally, winds up there as well, having followed Gustavo to warn him of the cabal out to assassinate him. The loyal Anckarström convinces Gustavo to return to town in disguise, to which Gustavo agrees only on condition that Anckarström escort this unknown woman, another of the king's conquests - the veiled (and thus hidden from view) Amelia – back to safety, all the while promising not to look at or talk to her. Got all this so far?

Well, Gustavo escape. Anckarström and Amelia are surrounded by the cabal. A showdown seems inevitable. And then, somewhat improbably, Amelia rips off her veil, revealing her identity to her shocked husband and stunned conspirators. (The opera notes suggest that her vail falls off in a struggle, but this certainly is not what happened last night.) Anckarström is angry and humiliated (and who can blame him?), vowing revenge on the king who betrayed him, and the wife who cheated on him. And what’s Amelia’s response to all this? Horror? Shame? Repentance? No to all three. Poor me, she sings. Will nobody show pity on my pathetic condition? Well, what did she expect? Was she one of those women who thought that by stamping her foot she could put an end to this childish sword play between her husband, defending the king, and the conspirators seeking to kill him? If so, she fails miserably.
It’s a grating moment, one reminiscent of Puccini’s eponymous heroine Floria Tosca who, while her lover is being tortured, has nothing more to ask then What did I do to deserve this? Like so many women in opera, it's all about her.

This continues into Act III, where Anckarström first vows to kill Amelia (who is still appealing for pity rather than forgiveness), and then turns his eyes on Gustavo, joining the ringleaders in their plot to murder Gustavo. And, as luck would have it, the king intends to host a masked ball that very night (get the title?), inviting both Amelia and Anckarström (who he is unaware has discovered the truth) as well as the conspirators (he rejects all warnings of the danger that faces him). Well, this plays right into the plotters’ hands – they can murder Gustavo, but because they’re doing it at a masked ball, no one will know who they are! In the meantime, Amelia is still busy lamenting her unfortunate position, thinking of her own misery even as she suspects of the plans to murder her lover.

Fast forward to the end. Everyone is at the ball. Amelia tries to warn Gustavo, but he’s resigned to whatever happens. Anckarström enters, finds Gustavo, and plunges a dagger in his back. Gustavo dies, but not before pardoning Anckarström, and making him ambassador to Finland. (I wonder if anyone else in the diplomatic corps knows about this method of advancement?) Anckarström, convinced now that is wife was simply imprudent (and somewhat insipid) but not impure, bewails his mistake, but takes solace in the forgiveness of his once and still friend. The curtain falls. Applause all round. Drive safely, have a good night.

As I say, you have to suspend disbelief when you’re talking about grand opera. With a few exceptions, you’re there to hear the music and admire the acting, not to try and make sense of the plot. And Un ballo in maschera is no exception. It remains one of Verdi’s great operas, one that continues to remain in the repertory worldwide. However, that doesn’t stop me from making one slight suggestion to the end of the story. It concerns the true-life ending to the assassination of Gustav III. Now, I’m in no position to give Verdi suggestions. (Nor is he, actually.) Nonetheless…

In reality, there was no forgiveness, no happy ending – at least as far as the conspirators were concerned. (In fact, Gustav’s own sexuality was somewhat suspect, so you might as well get rid of the love triangle as well.) In real life, Gustav’s brother Charles, after acceding to the throne, sentenced the conspirators to death (eventually commuting the sentence to perpetual banishment from the country). Then, to set an example for anyone who might get such treasonous ideas in the future, he then had Anckarström’s right hand (the one that held the gun) chopped off, beheaded him, had him drawn and quartered, and then put on display.

Imagine what a finish that would have made! Charles, who is an attendee at the ball, swoops down after Gustavo’s death, taking power. He orders Anckarström to be taken away and, as the guards drag him away (his heels leaving marks on the stage), Charles sings the final lament:

It was predetermined from the start, your presence here.
Your role in the gypsy's tragic prophesy is now complete,
Your name written in the Book of Fate.
It has now fallen to me to complete the last chapter in that Book,
Written with the blood of a traitor.

We hear Anckarström’s screams offstage as the torturers start in on him, the music comes crashing to a crescendo, and the curtain falls. Well, a guy can dream.

And anyway, if more operas ended that way, perhaps we’d have more young people at the opera.

Let's All Go to the Opera

By Mitchell

It had been a while since the Minnesota Opera had gotten on my nerves, and I'd been wondering, frankly, what the problem was. Well, as it turns out, I needn't have worried. The new season starts next week, and our subscription correspondence included this bit on a group called "Out @ the Opera."

"Out at the Opera" (the @ ruined the link, so I'll leave it out here) is described as "The Minnesota Opera's new group for our friends in the Gay, Lesbian, Bisexual, Transgendered and Allies community. Join us for a peek inside the world of The Minnesota Opera with special behind-the-scenes access to the 2007-2008 season."

Now, understand this - what follows is in now way intended to be disparaging to homosexuals. In all honesty, I think the best way to get involved in any group - arts or otherwise - is to be part of a group that already shares common interests. No, this has nothing to do with sexual orientation, but it has everything to do with marketing a product and pandering to an audience.

There's already a perception that homosexuality is a dominant feature in the arts today (see this take we did on it back in February, when we looked at a 2 Blowhards piece asking the question,"Why do so many American males consider arty and aesthetic matters to be faggy?"), which makes me wonder why any organization would want to emphasize this perception, unless they wanted to make it even more so. Otherwise, they're simply playing up to their own stereotype. And why would this group be any more in need of "behind-the-scenes access" than any other? In fact, if you're going to try to appeal to a group that would seem to be underrepresented in the arts - that is, if you're going to try to play against your own stereotypical demographic - wouldn't that group be hetrosexuals?

Sure, it's true that the Minnesota Opera has a "Young Professionals" group, which either serves as a music education group or a classical dating service, I'm not sure which. And it's also true, based on some of the MO's performances we've attended, that they're desperately in need of a younger demographic. But if you're trying to expand your reach (and aren't all arts groups in that dilemma?), wouldn't it make more sense to try and appeal to people other than those that - again, stereotypically - already fall into your target market? (Drew adds, in passing, that if "Gay @ the Opera" really takes off, at least you won't be needing a young people's education program.)

And so it strikes me that the Minnesota Opera isn't really doing much to expand its reach by starting up a program that looks like it's pandering to a group that is already part of its major demographic. If arts organizations truly want to shake the perception that art is not masculine - in other words, if they truly want to reach out to new consumers and broaden their appeal - this doesn't seem to be a very smart way to go about doing it. And I'll finish up with a quote that Michael Blowhard had in his original 2 Blowhards piece: "Is this state of affairs a good thing? Wouldn't we all be a bit better off if the aesthetic fields had a few more straight guys in them?"

Maybe the Minnesota Opera Should Read This

By Mitchell

Well, we haven’t written much about the Minnesota Opera lately, the 2006-07 season having recently come to a close. The new season has been announced, however, featuring Rossini's classic comedy L’Italiana in Algeri, or as the Minnesota Opera insists on billing it, “The Italian Girl in Algiers.” As the title implies, the story takes place in Algeria. Rossini wrote this piece in 1813, so it’s a fairly safe bet that the setting of L’Italiana in Algeri takes place somewhere in that time frame.

Except, of course, for the Minnesota Opera. Their description of the staging is as follows: “Rossini’s madcap romantic comedy is imaginatively set inside a colorful 1930s pop-up book.”

Right.

Keep in mind that this is the same Minnesota Opera that staged Orazi e Curiazi, which the composer set in the year 650 BC, as an American Civil War epic.

Now, read the following from this week’s print edition of The Onion:

Unconventional Director Sets Shakespeare Play In Time, Place Shakespeare Intended

In an innovative, tradition-defying rethinking of one of the greatest comedies in the English language, Morristown Community Players director Kevin Hiles announced Monday his bold intention to set his theater’s production of William Shakespeare’s The Merchant of Venice in 16th-Century Venice.

“I know when most people hear The Merchant of Venice, they think 1960s Las Vegas, a high-powered Manhattan stock brokerage, or an 18th-century Georgia slave plantation, but I think it’s high time to shake things up a bit,” Hiles said.

[…]

The Community Players’ 1999 production of Othello was set during the first Gulf War, 2001’s The Tempest took place on a canoe near the Bermuda Triangle, and last year’s “stripped-down,” post-apocalyptic version of Hamlet presented the tragedy in the year 3057.

[Hiles] had been planning to center [The Merchant of Venice] around an al-Qaeda terrorist cell before going with an avant-garde take [of setting the story in its original time and place].

Admit it. If I hadn’t told you which story was from The Onion, you’d have had a hard time telling the two apart, wouldn’t you?

I could ask why directors insist on doing this, taking perfectly good stories and tricking them up for no apparent reason other than to draw attention to their own self-conscious cleverness, but let’s have one of the “singers” from The Onion have the last word:

“I guess it’s the director’s dramatic license to put his own personal spin on the play he is directing, but this is a little over-the-top,” said Stacey Silverman, who played Nurse Brutus in Hiles’ 2003 all-female version of Julius Caesar. “I just think Portia not being an aviatrix does a tremendous disservice to the playwright.”

Around the Horn

By Mitchell

Elsewhere,

• At 2Blowhards, Michael offers an excellent piece on the latest disturbing, exhaustingly trying trend: crying at the office. In this confessional, Oprahfied, touchy-feely culture we've developed, I suppose this shouldn't be surprising. The stat of the day, from Michael: "One shrink estimates that 'the average college student in 2006 was 30% more narcissistic than the average student in 1982.' Given how self-centered college kids were back in the early '80s, that's a frightening figure." And that, as I am wont to say, explains a lot.
  
• At Architecture and Morality, Relievedebtor asks whether the Imus flap hurts or helps conservatives. Does the almost complete ban on serious discussion of issues such as race mean, as Relievedebtor fears, that "unless there is enormous push-back among voters and consumers, the sensitive nature of political correctness in America Imus exposed will make it much harder for a conservative to now be elected president," or will it be that "If the frustration over what happened to Imus and the subsequent debate about hip-hop and hypocrisy in the media builds, an outspoken conservative may be able to awaken the sleeping Republicans." I hope for the second, but fear the first. But I agree wholeheartedly with his conclusion, that "ideas must continue to be of primary importance, not the opinions of others." Including bloggers!
  
• Two wildly differing opinions on Puccini's Il Trittico, which appears tomorrow afternoon as the Met's final moviecast of the season. An Unamplified Voice was distinctly unimpressed with it, while Jay Nordlinger at the New York Sun was far more favoribly disposed. I always enjoy reading Nordlinger; his opinions are frequently reliable, and when he doesn't like something he has a way of letting you know without resorting to the cattiness so often present in reviews of this type. So who's right? Perhaps we'll know after the live broadcast tomorrow.
  
• Mstislav Rostropovich, one of the greatest cellists ever and a staunch opponent of Communism, died earlier today. A friend of Solzhenitsyn, Rostropovich was outspoken in fighting for the rights of dissidents and eventually fled the Soviet Union in the 70s. He memorably performed Bach at the base of the crumbling Berlin Wall, returned to Russia during the abortive Communist coup attempt in 1991, and will remain a giant of classical music long for as long as there is classical music. R.I.P.

This Hoffmann a Tale Worth Telling

By Mitchell

Jacques Offenbach died before completing Les contes d’Hoffman (The Tales of Hoffman), which makes it something of a challenge, to say the least, in figuring out exactly how the opera should be done. As is usually the case when dealing with unfinished compositions, a raft of composers, producers, directors, and musicologists have since had a go at what they thought Offenbach would have wanted, and the results (in whatever version) have been good enough to earn Hoffman a much-loved place in the opera repertoire.

But the multiple versions (one critic called it a perpetual work-in-progress) also give producers and directors a great amount of leeway in deciding how they’re going to stage the work. And given the direction the Minnesota Opera has taken during its history, one had good reason to be apprehensive when approaching this year’s production. Ultimately, these apprehensions were mostly groundless in the season’s fourth performance of Hoffman Thursday night at the Ordway.

There was much to like about this Hoffman; the sets, for one thing. Having gotten used (resigned) to the MO’s minimalist staging of recent years, the comparatively lavish sets (which came from the Seattle Opera’s 2005 production) were a delightful surprise. The appearance of the Venetian canals at the start of Act Three produced an audible gasp in the audience, and there were other expressions of pleasure throughout the performance.

The singers were pretty good, too. Richard Troxell, in the title role of the drunken poet, displayed a certain degenerate charm that makes Hoffman an appealing anti-hero. Even though much of his misery is self-inflicted, you can’t help rooting for him even while you’re castigating his decisions. Troxell combined a pleasing vocal style with a physicality that made the role, well, sing. Since Hoffman is in virtually every scene (with the exception, oddly enough, of Act Two, which often is the most affecting) the role requires someone up to the task. Troxell fit the bill.

As Hoffman’s Muse, who masquerades as his friend Nicklausse throughout most of the opera, Adriana Zabala provides a most adequate sidekick. The Muse is a jealous lover who wants Hoffman for herself (the artist dedicated to his art), yet her desire to protect him from the situations into which he constantly gets himself seems born of a genuine concern and love at least as much as jealousy. Zabala’s Nicklausse displays a good-humored exasperation with Hoffman, but it is always discreet, never overbearing. She won the lion’s share of the applause at the curtain, for good reason.

Dean Peterson was poised to steal the whole thing in the showy role of the four villains – Lindorf, Dr. Miracle, Coppelius and Dapertutto – who torment Hoffman throughout the opera. These roles are generally played by the same bass in the same way that Hoffman’s loves are often played by the same soprano, but more on that later. With shaved head and dark glasses, Peterson evoked a sinister, Lex Luthor-like aura that was extremely effective. Why didn’t he get more applause at the end? I don’t know – perhaps, because of his costume changes, not everyone realized it was the same actor throughout?

And there were other good things, too – the dancing wine bottles of the prologue, the use of marionettes in Act Three to demonstrate Peterson’s Dapertutto as the puppet-master manipulating poor Hoffman, and the singers in many of the supporting roles, just to name a few. But of course, being the Minnesota Opera, there were going to be some things that didn’t work quite as well. And while they weren’t fatal to the production, they couldn’t be ignored either.

First of all, there’s the casting of Hoffman’s leading ladies. In his pre-concert talk, Artistic Director Dale Johnson noted that this production (unlike the MO’s previous production of Hoffman ten years ago) had opted not to follow the occasional practice of casting a single soprano in the roles of Hoffman’s three lost loves – Olympia, Antonia, and Giulietta – as well as his current love, Stella. And I’m not sure this was the right decision. As Wikipedia notes, “[i]t is important that the four soprano roles be played by the same singer, for Olympia, Giulietta and Antonia, are three facets of Stella, Hoffmann's unreachable love.”

Johnson’s rationale for the casting was to emphasis the “distinct personalities” of each of the women. I suppose this could be a defensible decision, but it’s just as likely that the MO, continuing to pour money into needless commissions for unnecessary operas such as the upcoming Grapes of Wrath, probably couldn’t afford the big bucks needed to get a soprano who could handle such a wide-ranging role.

This isn’t necessarily a knock on the singers portraying the women in the current production. True, Alison Bates’ Giulietta was the weakest of the lot – her voice had difficulty projecting to the upper reaches of the Ordway, and her acting never seemed to really convey the courtesan’s personality – but then, Giulietta is the least fleshed-out of Hoffman’s loves in the first place, being almost entirely created after Offenbach’s death. And the MO’s abruptly brief version of the already-short Act Three didn’t give us much of a chance to get to know her anyway.

As for the others, Nili Riemer was exceedingly charming as Olympia, the robot with whom Hoffman falls in love in the first act, and Karin Wolverton affectingly winsome as the doomed Antonia, Hoffman’s second act love. We don’t get to see much of Lisa Butcher’s Stella, the current object of Hoffman’s affections, who appears only in the prologue and epilogue.

But let’s return for a moment to the question of one soprano playing all four roles, which has been done in the past to great effect, notably by Joan Sutherland and Beverly Sills. Now, it’s true that this type of casting can result in the soprano role overshadowing that of Hoffman himself. I’m not sure if Offenbach himself intended for the casting to be thus, but in an opera that can struggle at times with narrative cohesion, having such a dominant presence can’t hurt.

Which leads me to my second misgiving about Hoffman, that sense of a certain something that was missing. And it is this: a sense of warmth, of pathos. The tale of Hoffman is, at heart, a bittersweet one. For all the uproarious comedy of Act One, for all of Hoffman’s drunken charm, there’s no denying that losing your three great loves in life – no matter how real or imaginary the love might have been – is a heck of a bad thing to have happen to you. And despite the Muse’s promise that Hoffman’s true fulfillment in life will come not from love but from art (and we all know how vital suffering is to the production of great art), the opera still seems to demand a certain level of melancholy. The prologue and epilogue bookend an epic type of story, a man’s journey through a life of love and loss. John Paul II often spoke of the “drama” of ordinary life, and Hoffman’s life provides that kind of drama in spades. Only it didn’t quite come through in this production.

Perhaps the editorial decisions made in assembling this version had something to do with it. Johnson explained that based on amount of material available, the opera could have run five hours; as it was, it ran three-and-a-quarter. And although Act Three has always been the most problematic, it still seemed to end rather suddenly, leaving Hoffman’s third lost love as little more than a footnote. (And a live one at that, unlike many of the versions that provide her with an accidental death.)

Maybe it had something to do with the broad farce of Act One, the absurdity of falling in love with a doll (unless you’re talking about Julie Newmar) obscuring the sense of loss which Hoffman nonetheless felt upon learning the truth. Act One’s comedy combined with Act Three’s brevity serve to isolate the tragedy of Act Two, the only one in which Hoffman’s loss has a truly emotional impact on the audience (which might be one reason why this act has frequently been staged as Act Three, with its dramatic musical climax providing the perfect lead to the epilogue.)

Or it could be the lack of a sense of time passing, of an older Hoffman looking back on a life lived long, if not always well, ala Cyrano.

Whatever the reason, it was clear that something was lacking, somewhere. After sitting through a three-hour-plus drama, the listener’s pleasure should be combined with a sense of coming to the end of a long journey, a shared experience that leaves everyone emotionally drained. And despite the enthusiastic response of the audience as the final curtain fell, I didn’t sense that feeling in the applause which greeted the singers at the curtain call. It was appreciative, but not overwhelming.

Jacques Lacombe, making his Minnesota Opera debut in the pit, did a nice job with Offenbach’s beautiful melodies, although there were times when the orchestra threatened to overwhelm some of the singer’s quieter moments, as in the Barcarolle at the start of the third act. The Barcarolle should be noted as a singular disappointment; it’s probably the most famous piece of music from Hoffman, the one with which the public at large is most familiar. It features a duet between Giulietta and Nicklausse, cast against the backdrop of the gondoliers piloting their boats through the canals of Venice, with the chorus joining in. It was a beautiful scene as staged on Thursday, except you couldn’t really hear any of the singers. And while it should be added that it’s always difficult to tell whether this is the fault of the orchestra or the Ordway’s miserable acoustics (maybe we need to rethink our opposition to mics on the singers after all), it remains true that anyone attending Hoffman looking forward to the express purpose of reveling in the Barcarolle would have been let down. And the feature piece of any opera shouldn’t make you feel that way.

In the long run, while these shortcomings do qualify as more than just quibbles, they ultimately failed to overshadow a production that might have been better in parts but seldom failed to charm or excite. It was far from the worst the Minnesota Opera has to offer. And, given the MO’s track record over the last few years, that’s reason enough for at least two-and-a-half cheers.

Opera Thursday

By Mitchell

The state of mind of the Minnesota Opera, and for that matter the states of mind of so many opera companies today, can be summarized in this neat little quote from The Mumpsimus (HT: Terry Teachout):

Theatre audiences and critics have been conditioned to expect plays to deliver messages, and many good playwrights have mangled their art by bowing down to this condition. One of the problems with the messages delivered by most contemporary plays is that they're predictable and shallow—war is bad, love is good, people should be nice to other people who aren't exactly the same as they are, etc. One of the results of ticket prices being so phenomenally expensive is that audiences expect what they see to give them either a lot of spectacle or some sort of education, though if you've just paid $85 for a seat, what you probably most want is a reinforcing of your current ideas under the guise of education, so that way even if you aren't entertained, at least you feel smart and righteous. (Yes, I'm generalizing horribly.)

The Mumpsimus is talking about theatre, but he could well be referring to the state of modern opera today. (And, after all, what is opera if not theatre on a flamboyantly grand scale?) I don't want to accuse the Minnesota Opera of being one of the most notorious "message" opera companies around, primarily because I'm not that familiar with other opera companies. But it's clear that, from the beginning of the MO, the message was the medium through which the music passed. And, one might suggest, it's that message today that's keeping the MO from being the opera company that its directors fancy it already to be. For when any art organization becomes so obsessed with the new and the provocative, they risk overlooking what's already out there - some of which might surprise them, if they bothered to look.

True, the MO is a modest opera company - four or five productions a year, certainly nothing to compare with the Met, or even the nearest large company, the Lyric in Chicago. And maybe it's unrealisitc to expect the big stars to sign up with the MO, even for just four or five performances. Why should they come out here to a small opera company in the sticks?

Well, Renee Fleming and Dawn Upshaw have been in St. Paul, as a matter of fact - right in the same building where the MO performs, if you can believe it. But they weren't singing for the MO - they're some of the stars who've performed over the years at the famed Schubert Club, one of the best classical music organizations anywhere. Across the river, just a few blocks from where we live, the Minnesota Orchestra routinely features such stars as Deborah Voight, Jane Eaglen, James Morris and Sumi Jo.

So you can't make the argument that stars don't know where Minnesota is - they know quite well where we are. This is hardly hayseed territory when it comes to classical music. And yet they don't seem to be performing at the Minnesota Opera, do they? Gee, maybe the MO can't afford to attract bigger names because they're so busy spending their money commissioning new works. Ya think?

In the last few years early opera composers like Handel, Hayden and Monteverdi have made something of a comeback. If you heard the Met's broadcast of Rodelinda a few weeks ago, you couldn't help but get caught up in it. Even over the radio one could sense the excitement in the hall, the long and loud ovations that came after each aria. Of course, having Renee Fleming as the star helped.

Now, as it happens, the MO did do Handel once - back in 1994. Perhaps it's time for them to try early opera again. There can be no question that the MO has scored big-time with its bel canto productions. They've succeeded in attracting talented performers and solid productions, and they've carved out a niche for themselves in the opera community. Might not the same thing happen if they added early opera to their repertoire?

The problem here is that the MO always seems to be interested in something new, different, and especially controversial. Notice the operas they debut - political screeds like The Handmaid's Tale, or stories with social underpinnings like The Grapes of Wrath. They take a moving story like that of The Elephant Man and turn it into a dialogue on the disabled. Even when they do a straightforward opera, one such as Orazi e Curiazi, they can't resist the temptation to take the story, set in ancient Rome, and transplant it to the time of the American Civil War. In that case, all that was missing was a chorus in blackface singing, "Zip-a-dee-do-dah."

One might look at all this and ask why? Why bother.

Remember my clue from last week? Gian Carlo Menotti. At one time back in the 1950s, Menotti was one of the best-known opera composers around. He was the first to realize the potential of the new medium of television, and was the first to compose an opera expressly for TV (the beloved Amahl and the Night Visitors). It's true that Menotti has fallen out of favor over the years, but there are two operas of his that stand as prime candidates for production, if your opera company has a scintilla of creativity about it.

The Saint of Bleecker Street would fit in perfectly with the kind of production the MO likes to do. A gritty, urban drama, it deals with the tensions within a family. The daughter, Annina, may have the stigmata, has visions of the Crucixison, and wants to lead a religious life. Her brother, Michele (whom we would call "a troubled young man") fights to keep Annina out of the cloister. He disrupts a wedding, murders his girlfriend (who has just accused him of loving his sister more than he loves her), and vows to fight God to keep Annina. In the climatic ending, Annina, who has had visions of her impending death, dies just as Michele crashes the ceremony at which she is to receive the veil. If that's not opera, I don't know what is.

The Saint of Bleecker Street won the Pulitzer Prize for music, but remains an underperformed opera today. During the intermission discussions on the weekly Metropolitan Opera broadcasts, The Saint of Bleecker Street is often identified as an opera worthy of revival.

Or take Menotti's The Consul, the story of a woman trying to get a passport to escape a totalitarian country. This would seem right up the alley for a company that likes "message" operas. (And, in fact, the MO did do The Consul - back in 1979.) You might ask yourself why the MO doesn't revive it? Maybe they can't figure out a way to suggest to the audience that George W. Bush is the leader of Menotti's totalitarian state, I don't know. My point here is that to bring Menotti back (and several opera commentators have mentioned that the time is ripe for a revival of Menotti) would show something that the MO doesn't often exhibit - creativity. They like to think they do, what with their new, provocative productions - but new doesn't equal creative.

It doesn't have to be Menotti. It could be Dominick Argento, whose productions were a staple of the early years of the MO, dating back to when they were still the Center Opera (in fact, a couple of his operas had their premieres here). And Argento has strong Minnesota roots, having taught at the University of Minnesota for almost 40 years, and currently holding the title of Composer Laureate to the Minnesota Orchestra. According to this bio, "Since the early 1970s the composer's operas, which have always found success in the U.S., have been heard with increasing frequency abroad." Of course, he hasn't been heard at the MO since the 1990-91 season.

In fact, there's a whole lot of American opera out there - if you don't believe me, just check this website. Is all of it good? Probably not. But it requires some thought to put together seasons that include pieces like these. My contention is that thought is not the strong suit of companies like the MO. After all, why be original when you can be provocative instead.

One of the underwriters of classical music on our local public radio station reminds listeners that "all music was once new." That's undeniably true, but you notice they don't say that all music is good. The two words aren't interchangable - new does not equal good. And in their obsession to bring us new, provocative, commissioned works, companies like the MO seem content to ignore the vast collection of opera that's already been written but sits there gathering dust.

Sure, they might argue, the audiences don't recognize the old works. Well, I'll tell you, if they recognize The Grapes of Wrath, it's probably because they were forced to read it in high school, and they probably don't have very generous feelings about it, either.

As I mentioned in my piece a couple of weeks ago, opera has always been political. And if you can produce a political work that remains artistically satisfying, then good for you. Verdi did pretty well by it, as I recall. But current opera offers politics as polemics rather than poetry, anger instead of art, lecturing instead of lyrical. It's a fine way to validate the ideological opinions of your audience, to reinforce their own beliefs and make them feel good about themselves. But entertainment? Give me a break.

For that matter, I'd contend that the most stimulating opera selections in this area come from the Des Moines Opera. Over the last fewyears they've been able to mount several productions of rarely performed contemporary opera - The Saint of Bleecker Street and The Consul, Benjamin Britten's Gloriana, The Rake's Progress by Stravinsky, The Ballad of Baby Doe by Douglas Moore - that aren't seen around here. Perhaps, one might argue, the overall quality isn't on par with that of the MO, but I'd suggest that these selections show more thought, more creativity, than the bulk of what the MO has done.

I realize that I risk contradicting myself here, suggesting that new opera is too "political" while urging the production of older operas, many of which might also be considered "political." Or castigating new and provocative productions while favorably citing examples from the Center Opera era when new and provocative was the rule. But that's partly the point - why continue to commission new works that aren't necessary? I suppose it's just easier to do that than to actually think about what might be out there. Then, of course, there's the glamor and approval from your peers from your "new, controversial, challenging" piece - something like The Handmaid's Tale - or your ability to "engage contemporary issues" as they attempt to do with this year's Joseph Merrick, the Elephant Man. And if audiences don't respond they way you'd like to see these pieces - well, they just aren't educated enough to know what's good for them. After all, we Midwesterners do have a bland pallet.

It's also true that there's more to programming a season than running down a menu of choices and choosing the ones that look good. Price, availability of singers, ability of the house to stage the production - those are all major considerations, and ones that I'm sure the MO considers when they start planning a season (often, years in advance).

My point in all of this is that you don't have to spend a ton of money on important commissions or go looking for politically relevant, provocative new operas. There's plenty of underperformed opera already out there. Just have an open mind and the willingness to expand your mission.

The architect Cesar Pelli, when asked whether or not there was a place for beauty in architecture, replied that it depeneded - if one was designing for critics and fellow architects, then it didn't matter. But if one designed for the public, then beauty was an absolute necessity.

The Minnesota Opera faces much the same question: what is their mission? If they're trying to win critical acclaim and approval, then by all means keep on producing works like The Handmaid's Tale. After all, indulging oneself can be fun sometimes. But if they're interested in entertaining the public, perhaps it's time to rethink their strategy.

Opera Thursday

By Mitchell

What with how busy things have been over the last few weeks, I haven't had a chance to review the announcement last month of the Minnesota Opera's schedule for the 2006-2007 season. After budget deficits had forced cutting back to four productions for each of the last three seasons, the MO triumphantly announced a return to five productions in 2006-2007.

The choices themselves are something of a mixed bag: Rossini's La Donna del Lago, Offenbach's Les Contes D'Hoffman (or The Tales of Hoffman, as the MO puts it), the rarely performed Lakmé by Delibes (which one critic pointed out had become something of a camp classic in its most recent incarnations), Mozart's brilliant Le nozze di Figaro (which the MO, again inexplicably, choose to bill as The Marriage of Figaro, despite its being performed in Italian), and the world premiere of Gordon's The Grapes of Wrath.

So what do we make of this? Well, it's hard to go wrong with Mozart, even though Le nozze di Figaro is probably put on a little more often than I'd prefer. Offenbach's Hoffman hasn't been seen here in a while, and should be good fun. I'm a bit more apprehensive about Lakmé, given its campy reputation, plus the MO's irresistable desire to gimmick up productions (under the guise of "creativity," of course). La Donna del Lago is an excellent choice; over the years the MO has gained a well-deserved reputation for its excellence in the area of Bel Canto opera. This includes not only the better-known composers of the era - Rossini, Bellini, Donizetti - but also digging deep into the Bel Canto catalog for lesser-known, even obscure, works such as last month's Orazi e Curiazi. It's to the MO's credit that they've established this niche for themselves, and it is on this that their legacy will ultimately depend.

Unfortunately, The Grapes of Wrath illustrates the niche for which they seem most proud: their commission of new and avant-garde opera. Now, this requires a word of explanation by way of background. The Minnesota Opera began life in 1963 as the Center Opera, being the house company of the modernist Walker Art Center. Their mission was to present progressive, contemporary and alternative opera as a companion to the lavish productions then being given by the Metropolitan Opera during their annual stop in Minneapolis with their national touring company. Eventually the Met discontinued the national tours, and the Center Opera (now renamed the Minnesota Opera) merged with the more traditional St. Paul Opera with a combination of old and new, traditional and modern.

The pattern of opera selection has remained fairly consistent over the past few years; each season's repertory consists of a Bel Canto, two or three that span the general opera pallet, and one new or "cutting-edge" production. And it is this area we're going to look at specifically this week.

Now, 'tis true that there has always been new opera, and that invariably those new operas bring their own share of controversy. Just read sometime about the riots that inevitably accompanied the openings of new productions by such "mainstream" composers as Verdi. And it's also true that many of these new productions have dealt with political subjects - again, one need only look at the field day censors had with the political (and moral) themes of Italian opera in the late 1800s and early 1900s.

But there's something different about contemporary opera today. It seems incapable of getting beyond the controversial, the trendy, the oh-so-earnest desire to be "relevant." Just take a look at some of the most visible productions of the past few years (and to be fair, I'm not singling out the MO here). There's A Wedding, based on the Robert Altman movie, which played at the Lyric Opera in Chicago last year; Doctor Atomic, John Adams' opera based on the life of Robert Oppenheimer which was written for the San Francisco Opera; another Adams project, the controversial The Death of Klinghoffer (based on the terrorist murder of Leon Klinghoffer on a cruise ship, and brilliantly parodied by yours truly in Graveyard of the Elephants as The Retirement of Gretzky, the world's first opera staged entirely on ice); and Andre Previn's adaptation of Tennessee Williams' A Streetcar Named Desire, also done for the San Francisco Opera.

The MO's contribution to this group, besides next year's Grapes of Wrath, includes 2005's revival of yet another Adams project, the seldom-performed Nixon in China (which, to Adams' credit, is one of the few even-handed portrayls of Nixon you're likely to see from the arts-and-croissants crowd), and this season's Joseph Merrick, the Elephant Man, by Petitgirard, which in the hands of the MO becomes a treatise on the disabled. Think I'm exaggerating? Check out this blurb from the latest program, on an upcoming "conversation":

The Elephant Man: A conversation on policy, disability and opera

[...]

Continuing a multi-year partnership with the University of Minnesota's Hubert H. Humphrey Institute of Public Affairs, The Minnesota Opera is convening a panel comprising experts in policymaking, medicine and disability, as well as the opera's composer, moderated by opera commentator Robert Marx. Using the opera as a jumping-off point, this panel will create a forum in which the community can explore how policy, public perception, and people with disabling diseases interact. The event will also feature musical selections from the opera.

Boy, that's a loaded paragraph if I've ever seen one. But you notice who's driving this panel? The Minnesota Opera, that's right. About the only thing missing from this "conversation" is a discussion on the artistic merits of the music itself. But then, we wouldn't want to get in the way of discussing social justice now, would we? The whole premise is so far removed from reality, you'd think it was a panel at a USCCB meeting. If you ever wanted proof of how the MO just can't let the opera speak (or sing) for itself, you have it here.

Unless you look further back to one of the most famed productions in MO history, 2003's widely acclaimed, widely excoriated, totally execrable production of Ruders' The Handmaid's Tale, based on the novel by Margaret Atwood - a production so offensive that it was referred to in Michael Linton's First Things article as The Bigot's Opera:

The Commander enters the living room carrying a big black Bible. He reads Genesis 30:1-3 to his middle-aged wife and to Offred, her handmaid. The scripture finished, the wife and handmaid get on the floor, Offred sliding between the wife’s spread legs. The handmaid hikes up her skirt and leans back against the wife while the Commander unzips his trousers. They copulate. As they thrust and grind the orchestra and chorus burst into “Amazing Grace.”

And you thought Maria Callas was provocative.

The opera, like the book, is a polemic against fundamental Christianity. "The Republic of Gilead—the invention of right-wing Christian fundamentalists—is a culture of robotic obedience, brute tyranny, sex slavery, torture, terrorism, sadism, and summary execution." As Linton says later on, "if it is a triumph, it is as the first work of art to displace Andres Serrano’s 1987 photograph of a crucifix submerged in urine as the preeminent work of art calculated to offend Christian sensibilities." One writer "observed the resonance between the opera and the attempt of a 'religiously driven, if not quite fundamentalist U.S. government' to force a Pax Americana on Iraq." I could go on, but you get the point.

What's most increcible about all this is how clearly the Minnesota Opera attempted to peddle this filth, this political pornography, as "art," as Linton points out in his conclusion:

In a remarkable passage in the opera’s program, Dale Johnson, the Minnesota Opera’s artistic director, writes that he sees The Handmaid’s Tale as “a warning of the effects of intolerance in all its forms. Intolerance dehumanizes people, forcing their humanity underground. The best art holds up a mirror to its audience, and The Handmaid’s Tale does that brilliantly using the operatic genre.” His comments echo those of Atwood when describing her story as a work about “what happens when people condemn without understanding.” Precisely.

So anyway, you see what we opera lovers have to put up with here in Minnesota. (Although in fairness, I will say something good about the MO at some point in time. I promise.)

Notice what all these operas we've discussed have in common? Controversy, through either the political content of the story (Handmaid, Grapes, Klinghoffer and Atomic), the topic itself (nuclear war, terrorism, disability, the evils of fundmentalism) or the enticing reputation of the original authors (Robert Altman, John Steinbeck, Tennessee Williams) for addressing "adult" subject matter.

Now, you might ask yourself if audiences buy all this. Well, it's hard to say. What I can say, from personal experience, is that the MO has traditionally had to couple the year's contemporary production as part of its multi-opera ticket packaging. Meaning, you couldn't buy any kind of partical season package without having to endure the latest modernist travesty.

Dale Johnson, the aforementioned artistic director of the MO, himself admitted in the pre-performance talk prior to Orazi e Curiazi that audiences here don't seem to warm to new opera. They want the old standards, damn them, despite the assurances of the MO that "we know what's best for you." And so the MO keeps pouring it on, introducing a new production every year, treating the patrons as rubes who need to be force-fed what's good for them whether they like it or not, whether they understand it or not.

So we'll just have to see about The Grapes of Wrath, although I'm not optimistic. But what makes this so frustrating is that it's all so unnecessary. There's plenty of good opera out there that's hardly ever produced anymore. Any talented opera company willing to be creative, rather than merely provocative (which leaves the MO out), could come up with seasons that were excellent mixes of the old guard and the hidden gem, the warhorses and the forgotten masterpieces - and, if they wanted to from time to time, the new commission as well. We forget that Bach was once out of favor, until he was brought back by Mendelssohn. The same could be done for many composers by companies such as the Minnesota Opera, if they really wanted to.

Next week: How companies like the Minnesota Opera could be truly creative in their programming.

Spaghetti Western Opera

By Mitchell

There are those who say opera should be heard and not seen. These people may love the beautiful melodies, thrill to the soaring notes of the soprano and become lost in the passion of the tenor, but they can’t get beyond the action on stage. For them it all bogs down in the absurdity of the plot, the pantomime acting, the hokey translation of the libretto, or the ridiculous costumes. To them, the theater of opera becomes a distraction from the composition of opera.

Having seen the Minnesota Opera's recent production of Orazi e Curiazi, I might be inclined to agree with them. For one night, at least.

First, some background: Orazi e Curiazi (The Orazis and the Curiazis) was written in 1846 by Saverio Mercadante, a composer who straddled the transition period between the Bel Canto style of Rossini and Donizetti and the grand opera of Verdi. Mercadante was fairly popular in his heyday, but even within his lifetime he was soon eclipsed by Verdi and sank into a relative obscurity from which the Minnesota Opera sought to rescue him. (Orazi hadn't been performed as an opera anywhere in over one hundred years, and had never been staged in the United States prior to this American premiere.) Whether or not Mercadante would have been flattered by the attempt is anyone’s guess.

The opera, set in the year 650 BC, tells the story of two families intertwined by marriage and engagement: the Orazi family of Rome and the Curiazi family of Alba, Rome’s chief rival. Camilla, the opera's heroine, is a Roman engaged to Curaizio, a soldier in the Alban army. As the curtain rises we find Rome and Alba about to head to war. Curaizio's sister Sabina is married to Camilla's brother Orazio, a military leader of Rome. (Got all that?) Unlike Romeo and Juliet, there is no animosity between the two families, despite the fact they are on opposing sides of the conflict. Everyone approves of the match between Camilla and Curaizio, and the wedding ceremony is about to start when Camilla's father Vecchio, a prominent Roman, bursts in with news: the Roman Senate has decided there will be no war with Alba. Instead, in a bizarre version of single warrior combat, it has been determined that three Alban soldiers will fight to the death three opposing Roman soldiers in winner-take-all combat. Opera being what it is, of course the three Orazi brothers are chosen to represent Rome, while the three Curiazi brothers will fight for Alba. (One wonders what might have happened had it been, say, the Three Stooges vs. the Marx Brothers, but that is another tale - A Night at the Opera, perhaps.) Well, with that the wedding is off, and so is the story.

Now, you might have noticed a passing resemblance, in the idea of brother vs. brother (or in this case, brother-in-law vs. brother-in-law), to the American Civil War. That idea apparently caught on with the producer, Eric Simonson, who decided to stage the opera not in the Rome of 650 BC, but in the American South during the Civil War. Just to make sure we didn't miss the similarities, he chose to outfit the Roman soldiers in gray, the Albans in blue. Oh, and all the women are in hoop skirts and mid-1800s hairstyles, and the home of the Orazi looks about like what you'd expect in America of that era. Talk about being hit over the head.

And here is where the entire concept starts to fall apart. It simply is not believable to have Civil War soldiers singing in Italian about the the glory that was Rome, the fates, and the whims of the gods. More than that, it becomes the fatal curse of opera - a distraction, a prime example of the action one sees not matching up with the sound one hears. At times, as in the scene where Camilla heads to the Temple to beseech the Oracle to end the conflict only to be interrupted by the High Priest and his assistants (a bizzare, ecumenical group of what appears to be a Catholic bishop leading two Jewish rabbis, complete with incense and appeals to the gods), it approaches a sense of surrealism - opera by Federico Bellini. Come to think of it, I don't recall Bruce Catton ever having written about the Oracle during the Civil War - it must been one of the sections of Gone with the Wind that they cut out when they made the movie. (It's true that Georgia does have both a Rome and an Athens, so I suppose there might have been some potential to the idea. But in general, Romulus and Remus don't set up well in the land of Homer and Jethro. Homer and the Iliad perhaps; but again that's another story.)

When you add to that the rotating sets designed by Neil Patel, sets that required cast members to move them about the stage during the action, you can see why one might have felt better served by closing their eyes and simply enjoying Mercadante's lovely music. Watching these Civil Warriors dusty from the haze of war, singing these beautiful Italian lyrics, it puts one in mind of nothing so much as one of those spaghetti westerns, where the words coming out of the characters mouths don't match up to their lip movements. It was that incongruous.

What was particularly appalling about the whole thing was that nobody alive had ever seen this opera in its original setting. It might be one thing if Orazi was one of those operas that companies performed every two or three years - you can understand how a producer might get tired of the same old staging year after year and be tempted to try something different, something new for the audience to consider. But we're talking about an American premiere, people - why not at least try to give us what Mercadante had written? It's a prime example of what I wrote about a couple of weeks ago, that tendency of producers and directors to put their own stamp of individuality on a production, regardless of what the author might have originally intended.

(As a side note, on the way to the theatre I speculated on what the Opera might try in the way of bizzare staging or tricks for this production - they're notorious, in my opinion, for trying various gimmicks and reinterpretations. "Why bother?" Judie replied. "Nobody's ever seen this opera; they wouldn't be able to appreciate how 'clever' it is." "Oh, don't worry," I said, "they'll think of something." Later, while we were attending the pre-performance lecture, as the presenter told of the antebellum setting, I elbowed Judie in the ribs. "See?" I said. She nodded sadly.)

What's unfortunate about the whole thing is that with the production's many distractions, one could almost lose sight of the performances. Brenda Harris is an old pro when it comes to Bel Canto, and her performance as the tortured, tragic Camilla, forced to choose between brother and lover, was thoroughly satisfying in every way. If one could transcend the absurdity of the setting and make you believe in what they were singing, she could. Scott Piper, playing the conflicted Curiazio (do I defend the honor of my country or flee with the love of my life?), was very good as well - his clear tenor complimented the orchestra nicely, and his acting conveyed the weariness of war, as well as a fatalistic nobility. Alas, the same could not be said of Ashley Holland, the Southern - I mean Roman - general Orazio. Had he been playing Robert E. Lee or Stonewall Jackson, he might have pulled it off; but his bearish looks and ponderous movements around the stage simply didn't cut it. Additionally, his voice sounded forced, lacking the ease of the other leads - it seemed as if he really had to push it to rise above the orchestra. Christopher Dickerson, as the patriarch Vecchio, has a third-act piece in which he despairs at rumors (false, as it turns out) that his son Orazio has turned coward and fled. Perhaps he was just afraid Orazio had become Curiazio yellow.

The orchestra, conducted by Francesco Maria Colombo, was in good form as usual. Colombo, who last appeared here in 2005's magnificent Maria Padilla, showed once again that he knows how to handle the Minnesota Opera's Bel Canto productions. And a special mention should go to the chorus - many times an opera chorus simply provides window-dressing, either enriching the sound or acting as a Greek chorus. In Orazi, they had to do more than that, for Mercadante really asks them to be a crucial part of the plot in the way they advance the storytelling. The chorus didn't let him down.

Which is more, sadly, than one can say for this production as a whole. There was much to like, but ultimately Orazi collapsed under the weight it was forced to carry: what we were seeing didn’t match what we were hearing. A gimmick such as changing the time and setting of a story can work on occasion (think of Baz Luhrmann's Romeo + Juliet, set in Venice, California; at least it was clever and had some kind of logic); indeed, with talented production, it can work spectacularly. This was not one of those times.

When I closed my eyes, everything worked just fine. But an experience that could have been duplicated in my living room is not the experience I pay for when I go to the opera.

The Don's Early Light

By Mitchell

Far be it from me to suggest that a musical genius like Mozart might have got it all wrong, but I’ve often thought it might have been more appropriate to end Don Giovanni with the Don being dragged to the Netherworld by the statue of the man he murdered, the Commendatore, rather than with the scene that followed – his various victims taking delight in his final comeuppance. Take, for example, Puccini’s ending to La Traviata, with Alfredo looking down on the lifeless form of his love Violetta, and his final anguished cry as the music swells to its thunderous conclusion. It seems to me as if this was the way to bring Don Giovanni to an end.

It probably would not have been Mozart’s style, though, and it certainly wouldn’t have fit with the tone set in the Minnesota Opera’s just-concluded production of the classic. This was a Giovanni somewhat different from what we usually see, and it wasn’t only with the updating of the setting to an early 20th century, faintly Art Deco-stylized era.

No, this version chose to put the accent on the humorous elements that have always been present in what Mozart called his “dramma giocoso (opera buffa)" - in other words, a comedy with dramatic overtones. Rather than the evil sadist we’ve come to know and love (or rather, hate), this Don Giovanni (literally, Don Juan) comes across as a charming rogue; a bit of a cad perhaps (there is, after all, that murder you have to explain away, not to mention an attempted rape), but in the end he's not much different from other rakes we’ve known and loved through the years – Bill Clinton, for instance. Sure, he’s still a manipulator who sees in women nothing more than a chance for pleasure. Sure, he’s perfectly content to break up a marriage just for a night or two of passion. But, as he tells his servant Leporello, to be loyal to one woman would mean denying the other thousand. The man is nothing if not self-assured.

And in the hands of this Giovanni, Kyle Ketelsen (a winner of the Metropolitan Opera's National Council Audition), such a claim would not be out of line. Ketelsen played the comic potential of Giovanni to the hilt, without ever quite letting the character lapse into caricature. His Giovanni could turn on a dime - charming one moment, menacing the next, capable of making love and war in the same paragraph. He was smooth, suave, convincing, and totally amoral; and Ketelsen was in total control of the stage whenever he was on.

The same goes for Giovanni’s hapless servant Leporello, played by Patrick Carfizzi. Leporello is all too aware of his master’s faults – indeed, give him a moment and he’ll catalog them for you – but, although one gets the impression he really does feel bad about the Don's misdeeds and his own role in them, he lacks the moral strength to pull away. It is only when the Don is safely dead that he feels he can finally express his true feelings. Carfizzi was a true showman while on stage - at once both the efficient agent of his master and the helpless victim of his own success. For as long as he's useful to Giovanni, he makes himself indespensible - and thus is trapped in a lifestyle from which he yearns to escape (if the price is right, that is). He is, in a sense, the comic relief that advances the dramatic story, and one thinks that this was what was missing from Papageno in last year's The Magic Flute.

The biggest cheers at the end of the evening were reserved for these two, and rightly so; for the rest of the cast, while good to varying degrees, couldn't really keep up with Ketelsen and Carfizzi. Patricia Risley, as Giovanni's abandoned lover Donna Elvira (who's also pregnant, an interesting touch not in the original), was charming and vulnerable - and, truth be told, a little foolish to modern sensabilities; Erin Wall, playing the revenge-driven Donna Anna (it was her father Giovanni killed in the opening scene) was a capable singer but a static actress; Jamie-Rose Guarrine, as Giovanni's current conquest Zerlina, was - well, she was there; and Raymond Ayers, as Zerlina's left-out newlywed husband Masetto, was victim of a weak voice and a strong orchestra - not a good combination.

The production itself featured some interesting touches - the modern dress, for example (and one must admit that Giovanni was much more charming in his top hat, cape, and spats than he might have been in more traditional garb), and the playing-up of the comedy without changing the essence of the story. One thinks, for example, of the Act 1 conclusion in which Donna Anna, her would-be champion Don Ottavio (an adequate Theodore Chletsos), and Donna Elvira try to crash Giovanni's party, disguising themselves in masks and frock coats. The idea that the very pregnant Donna Elvira, her stomach protruding far beyond the cutaway coat, could possibly fool anyone simply by wearing a mask, was a moment of absurdity not lost on the amused audience. And yet the scene itself was played straight, and lost none of its impact for the comic touches.

There was also the scene in Act 2 where a shotgun-wielding Masetto, part of a posse out to get Giovanni, is separated from the group by Giovanni himself (disguised as Leporello), whereupon the two reenact a scene that could have come straight out of a Bugs Bunny cartoon ("Be vewy vewy qwiet; I'm hunting Giowannis"). This, too, could have easily turned slapstick without Ketelsen's steady hand.

I have to admit, though, that the climax was something of a letdown. Whereas many productions feature the Commendatore's Statue actually coming to life and dragging Giovanni to hell, this one did it all with smoke and mirrors - or lights and shadows, as it were. Not that it was ineffective; but when one goes to a western and is told that a band of Indians is about to attack, you don't want to see the tribe represented by a few feathers sticking out from behind a hill. That's a trick reserved for old-time TV dramas with small budgets; an operal company with national pretentions should be able to do better.

Xian Zhang, making her Minnesota Opera debut (as, indeed, were most of the leads) led the Opera's house orchestra, the St. Paul Chamber Orchestra, in a performance that was generally rock steady (although there were a couple of instances in which the singers and musicians seemed to get slightly out of synch). During the overture to Act 1, the thought crossed my mind - having heard this piece many, many times on the radio - that this orchestra was too small to be playing this music. But, given the cast and the size of the house, it proved to be just right.

And, of course, the gorgeous melodies of Mozart are almost impossible to contain within an orchestra pit; they want to burst out of the walls and envelope everything and everyone in their path. The sublime genius strikes yet again. Which leads, as it usually does, to a satisfying evening.