Operatic Vengeance

In lieu of sucking it up and writing my own review of Pelléas et Mélisande, for the moment, I’m just going to pick apart what "real" critics have written about it and say why they’re wrong, as well as totally ignorant. I saw this production three times (out of a six-performance run), while some of these chuckleheads don’t seem to have seen it even once, therefore my opinions are more right than theirs.

From Keith McDonnell's review for musicomh.com:

At least Mr. McDonnell got it right when he said that the audience was discerning for booing the production team while cheering the performers. As far as the above comments, I'm not sure what he was listening to. Maybe he's just unfamiliar with Pelléas. Pelléas's lines can seem somewhat odd; they swoop up and down, and are like French tongue-twisters. In the three performances that I attended, Simon Keenlyside was never anything less than perfect and perfectly committed... well, except to the stupid poses that director Stanislas Nordey made him strike. Ms. Kirchschlager, on the other hand, colored her voice very little; her Mélisande was a true blank slate... in the most flat and dull sense of the phrase.

Rupert Christiansen sat at his keyboard and vomited this all over it for The Telegraph:

What a load of catty bullshit this is. Opera singers really can't win when it comes to age. Either they're too young and can't bring the appropriate depth to a role, or they look too old to play the teenagers and young lovers who make up the majority of operatic lead roles. In this case, though, Christiansen's bitchiness is misplaced, particularly in regard to Mr. Keenlyside. From my seat in the stalls (and without ogling through binoculars) Keenlyside (who's 47) could've easily passed for a man in his 30s, and from the balcony he seemed even younger. He’s incredibly graceful, youthful, and fleet-footed in his movements; only when you focus your binoculars on him do you see the signs of age. On top of that, his voice has a youthful, heroic sweetness that belies his age. I'm not sure what Christiansen is referring to when he talks about "Keenlyside's attempt at naivety" – all I saw was a sweet, inexperienced young man... nothing embarrassing about it at all, except for the ridiculous costume.

On to his next claim, i.e. that Keenlyside went over the top and turned Act IV into Mascagni. First of all, I don't see that Keenlyside had any other choice but to push himself, since Simon Rattle was making the orchestra play at full volume and with little subtlety. The lack of intimacy is, in my opinion, more a function of the stupid direction, which often kept the characters from touching or even looking at one another. But vocally, the subtlety was there. With Keenlyside, there's no other option. While his declaration of love wasn't the soft, tortured whisper it was in the Boston concert performance, it certainly wasn't a verismo-style bellow.

As for Christiansen's last neck-fart, I can only give him the two-finger salute and make a rude noise. If tossing a woman around by her hair and then pressing her face into the floor is "vague grumpiness", I'd hate to be Christiansen’s partner (well, I'd hate that anyway, dude seems like a prick). Seriously, Finley's "Absalom! Absalom!" scene was one of the most chilling things I've ever seen in opera.

I'm just picking on Edward Seckerson from the Independent because he's ignorant:

The lovers' names were not spelled out in the Braille — they were spelled out in a bunch of tiny round lights, like on a marquee. Believe or not, Mr. Seckerson, but Braille letters aren't actually in the shape of regular alphabet letters. Please don't give Mr. Clolus more credit than he deserves.

Richard Fairman from the Financial Times needs to swab out his ears:

Hopefully he's referring to the murky depths of the character's psyche and not to the murky depths of the voice, because if Fairman thinks that Keenlyside's lower tones are the stronger part of his voice, I can only assume that he's trapped in some backwards Bizarro world where up is down, east is west, Simon Rattle wins "Best Hair" awards, and Hugh Laurie's eyes are orange and hideous. Also, the idea of Finley as Pelléas is slightly absurd, considering that Finley is a bass-baritone (albeit an immensely talented one) and Pelléas is a role that verges on the tenor range in parts.

Michael Roddy, writing for The Scotsman, doesn't seem to be at all acquainted with the story, the libretto, the performance itself, or his ass from his elbow:

The hell? The libretto and even the staging (for a change!) make it absolutely clear that Pelléas and Mélisande’s first kiss takes place in Act IV, right before Golaud kills Pelléas. Yes, I suppose Mélisande could have a working girl’s frame of mind and fuck before kissing, but yeah, no. There’s been no knocking of very sensual boots there.

Also from Michael Roddy:
But then again, with the current production, there may be moments you want to avert your eyes. Except when that lady with the red dress is on.

Actually, I was hoping for a scene with just the "lady with the red dress"... so I could rest my eyes. Way to single out the least compelling performer for praise there, genius.

From Warwick Thompson for Bloomberg.com:

Also Warwick Thompson:

Thompson must be the highly suggestible sort, he probably gets hypnotized when people count out loud within his earshot. And if writing "Sentez-vous l'odeur de mort qui monte?" (Can you smell the odor of death that rises?) on the wall makes a place a dungeon, I'd love to be the real estate agent who sells Mr. Thompson his next home. I could just paint "This is a nice house!" in huge letters on the wall and wait for him to open his wallet.

There were some reviews that were thoroughly good and well-written, but I just like to pick on stupid people.