La Damnation de Crappy Eurotrash Stagecraft
I went to see La Damnation de Faust last night. Berlioz is an unconventional composer; for the most part, his operas do not fit the typical mold of a Romantic opera, and La Damnation de Faust is no different. Perhaps some of this strangeness is what made the artistic staff of the Los Angeles Opera think that La Damnation de Faust would be good fodder for director Achim Freyer, but unfortunately, they were mistaken. I was expecting to like the performance, because I enjoy Berlioz’s work, and because I think Samuel Ramey, who played Mephistopheles, is the greatest bass of the late 20th and early 21st centuries. (Lame joke: When is Sam Ramey not playing Mephistopheles? Answer: When he’s playing Mefistofele! Yuck yuck. Sorry, I’m an idiot.) I was even hoping against hope that I'd like the production even after I had found out that Achim Freyer was the director. I had seen Freyer’s “Invasion of the Mud People” staging of Bach’s Mass in B Minor last season, and had found it indigestible and nonsensical. Freyer actually made me almost dislike Bach, which is quite a feat. So, again unfortunately, in having high expectations for the evening, I was mistaken.
Last night’s production was—predictably—indigestible, undecipherable, absurd (intentionally and unintentionally), and incredibly lame. Freyer had some ideas, such as when Mephistopheles strips off Faust’s white trenchcoat and his black clothes all at once, revealing a demon skin underneath (Faust then crawled into a pit in the stage with the rest of the demons), that could have been good if they had just been a little more subtle. As it was, everything was just over-the-top and ridiculous. The Hungarian March in the prologue had an inappropriately comical mock battle between goofily dancing guys with huge fake ears and grinning skull faces. It created an effect not unlike a Peanuts on Ice show at the Knotts Berry Farm of the Damned. It kind of reminded me of Expressionist art inspired by WWI, only, you know, stupid. Then, in the first act, the entire chorus and all the supernumeraries wore these huge, grotesque, papier-maché heads, so it looked like the stage was completely populated by bobbleheads. The stupid heads reminded me of Ensor’s
Christ’s Entry into Brussels, only, you know, retarded. Freyer never did anything with the visual references he tried so hard to evoke. Faust was then tormented by the Evil Black Standard Poodle of Death. Who knows what that was supposed to represent? (I’m just guessing when I say “Death”.) Couldn’t they have chosen a more evil dog than a Standard Poodle? Barkley from Sesame Street maybe? And why was one of the sylphs dressed like a pimp version of the white spy from Spy vs. Spy? What good is creating such a complex, allusive visual language if it’s going to be lost on the audience? Freyer had a bit of explanation for some of his staging effects in the program notes, but even that made little sense. All I could glean from the essay was that Freyer considers the nose to be the captain of the face or something. Not only were Freyer’s antics visually and mentally disruptive, they also interfered with the orchestral parts of the opera, as well as some of the arias. The Dance of the Evil Fire Sprites (not the name Berlioz intended, but that’s what Freyer boiled it down to) was kind of Mummenschanz-y, kind of Pink-Floyd-laser-show-y, kind of Disney’s-Main-Street-Electrical-Parade-y, and enough already(-y). The dancers whose costumes lit up were neat—for about a minute.
Paul Groves as Faust was OK vocally. He had some trouble with high notes and seemed strained sometimes. During the duet “Ange adorée”, he couldn’t seem to get into any kind of synch with Denyce Graves, and his “Nature immense” got a loud “Bravo”, but was kind of weak and pinched compared to Roberto Alagna’s (which isn’t a fair comparison, since Alagna’s was in the studio). Groves really seemed to throw himself into the crappy production though, so kudos to him, I guess, for always keeping a straight face, even when being chased around by a man dressed as a Standard Poodle (of Death).
I felt sorry for Denyce Graves. She didn’t get to sing until about mid-way through, and she had to wear these horrible braids that were at least twelve feet long. She didn’t really have much of a chance to do any acting, because she seemed too worried about maneuvering the braids around. (One of my major gripes with Freyer is that, in this already pretty static piece, his stupid costume and staging ideas further hampered the singers’ acting.) Her voice didn’t seem to be in the best shape either. Her lows were fine, but the high parts got kind of shrill and shrieky.
Sam Ramey got the best ovations of the night. I think it’s like a rule now, because every time I’ve seen him, he’s gotten the best ovations. That he’s really, really good could have something to do with it though. He too was hampered by the staging. Usually when Ramey is the Devil, he seems to have a great time, frolicking around the stage, messing with barmaids, and just being all-around campily evil. This Mephisto was just kind of blah. His voice sounded smaller than usual, but I think that was the set, because everyone was quieter (especially the people with the fake heads). I also felt gypped because his costume kept me from admiring his (albeit aged) hotness. His coat had tails that covered his butt; he had a stupid pointy wig that covered up his trademark hair; his face was painted. His costume was kind of like a combination of a New Jersey Devils fan, Wolverine from the X-Men, David Bowie circa Earthling, and a recipient of Carson Kressley’s fashion advice (Carson, you’re very funny, but fancy pants just do not go with sports jerseys and tennis shoes). Most annoyingly, during the wicked little serenade “Devant la maison”, Freyer had a chorus of pig (or bunny?)-headed nuns clicking flashlights on and off very audibly over Ramey’s singing.
So I didn’t like it very much. It seemed like a mishmash of artistic and theatrical references. After the “Rat Song”, there was a kind of tableau vivant of DaVinci’s Last Supper. There were the obvious Ensor influences. At one point, Faust cradled an armful of red tape and moved across the stage very much like Nijinsky in
L’Apres-Midi d’un Faune. But Freyer seems kind of conflicted with what direction he wants to go in. Most of the time, he’s impenetrably symbolic, but sometimes he’s maddeningly literal, like when Mephisto said that the death knell was sounding, and a big bell descended from the ceiling, or when the trumpets of judgment (or something) were playing, and a chorus of huge, cardboard trumpet bells came down from the rafters (which was very
Monty Python and the Holy Grail). The attempts at subversiveness were out of place; the Faust legend is quite a subversive story as it is, and we don't need nuns with pig heads to tell us that. But I’ve heard that Freyer’s a nice guy, so I guess he has that going for him. Good for him.
Labels: berlioz, freyer, ramey
Don Carlo, June 2003, Cleveland Orchestra
The reason we went to Cleveland was to see the Cleveland Orchestra perform a concert version of Verdi’s Don Carlo, with Simon Keenlyside singing his first Rodrigo. The concerts were at Severance Hall, which is a very pretty hall. The lobbies are rust-colored and rosy marble, and the main lobby has paintings in the style of Egyptian friezes, representing different visual arts. The hall itself has a beautiful, high ceiling covered in stylized silver-leafed flowers and vines, kind of reminiscent of Klimt. It was refreshing to see silver used instead the usual gaudy opera-house gold. Blue velvet seats were also a nice change from dark red or—in the case of the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion—earwax orange.
On Thursday night, we were in the second row of the center section. The orchestra was on the stage instead of in the pit, and there was a platform for the singers. At first, it seemed like all I’d be able to see would be orchestra’s feet, but it turned out that I had a very good view of Keenlyside.
In another stroke of luck, Ferruccio Furlanetto, who was meant to play Philip II, had gotten sick and had been replaced by Sam Ramey, who is my favorite bass, so I had two-fifths of my ideal Don Carlo cast (which is: Karita Mattila as Elisabeth, Olga Borodina as Eboli, Roberto Alagna as Don Carlo, Simon Keenlyside as Rodrigo, and Sam Ramey as Philip). The tenor who was to have played Don Carlo had also backed out, but he was replaced by Marcus Haddock. I’ve heard Haddock a lot at L.A. Opera, and I’m usually bored and vaguely disgusted by him. These two performances elicited no new feelings about him.
I was really excited about these performances because Don Carlo is one of my favorite operas, and because I love Simon Keenlyside. In spite of this, I was a little worried that I would be disappointed. It was Keenlyside’s first time performing Rodrigo, and I wasn’t sure if his voice would be right for the role, since he usually doesn’t do Verdi. I was also worried that I’d compare him to Sherrill Milnes (the ultimate Rodrigo) too much, or that the performance as a whole would fail to measure up to the five-act French 1996 Chatelet version with Alagna, Mattila, Hampson, van Dam, and Meier, which is a little unfair since the Orchestra was performing the four-act Italian version. Two of my three concerns turned out to be legitimate ones, but I wasn’t anywhere near as disappointed as I feared I would be, mostly thanks to the appearance of Sam Ramey and the glorious talent of Simon Keenlyside.
The orchestra was fantastic both nights, particularly the cellist who played the solo before Philip’s aria “Ella giammai m’amo”. There were a few synchronization problems, but that was all. The chorus was okay, although their Italian was kind of mushy. Franz Welser-Möst, the new conductor, was incredible to watch, not to mention very entertaining. During Eboli’s aria on Saturday, he got very excited and was mouthing the words along with the mezzo. At another point on Thursday night, he was dancing from foot to foot as he conducted. Throughout both performances, he would breathe very noisily and sometimes make funny grunting noises. I couldn’t tell if it was because of excitement or exertion or what, but he seemed to be using the grunts to reprimand some of the string sections. He seemed very supportive of the singers, though sometimes I thought he let the orchestra play too loudly over them.
I think I have been ruined forever after seeing Karita Mattila’s performance as Elisabeth on video. I don’t usually like the female voices and tend not to pay much attention to sopranos, but Mattila’s performance is spellbinding. Her acting is perfect, and her voice is as clear and glassy as a Scandinavian lake and as silvery as the first hint of frost on a window pane. Miriam Gauci, though her part was somewhat different due to the language change and some alterations in the score, suffered greatly by comparison. She didn’t sound young at all (the real-life Elisabeth was 14 when she married Philip, though I don’t know how old Schiller, whose play the libretto is based on, intended her to be), and her transitions from the lower to upper parts of her register were ragged. When she went into her lower range (and her chest voice?), she sounded like she was trying not to burp (which could’ve been the case, since she looked like she had horrible indigestion). She also contorted her face a great deal while singing, so it looked as if she’d had a stroke. Her mother-of-the-bride, straight-out-of-JC-Penney dress didn’t help matters either. Opera singers are very well-paid; surely she could’ve afforded something outside of the softer side of Sears. I didn’t like her performance at all and felt no sympathy for Elisabeth, whereas Mattila, especially in the scene where her lady-in-waiting is sent away, can bring me to tears.
Yvonne Naef, who played Eboli, got the biggest ovations for her arias. On Saturday, after “O Don Fatale”, the conductor himself wouldn’t stop applauding until she came back onstage for another bow. She was good vocally, though some of the trills in the Veil Song seemed off, but I didn’t like her acting very much. On my video, Waltraud Meier is vocally not right for Eboli, but her acting, in my opinion, makes up for it. Naef’s acting consisted of bulging out her eyes, puffing out her chest, and occasionally sweeping her arms around. I couldn’t see her very well most of the time though, so maybe she was more convincing in other parts.
Marcus Haddock was blah. I won’t even bother comparing him to Roberto Alagna. I played the hypothetical parents game and decided that he looked like the lovechild of Dan Aykroyd and a fish. Fishy Aykroyd seems to have only one facial expression—his eyes bugged out and glassy, and his lips drawn back as though he were constantly gulping. I guess that’s what happens when your mama has gills instead of lungs. His acting did improve in the last scene with Elisabeth though. His voice is big (or sounded big at Severance), but it’s sloppy, which made it especially annoying in ensembles because he drowned out some of the other singers with his volume while not putting any effort into his style. His fake sobs during the Friendship Duet with Rodrigo were overblown, inappropriate, and unseemly.
Sam Ramey really saved the show for me. His Philip was incredibly well-acted and multifaceted. On Saturday, during “Ella giammai m’amo”, however, his voice cracked very audibly. I was completely shocked because I’ve heard Ramey many times, and he has never cracked. It was like finding out that there isn’t a Santa Claus. His “Ella giammai m’amo” on Thursday was amazing though. He got the best ovations at the curtain calls both nights, probably because he stepped in with only a week’s notice. I thought it was interesting that they placed him on a platform on the far right of the stage so that he never physically interacted with the other singers. It made a nice visual representation of the isolation Philip feels—isolated by his position as ruler of half the world, and isolated by his inability to open himself to anyone, except, later, Rodrigo. Ramey’s portrayal is a sharp contrast to José van Dam’s portrayal of Philip. Ramey seems confident and quite calm even during outbursts, while van Dam’s Philip is icy, melancholy, almost fragile, with sudden fiery outbursts of anger and an air of menace. I think either portrayal is appropriate, though van Dam’s Philip’s sadness after Rodrigue’s death seemed much more apparent and devastating than Ramey’s. However, Ramey was far more constrained by the staging than van Dam, and his facial acting was incredibly nuanced and responsive.
As a sidenote: I first heard Don Carlo in Italian, but since then have listened to it most often in French, the language in which it was originally written. Roberto Alagna has said that he feels that the French sits more comfortably on the music, whereas the Italian slips and slides over it. At first I disagreed, but now I realize that he’s right. I noticed this particularly in “Ella giammai m’amo”. I’ve been trying to figure out what the difference is, why Gauci swooped up and down so much while Mattila, in French, did not. It could be that Mattila is simply a much better singer, but my mom mentioned that Gauci was doing many of the same things that Montserrat Caballé did on the Italian recording we have, so I’m thinking it’s something to do with the languages. Maybe it’s because while vowel sounds are important in Italian, the consonants also need to be more fully enunciated, whereas in French, it seems that the consonants slip along with the vowels. I don’t really know what I’m talking about.
And finally, Simon Keenlyside. I think vocally he is quite well-suited to Rodrigo, though I perhaps would’ve liked him better as Rodrigue, which for some reason seems lighter to me. Also, if he had been Rodrigue, I wouldn’t have been mentally comparing him to Sherrill Milnes, who I’ve heard as Rodrigo, but not Rodrigue. Rodrigo isn’t a dramatic baritone role, and Rodrigue has been sung with great success by other lyric baritones, such as Thomas Hampson. I don’t know if there is a difference in the score or if Hampson chose not to sing them, but Keenlyside hit several low notes that I didn’t remember from Don Carlos (the French version). He didn’t have the true Verdi baritone sound of a Sherrill Milnes, but his Rodrigo was sensitively, dramatically, and beautifully sung. His voice sounded in the hall exactly as it does on recordings. He did use a score on both nights, but I think that he was the only singer in the cast who had never performed his role in public before. I think he wanted to have the score with him because he is a perfectionist and wanted to be certain that he didn’t make any mistakes. Having the score did hinder his acting, though the recital-like set-up also contributed to that. He definitely seems more comfortable when he’s in costume, and in this plain-clothes, no-scenery, concert staging, he seemed very nervous. He rarely looked at the other singers (though this improved on Saturday night), and he was constantly wringing his hands and nervously rocking back and forth. I had a good view of his face both nights, and it was interesting to watch his reactions. At one point, he sang “Horrendo, horrendo pace!” very loudly and dramatically, then immediately clamped his mouth shut and blinked a few times as if he were surprised that he had been so loud. Other times, he seemed kind of bored while the other performers were singing. After every line he sang, not matter how passionate it was, he always returned to the same placid facial expression. It was disconcerting, but fun to watch. His death scene improved a great deal from Thursday to Saturday, acting-wise; he acted more with his body on Saturday instead of rocking on his heels and wringing his hands (though it was very cute how he flinched at the gunshot sound on Thursday). Both death scenes were glorious to hear though. His Rodrigo is not quite to the level of Sherrill Milnes yet, but I think Keenlyside is one of the best current Rodrigos (if he adds the role to his regular repertoire), and his Rodrigo is more of a quiet, thinking idealist than a heroic warrior like Milnes’s. I think Simon Keenlyside just has a bad case of David Bowie-itis in that he can become a character when put into costume, but feels ill at ease when he is just himself (though “just himself” is incredible!).
Labels: Cleveland, Don Carlo, Keenlyside, ramey
Duke Bluebeard's Castle & Gianni Schicchi, June 2002
Hi, this is my first-ever post in my shiny new opera blog, but I've been writing reviews for about four and a half years now (intermittently). So I'm going to post those here as well. Enjoy! I might add pictures later, if I can figure out how to do it in a non-blindingly ugly way.
L.A. Opera ended the season this year with a weird double bill of Duke Bluebeard’s Castle and Gianni Schicchi. It worked OK, I guess, except for the truly lame prologue at the beginning of Bluebeard’s Castle. It was just some actor in a trench coat hanging from the ceiling and using the phrase “Ladies and Gentlemen” over and over again. Duke Bluebeard’s Castle isn’t full of weird, over-complicated plot twists or anything, so I don’t see why they needed a prologue. They also changed the ending, which bugged me. I can kind of understand the new ending L.A. Opera commissioned for Turandot, since Puccini actually never finished it, but Bartok did finish Duke Bluebeard’s Castle, and the libretto doesn’t mention Bluebeard killing his wife…it’s kind of left for the audience to decide. But in the L.A. version, he strangles her at the end, and he’s presumably killed all his other wives too, since they were just ghostlike puppet-things. In the real opera, they’re just like beautiful zombies, and Judith goes to join them; there’s no dying involved. The beautiful zombies plot kind of makes me think of “Manos”: The Hands of Fate, which makes me think of Torgo, which makes me giggle incessantly.
I liked the music in Duke Bluebeard’s Castle a lot; I could really hear the influence of Impressionist music on Bartok. Like when Bluebeard opens the door with the treasure, the music sounds like light glinting off of gold and jewels, and when the lake of tears is revealed, the music does sound very watery.
The plot is incredibly repetitive though. It’s like an evil Let’s Make a Deal. Bluebeard brings his new wife home to his creepy-ass castle that’s full of darkness and locked doors. His wife notices that the walls are “weeping” and says she wants to dry them with her kisses. Then she realizes that that isn’t tears or sweat (which are both creepy enough) on the walls…it’s blood. But still she loves Bluebeard and wants to stay. Then she finds seven locked doors, and she demands to see what’s behind them. Bluebeard reluctantly opens the first door, revealing a room full of torture equipment! And as if that weren’t freaky enough, it’s all covered in blood! Judith freaks out, but decides that she still loves Bluebeard, and starts bugging him to open the second door. He says no and begs her to just love him, but finally he gets whipped into opening the second door. And behind Door Number 2…weapons! And they’re covered in blood! Anyway, the same thing keeps happening. Door 3 conceals a room full of treasures…covered in blood. Door 4 opens onto a beautiful garden, covered in…wait for it…blood. Door 5 reveals Bluebeard’s empire, which Judith says is “vast and beautiful”, and I was waiting for her to follow with “but probably covered in blood.” Sure enough, the clouds look like blood. Finally, Bluebeard balks at opening Doors 6 and 7, but Judith again wears him down, probably with her bountiful bosoms. Behind Door 6 is a lake filled with tears. What, no blood? And behind Door 7? Four dead wives! Judith gets in inexplicable inferiority complex, saying the wives (puppets) are more beautiful than she is. So Bluebeard does her a favor…he turns her into a ghost too.
Anyway, enough of that. Sam Ramey totally carried the opera, which has the repetitive plot and not much action. That man could sit onstage and take a great big dump while humming operatic arias, and I’d still pay to see him. Denyce Graves was OK as Judith, but not terribly great. She was mostly just beauty and breasts.
Gianni Schicchi was pretty good. Again, Ramey was fantastic, and it really showed off his versatility going from weird tragedy to comedy in one show. The rest of the cast was fairly weak vocally, and the sets made it hard to hear them when they were downstage. Rolando Villazon was physically funny (how could he not be when he looks so much like Mr. Bean?), although they made Rinuccio a little too comedic; no normal girl would want to marry a guy that goofy. I also didn’t like the way they made Lauretta act. She was totally infantilized, which made it hard to believe that she was of marrying age. But I always like a stump joke, and the one in Gianni Schicchi (“Farewell, Florence, I salute you with my stump!”) makes me chuckle. I imagine the word “stump” might not be so funny if I were an amputee, but since I’m not, it makes me crack up.
Labels: bartok, puccini, ramey
