OPERA - ESSAYS - 24 HRS MAGAZINE - 1999 - ii
Nugent inquiry’s discussion paper on funding for Australia’s major
performing companies has left the biggest question mark over opera
because of its cost. Financial rationalisation would favour the State
companies following the Victorian State Opera into the fold of Opera
Australia. In his survey of recent opera-going, Humphrey McQueen shows
why artistic excellence cannot be identified with one company.
brilliance here and emerging talent there, attention is more than ever
focussed on the Opera Australia’s Sydney seasons as controversies
flare about its dominance and its qualities. Days before the opening of
Verdi’s Don Carlos in Sydney
on 9 August, its director Elijah Moshinsky condemned both orchestra and
chorus. The players responded by showing that their more usual fudge is
the result of slovenliness, not incompetence. The rapturous applause
before a note had been sounded means that the subscribers deserve no
better. Until they learn when to boo, Simone Young will find it harder
to learn how to lift the standards of a band content to blame its faults
on its tools.
contribution to Don Carlos was
more apparent in the pit than on stage. This production reached a new
low from a director whose 1970s Boris
Godunov had marshalled comparable forces for Grand Opera. This time
he served up spectacle in place of detailed vision, providing no concept
for penetrating the interplay between the personal and the political,
whether of the imaginary characters, the historical personages or for
human nature. Only in getting so many people on and off a stage
notorious for its clipped wings did he demonstrate his craft. He botched
significant details by sapping the power from spiritual majesty and the
majesty from temporal power. A badminton scene in Act II began on the
right foot with the ladies of the court immobilised in their hoop skirts
while a page collected the shuttlecock every time they hit it out of
play. But Moshinsky then allowed the queen to move towards her
lady-in-waiting to comfort her after the king has expelled her for
leaving her mistress unattended. What queen of Spain ever moved towards
her subjects? This lese majeste
later had Phillip step down into the crowd at the auto-da-fe.
The staging of hierarchy reached its nadir when the king sat in the
presence of the Grand Inquisitor so that visualisation of the church’s
power over the throne was lost. The direction of the Grand Inquisitor
could not have been more misguided as he turned to look at people when
he spoke to them, thereby destroying the metaphoric point of his
Carlos demands five great male voices. This production had only one
and that in the minor part of the monk where Karl Huml’s sepulchral
bass left me looking forward to his Grand Inquisitor in a decade from
now. For the moment he has the reward of winning the Australian division
of the New York Metropolitan Opera Auditions. Conal Coad’s voice
proved neither dark nor solemn enough to induce the terror of the Grand
Inquisitor, a weakness which might have been concealed more had he not
fidgeted to indicate annoyance. Arend Baumann, standing in as Phillip,
delivered a wayward baritone, not even a has-been bass. Phillip is not
as old as that. His Act IV lament - Elle n’aime pas -
was parched, depriving the monarch of his call on our sympathies as yet
another prisoner in this demesne of intrigues.
the title role, Vincent Cole showed no talent for dramatics. His singing
was barely more distinguished. He was unmoved even at Posa’s death.
Their peaen to freedom, Nous
mourrons en nous aimant!, demands more than the simple-mindedness of
the duet in Bizet’s Pearl Fishers, for Verdi follows Schiller in multiplying the sources
of their friendship, including Posa’s physical attraction towards the
feckless prince. Jeffrey Black as Posa therefore had to carry the scenes
with Cole, just as Posa has to carry Carlos politically and emotionally,
tasks beyond both the singer and his character. The love Posa declares
for Carlos in his death aria thus appeared from nowhere. A graininess
recurred in Black’s voice so that he failed to introduce the note of
fanaticism to rival the dogmatics of the Grand Inquisitor.
women did better. Bernadette Cullen possesses the richness of tone to
make Eboli’s set pieces of evil and penitence convincing. Lisa Gasteen
as the queen had to overcome the failings of Vincent Cole for her side
of their affair to appear believable. Her voice was at its most
attractive in passages suggesting filigree.
third new production from Opera Australia was Rinaldo,
yet another homage to Handel, promoted around the box office duo of
Yvonne Kenny and Graham Pushee. Again we endured a production with
insufficient principals. Three counter-tenors are not too many if they
can sing. Instead, the screechings of the Saracen king, whose name
charity forbids me to mention, made me put my fingers in my ears. The
leader of the Christians, Christopher Josey, was soprano-esque, spritely
when he was not sliding into what might have been Vietnamese. Pushee was
sweeter but without punch. Against this rack, Kenny was never required
to reach for her best. The other pity was that she did not step out of
her role to take over Almirena’s Lascia ch’io pianga, since Emma Matthews brought neither the
feeling nor the firmness to
render that most plangent of Handelian laments.
Scott-Mitchell’s sets would have got in the way had the chorus been
required to do more than frieze. Only the expensive boat sequence
visualised the meaning of the action. The rooftops of Jerusalem looked
like a winner until the armour on the knights prevented their
negotiating its steps and stairs for the battle climax. A huge crucifix
never exited in time for the conversions from Christian to Moorish
spring season ended with Opera Australia’s premiere production Alban
Berg’s Wozzeck, directed by
Barry Kosky. I should acknowledge that I am struggling with my previous
high regard for this 1920s piece, doubts which increase when I think of
Janacek’s Katya and From the House of the Dead. Thus, I have to distinguish my growing
suspicion that the score is a pastiche - interludes imported from
Debussy mixed with the emotional shallowness of Richard Strauss, the
omnivorousness of Mahlerian orchestration and the sound effects of a
cinema organ - in short, the work of a duodecenic Puccini, as was
alleged against Berg in his lifetime. That I came away far less
convinced by these accusations is a tribute to the director, cast,
players and crew.
Wozzeck is based on Georg Buchner’s 1835 excoriation of the power of money.
Buchner deepened the radicalism of the poets who had supplied Schubert
with the impassioned verses for Die
Winterreisse. In Buchner’s even briefer life from 1813
to 1837, he proclaimed ‘Peace to the hamlet, War to the
Palaces’. His fury against his own medical profession overlapped with
Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein
where the hubris of science also turned an innocent into a murderer by
depriving him of love.
the politics, the story would be as shoddy a little shocker as Tosca. Barry Kosky found the key in Wozzeck’s repeated ‘We poor
folk’, which he turns from excuse to accusation. The illegitimate
child, carried off perfectly by Joseph Salvat, became the prism for our
emotions as we watch his father being tormented and his mother murdered.
By making us want to protect the child from what we know, the production
directs its emotions back onto the stage action so that the protagonists
are made sufferers, not slogans.
use of an axe instead of a phallic knife to murder Marie is justified by
the text when he describes a stretch of road as ‘accursed’ because a
human head rolls along it at dusk. Kosky also restored the earthiness
that Berg had bowdlerised, before venting the theatricality of the
original, in the beer hall debauch. The cut-out backings that flipped
out of the floor became distractions when they teetered too far along
their tracks; they were redundant when their imagery replicated what was
blatant in the words, music and action, notably when the red fist pops
up in case we miss the decapitation.
bands than OA’s have made a hash of Berg’s score. The placement of
the enlarged orchestra at the back of the stage was inevitable and
proved fine for the interludes and the sound effects. Despite the
enlarged forces for which Berg wrote, he called Wozzeck’s
mood ‘piano’. To get around the conflict between the volumes appropriate
for the interludes and those of the vocal accompaniment, Berg also
scored for two bands, one on stage and the other in the pit. Putting the
main ensemble behind the action could not but unsettle this balance.
What notes should be sung divides the experts. Can Sprechgesang be more than a notion about the kinds of noises the composer would have liked? Some critics and singers insist on the precision expected in Mozart. For others, the vocal lines are a guide to improvisation. The latter group extrapolate Schonberg’s remark that, for some works, he had placed the notes of the speech-melody above or below a single line in order to differentiate ‘high’ from ‘low’. The cast combined both approaches, often from the same voice. Kosky allowed Jonathon Summers in the title role to be too violent too soon and so he had to struggle to regain the lyricism that the part requires. Elizabeth Whitehouse supplied the beautiful singing that Berg valued. As the mad doctor, Barry Mora rang true, metallic in his inhumanity, which found its counterpoint in the thicker bullying of The Captain, Richard Greager.
chorus in Il trovatore on the
night after Don Carlos was as
slack as Moshinsky had alleged, while the orchestra did better, even
under Bonynge. Elizabeth Campbell as Azucena had no chance of conveying
why Verdi considered her the central character since Moshinsky’s
direction over-compensated for the hysteria so often faked for the part
by aiming at an implacable resignation that kept her immobilised in a
Manrico, the Canadian tenor Richard Marginson repeated the role he had
performed at the Metropolitan in February when the New
York Times described his voice as ‘vibrant and sizeable … with a
bright ping in the top range. But he lacks subtlety’, which was true
again in Sydney. He made more of the right sounds than he found
appropriate movements, putting Arend Baumann as Ferrando and Michael
Lewis as Count di Luna, more than on their mettle. Without Marginson,
the performance would have been yet another ho-hum night with Opera
a contrast in Adelaide two nights later when director Elke Neidhardt
followed the magnificence of her 1997 Tannhauser
for Opera Australia with a world-beating account of Il
trovatore for State Opera of South Australia.
baby-swapping plot requires more than ingenuity if the opera is to
escape from Kobbe’s summary that throwing the wrong infant into the
fire preserves the child ‘destined to grow up into a tenor with a
voice high enough to sing Di quealla pira’, which Marginson had done with ease. The New York
critic suggested that Marginson’s Manrico ‘doesn’t have much
competition right now’. One contender is Badri Maisuradze whose top
notes in Adelaide were as delicate as a flute’s and with comparable
projection. His acting skills made the mummy’s boy into an impulsive
the characters in Il trovatore
so unreflective, the director and her associates had to supply the stage
effects that allow us to suspend disbelief. In turning to Franco’s
Spain, Neidhardt discovered real persons, for example, di Luna (Ian
Vayne) with the vanities of a toreador, and Ferrando as the
pistol-packing chaplain to the fascists. Leonora puts on her stockings
as she sings of Manrico, which is as autoerotic as a Spanish maiden can
be. Glory of glories, Azucena cradles her blanket roll as if it were her
dead child, and stares into on-stage fires so that her mother’s
immolation becomes part of the present, not just a fifteen-year old
memory. Liane Keegan was grim and fiery in voice and manner.
production also got around the self-confidence of music which works
against the despair of the plot. Graham Abbott steered the orchestra
through Verdi’s representation of
passions in sound, as the music swings from the velvet of the Miserere
to the clang of the military choruses, from the heartache of Azucena’s
remembrance to the bravura of Manrico.
Score and story collide in the concluding minutes of furious action if the emotional basis for suffering that brings neither reward nor release has not been established. The staging by Michael Scott-Mitchell and lighting by Nick Schilipper solved this problem by the shock of delivering the principals from the dark into the blinding light of a death cell where fluorescent ferocity represented their heightened emotions, as in Dante’s Inferno where the final circle of hell is ice. Scott-Mitchell’s full-stage backdrop served multiple functions, from an iconostasis when the nuns opened their windows to becoming one wall of the town square. Light shone through its bomb-scars to create a crucifix over the wedding ceremony.
Scott-Mitchell’s sets were a revealing contrast to those at the revival of Sidney Nolan’s design for Opera Australia. Nolan’s canvas of candle-lit chiaroscuro is most effective when a scene opens, but contributes less as the drama bounds ahead. Here was a new reason to contemplate the difference between depiction and narrative. Handsome, elegant and courtly though the Nolan sets are, his vision is limited by a painter’s stasis against the stage director’s dramatics.
production is to be given this year in Perth and Brisbane when the
definition of an opera lover in those cities will be those who attend
two or more performances. Devotees elsewhere should organise their
travels around those dates. Opera Australia should buy it for Sydney and
Melbourne seasons sooner than possible.
Australia revived its 1996 Australian creation, Summer
of the Seventeenth Doll, for its Spring season and it will offer The
Eighth Wonder for the Olympics Festival. Such recognition of
Australian operas is welcome but a remounting by itself cannot
contribute much to the development of either the work or its creators.
The scores, libretti and productions of both operas were in need of
improvement when premiered. Those initial runs should be looked upon as
extended dress rehearsals. If Verdi reworked Simon Boccanegra, his twenty-first opera, then no Australian tyro
need feel embarrassed at wanting a second chance.
major rethinking will add to the cost. Parts have to be recopied. More
rehearsals will be required than would be the case if the principals
could pick up from they left off three or four years ago. If a work is
worthy of being restaged then it is good enough to merit a subvention
for its second coming. From where are those extra dollars to come?
Federal Coalition’s prejudice in turning to corporate and private
patronage rests on the comparison that its advocates draw with the
situation in the United States. The sums provided there will never be
available here, and not only because corporations give away profits in
the USA that they have taken from us. The assumption that Australia can
switch to the US system ignores the endowments that stand behind US
museums and companies, relieving them of dependence on current income.
gulf between patronage there and here is blatant in the financing of the
new US American opera, A View from
the Bridge, with music by William Bolcom and a libretto by Arnold
Weinstein based on the 1955 play by Arthur Miller. In addition to
salaries for the orchestra, chorus, stage crew and front of house,
Chicago’s Lyric Opera spent over A$2m. for principals and sets.
Commissions for composer, librettist and playwright came to at least
A$250,000. To help out, a Chicago businessman put in A$200,000 and
AT&T gave slightly more. By comparison, The Opera Company of South
Australia prints the names of its $50 donors, and Opera Australia starts
at $700. Welcome as every cent must be, these sums are no basis for
best practice will never be achieved by pretending that Opera Australia
is the Met of the Southern hemisphere. That is like entering a sprinter
for the marathon. Deluding ourselves about where we stand in relation to
the world’s richest, means that we miss out those areas where we have
the chance to excel.
than lucre is needed. During 1999, the New
York Times ran a series of articles on the development of A View from the Bridge, which was not being performed in New York.
By contrast, the Adelaide Advertiser
buried its favourable review of Il
trovatore on its third last page, above the movie programs, of the
Monday edition, when it deserved to lead the front page. Roger
Knight’s critical yet thought-filled notice for the monthly Adelaide
Review could not appear until after the final performance.
decisions from the Nugent inquiry will not end disputes over the future
of opera as managements everywhere attempt to win an audience under
sixty and to hold on to older subscribers. The marketing that attracts
the former to the commercial musical theatre can offend the latter. An
electronic sound enhancement system has just been installed at the State
Theater at the Lincoln Centre for the City Opera of New York. Can the
miking of voices be far behind? Audiences at Portland Opera received
scratch-and-sniff cards to use during The
Love of Three Oranges. Surtitles have become accepted at the cost of
distracting audiences from the music and the singers from enunciating
the text. South Australia’s La Trovatore projected only scene outlines, not every word.
Neidhardt expected her audiences to prepare themselves by reading at
least the synopsis. Most did. No one can protect those first-nighters
who mistook Verdi’s opening drum roll for the start of the national
anthem and stood up.
McQueen has been surveying the state of opera for 24
Hours since 1991.