Few words to the PT. Reader.
This text should be presented at
the Symposium organized by PhD Maciej Jabłoński from the Adam Mickiewicz’s
University in Poznań (2015).
Unfortunately, general crisis limited
Symposium from 3 to 1 day only and my text didn’t find enough time to be said.
However, as the theme is still alive
and up-to-date, and although my ideas are personal and not quite similar to
others, I decided to put it on my Blog Spot hoping. Maybe somebody will find an
interest to read it?
Prof. Jerzy Marchwiński
SUITE ON PARTNERSHIP
IN OPERA
Prelude. Forlane. Sarabande. Gigue
Introduction. Work of Art. Talent. Profession.
Introduction. Prelude
First
of all, a confession: the main reason why you are now reading this text resides
in Maciej Jabłoński’s amazing skill at forceful persuasion. This gentleman, who
holds a PhD from the Adam Mickiewicz University in Poznań (Poland), was at the
initiative of the International Symposium on Opera. Even though, I was still wary
at the prospect of making my contribution public. Anyway, as Maciej definitely is
the man who put me in this position, please direct all and any complaints to
him.
Many
doubts, indeed, have assailed me, both professional and emotional in their nature.
By no means am I a professional musicologist, a music theoretician, or a
scientific expert in the history of opera and theatre; I am but a pianist,
passionate about singing as a phenomenon.
I was lucky enough to perform in partnership with numerous elite Polish
singers and a few foreign ones; I shared the marital adventures of my life with
two outstanding lady artists: just as I
used to be involved in the story of my first wife's operatic career, I am still
on the same track with the second, and proudly so.
The
scale and seriousness of the issue, exceedingly hard to encompass within the
limits of a short essay, also gave me cause for fundamental worries. At the end of the day, the only viable form I
could imagine was a collection of loose reflections, later despatched into four
reasonably large sections. Obviously, I am well aware that they are just a
sketch, a set of indicators at best.
My
impressions and considerations are definitely those of an observer. Each statement
below should cautiously begin with “In my opinion...” The ambition here is not
–and never was- to express any universal thoughts aspiring to be engraved in
stone, the less so that such a huge-size problem hardly yields to any attempts at
amalgamation and simplification. All the opinions which you will soon be reading
bear my invisible signature, meaning that I accept full responsibility for them
and feel determined to prove them right.
Instinctively,
I am always in search of beauty, even while discussing art with all its paraphernalia,
as shown by the following example: I value Jan Parandowski's writings on Greek
myths as great literature per se,
while the rendition of such myths by Robert Graves plainly amounts to inedible information
pills deprived from any kind of beauty.
Although
I never felt any compelling need to write artistically about opera, there was
no major quandary before I decided to give my thoughts the form of a musical
suite: a relatively loose structure with a variety of elements joined together
by a common idea. Therefore, welcome to
this “Introduction – Prelude” just
now coming to its end, followed by “Work
of Art – Forlane”, “Talent
– Sarabande” and finally “Profession
– Gigue”.
Work of Art. Forlane
An opera
is a work of art. Please acknowledge this simple statement as my essential basis
for structuring all further afterthoughts. Also, opera belongs to the very special
category of artworks which at the same time theoretically exist and yet cannot be
granted full reality. Sculptures, paintings, works of architecture can sustain a
position by themselves, in an independent manner. Music, theatre and opera
belong to a different category of art which – to simplify matters – needs the
performer(s) and the audience in order to actually exist. Under the form of its musical score, any opera is in
a way non-existent. It requires a whole team of performers. And even if the
performers are there, it will not fully come into being: it simply cannot do that
without its audience. Consequently, the creator-performer-audience triad is sine
qua non for the opera to be assessed as a work of art.
My personal scale for evaluating a work of art extends from
the extreme kitsch to the full-blown masterpiece. By and large, such scales remain
essentially relative, depending on a thousand of evaluation criteria. A mocker
or anyone prejudiced enough that his swashbuckling mindset dismisses any kind
of impossibilities and boundaries, will certainly be able to deprecate anything
he wishes to, including The Cid, the 9th Symphony,
Michelangelo's Pieta or masterpieces by Chopin. Without much hesitation,
I would assess such opinions as pathological. Any jeerer from this group can
easily turn Hamlet into kitsch and
the Sonata in b-minor into satire and
mockery.
Opera
is a special sort of art. Operatic performances require a team composed of a
conductor, director, set designer, singers and sometimes dancers. All of them
should be highly professional and responsible, as a precondition. One can
hardly imagine a conductor who disrespects his score or a singer intoning
whatever pleases his soul, however nonsensical. Such incidents or performer whims
should just be called ridiculous.
Yet
it is not uncommon that some members of the above mentioned team - predominantly directors and set designers –
happen to deliberately step out of line without enduring any significant consequences.
To no surprise, a vast majority of directors indeed have to cope with the foreseeable
progress and evolution in the sensitivity and taste of their audience. And their
efforts truly deserve praise: just try to imagine other genres of art stuck in
time – like painting that would forever be restricted to Bosch's or Vermeer's
insight, or theatrical plays and operas everlastingly staged in the 19th
century manner.
Here
comes the specific point where things are getting tough with opera, or even art
in general; it does require a skill to say the kitsch from the masterpiece. In
my opinion (I really have to use this expression here!), the existing canon of
culture and civilisation and tradition and taste - or, maybe, just plain
sensitivity and intelligence - is quite enough when a truthful evaluation of
operatic and theatrical masterpieces is at stakes. It seems that a majority of
civilised persons have no problem whatsoever to recognize and appreciate them. However, keeping in mind that "one man's trash is another man's treasure", I shall not attempt to persuade anybody that Falstaff is a masterpiece while Disco-Polo is mere kitsch!
The
majority of artists involved in creating operatic performance - meaning the conductor,
singers, director and set designer - do not abuse the object of their work: the
score of the opera entrusted to them by the management. Hardly would it be possible
to imagine a dilettante and ignoramus standing in front of the orchestra –
although, frankly speaking, it has happened more than once - or singers recruited
as amateurs, even if ready and willing to do their best. It seems equally sound
and logical to expect appropriate competence and professionalism from the
director and set designer. As a matter of fact, plenty of productions and shows
adequately comply with such prerequisites. Harmonious teamwork by all the
artists not only generates valuable performance, but quite often can turn them
into masterpieces.
To be
honest, I find it difficult to cope with the selfish panache – not to say
barefacedness – of notorious stage directors and set designers who dare praise their
own ignorance and lack of interest in opera, even during public interviews!
They manically attempt to follow their personal visions which, as often as not,
ramble on the verge of anomaly. That's the proper moment for asking oneself
about the respect and reverence due to the opera as a work of art. Ladies and
gentlemen, an opera is neither a shopping bag nor a heap of clay destined for the
arbitrary implementation of idiosyncratic visions. Let me recount that once upon
a time an internationally renowned director, meeting my life partner before the
first rehearsal of a certain performance, explained to her his personal vision
about it. Horrified by the said "vision", as elaborate as it was
dumb, she at first protested and then reported the matter to the manager, who
simply terminated the director's contract and entrusted the performance to
someone else. Nomina sunt odiosa, so
I shall refrain from disclosing the identity of both gentlemen.
Talent. Sarabande
A
couple of words are now mandatory about skills, abilities and talent. For sure,
skills and abilities are no common stuff; but as a rule, if and when properly combined
with a professional background, they prove sufficient to meet the requirements
of standard performance. This widespread reality can be observed from the
bottom of ordinary, basic musical communities, up to the top of internationally
celebrated opera houses. I am not fantasizing: more than once have I attended, at
La Scala or at the Met, presentations which were just a decent piece of work
and nothing more -- I again refer to the harmonious performance of the whole
team including the conductor, vocalists, director and set designer. Conversely,
I happened to watch similar productions by some lower-graded opera theatres, like
Electra in Nice, The Rake’s Progress in Catania or Oedipus Rex in Toronto: a revelation, each time!
Now,
what about talent? Talent is a mystery bordering on mysticism. While skills and abilities can - to a certain
extent – be replaced with professionalism, talent is irreplaceable. Nobody,
including the persons concerned, knows why the raised hand of a talented
conductor, right from the first bar, induces from the orchestra that
particular, otherwise unattainable quality of sound. How is it that just a
single sound, when emitted by the throat of a talented singer, will rapture a
whole audience into shivering emotion and awe?
The talent
of a stage director is nothing different in nature. Of course, a host of
talented and professional directors are doing an excellent job in operas
worldwide. Their creative efforts – staging operas always involves creativity –
generally maintain operatic performance on a decent level. However, terrible
mayhem inevitably results when a director, even gifted, surrenders to his
overgrown self-esteem and infected
imagination, wriggling out of any restrictions. On the opposite, just set a
talented individual to the task and watch how things on the stage take a
logical and clear pattern, turning even the most daring concepts into justified
and reasonable experiments. This is true
talent at work!
Should
this set of reflections get by chance into the hands of two Polish masters,
Warlikowski and Treliński, both positively viewed as international stars of
to-day's operatic directorship, I hope they will forgive my mentioning their
names. I do need them here to discuss a particular phenomenon, exemplified on
one side by Warlikowski's King Roger at Paris Opéra-Bastille, and on the
other side by Treliński's Orpheus and Euridice at the Grand Theatre -
National Opera in Warsaw. I definitely consider
those two productions authorial. I do not feel competent enough to analyse their
value in terms of stage performance; my sole purpose is to focus on the
relationship between the staging and the musical layer of the original in both
cases.
Speaking
of King Roger according to Warlikowski, my feeling is that it has nothing
to do with the original. The piece no longer exists as the famous opera by Szymanowski
& Iwaszkiewicz, but has evolved into a King Roger performance by
Warlikowski on Szymanowski's music. I cannot minimize the pleasure I took at
attending this show and, which is more, I think that Szymanowski's music
perfectly accompanied the director's vision. May I venture to say that I would
hardly imagine this performance going along with any other music?
Orpheus
by Treliński is quite different a story. For me, it was a perfect theatrical achievement
which would do fine without any music at all. Perhaps some musical illustration
would not go amiss, but not necessarily by Gluck. In my highly subjective
perception, the music and theatre functioned in parallel throughout that
performance, as if two soliloquies, without any trace of a dialogue. However, I
enjoyed both, confirming that such proposals by opera directors are absolutely
reasonable and warranted. They occupy
the territory where the artists' imagination and fantasy can take full shape,
albeit not always in line with the libretto or score.
However,
there's no hiding that I feel amused (not withstanding a hint of irritation)
with the calls and appeals by certain directors and set designers, who enjoy
the vocal support of some luminaries in the show business, to relentlessly "modernise"
opera. Please do not forget, gentlemen, that the development and evolution of
all things related to art are just a part of its natural progression. Music, poetry, painting, architecture and
sculpture – they all develop and change. This is a characteristic result of our
mind's plasticity: space for thought expands in the brains while human
knowledge increases about man and the world. Is there a need for anybody to call for the
modernisation of poetry, music, architecture or sculpture? Or could it be that such opera-related pleas merely
illustrate a symptom of general ignorance on the issue and of common laziness, by
tentatively luring the artistic community with absurd concepts in order to
steal a moment of recognition at any price?
Frankly, enough is to create masterpieces: the progress will happen by
itself. And on the other hand, what should we do of Verdi's petition „Torniamo all’antico, sara il progresso”?
Profession. Gigue
Profession is the key word here! An operatic
performance, or so to say “an opera”, is defined by teamwork. The list includes
(without insisting too much on hierarchy): the artistic director, the
administrative director, the casting manager, office workers, the artistic
manager, conductor, director, the whole team of performers with the soloists,
choir and orchestra, pianists: corepetitors and coaches, stage managers, IT
specialists, library, archive, press team, audience management and development,
public relations, security, firemen,
catering for the personnel and audience, drivers, nurses, hairdressers,
dressers, tailors, shoemakers, etc...
I
deem it highly desirable that all these tasks should be performed by qualified professionals.
No need here to show how the faulty work of any dilettante member of such team
could hamper the whole effort.
I
wish that the highest possible level of professional dedication could be
obtained from everyone involved in the performance: artists and technical
personnel alike, all of them should aim at the benefit and comprehensive comfort
of the audience. For any spectator – a person who made a thoughtful decision to
attend a performance – action does not begin with a curtain going up or with the
first bars of an overture resounding, but much earlier. Many friends of mine, who
are just common opera-goers, have told me that they start mentally preparing
for their visit to the opera as soon as the early morning before. The spectators'
involvement, likewise, does not end when the curtain falls. For most of them,
participating in the performance is a true experience which may leave traces in
their mind for many years to come.
A
bunch of detractors comprising sensation- or scandal-sniffers and so-called
professional spectators who attend presentations solely to share their
ramblings in various blogs and other media do not feel this way, but they are
of no concern. My attention goes to those who came to be moved, to have an
encounter with beauty – and I use this word without hesitation here. They
deserve the highest level of service at the theatre, starting with the audience
management, thoughtfully and clearly edited and printed programmes, not to
mention a well-functioning cloakroom or professionally handed glass of
champagne during the intermission. The opera house should focus on them, not on
the professional, full-time critics. It should provide them with a comfortable environment
to participate in the most amazing artistic event and work of art: the operatic
performance. In my very personal opinion, there are three sanctuaries where the
never-extinguishing flame of musical art and beauty should be nurtured: the
opera, the philharmonic and the academy (or university) of music.
This
is precisely where my own problem with professionalism emerges (and perhaps it
is not only mine). It seems obvious that any qualified person should feel
obliged to perform on the highest professional level. I cannot imagine a
dilettante conductor, vocalist or dancer, a dabbler as lightning technician or
even, if you please excuse me, a tailor who would make a faulty costume or an
editor publishing an idiotic programme, and so on... Actually, one single category
of persons in the operatic world may claim the right to be dilettante – the
directors! Better think a few among them.
The
core of active opera directors is well prepared professionally, with
considerable experience in struggling to achieve the highest level of
performance, in seeking to deliver the best artistic message, in trying to foster
the comprehensive evolution of the genre, and, quite plainly, to create beauty. Their efforts go perfectly well in hand with
the need for individual expression and personal approach to the opera as a work
of art. Such directors drive the enhancement of performance awareness within
the public, similarly to painters or composers who expand the perception
criteria of their genres. As previously mentioned, it is difficult to imagine
the art of painting stuck in Vermeer's era or music which would not break the
rules of, say, Johann Sebastian. Such evolution in the development and
perception of art appears obvious and natural, even if the artists often go
ahead of their times. The same applies to stage performance. I am afraid that without such aesthetic progress,
the spectator would not be able to derive any satisfaction from participating
in a performance. Personal remembrance: lucky enough, for once, to watch an
awesome Traviata at Covent Garden, with an ascetic stage set that
stunningly emphasised the dramatic plot, I had the disappointment – only two
weeks later – to attend another Traviata, staged for La Scala in an
embarrassingly outdated setting which was almost – excusez le mot –
kitschy.
It is
rather difficult for me to establish any kind of reasonable relationship with
an opera director who openly declares that he knows nothing about opera, does
not like it, or has not the slightest idea about what is going on in the score.
His pseudo-creative suggestions only provide a carefree demonstration of the
whimsical meanders of his thoughts. My most recent experience as a spectator, I
had it with the Tetralogy, staged on a
garbage spot! For so much as I can tolerate, an opera theatre is no home turf for
Mr Director to play his own money under his own responsibility for the sake of displaying
his artistic credo to his only spectator: himself... plus a few similarly
deviant clones!
Let
me take another case: those directors who belong to a totally different
artistic option having nothing in common with the opera, but who roll up their
sleeves intending to "heal" it.
Perhaps they should take into consideration the Latin adage: Medice, cura te ipsum.
Here
again, the question of talent resurfaces. I personally attended certain shows,
theoretically and seemingly unrelated to a particular opera, which proved to be
not only an artistic revelation, but also a huge success with the audience. For
instance: Handel’s Giulio Cesare in
Egitto, as created by Herbert Wernicke for the Liceo, or Saint-Saëns’ Samson and Delilah directed in Paris-Bastille by Pierluigi Pizzi. Both
were cutting-edge achievements, as were the works by Walter Felsentein whose
performance I was lucky to enjoy at the Komische Oper. Just likewise, the main
production of great directors has by and large remained authoritative, unique
and imitation-free. According to my appraisal, each is proof of the powerful
talent and dimension of an extraordinary personality.
I am
fully aware that evaluating artworks is a subjective task, particularly when made
by critics, show-business related persons, or self-appointed professional fans
of music. I must admit, albeit with
certain discomfort, that this group of people hardly interests me. Elite
experts on opera and theatre actually make me anxious, as I privately suspect
that a majority of them are living in their own virtual world of sorts, where
everything occurs in the ideal sphere of free thought, unrestricted by reality
if not absolutely out of touch with it.
What
interests and fascinates me most, is the fate of the aforementioned spectator,
innocent as a lamb, who goes to the opera to be moved, shaken and touched by beauty. Just like the customer
service clerk at my bank (whom I already mentioned to a panel of experts during
our pilot meeting). This lady had never been in the opera. So, on some
occasion, I presented her with tickets for Tancredi instead of the
customary flowers. The next day she had tears in her eyes when she told me:
“Professor, I had never thought that something so beautiful could exist. It was a totally different life, a totally
different world!” Also, when active as a performing artist, I used to receive
letters from totally unknown listeners who wanted to tell me how they had been moved
and touched by my so-called “accompaniment”. I must admit that with the
exception of Weber's, no other reviews were more precious to me than the
opinions and reactions of my listeners.
For some time now, I have been considering a
question which most probably will never find an answer. Have any of the opera
directors and set designers, particularly those who consider themselves
avant-garde, thought, however briefly, about the feelings of a viewer who has just
seen an opera for the first time? Say for
instance Un ballo in maschera, La Traviata or Das Rheingold. What
about A Masked Ballroom Dance in belle époque setting,
La Traviata located in an escort agency, and The Gold of the Rhine amid the dumping ground?! A spectator who has
seen each of these operas forty times or more might not have a problem with
such settings, as he knows the original.
But how should they react, those who watch the Tetralogy for the
first time? They must be asking themselves a question about what that guy
Wagner did have in mind. What does he mean by the Twilight of the Gods?
A self-immolation of the gods on a heap of refuse? -- On the other hand, I am
pretty sure that creations by a professional, high-class director/set designer duo
will always succeed in keeping both the connoisseur and the first-time guest
happy.
This
seems the right place to insert one paragraph about partnership in opera. In that matter, team co-operation seems
obvious as a must. Yet, let me first point it out that members of all opera
teams known to me often looked as if emotionally caught up in the performance. Actually,
I have never detected any indifference. The general atmosphere is always that
of involvement, even excitement with something unusual, kind of a celebration. This
typical mood affects practically everyone from the doorkeeper to the stage
manager, including dressers, make-up artists, wig dressers, etc... Perhaps is
it a specific feature of the theatrical reality? Mention of the genuine
performers was omitted here, for understandable reasons.
As a
matter of fact, areas awaiting partnership in opera mainly include: (a)
communicating with the conductor and director; (b) relationships between those
artists performing on stage. In principle, partnership-type relations are always
desirable, which does not necessarily mean that they become a reality!
Ideal would be that the conductor could work in partnership
with the singers in the authentic professional style finely summarised per the
guidelines written by Richard Strauß. I had a recent
opportunity to observe the pettiness of an ill-educated conductor, who dared
call the dress rehearsal of a Falstaff on the same day the piece was to
be premiered! Unprecedented, as far as I know! Much too often the conductors forget
that they are to serve the vocalists, not the opposite way, and that the human voice
is no such thing as a Stradivarius violin able to work without ever being put
at rest.
What
about the stage director? It seems to me that best situations result from a
partner-like dialogue between him and the actor. I witnessed many instances of
such cooperation creating ample space for thoughts and ideas to be incorporated
into a spectacle. Then the latter ended in actual teamwork, although only the
director's name or signature appeared on the bottom line. Naturally, something
else is the relationship with a director who bets on the perfection of his own authorial
concept to prohibit any dialogue with the actor, expecting from the latter nothing
but skills, subordination and obedience. Such was probably the case of
Felsenstein and his 140 rehearsals. It is not that bad when the director's
vision is a valuable, not to say a wonderful one. More or less, every
professional actor can adapt to it for good.
However, should the director be a deviant person whose imagination exhibits
unsafe symptoms of incongruity, the situation may severely worsen. Typically,
the problem vanishes as early as from the date of the second performance – in
other words: just following that director's removal. The sound intelligence of
the performers can then eliminate many of the nonsensical solutions he had been
trying to enforce.
Forgive me
to quote a very personal example of co-operation and partnership between a
singer and a director. Once upon a time, my partner for life Ewa Podleś had an
idea that Ulrica should reappear on stage in the last scene of A Masked
Ballroom Dance. This happened in Warsaw, during the very evening when that
opera, directed by Waldemar Zawodziński, was to be premiered on April 15, 1998.
As we were riding our way to the opera house, Ewa suddenly exclaimed that
Ulrica should appear at the end of the final scene, as a confirmation of the
dire prophecy. I found her idea marvellous. We rushed into the theatre and
hastily suggested that alteration to the director, who quickly approved and
communicated it through a megaphone to the performers. He warned them that
Ulrica would emerge from behind the chorus and that the singers would have to
step aside and provide space for the acting. The surprise and enthusiasm of the
audience were awesome, and the idea was a brilliant success. It was generally
thought to offer a perfect ending to the dramatic plot.
Apparently,
the most desirable type of partnership is that which binds all performers on
stage in order to create dramatic tension and dialogue between the characters,
or in other words, the whole plot. The lack of such understanding and contact can
have disastrous impact on the artistic success of the performance. I remember one
most amusing example I have seen of such failure. It was on the stage of The Italian Girl in Algiers at the Deutsche Oper, Isabella reaching the heights of
coquetry to attract the attention of Mustafà: he
did not cast even a single glance at her, desperately focusing his eyes on...
the conductor.
Lately
in Stockholm, during the staging of aforementioned Falstaff, I was fortunate enough to witness a remarkable event. Going
on was a semi-stage version, with no director
involved. All performers were top-class artists with impressive know-how. After
just three rehearsals I saw possibly the best Falstaff in all my life! Visibly free, liberated and working
without any restrictions, the artists were creating delightful situations, and
the whole performance felt like a wonderful, professional improvisation. The
Scandinavian audience, generally considered less than effusive, was
enthusiastic beyond the wildest expectations! And all that could happen with
neither a stage director nor even a stage manager!
A few
additional words on what is now called promotion, or popularization: my
reservations on this issue are many, and deeply personal in nature. Nobody has
ever managed to persuade me that something is beautiful, if I feel otherwise.
Moreover, some inexplicable defiance makes me react in impulsive opposition to
such touting. Nonetheless, I have always been able to recognize beauty when I
approached it incidentally, in an intimate manner, usually on my own. I will
never forget the amazing sensation which overwhelmed me the first time when I
found myself standing alone, face to face with Leonardo’s Lady with the
Ermine. Although I had been pretty ignorant about this particular painting
before, there is no doubt that I felt stunned, perhaps even happy and elated in
some way. Much later, learning about the "emanation" released by works
of art, I came to realize I had experienced just that at the time. I now think
that opera as a work of art also radiates at its audience, and I am prone to suspect
that kitsch emanates a bit differently than a masterpiece.
As
regards the popularization of opera and art in general, I would really prefer to
leave it in the care of professional experts. Why not disclose the arcane
aspects of music to common people, but where is the real need? I have harboured
persistent doubts even after witnessing the efforts of a certain guy named
Bernstein. Indeed, I have similar doubts about how to teach the inner workshop
of a painter or a sculptor. What's the point of it? I am aware that techniques
are much easier to discuss than the unspeakable secrets of beauty. However, being
involved in the popularization of art or busy at providing relevant information
is in no way the job of an artist. His should be to create art: a musician has
to focus on perfect renditions of music; a singer has to sing at best of
possible; an expert in promotion and public relations should provide similarly
specific an input. It is hardly surprising that a flawlessly performed opera
actually requires neither promotion nor extra advertising beyond the basic
practical information, as proven by the crowds who storm opera theatres and
philharmonic halls without any coaxing whatsoever.
Postscript
One: Synopsis
I am a semi-dilettante.
As such, I intend to discuss opera from the viewpoint of a former performing
pianist.
Theoretical digressions
are those delightful intellectual games played in the operatic arena which,
sometimes, unexpectedly run away from the subject to become self-sufficient. As
a result, they hardly keep anything in common with the genuine essence of the
problem.
The staging of an
operatic work is, in my opinion, best appraised through the global quality of
the performance, the final stylish result. I would expect proficiency -
hopefully to the utmost degree - from all participants in the operatic
adventure, including the author of the libretto, the composer, vocalists and group
musicians, the conductor, director, set designer and even the technical
personnel. Should such perfection resonate with a sensitive awareness in the
audience, then the operatic spectacle may reach the heights of heavenly
delight.
The right moment has come for a general,
semi-dilettante reflection. In my view, there is no such thing about the art of
opera that cannot be reduced to a combination of professionalism and talent. Professionalism
is the sine qua non condition, which embodies
the complex aggregate of skill and knowledge. Almost anybody can develop it by
learning. Regrettably, professionalism alone will not serve, even if
exquisitely mastered as a skill: it will not create anything of value by
itself, and any performance based solely on it will just fade into purposeless talking.
In order to make any
sense, art as a whole - opera included - requires something additional, which
is mysterious and totally unfathomable: talent. A feature with which one is
endowed and which cannot be taught, nor learnt. Either you have it, or you
don't. I am aware that the distribution of talent is unequal and not really
fair. I am also aware that it is possible either to waste one's talent and make
poor use of it, or to build it into a priceless gem within a beautiful setting. Perhaps professionalism, it its full significance,
is just another name for such setting.
A talented performer
can turn a secondary part into a grand creation, as well as provide
justification for the most daring concepts of the director and set
designer. With talent missing, all will return
to mere humbug and tomfoolery.
In his collection of the Ten Golden Rules for the Album of a Young Conductor (1927), Richard
Strauss seems to suggest that the secret art of conducting an orchestra entails
nothing more than following a couple of important guidelines:
1.
Remember that you are making music not to amuse yourself, but to delight your
audience.
2.
You should not perspire when conducting. Only the audience should get warm.
3.
Conduct Salome and Electra as if they were by
Mendelssohn: Fairy music.
4.
Never look encouragingly at the brass, except with a brief glance to give an
important cue.
5.
But never let the horns and woodwinds out of your sight. If you can hear them
at all, they are still too strong.
6.
If you think that the brass is now blowing hard enough, tone it down another shade
or two.
7.
It is not enough that you yourself should hear every word the soloist sings.
You should know it by heart anyway. The audience must be able to follow without
effort. If they do not understand the words, they will go to sleep.
8.
Always accompany the singer in such a way that he can sing without effort.
9.
When you think you have reached the limits of prestissimo,
take the tempo half as fast.
10.
If you follow these rules carefully, you will, with your fine gifts and your
great accomplishments, always be the darling of your listeners.
Postscript Three: "How
to Opera Germanly"
1)
The director is the most important personality involved in the
production. His vision must supersede the needs of the composer, librettist,
singers, and, especially, the audience, those overfed fools who want to be
entertained and moved.
2)
The second most important personality is the set designer.
3)
Comedy is verboten, except when unintentional. Wit is for TV-watching
idiots.
4)
Great acting is hyper intensity, with much rolling on the ground,
groping the wall, and sitting on a bare floor.
5)
The audience's attention must be on anything except the person who is
singing. A solo aria, outmoded even in the last century, must be
accompanied by extraneous characters expressing their angst in trivial
ways near, on, or about the person singing the aria.
6)
Storytelling is anathema to the modern director, just as realistic
photographic painting is to the abstract painter. Don't tell the story; COMMENT
on it! Even better, UNDERMINE it!
7)
When singing high notes, the singer must be crumpled over, lying down,
or facing the back of the stage.
8)
The music must stop once in a while for intense, obscure miming.
9)
Sexual scenes must be charmless and aggressive. Rolling on the floor a
must here.
10) Unmotivated homosexual behavior must be
introduced a few times during the evening.
11) Happy endings are intellectually bankrupt. Play
the opposite. Insert a sudden murder, if at all possible.
12) Avoid entertaining the audience at all costs. If
they boo, you have succeeded.
13) Rehearse it until it’s dead. Very important.
14) Any suggestion of the beauty and mystery of
nature must be avoided at all costs! The set must be trivial,
contemporary, and decrepit! Don't forget the fluorescent lights! (Klieg lights
also acceptable).
15) The audience must not know when to applaud or
when the scene/act ends.
16) Historical atrocities such as the Holocaust or
the AIDS epidemic must be incorporated and exploited as much as possible. Also,
the lifestyle of the audience must be mocked.
17) Colors are culinary. Black, white, and gray
only!
18) The chorus must be bald, sexless, faceless, and
in trench coats.
19) If the audience is bored, this is art.
20) Props are items of junk piled in a corner of the
set. They must be overused pointlessly, then dropped on the floor, preferably
when the music is soft. Be careful to keep dangerous objects at the lip of the
stage so that the blindfolded dancers can kick them into the pit.
21) All asides must be sung next to the person who
is not supposed to hear them
22) The leading performers' faces must be painted as
white masks to ensure no individuality or variety of expressions, as opera
singers can't act anyway. They just want to pose and make pretty sounds.
23) Preparation is important. Try to read the
libretto in advance to make sure that it doesn't interfere with your staging
ideas. Not much harm in listening to the CD once, though that's not really your
job.
24) Make the conductor feel useful, though he's
really a literal-minded hack.
25) The stage director must avoid any idea that is
not his own, though that idea will surely be on this list already.
26) A costume must serve at least two of the
following criteria: a) Make the singer look unattractive b) Obscure his vision
c) Make hearing the orchestra difficult d) Impede movement d) Contradict
the period in which the opera is set (hardly worth mentioning).
Postscript Four: Appeal (written a few years ago)
STOP MOLESTING THE OPERA! HANDS OFF THE OPERA!
Actually,
has it been declared mandatory to go to opera? Has it been declared mandatory
to go to soccer game? Let everybody
attend events to his liking and enjoyment. Some go to vespers, others to an
escort agency.
When I go to a soccer game, I want to watch an
excellent match. When I go to the opera,
I want a perfect performance. All the crazy ideas and concepts to attract more
audience deserve just a shrug.
Those willing and needy will go to a
museum or opera no matter whenever and wherever they can. I cannot imagine
anybody coaxing me to go to a sports stadium, no matter what advertising or
propaganda efforts would be involved.
Experimenting with the contents of
the operas and with librettos is a reprehensible attitude. Naturally, the use of evolving technical
means and aesthetic perception are quite different matters. Why then tamper
with the plot or its assignment in time?
Why on earth teleport Boris into the 20th century?
And if so, why not transfer Hamlet to
Leeds in the 1920s?
On the other hand, it seems equally
pointless to try to turn opera, which undoubtedly is an elite art, into some
kind of mass entertainment, or an attraction for the celebrities, no offence
meant either to the masses or to the celebrities. Let opera stay elite!
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