Enchanted Island...or is it?

I know it has been eons since I lasted posted, but please keep in mind, I'm a full-time student (i.e. No money for new recordings or opera tickets, and precious few opportunities to actually attend an opera without serious academic consequences). But, there is still hope!

On January 27th, I managed to get out and see the New York Met's new Baroque pastiche, "The Enchanted Island." It sounded promising-- a Baroque pastiche (meaning songs and music by several different Baroque-era composers were jumbled together in an operatic gumbo) with a Shakespearean theme. The story involved the four lovers from "A Midsummer Night's Dream" crashing onto Prospero's Island, and it was to be performed by a stellar cast including my new favorite Luca Pisaroni (as Caliban). What's not to like, right?

Oh, if only you knew...

But then, that's why I write this blog. Well, let's get this thing started! Cast is as follows:

Sycorax--Joyce DiDonato, Soprano
Prospero--David Daniels, Counter-tenor
Ariel--Danielle de Niese, Soprano
Caliban--Luca Pisaroni, Baritone
Miranda--Lisette Oropesa, Soprano
Neptune--Plácido Domingo, Tenor
Ferdinand--Anthony Roth Costanzo, Counter-tenor (Yes, there were two!)
Helena--Lyla Claire, Soprano
Demetrius--Paul Appleby, Tenor
Hermia--Elizabeth DeShong, Mezzo-Soprano
Lysander--Elliot Madore, Baritone

Plus a chorus of mer-people who chill with Neptune and a full orchestra under the baton of William Christie.

So... I'll start with some good points. The authors of the pastiche chose absolutely stunning pieces. I was rather surprised, not usually being a big Baroque fan-- indeed, very pleasantly surprised. Also, I had never heard a counter-tenor before, so I was a little shocked at first to hear what sounded like a mezzo-soprano's voice coming from a middle-aged man's mouth. But after awhile, I could distinguish his voice as definitely masculine despite the high pitch. The costumes and sets were to die for! "Wild" characters like Caliban and Sycorax had touches like dreadlocks and feathers and beads and wore richly colored, sumptuous fabrics. Sycorax herself went through three separate costume changes over the course of the show. Miranda was clad in a flowing, Grecian gown and wore an armband with a few feathers and beads of her own. The four lovers of "A Midsummer's Night Dream" started out in delightful and charming 18th-century garb in sweet pastel shades. Ariel (my favorite character, other than perhaps Caliban) wore a neat little suit of feathers complete with mechanically bound wings, and later, a glorious gold chiton and headdress. I could go on, but I doubt you want me to, so I'll move on to sets. The sets consisted of a sort of archway that changed appearances with the assistance of projections-- sometimes it showed us Prospero's castle, sometimes a luxurious beach, sometimes a wild jungle, sometimes Sycorax's cave-like perch. It also transformed into the mysterious and alluring underwater realm of Neptune. How Neptune managed to sneak into a Shakespeare play, I don't know. But he's there, and it turned out pretty nicely. Another interesting and rather charming touch was that the prompter (a person who stands in a hidden booth downstage to "prompt" singers with queues) handed Ariel props in a playful and comical manner, much akin to a child's puppet show.

The performances were brilliant. Prospero was dark and serious and complicated, Sycorax, darker, more vengeful, yet oddly caring and protective over Caliban. Caliban himself was the best example of a sympathetic "antagonist:" bitter but pitiful. Personally, I've never seen Caliban as a villain per se. I felt empathy for Pisaroni's Caliban-- he could never get what he wanted, even when he created a dream world for himself. Also, his English diction was impeccable! I was very impressed. Ariel was especially fun. De Niese brought a Puckish, Tinkerbell-ish, perhaps even Papageno-ish energy to the role, and you could hear her laughter when she sang; she took joy in the role. It's refreshing to hear that joy again.

Well, there are also choices that weren't so great... For starters, the libretto. Oooooh, I had soo many issues with the libretto. The opera was Shakespearean-themed and set in the 18th century. However, author Jeremy Sams couldn't quite decide between Shakespearean and contemporary English in his "poetry." It's bad enough that this thing wasn't in Italian or something, but to be inconsistent with the language is always a really bad idea. Some of the lyrics were pretty enough, but every now and again I heard something like, "Duh!" or "O.K." or "Come on". Somewhere or other, Miranda and Lysander discover "We rhyme!" It was ridiculous and confusing. At another point, Lysander and Demetrius fight over Miranda, and one gives the other a nipple-twist. Now, my generation has acronyms for this level of confusion... I believe the letters "W-T-F" suit the situation rather nicely. There were a couple of other "WTF" moments in "The Enchanted Island." When Ferdinand was expected to show up, Prospero has a "Welcome Ferdinand" sign and some balloons strung up in the projections. When were ballons invented again? Oh yeah, 1824. Neptune's chorus of mermaids and underwater people consisted of a giant cardboard cut-out with the heads of the singers sticking out in various places. It looked laughable for the audience and uncomfortable for the singers. And as far as Neptune's involvement went, I was really confused by his attitude as a character. He seemed like the god we all know him to be at first: powerful, old as time, pissy at mankind, etc. But he would pause after griping about how men treated the sea (perhaps Sams wanted a little environmentalist preaching?) and say something along the lines of, "Oh, I'm just a grumpy old man. Pardon my whining." No, Neptune! You have reasons to be mad at humans-- stick to your guns! You're not some senile old man, you're the god of the sea!! Another thing that confused me is that Prospero seems utterly distracted with getting ready for Ferdinand's arrival. We do not see Ferdinand until well into Act II. Couldn't we have gotten a glimpse of the guy near the end of Act I as a teaser?

I went to "The Enchanted Island" with an open mind. A new Baroque pastiche! Based on "The Tempest" and "A Midsummer Night's Dream"! The idea had so much promise. But I'm afraid it is my opinion that the New York Met's little experiment did not live up to the potential it had.

I shall post one more blog of gripes, this one concerning "Ernani," and then, we shall come to a happier note about this year's production of "L'Elisir D'Amore."

Until then, I remain

Your friend and fellow opera-lover,

~R.M.
         

Il Trovatore, Live from the Met 2011

The Metropolitan Opera, for those of you who don't know, has a new Simulcast program: Every couple of weeks, they broadcast a performance of one of their operas live to movie theaters all over the country (and all over the world!). Hit performances from this program include the 2009 "Lucia di Lammermoor" (Which I reviewed briefly-- see entry "Bloody Lucia"-- I'll probably go deeper into it later) and  "Les Contes D'Hoffman." I am a huge fan of this program-- the productions are awesome, the best singers in the world come to perform them, performers and directors are interviewed during intermissions, and it's just plain fun to get to go to operas in a town where there aren't many opera houses. Tickets are $24 a pop, but it is totally worth it! Check out the program and find a participating theater near you at: 

http://www.metoperafamily.org/metopera/broadcast/hd_events_next.aspx

I looked ahead at their schedule back in 2010 and saw that this year they would be doing "Il Trovatore," and that my favorite "Silver-haired fox" Russian opera star (If you hadn't guessed already, DMITRI HVOROSTOVSKY) would be starring as the ever determined and vengefully cruel Count di Luna. "I'm not missing that," I said, "Not for all the bagels in New York!" So I wrote it down, stuck it to my desk, and waited. FOR A YEAR. I even set aside ticket money sometime before Christmas. I knew I wouldn't have much extra money around, so I held out, and although I was interested in "Le Comte Ory," I did not attend any other simulcasts.

Well, my friends, yesterday I grabbed a pal and my labeled envelope with its precious cargo of pre-purchased tickets and headed to the movies. Here is how it went:

Manrico was sung by Marcelo Álvarez, Leonora by Sondra Radvanovsky, Di Luna by Dmitri Hvorostovsky, and Azucena by Dolora Zajick. I have summarized the plot of "Trovatore" in my previous post, "...But Save the Troubadour!" if you would like to refresh your memory.


The voices were stunning, and that is an understatement. It was thrilling to listen to these people sing. Where Leontyne Price had sounded scratchy and stressed on recording, Radvanovsky soared. Her voice was smooth, velvety, full of grace and power. And her facial expressions and body language were beyond dead on! She is the perfect Leonora. Dolora Zajick also had a soulful and powerful quality to her voice, and she was terrifying as Azucena-- crazy to the core yet still weirdly in control. Hvorostovsky, of course, was brilliant-- Has he ever really been anything less? He really makes himself into his characters, which is one of the many things I respect about him, and he did a great job as di Luna: Fierce, bitter, unrelenting, everything you could ask for in a baritone-villain. But there was something about that tenor...


Now understand, I don't have a prejudice against tenors or against Signore Álvarez for that matter. His voice is lovely. Well-controlled. Elegant. But he was doing something very odd, and I'm surprised that the director let him get away with it. He was making the strangest gestures with his hands, as if he couldn't quite figure out what to do with them, in the middle of sustained notes and ornamentations. A professor of mine once told me, "Onstage, you want to keep things simple. Unnecessary movement confuses the audience and distracts them from what you're really trying to do." Álvarez didn't need to move his hands or arms at all-- the strange gestures he chose indeed confused and distracted me, because instead of looking like a serious, courageous, and love-lorn man, he looked like he had some mix between epilepsy and ADD. No offense to people who really do have these disorders; I understand that it's hard and it's something that can't be helped. All I'm saying is that this singer was doing it, to some extent or another, on purpose, and it was just plain odd.


The setting of this production was really interesting: Regency! That's right, empire-waist dresses, 1830's military uniforms, the whole deal. And the set rotated! It made the transition between scenes so much easier and clearer for the audience. There were a couple of moments were the stage fighting and applications of fake blood and make-up really impressed me. All-in-all, it was a beautifully done show. Now, of this production, I could find only one other fault. It came at the opening of Act III, Scene I. 

Ferrando and his men are waiting outside di Luna's castle, singing of the victory they are going to win, etc. etc., and all of a sudden, Ferrando brings in a bunch of hookers! "All right," I think to myself, "Whatever. This is an opera. An opera at the Met. Surely it can't get too raunchy." BUT IT DID. It was really rather disturbing and vulgar, and hey, I'm a goody-goody who doesn't watch sex on TV, but you know what? Sex never belonged onstage in the first place! Opera is a high-class form of theatre. The Met is a high-class opera house. Nowhere in the opera or libretto are hookers ever mentioned. Verdi obviously never intended for that to be part of the show. There are four adjectives that describe the hookers in the Met's "Il Trovatore": They were cheap, inappropriate, disturbing, and completely unnecessary. It really disappointed me.


But other than the purposeless hookers and Álvarez's hand issues, the opera was fantabulous, to say the very least. Apparently, it will be encoring on May 18, so if you're ready for some intense Verdian fun, order yourselves some tickets or go label an envelope with some ticket-money inside.

Until next time,

Your friend and fellow opera-fan,

R.M.