Catán - Florencia en el Amazonas (New York, 2023)

Daniel Catán - Florencia en el Amazonas

Metropolitan Opera, New York, 2023

Yannick Nézet-Séguin, Mary Zimmerman, Ailyn Pérez, Gabriella Reyes, Mario Chang, Mattia Olivieri, Nancy Fabiola Herrera, Michael Chioldi, Greer Grimsley

The Met Live in HD - 9th December 2023

Regardless of what you think about the artistic merits of the opening productions of the Metropolitan Opera's Live in HD Season, there is a clear intent to extend the range of opera and the opera audience and an important part of that is bringing new works to the stage, new works at least as far as being presented at the Met is concerned. Opera deserves this kind of progressive renewal, its means of expression through music and drama meaning that it can be many things, with each composer free to express their own character, culture and ideals. Spanish language composers don't however have much of a tradition of opera, certainly not in comparison with Italian and German language opera. Daniel Catán's 2016 opera Florencia en el Amazonas is therefore a vital work to be put on at the Met, a work that has the opportunity to fully express Latin American passions. It certainly has that, but is passion all opera is about? Does it not need some depth as well? Some truth?

Well, that would be for the individual to determine how successful the opera and the production is at finding and presenting those qualities that the work has to share. Passion is certainly a defining characteristic of Mexican art and drama in my experience, to the extent that it can be a little overwhelming and come at the expense of subtlety and genuine feeling. You only need to see the expression of Rolando Villazón presenting the Met Live in HD presentation of the opera, and the enthusiasm of the singers being interviewed during the interval to get that impression. I realise that this is a broad generalisation informed on my part only by limited experience mainly of Mexican cinema, but it's a view that isn't changed after seeing Catán's Florencia en el Amazonas.

Without wishing to undervalue the skill and beauty of the composition - one thing that is undeniable is that Florencia en el Amazonas is a truly beautiful opera of Straussian musical richness - the impression is that it verges on being a parody of an opera. There is nothing inherently wrong with that, and Strauss and Hofmannsthal flirted with that idea in many of their operas (Capriccio, Ariadne auf Naxos, even Der Rosenkavalier). In some way however Florencia feels like it's more of an opera about opera, or about the power of opera, and not just because the main character of the work is an opera diva, although that is telling in itself.

The setting at least is one that is given to the rich extravagance with which it is treated. It takes place in the early 1900s on a steamboat, El Dorado, that is making its way though the Amazon rainforest on the way to Manaus, where the legendary opera singer Florencia Grimaldo is appearing at the reopening of the famous jungle theatre. Among the passengers are a couple whose marriage has cooled down, Rosalba, a journalist who is writing a biography of Florencia Grimaldi, and - unknown to all on board - the great diva herself, returning to the place where she started out on her career before becoming famous in Europe. She is also harbouring a desire to see Cristóbal, a former lover who was an inspiration to her.

That's the setting. In terms of plot, there really isn't much to talk about other than what transpires between the characters and within them, but that doesn't stop the on-board romance that develops between Rosalba and the captain's nephew Arcadio or the quarrels between the married couple Paula and Alvaro from being pitched at a very high emotional level. As if that is not enough there is also a mystical figure, Riolobo, acting as a commentator and in some way an influence over what transpires between the passengers; a spirit of the river if you like, although there are plenty of other exotic creatures seen as the steamship progresses through the overheated atmosphere of the Amazonian rainforest.

Directed by Mary Zimmerman, the Met's production matches the colourful nature of, well ...nature in the Amazon region, recognising that at heart the work is a celebration of life and nature. There's not too much realism here (none whatsoever in fact), Riccardo Hernández's sets absolutely beautiful to look at, the costumes of the creatures worn by dancers colourful and inventive, with the dancers dressed as waves even spilling over onto the deck of the steamboat a lovely touch, but it's all a little bit kitsch. That's traditionally Mary Zimmerman and the Met for you, but you'd have to extend that description to Daniel Catán, as this suits his opera perfectly. Musically it flows - overflows really - with expression, the heightened pitch constant and rising to such an extent that you would think there is little room for it to go anywhere after the first act. Well hold on to your opera glasses because it continues to soar higher in Act II.

There is nonetheless much to admire in this. The music is exquisite, Straussian in its rich orchestration and melodies, Puccinian in its romanticism, giving the singers some wonderful parts to sing, challenging too since they rarely vary in pitch or intensity. It's like you get one 'un bel dì vedremo' after another. If this sounds like it could become tiring on the listener, imagine how it must be for the singer. Having said that it is clear that the cast relish such an opportunity and the quality of the singing is extraordinarily good. Ailyn Pérez is a revelation singing in her native Spanish language with the arias that Catán has written for the role of Florencia, but Gabriella Reyes’s Rosalba is no less prone to soaring emotions, or indeed Mario Chang as Arcadio. All are hugely impressive in sustaining this and attempting to give it meaning, but it still feels a little hollow and performative, lacking in any real depth.

A great deal was made of the fact that the librettist, Marcela Fuentes-Berain studied under the Nobel Prize winning Colombian author Gabriel García Márquez, but I felt that the connection was overstated as a reason for the opera and the production to indulge in magical realism. Here the opera puts forward the idea that life itself is beautiful, magic, and that the experiences and pains we endure are transformative and find expression in art. There is however not a single moment in the opera that feels like it has any connection with truth or reality. One thing I do admire however is its optimism, something that is rare in traditionally tragic opera of this kind. Florencia’s epiphany at the conclusion, finding the meaning of love in the time of cholera is like a validation of 'un bel di vedremo' (or 'un día precioso veremos' here maybe), where she somewhat appropriately becomes a Señora Mariposa. Sadly, that's not a sentiment greatly in accordance with our current troubled times.

It would be unfair to describe such beautiful music and the optimistic outlook in Florencia en el Amazonas as a weakness, since it's not easy to determine whether it's the opera that is at fault or the production which perhaps over-indulges it. Like many 'flawed' opera works I'm sure it could be 'redeemed' by the right kind of production, one that really seeks to explore it and put it through its paces, one that takes the opportunity to examine it in more depth than Zimmerman and the magical realism trappings to see whether there is a germ of truth and realism in there that can be brought out. 

Perhaps at this stage however it's more important that this is even being put on at the Met as a true representative voice for Spanish language or Latin American opera. I recall however that I might have said something similar about Catán's Il Postino over a decade ago, that it was a work that also has the potential to cross-over, to reach and touch a new audience for opera. Opera trends don't move at a great pace, so it might take another generation for that to happen, but while Florencia en el Amazonas might not have made a great impression on me, I have no doubt that is capable of inspiring others.

External links: Metropolitan Opera, The Met Live in HD

Photos: Ken Howard / Met Opera

Heggie - Dead Man Walking (New York, 2023)

Jake Heggie - Dead Man Walking

The Metropolitan Opera, 2023

Yannick Nézet-Séguin, Joyce DiDonato, Ryan McKinny, Susan Graham, Latonia Moore, Rod Gilfry, Krysty Swann, Wendy Bryn Harmer, Chauncey Packer, Helena Brown, Briana Hunter, Magdalena Kuźma, Matteo Omoso Castro, Alexa Jarvis, Justin Austin, Chad Shelton, Raymond Aceto, Regan Sims, Mark Joseph Mitrano, Jonah Mussolino, Christopher Job, John Hancock, Patrick Miller, Jonathan Scott, Earle Patriarco, Ross Benoliel, Tyler Simpson

The Met: Live in HD - 21st October 2023

It's the start of a new Met Live in HD Season, and no longer enjoying the star power of Anna Netrebko since their falling out over the war in Ukraine as a draw for the opening broadcast, the Metropolitan Opera in New York have instead chosen to go down an unexpected route of promoting contemporary American composers, as they did with Terence Blanchard's incendiary Fire Shut Up In My Bones in 2021. It's a risky strategy, but as Peter Gelb acknowledged in the introduction before the cinema relay, perhaps a necessary one for the Met to change and recognise opera as a relevant contemporary creative artform, not just a revival of music composed centuries ago. And presumably, such an approach might be necessary to attract new younger and more diverse audiences.

To that end not only does the 2023/24 season open with the Met premiere of Jake Heggie's Dead Man Walking, but the next two broadcasts are also new or modern works, X: The Life and Times of Malcolm X by Anthony Davis and Florencia en el Amazonas by Daniel Catán. That is certainly an appealing line-up for me, at least in as far as having the opportunity to experience unfamiliar works in the next best way to seeing them live (which would be highly unlikely outside of the United States in any case). The Met have their Live in HD broadcasts down to a fine art, and that was certainly the experience with their completely stunning production of Dead Man Walking.

Composed in 2000, and having the distinction of being the most successful or at least most widely performed (in America) new opera of the 21th century (so far), the Met are late catching on to Jake Heggie's first opera, but they certainly make up for it with a production that does the work full justice and which may even consolidate its reputation and popularity. I'm late to the work myself, as American contemporary composers are not particularly fashionable in Europe and rarely get performed here. As if seeking to make that cross-over, the Met chose the Belgian experimental opera and theatre director Ivo van Hove to direct their first production of the work, and that was enough to entice me out to see it in the cinema, when I otherwise might not have. I'm very glad I did, and it will certainly bring me back to see their other new productions this season.

Some of my initial hesitation and doubts about having any interest in Dead Man Walking would have been down to it being made into a film (that admittedly I haven't seen) and the subject matter. Although based n a real life story of a nun, Sister Helen Prejean and her memoir of the friendship she struck up with a man on Death Row in the days leading up to his execution, it not only seemed to me designed to stir emotions and gain Oscar nominations, but I imagined that the opera would have similar intentions and be a little ...well, over-emphatic perhaps if not overly sentiment stirring. And it turns out there is some truth in this, Heggie and his librettist Terrence McNally designing the opera to play out as much like a movie screenplay as an opera follow along similar lines, which is where the choice of Ivo van Hove to direct it comes across as a true masterstroke.

Ivo van Hove is a theatre director who is used to working with cinematic drama. He has adapted Bergman's 'After the Rehearsal' and 'Scenes From a Marriage', Cassavetes' 'Opening Night' and Visconti's 'Ossessione' among many film adaptations for the stage, but he also brings a cinematic quality to his plays, using on-stage cameras and projections. His opera productions have similarly benefitted from these kind of techniques that open up backgrounds and underlying tensions, but his success with opera is as much in his ability to draw marvellous acting performances out of the principals and the secondary singers, using every means to express the maximum impact and insight out of whatever he is working on.

Surprisingly, for Dead Man Walking he is much more restrained in how he presents the work, settling for a minimalist set with lots of open space and limited use of on-stage camera-operators and projections. I thought at first that he might be reining in any excesses for an audience less used to experimental European theatre, but it soon became clear that van Hove was actually just serving the needs of the opera Dead Man Walking. Aside from the filmed opening sequence depicting the murders, the menacing prison scenes with guards and prisoners seeming to erupt out of swirling infernal mists, his direction here allows the drama to focus and bring out what is already well-scripted and scored in the relationship between Sister Helen and Joseph De Rocher, letting the characters come alive through their words and interaction rather than employing and of his usual tricks and techniques.

That is almost certainly the right way to approach Heggie and McNally's Dead Man Walking. Ivo van Hove makes what could otherwise be film-like theatrical, as well as theatrical for the big screen in the cinema broadcast. Such is the nature of the subject, the direct way it is handled in the superb libretto and the sometimes heavy-handed score by Heggie, that any further emphasis or extraneous action would be too much. Scene after scene had huge emotional impact, and the director doesn't get in the way of that. The final execution scene, as is surely intended, is almost devastating, the director here choosing to get right in close on the act of delivery of the lethal injection with a hand-held camera projecting the procedure. If the rights or wrongs of capital punishment are largely left to the viewer to decide, the inhumanity of taking another's life is not and the production makes sure you see exactly what it entails.

I'm not sure what I expected from Heggie's score, not being familiar with the composer, but his writing for this opera surprised me. He is stated as being in the American tradition - whatever that is, Bernstein maybe? - but Dead Man Waking reminded me of Poulenc and Dialogues des Carmélites. Perhaps the amount of nuns on stage influenced that idea, but I think emotionally, thematically, structurally and musically it's a close match. It's powerfully composed for maximum impact, if perhaps a little too over-emphatic and bombastic in places under the musical direction of Yannick Nézet-Séguin, but I'm sure he delivered it the way the composer intended. It certainly achieves the desired impact; invigorating and draining at the same time.

As well as every other element of the production being up to the extremely high standards of the Metropolitan Opera, the casting of the principals, the singing and acting performances are simply beyond reproach. Every role, not just the central relationship between convict and nun, is filled with character, the performances consequently utterly committed to doing them justice and superbly delivered. You couldn't expect more from Joyce DiDonato and Ryan McKinny, both absolutely rivetting, but it's hard to imagine anyone surpassing the deeply felt emotional delivery of Susan Graham as De Rocher's mother. Secondary roles are just as well written and performed, with Rod Gilfry in particular standing out as the father of the murdered girl, but impressive performances also from newer Met singers Latonia Moore, Krysty Swann, Wendy Bryn Harmer, Chauncey Packer all providing notable performances, particularly in the family scenes with overlapping dialogue and raw emotion pouring out.

While I am instinctively suspicious of work that is this emotionally charged and direct, it's almost impossible for any aspect of Dead Man Walking to be "too much" considering the subject and the way it demands to be presented. No one element however overshadows another in the Met's 2023 production, everything comes together to present Jake Heggie's opera in the best possible light, from these incredible singing and acting performances and the perfectly pitched direction. Even the Live in HD presentation is just perfect, engaging the cinema audience with the filming, the close-ups, Ivo van Hove's own on-screen camera and split-screen shots, making this feel like they were sharing something truly remarkable and even momentous. Impressive on big screen, the video capture of this final performance will no doubt continue to resonate and secure the place of Dead Man Walking in the American contemporary opera canon.

External Links: The Metrooolitan Opera, The Met: Live in HD season

Aucoin - Eurydice (New York, 2021)

Matthew Aucoin - Eurydice

The Metropolitan Opera, New York - 2021

Yannick Nézet-Séguin, Mary Zimmerman, Erin Morley, Joshua Hopkins, Jakub Józef Orliński, Barry Banks, Nathan Berg, Stacey Tappan, Ronnita Miller, Chad Shelton, Lianne Coble-Dispensa

The Met: Live in HD - 4th December 2021

The Met have got off to a good start this year as far as the Live in HD series goes. The rest of the season doesn't seem quite as ambitious but the choice of casts, new productions and interesting directors mean that there is something of interest in most of the remainder of the season. They have chosen well and made some brave choices in the support of new music, seeking to keep opera alive and forging new ground, as seen in the last livestream of Terence Blanchard's brilliant Fire Shut Up In my Bones. I was keen then to see what Matthew Aucoin could deliver, despite having no previous familiarity with his music and despite expecting it to be a little more conventional. That turns out to be true to some extent, but musically and dramatically Eurydice does nonetheless manage to expand on one of the classic works of ancient mythology most closely associated with opera.

The title suggests a feminist reworking of the Orpheus myth, but rather than taking a revisionist spin, Eurydice is actually more of an extension of the myth; a look at it from a different personal, human and modern perspective. Not unlike the extension of Purcell's Dido and Aeneas in Errollyn Wallen's Dido's Ghost, it manages to deepen an understanding of the issues the work touches upon, making it more relevant to contemporary concerns without undermining the essence of what makes it universal, timeless and meaningful. There are many questions that the traditional myth provokes and directions to explore - some more relevant than others perhaps, and not all of them need explained  - but certainly it helps to consider how Eurydice might have felt about it all.

There's not a great deal gained however by the rather banal happy opening scene of Orpheus and Eurydice on a beach. It's an engagement scene, Orpheus however slightly distracted and detached from it all by his art. It's probably necessary for setting context and to provide a little more light and shade (unlike the benchmark Gluck version that launches straight into a scene of grief and mourning). But more than just giving Eurydice a life as opposed to being dead throughout, this version also takes time to round out the character and nature of Orpheus as a man of considerable sensitivity, even if his way of expressing his love for Eurydice is a little awkward, reliant upon, distracted by and pretty much secondary to his devotion - an apparently much greater devotion - to music.

That isn't perhaps the whole story and Aucoin finds an interesting way of exploring this for a little more nuance, using a double for Orpheus. The use of doubles is not uncommon in opera productions where there are characters of great complexity with different facets to their personality, conflicts of personal life and duty, facets that are often revealed only in the music. In a stage production that's usually done using a silent mirror actor or a dancer, but here in Eurydice, Orpheus is written as two singing voices. One of the most complex characters of semi-divine nature, Orpheus surely merits such an approach, his duality represented here by a shadow countertenor Orpheus with wings. Described only as a double in the cast list, he could be seen to be Orpheus's ever-present muse, or just simply a personification of his musicality.

This role is however so well-written and performed that it opens up a whole range of other interpretations and possibilities. For me, it seemed that rather than appear detached and distracted by his thoughts constantly turning towards music, that music is rather an expression of his love and that the two really are inseparable. Indeed the warning is frequently made - by the three stones in the Underworld and by Hades himself - that Singing is not welcome in Hell. There can be no better expression of the capacity of music and opera to express the deepest workings and sentiments of the human heart, elevating them into something greater, so it is no surprise that Love - in its personification or expression of Orpheus's music - is banned in Hell. That is brilliantly realised here.

But the opera is called Eurydice and indeed Eurydice is still the principal figure in this opera. The rather banal happy scene on the beach out of the way, Sarah Ruhl's libretto - adapted from her own original play - delves a little deeper into the psychology of Eurydice. That doesn't necessarily need to be represented in any dull naturalistic manner either and there are various imaginative representations evoked in the situation developed by Ruhl. Hades himself tries to lure Eurydice to the Underworld on her wedding day, but although she suspects his motives, the delivery of a from her dead father in the Underworld has turned her thoughts to him. The idea of speaking to him and seeing him once again weakens her resolve and leaves her vulnerable.

As an opera about love, about grief, bereavement and about the unseemly and dangerous transgression of indulging in grief to the neglect of the living, Eurydice hits all the key points, but it deepens and extends those ideas, making them a little more upfront and present to an audience. It does this as I've suggested, in an imaginative way while still holding close to the outline of the original myth, and in a way that touches on a greater range of emotions. With certain surreal elements like three speaking stones and a room made of string (we are dealing after all with experiences outside of normal human experience), and with humour in places, it shares a similar sensibility in its use of imagery and symbolism with Strauss's Die Frau ohne Schatten.

Musically the shadow of Richard Strauss isn't far away either, particularly evident in the beautiful aria at the close of Act II, 'This is what it means to love an artist'. On a first listen, and not being at all familiar with this relatively young composer, Aucoin's music seems to occupy a space somewhere between Richard Strauss and Philip Glass. There was however a much greater variety of musical styles and references in the use of melodies, themes and rhythms. It doesn't draw attention to itself but with little showiness or reliance on sweeping romanticism it still manages to find an appropriate way to give expression to those deep sentiments, indeed without unseemly indulgence.

You could say the same about the singing. Erin Morley is exceptionally good as Eurydice. Aucoin has developed strong, beautifully lyrical writing for the voice, making it a demanding role for the range and stamina required to be present on stage almost throughout. I loved Barry Banks's performance and singing as Hades, which is likewise challenging, even higher than his usual light tenor range. We had beautifully complementary Orpheuses in Joshua Hopkins and Jakub Józef Orliński as the double/music and a grave sympathetic father in Nathan Berg. Really there was much to enjoy in very performance, including Big Stone, Little Stone and Loud Stone. Yannick Nézet-Séguin clearly relished working with a new and interesting score and it came across exceptionally well in the livestream cinema broadcast. 

First staged by LA Opera in 2020, Mary Zimmerman's production transfers over for the Met's fine decision to bring this worthy work to a wider audience. The sets presented an imaginative response to the situations devised by Ruhl, keeping the Underworld dark, enclosed and detached from everyday reality in a simple and effective way, enhancing it where necessary a little box insert or elevator raised from below the stage for side scenes and as a creative way to evoke the river of forgetfulness Lethe, critical to the tragic conclusion. With superb costume design, the musical, singing, dramatic and visual aspects of the production ensured that this was a thoroughly engaging and thoughtful account of a fine new opera work.

Links: Metropolitan Opera, The Met: Live in HD 2021-22 season

Blanchard - Fire Shut Up in My Bones (New York, 2021)

Terence Blanchard - Fire Shut Up in My Bones

The Metropolitan Opera, New York - 2021

Yannick Nézet-Séguin, James Robinson, Camille A. Brown, Will Liverman, Angel Blue, Latonia Moore, Walter Russell III, Ryan Speedo Green, Cheikh M’Baye, Oleode Oshotse, Ejiro Ogodo, Judah Taylor, Norman Garrett, Terrence Chin-Loy, Briana Hunter, Chauncey Packer, Denisha Ballew, Marguerite Mariah Jones

The Met: Live in HD - 23rd October 2021

There are many obvious reasons why Fire Shut Up in My Bones is an important opera. Not only is it the first opera written by a black composer ever to be played at the Met, it was also chosen to be the flagship opera opening the new 2021/22 season. That alone is something to celebrate, never mind the little pleasure that can be taken in the discomfort it will bring to a segment of a certain classical music site's commentariat who live in abject fear of woke-ism encroaching into their sad little world. As important as this is as a historical and a necessary development in the world of opera - it's utterly incredible that black culture has not been represented at the New York opera house until now - the only thing that really matters is whether Fire Shut Up in My Bones is a good opera or not. We can clear up that question right away; it certainly is.

Actually, it's not enough to say it's either an important opera or a good opera; it's much more than that. It's a brilliant opera, tackling a difficult subject boldly and wholly successfully. For a new opera by a black composer to be accepted on its own terms is a considerable challenge, particularly as it could be judged either indulgently or with unreasonable expectations. Terence Blanchard has composed only one opera before, but has considerable musical experience and acclaim as a jazz musician (as a jazz fan, I am familiar with his writing and playing). His talent is abundantly evident here, and it's the fact that he doesn't come from the traditional academic classical position that makes his musical arrangements here far more original than almost any modern opera I've seen in a long time.

The subject of the opera is, as I said, a difficult one and it's well-named; Fire Shut Up in My Bones a biblical reference from Jeremiah to a burning passion that could be love and could be hatred, that simply has to be let out otherwise it will be all-consuming. It's based on the memoir of writer and journalist Charles M. Blow's account of life as a black man in the American South. Race prejudice is certainly an issue that cannot be avoided, but the difficulties experienced by Charles as a child are compounded by him being of a sensitive and delicate disposition. More than anything it's experiencing episodes of sexual abuse by a cousin at the age of 7 that mark the young child and which become something that affects his life thereafter as he struggles to find his place in the world and find a loving relationship.

The construction of the opera as a flashback with a framing device might not seem original but it suffices to grab attention, and once it has you it doesn't let go. Charles has a gun and is on his way back home to kill the man who abused him as a child. Or kill himself. After that however, there is little that is conventional about what also appears to be a difficult coming-of-age story blighted by the horror of living with being sexually abused as a child. What makes this journey extraordinary is not so much the subject - which is of course powerful in its own right - as much as the treatment, and there is nothing about Blanchard's writing that follows any expected musical rule or convention.

It's not just the richness of the musical language used, although again in itself it shifts imperceptibly from sweeping orchestral romantic to swinging jazz, disco, ballet and gospel, but any scene and song arrangement can incorporate a number of those elements blended together or in sequence. Aside from the skillful manner in which this is employed, Blanchard bringing a daring newness and freshness to the Met stage (and credit to the Met for bringing it to the stage also), everything matches and works well with the content. And, since the libretto is so strong, so heartfelt, poetic and meaningful, never sinking to platitudes, each scene brings its own lyrical, emotional and dramatic challenges. What it brilliant is that Blanchard just knocks it out of the park in each scene.

That is immediately apparent in an early scene in Act I in a Louisiana bar where Charles's mother Billie turns up with a gun to settle matters with Charles's no-good womanising father. It's quite classically cinematic, but what is impressive is the concision of it all. Not a line or musical line is wasted. Blanchard uses blues for the playing band, but blends this with music that captures a whole range of situations and characters, capturing a period, place, character and atmosphere to perfection, while at the same time dramatically it just holds you rapt, amused and emotionally connected. It's not just an insert for local colour either but you are aware that this will become a key moment, an important life lesson, without knowing just how vital it will be. And that's only the start. There is not a single superfluous or wasted line or situation that doesn't have a similar purpose and concision that gets the essence of the scene across perfectly.

Only the fraternity scene at the beginning of Act III feels less easy to relate to from a personal perspective and it's a little too coming-of-age making-of-a-man conventional, but even so it's important to the progression of the Charles life. Director Camille A. Brown, working alongside James Robinson, was previously assistant director on last season's Porgy and Bess for the Met, and her experience is principally as a choreographer. That is put to marvellous use in such scenes, bringing a fluidity to the movement that matches the music and progression of the drama. Allen Moyer's sets are simple but effective, using box like constructions that similarly move into place and can be transformed in an instant with projections and lighting without the huge expense for example of Robert LePage's Machine for the Met's Ring Cycle. All this ensures that the opera never feels static.

Blanchard's music is similarly fluid and incremental, each scene building on the previous one, harnessing what has come before and taking it further, creatively, emotionally and lyrically. And this is no relatively short modern opera or music theatre either, but a full length two-and-a-half-hour opera of rich and constantly inventive music with singing that requires real stamina. It's staggering to feel the accumulated impact of it all when streamed live on a cinema screen, but imagine the impact this must have on a member of the audience, seeing the story of a black man presented in this fashion. Imagine the audience that this must bring to the Met for their first experience of an opera, but for anyone, this would simply be an impressive work by any standard. And there is no question that it is wholly operatic in nature.

I've mentioned the qualities of the music and the libretto, but there is so much more than that, and a successful opera demands that equal (not greater or lesser) importance be given to the singing and the stage direction. Needless to say, Fire Shut Up in My Bones got the treatment and cast it deserved. The most demanding role is not Charles or indeed Char'es-Baby, nor even the three important roles that Angel Blue has to carry as Destiny, Loneliness and girlfriend Greta, but the role of Charles's mother. Latonia Moore gave a simply stunning performance as Billie, carrying the full range of emotions that come with a mother's role, and seeing how much she put into every scene in this live stream broadcast was simply phenomenal. It's surely impossible not to be deeply moved by her total engagement with this role and everything it entailed.

Will Liverman as the older Charles had a similar emotional and vocal journey to travel and was thoroughly convincing, working incredibly well with the young Walter Russell III as his younger incarnation. There are not many child roles in opera as extensive as the one written for Char'es Baby. Even Britten's children in Turn of the Screw and those in Humperdinck's Hansel and Gretel are commonly sung by experienced opera singers. I was absolutely dumbfounded and full of admiration for how well Walter Russell III took such a challenging role on the Met stage. Again no special pleading needs to be made here; the role was sung beautifully, flawlessly with real engagement and understanding of character, situation and emotion. This was no mannered stage-school child performance. Showing the complexity of the writing for all the roles, Angel Blue also had an important part to play throughout the opera in different guises and her role and her voice contributed to the richness and the success of the opera as a whole.

A few of the metaphors and use of repeated refrains seem forced in places, but they prove to be important touchstones for the characters to hold a sense of identity, love and purpose. In the end that is really what the story is about, not a colourful life story, a difficult coming-of-age for a young boy to man, not any special pleading or attachment to black lives movement that it could easily have used to its advantage. It has rather an important universal message of empowerment, of taking control of one's life away from the hold others may have over you. That message is brought home emphatically at the conclusion of this remarkable new opera that will hopefully be followed by more from Blanchard, and inspire others. As Charles sings at the end of the opera, this is not the end, it's a beginning.

Links: Metropolitan Opera, The Met: Live in HD 2021-22 season

Dvořák - Rusalka

Antonín Dvořák - Rusalka

Royal Opera House, London, 2012

Yannick Nézet-Séguin, Jossi Wieler, Sergio Morabito, Camilla Nylund, Petra Lang, Byran Hymel, Agnes Zwierko, Alan Held, Daniel Grice, Gyula Orendt, Ilse Eerens, Anna Devin, Madeleine Pierard, Justina Gringyte

Covent Garden, 27 February 2012

It’s somewhat surprising that Dvořák’s gorgeous Lyric Fairytale opera Rusalka has never been performed before at Covent Garden. One hundred and eleven years after its composition, its February 2012 premiere at the Royal Opera House was therefore long overdue, but under conductor Yannick Nézet-Séguin it was at least a fine introduction to the musical qualities of the work. The far from traditional stage production however - premiered at Salzburg in 2008 and revived here with many of the original cast - without necessarily detracting from the work, certainly confused the audience about the intentions of the piece, the directors attracting a fair share of booing on the opening night performance.

The intentions of the work and its source in European folklore - notably Hans Christian Andersen’s ‘The Little Mermaid‘ may not be easily apparent other than it being merely a fairytale, but even on that level there is a richness of imagery and some typical themes in such work on the corruption of innocence, particularly in the context of the destruction of the purity of nature by the actions of humanity. It’s also a tragic love story of a water nymph who falls in love with a prince in the woods and wants to become human. Escaping from the tyranny of the water goblin, with the help of a witch in the woods, she manages to grow legs and appears as a beautiful but mute vision before the prince hunting in the woods. Unable to cope with the complex and inconstant nature of human beings, Rusalka however finds herself banished from her sisters and home, unable to fit into the human world either, and ultimately cursed to live in a limbo state between them.

Quite how the production directed by Jossi Wieler and Sergio Morabito came to be set in what looked like a brothel then and whatever intentions were behind this choice were unclear, but it’s not the first time that the opera has been subjected to a radical reworking. Martin Kušej’s 2010 production of Rusalka for the Bavarian State Opera managed to graft the story of young girls being held captive in a dank cellar and abused by a Josef Fritzl-like water goblin quite successfully onto the work’s theme of the corruption of innocence, finding in Rusalka’s dilemma a parallel to the profound psychological damage that abused women in captivity must endure for the rest of their lives. There would appear to be something similar attempted with this production, but its muddled intentions were far less coherent and nowhere near so successfully or powerfully seen through to the fullness of their dark intent.

The key to understanding the production’s concept comes perhaps in its treatment of the Rusalka’s three wood nymphs. Reflecting Rusalka’s innocence of the fact that she is growing up in a brothel - the set dressed with lurid colours and red curtains - in Act 1 the three semi-naked figures in transparent dresses writhe around like exotic creatures of a young girl’s imagination, but it’s only after leaving her home - losing her mermaid tail and literally learning to stand on her own two feet - and having been subjected herself to the acts and whims of men, that the young woman’s illusions are shattered. In Act 3 then, the three “nymphs” are seen more for what they really are, dressed far more conventionally (albeit still in theatrical fantasy terms in unbelievably skimpy outfits rather than with any sense of naturalism) as cheap prostitutes. The scales have fallen from Rusalka’s eyes and, no longer able to return to the world of childhood innocence, the idea of living in a world with this knowledge becomes intolerable.

That’s one interpretation - the best I can come up with - but its manner of expression in the production is far from consistent, mixing this stylised theatrical realism with pantomime-like fairytale imagery, often to bizarre effect. Rusalka quite literally has a mermaid fish tail at the start, which is removed from her by the witch Jezibaba’s giant person-in-a-big-furry-costume black cat familiar. The revolving stage set with its red curtains is asked to stand-in for a variety of locations and the fit isn’t always good, the imagery and mix of concepts proving rather confusing. I’m not sure where the religious elements and use of neon crosses come into the work, although perhaps it views religious intolerance and hypocrisy as being antithetical to Rusalka’s pure and natural paganism.

Regardless of how it’s interpreted, the progression of the storyline and the impact of Rusalka’s dilemma still comes through, expressed principally and convincing by a strong performance from the Royal Opera House orchestra under Yannick Nézet-Séguin. They captured the Wagnerian romanticism of the work rather more successfully however than the folk rhythms that Dvořák beautifully blends into the opera, coming across a little too aggressively in such places. It was the quality of the singing however that carried the work through in spite of the peculiarities of the production. Camilla Nylund’s performance and delivery were flawless, meeting not only the technical demands of the singing, but injecting the right note of wistful romanticism into Rusalka’s “Song to the Moon” aria, and a sense of distraught confusion at the harsh reality of being a human that leads to her tragic fate. Bryan Hymel was equally as emotive in his delivery of the rather more human failings of the Prince, his singing strong and resonant.

There were moreover no weak elements even in the secondary characters with Petra Lang a formidable foreign princess, Agnes Zwierko compelling as the witch Jezibaba and Alan Held a strong Water Goblin. Particularly impressive however were the Rhinemaiden-like figures of the three wood nymphs, Anna Devin, Madeleine Pierard and Justina Gringyte. This was consequently a solid performance of Rusalka, exceptionally well-sung by a strong cast, even if the production didn’t always capture the lyricism of this beautiful work in the orchestration or the stage direction.

Verdi - Don Carlo

Giuseppe Verdi - Don Carlo

The Metropolitan Opera, New York

Yannick Nézet-Séguin, Nicholas Hytner, Marina Poplavskaya, Anna Smirovna, Roberto Alagna, Simon Keenlyside, Ferruccio Furlanetto, Eric Halfvarson

The Met: Live in HD - December 11, 2010

Verdi’s Don Carlo is a great example of how opera has the power not only to transform and heighten reality, but also to evoke and elevate the nature of human emotions and aspirations in a manner that no other artform can match. It’s not that the original historical circumstances of the real-life Don Carlos need a semi-fictionalised dramatisation, being rather interesting in their own right. Elisabeth de Valois was indeed betrothed to the Spanish prince Don Carlos but eventually married to his father King Philip II, a union between the French and Spanish royalty that would lead to the peace treaty of Cateau-Cambrésis in 1559. Where real-life is stranger than fiction is the fact that Elisabeth was actually 13 years old when she married the 32 year-old King, while Don Carlos, aged 14, was a lame, epileptic hunchback with a stutter.

Some creative licence is required then upon the part of the composer and the librettists (Joseph Méry and Camille du Locle), and some suspension of belief is required on the part of the audience to the love-at-first-sight encounter between Carlo and Elisabeth in the forests of Fontainebleau at the beginning of the opera, but it is all towards a greater good and a deeper emotional truth. Of course, it’s not just opera that plays fast and loose with historical accuracy for the sake of drama and art – one need look no further than Shakespeare, or indeed Friedrich Schiller, whose original play is adapted in Verdi’s version of the story of Don Carlo. The encounter between the two young people and the love that briefly inflames them is only the starting point for the great complexity of emotions and conflict that exists between no less than six principal characters, each of them with distinct ambitions and personalities, each of them with different facets to those personalities depending on the person they are dealing with. It is here that opera goes to places that other art forms can’t reach.

It is not common for there to be so many principal characters is an opera and Don Carlo is consequently Verdi’s most complex and sometimes difficult opera – at three and a half-hours long, it is not quite as accessible in its subject, themes or its musicality for example, as the more popular Verdi operas like La Traviata or Aida. Simply listening to Don Carlo on CD isn’t enough to reveal its layers of complexity, and it’s certainly an opera I’ve struggled with in the past for those reasons. Seeing it performed live on stage, undergoing particular interpretations in performance and staging, will bring out the dramatic power of the opera better, revealing how well the dark tones of the music work with the deep brooding performances, but, personally speaking, The Metropolitan Opera’s latest production (a co-production with the ROH, Covent Garden and the Norwegian National Opera and Ballet), broadcast live on December 11, as part of The Met Live in HD’s 2010-11 season to cinema theatres worldwide, was a complete revelation of the opera’s qualities.

What can seem like inconsistencies in the behaviour of the characters and in the performances of the singers, is revealed in this powerful but nuanced production to reflect the multifaceted nature of the characters, their changing moods and temperaments, and the duality of their inner conflicts between duty and their own personal desires. And, my goodness, related to the political turmoil in Europe in the 16th century, taking place between major historical figures and royalty with their duty towards their citizens, and with conflicting political, religious and personal aspirations and ambitions, those are drives on another scale entirely. The sweep that uplifts Don Carlo in his love for Elisabeth at the start of the opera (a relationship that reaches Greek mythological proportions when she becomes his "mother"), only plunges him deeper into despair and to almost dying at the loss of that love in her marriage to his father.

That same dynamic can be seen in each of the character’s own personal struggles, which is impressive enough on this kind of scale, and in so many principal characters, but it is infinitely more complicated when there is interaction between them. A good performance of the opera, mainly in the singing, can bring out subtle nuances of the different levels that the characters are working on, but it also requires strong acting, and that was assuredly in evidence here, particularly on the part of Marina Poplavskaya as Elisabeth, and the most historically complex character of King Philip, marvellously interpreted by Ferruccio Furlanetto. If there were any weaknesses in Poplavskaya’s singing, they were minor and to be expected for a young singer making a name for herself, in a technically difficult role. This was however more than made up for in an impassioned and superbly acted performance that relied heavily on glances and body language as much as in what was said, particularly when the two often contradict one another. Such subtlety can only be conveyed fully when the music is there to support it, and Verdi’s scoring is magnificent in this respect, contributing just as significantly to the definitions of the characters, and that was equally effectively achieved in the orchestration under the direction of Yannick Nézet-Séguin.

Even so, no matter how good the production and the performances, even watching this live in the theatre, you are not going to pick all these qualities up from a seat at the back of the stalls, and it’s here that Opera Live in HD comes into its own, picking up little details in the gestures and expressions of the singers in close-up, emphasising the framing and positioning of the characters in relation to one another on the stage. Nicholas Hytner’s staging is perhaps not as impressive as other Met productions this season, but it succeeds nonetheless in bringing the elements effectively together. One’s appreciation of the efforts put into the production are deepened by the interviews with the cast in the intervals, literally, just as they come off the stage, and even by the behind-the-curtains looks at the stage-hands getting the huge sets into place for the next act. From an eye-catching and ear-splitting opening with Robert Lepage’s Das Rheingold for a new Wagner Ring cycle production, the standard was set a very high level for the Met’s new season of Live in HD broadcasts, and subsequent productions have continued to impress right up to the invigorating and buoyant Don Pasquale last month, but Don Carlo may well top them all.