SAUVAGE/WILD

During weeks of illness I took to watching scads of movies - more than usual even. Some were brilliant, some stinkers, and some . . . unsettling, but beautiful . . .  powerful. In that final category, nothing came remotely close to Camille Vidal-Naquet's 2018 feature Sauvage/Wild. 

This is one of those difficult films that I honestly can't think of anyone I can recommend it to. This will become evident for a number of reasons as (or if) you read on.  I had a hard time initially, but letting myself go where it took me I ultimately found this to be a gem . . . a disturbing stunner and, in its way, beautiful. It is galvanized by the remarkable, unflinching performance of Félix Maritaud as Leo, whose story it is we're brought into.

Director Vidal-Naquet gives no hints or real clues as to Leo's background - why or how he ended up with the always challenging life before him.  Shot almost in a documentary-like style, we are enter   into Leo's world of sex trade, drug abuse and homelessness in a manner that is unapologetic and "in your face."   It's all simply matter of fact with no judgment, and little sympathy. Anything resembling those will be left up to the viewer. Or not.  

Leo is a homeless, illiterate, gay prostitute eeking out his sad living, sleeping and working on a highway of an unspecified French city. A street-handsome, twenty-two year old, he feels - despite the profession - like an innocent . . . a naive waif or animal who, despite his station in life carries himself with a sort of dignity that cannot help but be admired.  I smiled watching Leo walk with a confidence moving easily and almost invisibly through the streets and sidewalks. 

Félix Maritaud gives Leo a presence that is raw . . . proud without arrogance, almost noble in its way. We also quickly realize this loner is a young man so desperate for love he will do - quite literally - anything for it. He exhibits no shame or embarrassment in declaring - or attempting to show his love towards his only friend, Ahd, another prostitute, and the polar opposite of Leo.  A few years older, Ahd is far more streetwise, savvy, and lets it be known he is strictly gay-for-pay.  Nonetheless, it is clear how much he cares for his friend, offering Leo advice and comfort, while ever attempting to let him know a romance is not part of their story. 

As Ahd, Farid-Éric Bernard commands equal attention in their scenes. There is a scene with the pair doing a three-way with an older, handicapped client, who wants to be kissed, but only Leo obliges, while Ahd watches with disgusted fascination.  When Leo attempts to kiss Ahd - it goes off the rails. When later, Ahd asks why Leo is okay with kissing, and the younger friend speaks, but it is his body language . . .  and eyes that give the real answer.  

There is one particular scene that takes the film beyond brutal, not only in its simulated sex - which is both graphic, and difficult to watch, but equally so in the degradation and contempt shown towards Leo. He's obviously not into what's taking place, and it feels as though the poor kid is - literally - offering his body in some form of sacrifice to prove his honor.  Leo, who seems never to feel humiliation or degradation- here is now, finally both. It was nearly impossible not to turn away from the screen, but Maritaud's performance is so compelling . . . wrenching that it broke my heart. 

It's no surprise to learn Leo is physically sick. How could he not be, drinking the same water from the filthy street puddles where he washes up. This llness leads us directly to the most moving interaction of the film.  Leo visits a a middle aged woman doctor whose questions he mostly answers directly and honestly, including her asking if he has considered giving up the drugs and life he lives. His response of "why would I?" is not  surprising: he's never known or considered anything else. Questions about his parents and schooling, etc. however, elicit only silence and a blank stare. We can only imagine what that story may be. 

When fate and harsh reality pull the two friends apart, Leo cannot understand Ahd's choice or advice, but as he pushes Leo away his choked voice tells his friend, something - I'll not here reveal - but which is filled equally with the possibilities of both hope . . . and heartbreak.

Many will dismiss Sauvage/Wild as  unwatchable - and that is not an unfair take on it, and why I can't give it a general recommendation. That being said, it is one of the most moving, emotional things I've watched this year, and even when my instincts were to turn away - or close my eyes I couldn't so compelling was the story, and Mr. Maritaud's performance.

I don't know when - or if - I will watch this again, but am intrigued by this director's work, and am definitely keeping my eyes on anything in the future featuring Félix Maritaud. He is remarkable here. 

Stutzmann and Cura: The Paris Tannhäuser

I just finished watching something I did not know existed: The 2017 Paris Tannhäuser from L'Opéra de Monte-Carlo.  Though billed as a world premiere that just doesn't sound right. Whatever it was, it began with me already slightly prejudiced against it, yet by its conclusion moved to tears, finding myself wanting to experience it all over again. 

Performing it in this version - and in French - seemed to change not only the vocal line (in interesting ways) but also the texture and feel of the opera. In fact, its very orchestral fabric felt lighter, and, I'm not certain how to phrase it, but not quite Wagnerian seems  right - even if that doesn't sound right.  It felt very French. Peut-être oui? Anyway, I loved it. 

I had a few issues with some of the staging. It opens with the Venusberg, as a barefoot Henri arrives onstage alone with an enormous opium pipe. It's nearly 30 minutes before Henri sings, what with the Venusberg Vixens and Venus herself taunting, teasing and smoking with him. This was the part that felt silly to me, but in thinking about what I saw afterwards - I realize it works, and I need to go back with a better mind set. 

To his credit, Jose Cura is absolutely commanding in the title role. In excellent voice, while looking like a strung out wreck from his debauchery in the Venusberg, he pours himself into Henri with a commitment that made me care and have concern for Tannhauser as a character, in a way I rarely have. I'd go so far as to say, this Tannhauser may be one of the very best performances I've seen or heard Cura give - and I like this singer whose work can be variable.  He is gripping from start to finish dramatically as well as musically. By the time we arrive at the Rome Narrative Cura reveals he knew to pace himself, to reach this near mad scene  having reserves of strength and it was impossible  - at least for me - not  to want to forgive this sinner.   

I've heard Nathalie Stutzmann conduct this same opera several times now, and here she leans into the French tradition, beautifully controlling everything with a masterful touch in a way that makes it not feel or sound quite like Wagner.  If I sound crazy, it's merely because I am - and find it difficult to put into words. The best I can do is express my absolute surprise (and joy) at the enormous difference between say, this performance and the recent ones from Bayreuth or the Met - which were also excellent, by the way.  Additionally, Maestro Stutzmann's singerly attributes manifest in a way I appreciate and have heard from other great singer/ conductors (the Canadian Barbara Hannigan comes to mind) - placing the right emphasis on what comes out of the pit with a strong emphasis on vocal placement, and making the French libretto sound even smoother than German. 

Mezzo, Aude Extrémo is about as sensual a Venus as one could want, and it's interesting to see her physically return during the final scenes of the opera in a last ditch effort to pull Henri back to her world.  

Annemarie Kremer is lovely as Élisabeth, though in the third act there is a bit of a light steel to her sound where I wanted a bit more radiance and warmth, but she's good. Very good.  While I wasn't crazy about her demise, it worked in this context and was wrenching, as it should be.

Steven Humes sing and acts a very strong Hermann.

Jean-François Lapointe is just wonderful as Wolfram, and his "Song to the Evening Star" - the most beautiful aria in the score sounds just as lovely as 'Ô douce etoile, feu du soir."

Was it perfect? Almost nothing is, so this certainly was not. Several elements of the staging - which I overall liked and found myself caught up in - just felt like overkill or . . . just wront. The worst for me was the last bit of business (which I'll not spoil here) which ruined the moment for me - if only slightly. Oh, how I'd love to see this filmed again - with that bit removed.  

The physical production is directed nearly perfectly by Jean-Louis Grinda and Laurent Castaingtis's designs are stunning at every turn, even continuing the bare stage phenomenon that's taken over modern opera stagings.  There are props, e.g., the odd chair or two (or six), a lot of floor coverings in the guise of scarves and (perhaps panties?) during the Venusberg, but Castaingtis uses brilliant projections that give the entire thing a sense of cinemascope. It almost felt as if I were watching a film. The images are gorgeous and every one of them works in concert with the idea behind this style.

This was NOT at all what I was expecting today, and coming on the heels of a pair of performances of Pelléas (Vienna and Rouen) I'm not only opera-ed out . . . I'm French Opera-ed Out!

Jocasta's Line: Oedipus and Antigone - Father and Daughter

While not part of the core operatic repertoire, Stravinsky's Opera/Oratorio Oedipus Rex is nonetheless relatively well known, frequently more the in the domain of concert halls than opera houses. Norwegian National Opera came up with a fascinating Theban Project (at least that's what I'm calling it) and commissioned Canadian composer Samy Moussa to compose a companion piece to the Stavinsky, on the story of his daughter, Antigone. The resulting work is collectively called Jocasta's Line, and personally, I think they've got a hit onhand.  Tying it all together into the best possible theatrical experience is the work of genius director and choreographer, Wayne McGregor. While we know dance was a fundamental element of ancient Greek theatre, we may never fully know just how, but McGregor's gives a shining example of how effectively they can be used today. 

The physical production, with sets and costumes by Vicki Mortimer, are unique to each tale with no design elements in either (sets or costumes) transferring from one to the next - or more precisely from father-to-daughter, despite the tragic elements of each.  Lucy Carter's lighting design deserves not just special mention, but some sort of grand  award: her work in both pieces is nothing less than extraordinary and the images she conjures before our eyes are  constantly amazing. Both of these women make Jocasta's Line fly. 

Oedipus is visually and theatrically striking, opening from the rear of the stage with the projected image of the mouth of The Narrator - here taken up by the always wonderful Ben Whishaw. As he sets up the troubled king's story, the set rotates into place: Stage Left are The Men, clad in intricately hand painted suits, as Oedipus motionless and stage center is on a sort of elaborate podium, covering his lower half. As the music starts, the chorus is bathed in blood red light, Oedipus - now surrounded by a contingency of male dancers moving slowly, as if through time and space itself. And we are off.  

As Oedipus Paul Appleby easily gives one of the finest performances I've seen or heard from him. In splendid voice, the tenor also is given a specific choreography - elaborate, ancient-looking hand and arm gesture.  Through this combination of music and movement Appleby takes an often static character and infuses him with humanity, conveying the tortured, damned monarch and, like the citizens of Thebes, breaks our hearts. At least mine was broken.  

While no longer quite commanding the vocal beauty that marked much of her career, Sarah Connolly's strength feels right for Jocasta, and she remains a powerful presence as the doomed queen. One might even say, she is mighty, so I will. I did feel it a somewhat odd (while not distracting) decision to replace her Jocasta with a double for the queen's entombment. .  

Stravinsky (and Sophocles) assign significant importance Creon, Tiresias, The Messenger, and The Shepherd, and while small roles, Michael Mofidian, Rafal Siwek, Jens-Erik Aasbe, and Magnus Staveland, were marvelous, their brief scenes punching up the tragedy and gloom perfectly.

Throughout Oedipus, McGregor's genius shines through constant yet subtle movement of the sets AND its inhabitants, along with images of The Narrator, all propelling Sophocles' drama into our laps. Or faces. While the movement is often subtle, the result is anything but. Truly, this production joins Julie Taymor's now legendary film with Jessye Norman and Philip Langridge, as a must see and hear experience. 

Antigone follows - at least in this presentation - immediately with no intermission. WIth no expectations I was eager to plunge right in (though desperately wanted to yell and cheer for the cast of Oedipus!).  

Other than subject matter, Neither director nor composer keep any visual theme from the previous work. Initially, I was put off because I FELT they should flow, but as she progressed I realized I'd lied to myself.  I DID have expectations: including Antigone to be cut from the same cloth as the Stravinsky. That was in no part Samy Moussa's fault, it was entirely mine.I eventually got out of my own way and let Antigone take its proper hold on me.

As Oedipus was sung in Latin and with a male chorus, Antigone is performed by a female chorus (no soloists) in Ancient Greek. (Note: I do wish the work had, like Stravinsky, a narrator to make what we're seeing and hearing a bit more clear - at least to me.) Moussa's score is frequently dazzling, making great use of groupings of his instruments - high, tightly coiled and spiraling strings, punchy brass, and so on. 

I can't personally know who influences a composer and, while he is definitely creating his own unique (and rather splendid) sound, I definitely felt touches of Debussy, Khatchatourian, Tobias Picker, but most of all, Thomas Adès.  Not bad company to keep (or not keep - whatever the case may be).  

Grete Sofie Borud Nybakken is Antigone and, while I am no dance critic, I felt her performance devastatingly beautiful in every way - powerful and ultimately wrenching. The contributing dancers portraying Creon, Antigone's brothers, and Ismene were at this same, frequently dazzling level. 

As oratorio, both works rely significantly upon the work of the chorus: - the men in Oedipus and the women in Antigone, ar, in fact, the very heart in this style of storytelling. In this regard, the chorus of The Norwegian National Opera and Ballet - and their leaders - Stephen Harris and  César Cañon -  deserve every accolade possible for work that is consistently remarkable. 

Pulling the myriad, disperate parts of this Theban puzzle together is  conductor Charlotte Politi, who does a masterful and magnificent job, reigning the orchestral and choral forces with fierce precision and energy. She gives each score into its own aural landscape, creating rich imagery of the mind. and ear.

It will be interesting to see if other companies will take up Jocasta's Line as a pairing for a grand night of music theatre and dance. I certainly hope so. 

I Love You, Monkey King! San Francisco Opera Premiere's Huang Ruo's New Opera

The earth is enormous. The earth is tiny. Depending upon the context in which they're used, both statements are true, and the longer I live the more true each seems to become. Therefore, I was (though shouldn't have been) surprised to learn of  Sun Wukong - aka The Monkey King - beloved 16th Century Chinese superhero whose history actually goes back even further - to the 7th Century.  There wasn't time to brush up much before watching the live stream of the opera which had it's world premiere days before (on my birthday no less), and which I've been anticipating since first hearing about it.  

I purposefully avoided reviews, wanting to experience it (even from home) without prejudice expectations.  What happened when I  hit play - was practically transformative in that way unique to opera. The enthusiastic response from the house gave a strong indication of what it must have been like experiencing it in person.  Thousands of miles away on a large screen TV with good sound was not a bad alternative. Not at all.

From its opening image, Diane Paulus' visually stunning production transports us to another time and place and in scene-after-scene, the spectacle factor found me gasping in awe or proclaiming "this is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."  In reality, it may be only ONE of the most beautiful, but in the moment - which is all that matters - it blocked out any other possible competition. 

The opera opens with the Nirvana-seeking Bodhisattvas quietly chanting Buddhist sutras. They are joined by Goddess of Mercy, Guanyin, the lovely soprano Mei Gui Zhang. Guanyin, who, throughout the opera, floats high above and moves across the vast stage in a tear shaped vessel. Each appearance is simply breathtaking.  Jusung Gabriel Park - who sings the dual roles of Subhuti and Buddha, moves, as the latter throughout the story in a similar, circular vessel, adding even more of a transcendent spiritual quality to the often raucous, and comical goings on with Sun Wukong beneath them.

We quickly meet Sun Wukong, who has been imprisoned for 500 years, and whose story we will soon discover through a series of dazzling flashbacks.

So spectacular is the character of Sun Wukong, it takes three "performers" to tell his story: First is the tenor inhabiting The Monkey King, then a dancer/acrobat, and a puppet, each identically made up and costumed. The effect is seamless and magical in itself. In this role, tenor Kang Wang is never less than the ideal. Indeed, this is one of those performances that afterwards I found myself wondering, "who else can do this?"  Sun Wukong, always full of himself, speaks frequently of his handsomeness, and indeed, even through the wild make-up, loud costume, crazy monkey beard, Mr. Wang is able to project "handsome" and make an entire audience fall in love with this often reviled creature. Tour-de-force seems almost an inadequate description of Mr. Wang's remarkable performance.  He IS The Monkey King. 

As spectacular as he was, Mr. Wang was not alone in shining as the entire cast was both inspired and inspiring, with no weak links anywhere. As both Subhuti and Buddha, baritone Jusung Gabriel Park was warm of voice and created two distinct characters. As the former, his scenes with Sun Wukong found me "feeling" the similar dynamic between Gurnemanz and Parsifal, so that element hit me both in head and heart. Kuno Kim was a hilariously haughty Jade Emperor, ruler and of an elite population of immortals (which easily translates to The One Percenters  of today) as they proudly - and loudly - sing:

We're the smartest and most powerful - the wisest most deserving, which we remind each other whenever we get the chance!

Peixin Chen as Supreme Lord Laozi, Joo Wan Kang, as Lord Erlang and Ao Guang, and Hongni Wu, as the Crab General and Venus Star, round out a perfect cast with tremendous acting and song. 

Sets and puppets are by the always amazing Basil Twist (so thrilled to see his name on this project) and Anita Yavich must have had what must be a customers dream - or nightmare  in creating the challenging, explosions of colors and materials in creating the opulent, stunning costumes.  The lighting design by Ayumu "Poe" Saegusa created a magical fantasy world of movement and light that frequently took my breath away.

From first note to last, it was clear Huang Ruo was creating something special here. A uniquely Asian story, its score influenced by the musical landscapes of ancient China, other Far-Near Eastern sounds, Western classical music, jazz and theatre. In addition to traditional orchestral sounds, there were traditional Chinese elements including percussion, gongs, cymbals and more.  A few moments in the choral sections felt (to me) sounded "too casual" both in writing and delivery - but they made an effect, so perhaps I just don't understand something. It certainly wouldn't be the first time.

Completing Sun Wukong's character were the Puppet and Dancer. puppet Sun Wukong was brilliantly handled and manipulated by - by my count - nine masterful puppeteers. Dancing SunWukong was in In dancer/acrobat Huiwang Zhang, Dancing Sun Wukong was in everyway the dopplganger of tenor Wang. His athletic prowess, flying, sommersaulting, and kicking his way through dimensions and space were never less than dazzling. 

Through all of this, Maestro Carolyn Kuan propelled the score exuberantly forward with love, combining Ruo's elements of nuance, cariciature, spirituality, comedy, along with an abundance of heart and humanity in one of the most beautiful new operas I have been fortunate to experience. 

I love you Monkey King!