Amazing "Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay"

This past Saturday, I along with countless others braved the worst winter storm in years to attend the cinema screening of Mason Bates' and Gene Scheer's new opera, The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay.

I had thoroughly enjoyed the opera's opening night broadcast enormously but, like everyone else I knew, furious at the Met for not scheduling this important new work for an HD treatment. Fortunately for the Met, all seven performances were sold out with tickets were as rare as the proverbial hen's teeth. Seizing the moment, the Met scurried to get cameras in  to record the final performances into the seamlessly edited HD recording  we saw Saturday. They also (wisely) scheduled four more performances during the winter break. Thi is good.

With the daunting task of crafting a libretto for an "average length" opera from Michael Chabon's 650 page Pulitzer Prize winning novel, Mr. Scheer, while commiting some gender re-assignments of several roles, did a remarkable job and delivered a text presenting more than enough of the duo's adventures to project and evoke this sprawling tale of war, comic books, fascism, adventure, sacrifice, freedom, love and - most beautifully - friendship. Everything you need to know is in there.

Armed with this, Mr. Bates' created a wide sprawling score, infused with his now familiar style combining traditional orchestrations with electric, synthesized sound, and the result feels just right.  While I admire and champion many contemporary composers, Bates has been on my radar for 20 years, and I can't think of a composer better equipped to tell this kind of tale. 

(Side note: Many critics and audiences have complained about Bates use of electronics, and how they "don't belong" in "classical music."  One may not like employment of synthesizers, electric guitars, etc., but the fact is electronics have been used in classical music for more than a century, employed by countless composers including Edgar Varèse, Gian Carlo Menotti, Olivier Messiaen, Kaija Saariaho, Philip Glass, John Adams .  . . so precedent has been more than just merely "set.") 

Bates refers to this synthesis of traditional and electronic sound, as symphonic electronica.  As one who has been a fan of (and involved in) the Noise Music scene, I was heartened to hear the incorporation of these strange sounds (along with all the foley work supplied for the radio show-within-an-opera) incorporated into a work, with its myriad style motifs propelling the story through a gloriously unique hybrid of operatic theatre. While I prefer my opera live and in the house, it was especially fun experiencing Kavalier & Clay at a cineplex - bringing world of the movies into the mix. Yes, some have complained specifically about that, but those people are always yammering and whining about something ain't they? (Rhetorical question, but the answer is "yes.")

Bates' style motifs (my name for whatever it may be called)  work brilliantly, switching between elements of jazz, swing, avante garde (the symphony electronica), folksong, Hip Hop rhythms and, when appropriate, grand olde Hollywood epic soundtrack magic .  While Bates is not a minimalist, he comfortably employs the brightness and quicksilver sound of that movement seamlessly into the fabric of his score. Influenced by what has come before him, With nods to (at least to my ears) Ravel, Weill, Bernstein, Wagner, Strauss, Prokofiev, and others Bates manages to create his own original sound world and it is a beautiful, haunting and always captivating one.

Eschewing the modern practice (well from Wagner onward) of adhering to vocal parlando, Bates has created arias, duets, ensembles, choruses that feel like classic standard operatic set pieces - and I love that nod to past traditions.  

The mindblowing production design from 59 Studio, easily rivals the most impressive physical productions the Met has put upon that great stage. Curtains, dissolves, projections, sets - all move the story - and its audience - from 1939 Prague through Brooklyn, Manhattan's gallery scene, office buildings, skyscrapers, a gay bar, warehouses, the Western frontline of the war, and, just as importantly, the fantasy world of comic books. Bartlett Sher's direction here with a perfect, if not name-recognizable cast, is perhaps the best work I've seen from him to date, and it showed in the way he paced the story's action, as well as the work with that remarkable cast. 

With his warm, resonant baritone, endearingly accented English, and physical presence, Andrzej Filónczyk strikes all the right notes as Joe Kavalier. Bringing the immigrant's sense of wide-eyed wonder, fueled by hopes and dreams of a better life in America. this part of the story felt especially prescient given what's happening to immigrants - and citizens - in these United States of America. We watch the rise and fall of Joe and seeing those dreams crushed through the rise of World War II's fascism, and it is devastating. As an actor, Filónczyk pulls us along through that heartbreak and redemption. It is a tremendous performance. 

The other title role was in equally excellent hands as tenor Miles Mykkanen's displayed all of the savvy, wit, ambition, along wit h the scarred insecurity and fear as the leg braced Sam with a clear, soaring tenor. It was impossible not to love Sam, and everybody did.

Sun-Ly Pierce (a singer I fell in love with in Des Moines Cunning Little Vixen) is Rosa who is very much  the anchor"and conscience of the show. Possessing a beautifully gleaming mezzo with a secure top, Ms. Pierce stole every heart. Her first act aria, Open Your Eyes reveals Rosa's earnest desire to rescue the child victims of the war. It was also the first sign I knew that I'd be in tears at what was yet to come. 

In some fun duel-casting, comic book hero The Escapist was portrayed by by a non-singing dancer, Jerimy Rivera, and "portrayed" by actor, Tracy Bacon who was beautifully sung by baritone Edward Nelson. Nelson, tall, blonde and handsome, Nelson was the epitome of the superhero-type, abundantly confident, openly gay, not quite garrulous but close, he is the opposite of closeted, fearful Sam, which makes their relationship both difficult and touching. The first kiss is not what one expects and was one - of many - moments that felt positively . . . well, cinematic.

As is often the case whenever he's cast, Patrick Carfizzi - in the brilliantly written character role of Sheldon Anapol - nearly steals every scene he's in. As the kindhearted, benevolent boss at Empire Novelty Company, Incorporated. Mr. Carfizzi never fails to impress and get to the heart of every role I've been lucky to see him in - and there have been plenty!

One of the most crucial roles in Kavalier & Clay, is Joe's 14 year old sister, Sarah. Not a big singing role, but whenever she is onstage - singing or not - she is at the heart of this epic story. Soprano Lauren Snouffer was not only believable as the braided teenager, she made me wish Sarah had more to sing.

How moving it was for me to see one of my all-time-favorite singers, Richard Croft, along with Ellie Dehn as Joseph's parents, Solomon and Estelle. Both were enormously moving, and I couldn't help but recall them working together nearly twenty years ago in Satyagraha (can it have been that long ago?)

The balance of the cast showed the careful attention the Met can lavish in bringing a new, challenging work to life.  

 Yannick Nézet-Séguin seemed to be charged by every element, presenting a reading that would be hard pressed to be improved upon, shaping and coordinating the myriad elements of orchestration, sound design, electronics, percussion (right down to the clicking of typewriter keys). I feel (and maybe am alone here) that he shines in this kind of material more than some "traditional" works. Bates score deserved this kind of treatment. 

For me, this is what contemporary opera can be: a great literary source inspiring a poet and then a composer, designers, directors, singers and players to present something that can touch thousands of people with its beauty.

One of the more fascinating things I've taken in about this opera is that audiences (generally) have been so powerfully moved both by this opera and its message, cheering, standing ovations (don't start on me with that) while it seems the majority of critics have either trashed it, or only given mild praise.  

I remember being glued to the premiere broadcast and, even without its visual element - being stunned into silence and moved to tears - as was the entire audience at my cineplex this past Saturday. It made the first review - Joshua Barone for The NY TImes - come as a bit of a shock damning it as "superficial."  I read how Scheer's libretto is cliché-ridden with no "meaning or purpose."  And while he positively cites the drawing projections, he complains about other design elements (e.g., the Clay's apartment). 

He damns Bates' score  as "uninspired . . . obvious . . . harmless . . . nondescript . . . forgettable" bringing up these were the same problems he had with Fire Shut Up In My Bones and Grounded - operas with "toothless scores that ask so l itle of their audiences."  His final paragraph beginning "That's not what opera is," is the final blow.  But he was not alone - the majority of "professional" reviews seemed to go out of their way - in best and most imaginative "I'm going to write a bad review with fun words." Some of the attacks were beyond laughable. One, complaining about the death of one of the characters and how it did not feel "tragic enough."  Or the number of reviews varying the theme of "the melodies are so banal you wonder why they bothered." And on and on they go.  How clever. they all are. 

But none of that matters to me - I - and almost everyone I know - loved the experience, and I've friends who were so moved by this - they went back to Wednesday's encore performance.  I'm thrilled that, despite any bad press - the Met saw the wisdom of bringing the production back during the break for four more performances beginning February 17 that, while not yet sold out, are already selling well.  I wish everyone in the company - and all future audiences - the very best.  I do hope that more positive word-of-mouth reviews will factor in more than the harsh criticisms of those who felt it a waste of time, money, and talent. 

As I end this, I'm reliving the opera's emotionally transcendant final scene, I can't help but think of another opera that affects me with its bittersweet but beautiful message of hope in this often confusing and sometimes dark world  Leoš Janáček's The Cunning Little Vixen.  That's not bad company to keep. 

Viva Kavalier & Clay!

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.