tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6441587605981570152024-03-13T20:27:11.191-04:00pArtsA Maineiac from Portland rambling about all things art - music of every stripe - rock, progressive, jazz, symphonic, jazz, lieder . . . oh, and food, too. Come in - I promise not to bite . . . too hard.Sharkyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06354556120599729324noreply@blogger.comBlogger324125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-644158760598157015.post-20393042429872247012024-03-03T17:15:00.001-05:002024-03-03T17:15:48.911-05:00We Are All The Incredible Shrinking Man<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZj9NTRztivm8q3FcDbepl7ODGnoSvob_WwccnmXq7lM6acPh2p3OxBqxtTj8j9BEKM7kzA9_tuLqxYqp16QiAE5YVoddngn_OxHwb9AuXH9svwcCJUp5Qm-Ph8Qxk1iBlMWXAlUFjGkRQ39mv-jBH09KDP13C14L8qac5u4BBU1a8N04SKM_KaC36nzNz/s1600/fdD4Lk4KeFdh5gGU3xwYImxc9kzoO6_large.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1288" height="364" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZj9NTRztivm8q3FcDbepl7ODGnoSvob_WwccnmXq7lM6acPh2p3OxBqxtTj8j9BEKM7kzA9_tuLqxYqp16QiAE5YVoddngn_OxHwb9AuXH9svwcCJUp5Qm-Ph8Qxk1iBlMWXAlUFjGkRQ39mv-jBH09KDP13C14L8qac5u4BBU1a8N04SKM_KaC36nzNz/w293-h364/fdD4Lk4KeFdh5gGU3xwYImxc9kzoO6_large.jpg" width="293" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><span style="font-size: medium;">Every once in a while I need to revisit my boyhood. Okay, truth: I've never really grown up (much like someone with my same initials and I don't mean Peter Pears), so "revisiting" is a stretch. There are a countless movies my dad introduced me to as a kid, and many of those remain among my favorites: <i>The Greatest Show On Earth, The Five Pennies, The Treasure of the Sierra Madre, Heaven Knows Mr. Allison</i>, and many many more. Some stand out more than others, and one of the strongest may seem like an odd choice, but it haunted, disturbed and moved me more than most: <i>The Incredible Shrinking Man</i>. I still remember every detail of not only the movie, but of me fidgeting, getting nervous and worrying whether Scott was going to come out of this alive, be cured. Every few years I come back to it, and . .. today was that day.</span><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwRU5pFFsHY_VfRm88hQCJ15pdmTYDC5hLixkLLcxKedideBFh1YcuMkt4MN8hVPXx-5Ea_RjVFiOMsua2OTWkkzWqNI6xQutqP0U45RY7MohpF9zyo54dGIyL-iRFy8YYB_rtXGswq039M0FEfXEJmCQV5MOwE9xWUQImeN5nWqifFpR-is_aLEsW1_Lo/s2400/1TzJPldoeGkEdsQ61pJyArUokwsDlq_original.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1350" data-original-width="2400" height="218" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwRU5pFFsHY_VfRm88hQCJ15pdmTYDC5hLixkLLcxKedideBFh1YcuMkt4MN8hVPXx-5Ea_RjVFiOMsua2OTWkkzWqNI6xQutqP0U45RY7MohpF9zyo54dGIyL-iRFy8YYB_rtXGswq039M0FEfXEJmCQV5MOwE9xWUQImeN5nWqifFpR-is_aLEsW1_Lo/w388-h218/1TzJPldoeGkEdsQ61pJyArUokwsDlq_original.jpg" width="388" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br />Each time I watch it, even knowing the outcome, I become five or six again, fraught with fear and concern about the plight of this tiny human. Once the shrinking begins, the loneliness, the feeling of helplessness Scott faces almost overwhelm me. The perilous challenges ,when the worst of the shrinking begins - one life threatening battle after another are ceaseless . . . . relentless . . . oppressive. Then, when he becomes <i>truly </i>alone, trapped in the basement, his wife and brother having left, believing he 's dead . . . it tears at my heart. </span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">As a child, naturally I couldn't comprehend why this story affected me so profoundly, but as years progressed, so did my mind, and my interests in science, philosophy, religion, the cosmos, the myriad dimensions beyond the physical or <i>real</i> world took hold of my brain, and I became obsessed with the <i>why </i>and <i>how</i> of everything. I vividly recall coming back to this movie in adulthood and there was that proverbial lightbulb moment . . . that <i>Aha</i>! head rush. This wasn't just some sad horror or sci-fi flick, it was an allegorical look at humanity, at the relative smallness of our place in the vastness of the universe. <i>BUT </i>like the billions of atoms that make us up - the universe recognizes the infinitesimal, and everything matters. I watched <i>Spaceman</i> last night and one of my takeaways from it works in concert with <i>The Incredible Shrinking Man</i>: the universe is exactly as it should be.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg1Lct7NPcmGkoMfXZ4Ur0weBJE76_cKbbe62EpnhLLKaIqJfCQ4wREt1vqlpPEo-gcCjUhC1RwkUvHxmbmiW3vCH8Bz_FfUT2A7ZkDwgFdAniwSqrV1zWN4U6LuqZY3-pHb8GzqT58luuCElIQvyy0b_zIiEkgCaEuq5IHjAzBxz-tkO6TRMjx2IQQKCo/s1200/the-incredible-shrinking-man.remini-enhanced.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1200" height="358" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg1Lct7NPcmGkoMfXZ4Ur0weBJE76_cKbbe62EpnhLLKaIqJfCQ4wREt1vqlpPEo-gcCjUhC1RwkUvHxmbmiW3vCH8Bz_FfUT2A7ZkDwgFdAniwSqrV1zWN4U6LuqZY3-pHb8GzqT58luuCElIQvyy0b_zIiEkgCaEuq5IHjAzBxz-tkO6TRMjx2IQQKCo/w358-h358/the-incredible-shrinking-man.remini-enhanced.jpg" width="358" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;">What's fascinating to me about all of this is that the Richard Matheson wrote his 1956 novel as an allegory about the loss of masculine influence on post-war America. The shrinking man was representative of that loss. Apparently, Matheson, who wrote the screenplay as well, was not pleased with the direction of film or its ending, but years later, came around to appreciating it . . . and its ending. And, speaking of the ending, in all of the film testing before its release, audiences <i>hated </i>it. Everyone seemed to want Scott to be cured, to be restored to his full size and reunited with his wife. Director, Jack Arnold, essentially stated they'd have to change the ending over his dead body, and so the film ends exactly as it should: full of understanding about our place in the universe, but also an accompanying fear of what that means..</span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">For me the biggest tragedy of the film is that its leading actor, Grant Williams, never achieved any genuine measure of fame, never got any roles truly worthy of his talent, and died alone at age 53. It was interesting diggig up what I could on him and realizing how many gifted people like Williams just never got the opportunity to shine - or only briefly in small films like this one. It's really the story of Hollywood, isn't it? Grant Williams was born in New York, and began acting onstage as a child. He joined and was trained in the U.S. Airforce, and after serving returned to New York to study with Lee Strasberg. He found professional work in the theatre and I'm not sure who saw him, but he was quickly offered a contract and signed by Universal and moved to Hollywood, playing bit roles on television or uncredited ones in film. He caught the eye of Jack Arnold who was impressed and cast him against type as evil gunslinger, Chet Swann in the 1956 western <i>Red Sundown, </i>and then a year later in the lead role for the movie which he's still best known. </span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKwwcYrnb0loqtgAawGUl2fBHShRaiReOfq9NFNM6ljrbG4vJkCe0PxX0_Zg7kZpoLvodYVAwusLt9F2Vl80h6GmNwpFfUtrufR3N3n8vCda1o6Ut7613uFU14k4WEPUhdyBGuz99kBg5HFX8JvZhk-a4_nIeKUoN6UWelpc6uc1CxkkYeGa2sk4eNb9Zi/s830/160713_shrinking_man_banner1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="610" data-original-width="830" height="235" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKwwcYrnb0loqtgAawGUl2fBHShRaiReOfq9NFNM6ljrbG4vJkCe0PxX0_Zg7kZpoLvodYVAwusLt9F2Vl80h6GmNwpFfUtrufR3N3n8vCda1o6Ut7613uFU14k4WEPUhdyBGuz99kBg5HFX8JvZhk-a4_nIeKUoN6UWelpc6uc1CxkkYeGa2sk4eNb9Zi/s320/160713_shrinking_man_banner1.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br />One important fact I never before knew was was Williams was also a singer, three years after filming <i>The Incredible Shrinking Man</i>, went back to New York as the tenor soloist in Martha Graham and Halim El-Dabh's legendary 1958 ballet <i>Clytemnestra</i>, for a three-performance run Broadway in 1960. </span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Williams was a quiet man who seemed to shy away from the Hollywood glitterari and led a very private and not active social life. There was much gossip and rumor about his being gay (which seems likely) and consigned him to a career mostly of single episode appearances in shows like <i>Gun Smoke, Mr. Lucky</i>, and <i>Shirley Temple's Storybook</i>. His longest gig would be as the composer Tchaikovsky in a three episodes for <i>The Wonderful World of Disney. </i>Another strike against him was one I'd never even considered until reading about it today was that Williams was fair and blonde, and and during his career Hollywood was almost exclusively casting its leads as tall, dark and handsome like Cary Grant, Rock Hudson,Steve McQueen, et al. </span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf_DqkyRPC7ZslKELG4lZsb_hzWKO7SnHcyb13VC8Wmx0mahAEMyXjUfqNW0tR4O2yWQ8eB-cY6HH250VZbIye4r9vFh_CKap67Sb12u9VdXqEFDQNouqoSlogI_a7oDy7jK2Ogw5XAdIsVEwq4fj1pduyc708xdCJ96MxbeXKfK2QmFwSnl6snBXnOfeO/s1170/SFS017-IncredibleShrinkingMan-02.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="634" data-original-width="1170" height="207" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf_DqkyRPC7ZslKELG4lZsb_hzWKO7SnHcyb13VC8Wmx0mahAEMyXjUfqNW0tR4O2yWQ8eB-cY6HH250VZbIye4r9vFh_CKap67Sb12u9VdXqEFDQNouqoSlogI_a7oDy7jK2Ogw5XAdIsVEwq4fj1pduyc708xdCJ96MxbeXKfK2QmFwSnl6snBXnOfeO/w383-h207/SFS017-IncredibleShrinkingMan-02.jpg" width="383" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br />Watching the film now, while there are several supporting roles, most importantly Randy Stuart, who is excellent as Scott's wife, nearly the entire film is carried on the shoulders of Mr. Williams's as Scott Carey. Because of the way it had to be filmed, Williams was required to act through most of the film alone, as has been noted: <i>acting opposite nothing and with no one</i>. The role also called for incredible physicality: Scott must go from appearing childlike, lost in grownup world of furniture and giants, sipping coffee from a boat sized cup, and then performing incredible physical feats, fighting like a gladiator, swinging across vast spaces and climbing seemingly insurmountable heights. Watching it with an actors eyes, Williams serves all of this up with a ferocity that feels natural and is admirable. he also suffered multiple injuries, burns, and went temporarily blind during filming. Through it all is an underlying sadness always just under the surface that is enormously moving. Additionally, Williams, as Scott, narrates the entire film which, after his epiphany and acceptance, creates something profoundly poetic out of Matheson's screenplay. </span><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcBUMyyXhj8BT8WpSaR66ktTMmHE9leQ56BdpmCXWOJyJk095HPyZTqsWqR_Cuzp61pupzWiS2Ox91S2l0FzStuBoZS_fOL9NkZOzzX1JwMAMQYEUS4d_3QEFPfJwMrT3OFkBOM3817GOcqfvhKb9XDVJBoijlseGspUeaw3zmAO2b91G4QHg10M7fX5xv/s2400/director.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1761" data-original-width="2400" height="283" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcBUMyyXhj8BT8WpSaR66ktTMmHE9leQ56BdpmCXWOJyJk095HPyZTqsWqR_Cuzp61pupzWiS2Ox91S2l0FzStuBoZS_fOL9NkZOzzX1JwMAMQYEUS4d_3QEFPfJwMrT3OFkBOM3817GOcqfvhKb9XDVJBoijlseGspUeaw3zmAO2b91G4QHg10M7fX5xv/w385-h283/director.jpg" width="385" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br />I know this is another of those movies I love that people wonder, "what's wrong with him?" . . . but for almost 60 years (<i>WHAT</i>?) this movie has been part of my life and so, part of who I am. All these decades later, I'm still fascinated by it, still moved by it, still compelled to watch it. In it's way, we, all of us, become <i>The Incredible Shrinking Man</i></span><p></p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://technorati.com/faves?sub=addfavbtn&add=http://sharkonarts.blogspot.com">Add to Technorati Favorites</a></div>Sharkyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06354556120599729324noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-644158760598157015.post-75644440648017720592024-03-02T22:29:00.004-05:002024-03-02T22:29:43.122-05:00SPACEMAN: This is the Beginning<p><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6ygtboFm8fhG6FKcexgqtb1CyoYb2L3jsNjgk9gyjmzPTW5lEclHOj31GG2tk40Vp0OygU2rPA1Y3cMrHv5ngkJVAW4BouzRAoO9WTGH6QBGMnZS-1jsV9p-tlZgzRWo9OaE2GjCHYwz-OmWxCSurlhmdq1dx8Gyp33vd7RWDGgvsGKRSV2R6tLu0UWGu/s1752/Adam-Sandlers-remini-enhanced.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1260" data-original-width="1752" height="277" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6ygtboFm8fhG6FKcexgqtb1CyoYb2L3jsNjgk9gyjmzPTW5lEclHOj31GG2tk40Vp0OygU2rPA1Y3cMrHv5ngkJVAW4BouzRAoO9WTGH6QBGMnZS-1jsV9p-tlZgzRWo9OaE2GjCHYwz-OmWxCSurlhmdq1dx8Gyp33vd7RWDGgvsGKRSV2R6tLu0UWGu/w385-h277/Adam-Sandlers-remini-enhanced.jpg" width="385" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br />Without knowing a thing about it, including that it had even been made, I watched Johan Renck's <i>Spaceman </i>last night. Although going in, I had no idea what it was about, it was, nonetheless, 100% not anything I might even have suspected. I was immediately - as in within seconds - completely caught up in everything this story had to say, the art direction, the acting, the storytelling and . . . well, quite frankly not only moved (several times) to tears, but actually kind of blown away by the inherent sadness and tone of it. </span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">This is a nearly impossible movie to review without giving it away, so here is a 99.9% spoiler free synopsis. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Czech cosmonaut, Jakub Procházka is on a solo journey to investigate and collect samples from the heavenly anomaly, <i>Chopra</i>, a beautiful, glowing purple cloud of dust that appeared on Earth's horizon several years prior. For this mission, Jakub had to leave his beautiful, adored wife and unborn daughter. He fights loneliness, depression, and technical issues on his spacecraft in the form of toilet issues, cameras breaking down, noise and eventually, failing communications with Earth. Six months into his journey he is awakened by an unwelcome alien creature (although being the universe, he, too, is in reality, an alien). This creature, an enormous spider, wreaks havoc on Jakub's psyche as he struggles wondering if he is hallucinating or if this is his reality. Eventually, a bond is formed between the two beings, and he names the spider (who is from a race where there are no names) <i>Hanuš</i>, who was once believed to have been the builder of the Prague Astronomical Clock in 1410. In turn, Hanuš addresses Jakub only as <i>Skinny Human</i>. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">As they drift closer to Chopra Hanuš is able to see into the mind of Jakub, understand his crippling loneliness, and the fraying of his marriage directly caused by an inability to face the horrible realities of his childhood, and be completely honest with his beloved Lenka. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxWEHvJRCq30BLXmOQCZmi8635QDzZcQlHDXdocia9xp7SzOTV2nNf6Nf-cQXyeTvm1zsH_-qC2zp4lphYmBLHUAW4Bh4Nt4qA1Oy3K4N1SczsyQw7XGrXGSvxl95EwLZX4zoTu8NN6t6rXCpc_rCS7V4ghhynTZ3bFsNSlFEm8BG3Ii2pBDIl0ZUX8bpd/s2560/spacemand%20and%20rusalka.remini-enhanced.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1350" data-original-width="2560" height="219" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxWEHvJRCq30BLXmOQCZmi8635QDzZcQlHDXdocia9xp7SzOTV2nNf6Nf-cQXyeTvm1zsH_-qC2zp4lphYmBLHUAW4Bh4Nt4qA1Oy3K4N1SczsyQw7XGrXGSvxl95EwLZX4zoTu8NN6t6rXCpc_rCS7V4ghhynTZ3bFsNSlFEm8BG3Ii2pBDIl0ZUX8bpd/w415-h219/spacemand%20and%20rusalka.remini-enhanced.jpg" width="415" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br />Opera lovers may find it interesting how important a role, musically thematically, and dramatically, Dvořák's <i>Rusalka </i>plays in <i>Spaceman</i>, including Jakub's description of the opera to Hanuš. Renée Fleming's recording with Sir Charles Mackerras' of <i>Měsíčku na nebi hlubokém </i>(<i>Song to the Moon</i>) makes several appearances in Max Richter's hauntingly atmospheric soundtrack. </span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Full disclosure: I have never been much of an Adam Sandler fan, but here, the fellow bares naked the tortured soul of Jakub, a man who will fearlessly face anything but the realities of his sad and lonely life. Sandler's performance is magnificent. Frustrating. Heartbreaking. Paul Dano supplies the gentle voice of his wise new companion, Hanuš.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglH2eTJDEjv94Mbs4qtS3CPzBlOq28EgSTUUmMzBcXq2jmjERExnFGSX00Xm35F3U3qEJmdp1qb89md3aJ7klCW7Q8cd9RvSfV0czInColhv431wFAbubzdk1TJ8RFoL3bvUfxwOU91fViP5v0sqVNIu0iXwDGJe17MPC3yHNlGlYa22Y5CbdbLDDcQMpO/s2572/Screenshot%20(17590).remini-enhanced.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1482" data-original-width="2572" height="231" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglH2eTJDEjv94Mbs4qtS3CPzBlOq28EgSTUUmMzBcXq2jmjERExnFGSX00Xm35F3U3qEJmdp1qb89md3aJ7klCW7Q8cd9RvSfV0czInColhv431wFAbubzdk1TJ8RFoL3bvUfxwOU91fViP5v0sqVNIu0iXwDGJe17MPC3yHNlGlYa22Y5CbdbLDDcQMpO/w401-h231/Screenshot%20(17590).remini-enhanced.jpg" width="401" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br />Although the bulk of the film is carried on the spaceship, the earthbound counterparts are of equal importance to the tale, and here, Carrie Mulligan as the heartbroken Lenka struggling to move ahead in life is gripping and moving. (One may ask, when is she never?) Lena Olin - a face we don't see as often as we should - is excellent in the short role of Lenka's mother. Isabella Rossellini, as Commissioner Tuma - Jakub's commander is strong, compassionate, and determined to make certain <i>everything </i>works for Jakub whose shoulders much is carried on in this project.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">To tell more than this, would be too much I think.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">But you may decide NOT to see this movie as, since watching it, I've read countless reviews and nearly all of them have torn the film to pieces. One of the tropes I find most appalling - and one of the biggest cop outs, come from critics who use variations of the phrase "this movie can't decide what it wants to be. Is it a space movie? A love story? Sci-Fi? A statement on the human conditon?" Why does a story need to be confined to one thing? Why should a movie about humans on earth and in space be only about earth and space? I could go on, but . .. nah. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY4XVBkC5zmh8bJGRJJI6him9INlwtceRlvOqKMyp4EAeYygumjMwTUL4GUbQ_eqQ0ptmB3nOz8x0HK5eatITB3zQktVZvMDKsxScMw90TbhECGntrh93g8c7yRbChhenMMYDRA3bwfPY7JjADpTAfeCF18zinXaBHONmpG33xbcgXNogH6TJP8xb8Onaj/s2350/Screenshot%2003-02-2024%2021.43.05.remini-enhanced.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1170" data-original-width="2350" height="199" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY4XVBkC5zmh8bJGRJJI6him9INlwtceRlvOqKMyp4EAeYygumjMwTUL4GUbQ_eqQ0ptmB3nOz8x0HK5eatITB3zQktVZvMDKsxScMw90TbhECGntrh93g8c7yRbChhenMMYDRA3bwfPY7JjADpTAfeCF18zinXaBHONmpG33xbcgXNogH6TJP8xb8Onaj/w401-h199/Screenshot%2003-02-2024%2021.43.05.remini-enhanced.jpg" width="401" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br />The film is directed by Johan Renck - whose 2019 <i>Chernobyl </i>was an international hit, not to mention one of the best things seen on television in the last decade. Renck has also garnered praise and awards for pilots and episodes of things like <i>Breaking Bad, Black Mirror, Vikings, </i>and <i>The Walking Dead. </i>He treats this filmic adaptation of Jaroslav Kalfař's acclaimed novel <i>Spaceman of Bohemia</i>, with love, striking perfect balances between what is real and what may not be real, and in so doing, creates a universe, both on earth and in heaven, that is frequently breathtaking in its beauty. </span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">In the end, all I can say is this: I fell in love with this strange, and strangely beautiful film and plan to journey with it again soon. </span></p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://technorati.com/faves?sub=addfavbtn&add=http://sharkonarts.blogspot.com">Add to Technorati Favorites</a></div>Sharkyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06354556120599729324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-644158760598157015.post-28056260291386679982024-02-24T17:21:00.001-05:002024-02-24T17:48:44.264-05:00All of Us Strangers: As Good As It Gets<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNm2v-028rngSp8_PT76FXhyphenhyphenjq-mZBmymJ0yh5mk8hN-4gO0pqnpM7IfPoLXbWKWZlB_U8_wjEXOONdO9ooeiDcYEbRTtpzj9myVs5yh84GtPWi_Q7YxUF57pn0Ojk-ocdVk8Shre8mppr8q_zTc-39yiqKX7-vcF_sR1YvGKrwuM-IETn3rkB1w52nXBG/s1499/poster.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1499" data-original-width="1000" height="422" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNm2v-028rngSp8_PT76FXhyphenhyphenjq-mZBmymJ0yh5mk8hN-4gO0pqnpM7IfPoLXbWKWZlB_U8_wjEXOONdO9ooeiDcYEbRTtpzj9myVs5yh84GtPWi_Q7YxUF57pn0Ojk-ocdVk8Shre8mppr8q_zTc-39yiqKX7-vcF_sR1YvGKrwuM-IETn3rkB1w52nXBG/w281-h422/poster.jpg" width="281" /></a></div><br />I just watched this and have so much to say, BUT this is not so much a review. as just me thinking out loud about a movie that . . . well, destroyed me sounds about right. <p></p><p>So, Movie fans: Do you like ghost stories? Do you like sad stories? Do you like films that leave you with more questions at the end than you had at the beginning? Are stories that are mercurial, confusing, illusive and open to interpretation up your alley? If so, Andrew Haigh's <i>All of Us Strangers </i>is the movie you need to see. Right away. </p><p>Haigh is one of those queer directors whose work, although generally centered on gay stories, transcends genre and speaks to us all as humans. Lonely, hopeful, wondering, wandering, vulnerable, and not-as-tough as we think, humans. I've liked everything I've seen, but <i>All Of Us Strangers</i>, goes straight to the top. I will argue that it is as masterful a piece of filmmaking as anything being nominated for all the other awards. An indisputable masterpiece, every element of Haigh's project is perfection: the script, the cast and their acting, the lighting, the balances between what is real and what is dreamed or imagined, the music . . . all of it comes together like a symphony of perfect parts. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh7rXZqIqb29Y4DAp4ezeTviGmOdotm5ht19-wwhrfSWoCKqYXfvZCqO3Mt562-8N2mR3arsof3Obfi4-pMUI2jkioCWsv6rjySxJNfYT22DX_OI66fqoAKu-HTFM4a2ec4rtYTD2uiJUtY8nSC05j20LYzhsZh55yjEpkAEOSIdmXWRlB92heugsccRaj/s500/44af63fa-3d46-412b-8a8f-ca3fa2386565_500x253.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="253" data-original-width="500" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh7rXZqIqb29Y4DAp4ezeTviGmOdotm5ht19-wwhrfSWoCKqYXfvZCqO3Mt562-8N2mR3arsof3Obfi4-pMUI2jkioCWsv6rjySxJNfYT22DX_OI66fqoAKu-HTFM4a2ec4rtYTD2uiJUtY8nSC05j20LYzhsZh55yjEpkAEOSIdmXWRlB92heugsccRaj/w396-h200/44af63fa-3d46-412b-8a8f-ca3fa2386565_500x253.jpeg" width="396" /></a></div><br />And speaking of symphonies, Haigh takes us on a voyage that immediately brought me to mind of two works: <i>Richard Danielpour's Symphony No. 3: Journey Without Distance</i>, and the work which inspired it: Helen Schucman's, massive (1400 pages) <i>A Course In Miracles. A Course in Miracles </i>is a metaphysical, spiritual journey that teaches the power of transformation through healing relationships, asserting that the greatest <i>miracle </i>is the act of simply gaining a full awareness of love's presence in a human life. Schucman tells us - reassures us:<p></p><div style="text-align: left;"><i>The journey to God is merely the reawakening<br /></i><i>Of the knowledge of where you are always and what you are forever.<br /></i><i>It is a journey without distance<br /></i><i>To a goal that has never changed.<br /></i><i>What was a place of death<br /></i><i>Has now become a living temple<br /></i><i>In a world of light.</i></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDp8BjQkXTztS5O4IqxLvlmPoC2tyryPkAvWLBChzvb6RiQHHOCPwvPJn6ypbmNCzG1Bf1JYEDyqg1ZRkNKfR1XCc0zqBj0g_SHMTrFiqrH_Tr4F6Uz3tlF1-zShyphenhyphen_Pnyvv9fgRVjjID1jZ8rKNFbN1-0-P7Fi9H2aHc5nH2ftteaCQPHz15DA5jF6NpNl/s600/field.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDp8BjQkXTztS5O4IqxLvlmPoC2tyryPkAvWLBChzvb6RiQHHOCPwvPJn6ypbmNCzG1Bf1JYEDyqg1ZRkNKfR1XCc0zqBj0g_SHMTrFiqrH_Tr4F6Uz3tlF1-zShyphenhyphen_Pnyvv9fgRVjjID1jZ8rKNFbN1-0-P7Fi9H2aHc5nH2ftteaCQPHz15DA5jF6NpNl/s320/field.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>Her words began ringing through my head once I realized what the movie was about. Of the story at its heart I will synopsize it simply: Adam, a mid-40's screenwriter, gay, and a loner, has never gotten over the death of his parents when he was 11. Living in a sterile new, near empty apartment tower he meets Harry, also alone in this same purgatory-like residence. It's awkward, Harry is needy and Adam shuts him out. After looking through some souvenirs of his childhood, Adam sets out, wanders, following a man through a field (Elysian Fields?) and the man turns out to be his dead father, now younger than himself. Dad takes Adam home and the family is reunited, catching up, sharing memories and secrets. The re-established unit continues meeting throughout the film, as Adam, attempting to let down his guard, also lets in and establishes a relationship with Harry. <p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkUUvWibAa7r8Lglwf4DGR59F5VjnxSmpWMI5WHNWoPWPDbz2Eul83WQ3YNsCd7nFpcHE71B9WorkkpGTDGzQVxaLLSWtUC5__GWopK-q4Hv9xeRHgx4sl3mX1M5gdMbcobal28EC8m4tNN3gs2w_IoxkrPpfjksIVstvsXYnlwY-rLnbB7z8_WO0fq_U5/s2048/xmas%20tree.webp" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1137" data-original-width="2048" height="178" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkUUvWibAa7r8Lglwf4DGR59F5VjnxSmpWMI5WHNWoPWPDbz2Eul83WQ3YNsCd7nFpcHE71B9WorkkpGTDGzQVxaLLSWtUC5__GWopK-q4Hv9xeRHgx4sl3mX1M5gdMbcobal28EC8m4tNN3gs2w_IoxkrPpfjksIVstvsXYnlwY-rLnbB7z8_WO0fq_U5/s320/xmas%20tree.webp" width="320" /></a></div><br />The performances of the four principals are flawless. Absolutely. Andrew Scott (who I first met as the brilliant, twisted, Moriarty in <i>Sherlock </i>) captures every essence of the lonely soul that is Adam. Filled with doubt, confused about his importance or relevance in the world, downplaying every aspect of his life . . . it all bleeds marvelously through. His face and physicality speak volumes.<br /><br />Paul Mescal's Harry, with a near identical agenda, is even more wounded, but wears his heart upon his sleeve - ("for daws to peck at" as Iago would say). Both men have smiles that make a grown person want to cry . . . for so much is revealed through their silence and faces. <br /><br />Clare Foy as Mom, is a middle class product of her time, from her hairstyle and jewelry down to her seeming reluctance to embrace her grown son's gayness. It's quickly established this is not rejection, but rather born of a mother's fear of the difficult road ahead for her child . . . a world of prejudice, homophobia, AIDS and loneliness. Adam is able to reassure her the world has changed since then. <br /><br />Never getting the credit he deserves Jamie Bell has nonetheless established himself as one of the finest actors on screen we have. His work here as Dad, so different from the last films I've seen him in, is practically a masterclass in subtlety creating a man who is truly proud of his boy, even as he is ashamed for feeling he was not the father he knew he should have been. Bell's work here is noble . . . heartbreaking. <p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEzVQgxjEdfrACNR-iJuEqvfywS4TVsCT1dwBg0ygycob0jEL3EbBfKGXSMH1Kmx7CXcUOmxgDDEsyAYAGxkA7MzgmQs7JorXuH0eG2B05IAncxA6-dQ9r2GrlT-8YP8K7LNCVPqe2kK9-b4qOmsgNzkXrKhKSFfA0i_WpHcgazIQXZQZyz9ZDgCEzrH-y/s1834/jamie-bell-and-claire-foy-all-of-us-strangers-64e71007bb5a6.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="798" data-original-width="1834" height="139" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEzVQgxjEdfrACNR-iJuEqvfywS4TVsCT1dwBg0ygycob0jEL3EbBfKGXSMH1Kmx7CXcUOmxgDDEsyAYAGxkA7MzgmQs7JorXuH0eG2B05IAncxA6-dQ9r2GrlT-8YP8K7LNCVPqe2kK9-b4qOmsgNzkXrKhKSFfA0i_WpHcgazIQXZQZyz9ZDgCEzrH-y/s320/jamie-bell-and-claire-foy-all-of-us-strangers-64e71007bb5a6.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p>If you've not seen it, that's all you really need to know. If you have seen it, you're going to want to find a friend to have a coffee with for a few hours of conversation to explore every facet, of this wondrous little movie. Even though it's 2024, I've adjusted my <i>Top Movies of 2023</i>, to put <i>All Of Us Strangers </i>near the very top. It's that good. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIgGdO3gIFVaiWMmDnj4FSWWdszkmLZAwNfq96Tz5oc-u5ZkU4alFj3QR6zzdhF_2kU6YFPmCG4jX2CooaOhBMnEonyHB69hu7CYntWnDImCpzFEQxjtNsd02H0Py2J8lOTLADE4O_mr1OuuBVqcpN8gMa-ZALtvasGXwwlJB2aVWR1qz-z_FfTnkZDcVY/s750/06projectionist-scott-mescal-zjtg-articleLarge.webp" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="750" data-original-width="600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIgGdO3gIFVaiWMmDnj4FSWWdszkmLZAwNfq96Tz5oc-u5ZkU4alFj3QR6zzdhF_2kU6YFPmCG4jX2CooaOhBMnEonyHB69hu7CYntWnDImCpzFEQxjtNsd02H0Py2J8lOTLADE4O_mr1OuuBVqcpN8gMa-ZALtvasGXwwlJB2aVWR1qz-z_FfTnkZDcVY/s320/06projectionist-scott-mescal-zjtg-articleLarge.webp" width="256" /></a></div><br /><div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://technorati.com/faves?sub=addfavbtn&add=http://sharkonarts.blogspot.com">Add to Technorati Favorites</a></div>Sharkyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06354556120599729324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-644158760598157015.post-89947402731327780262024-02-24T00:33:00.002-05:002024-02-24T00:35:35.569-05:00Fiennes and Okonedo: Antony and Cleopatra on Fire<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSIGMoH0qdRGu8fYz1DI1Y3mrNJ-79j8speTtCo4GLYnAq6Y2SyJKyhatfglhVlbUZiNfE4KDykeRQl1_GSBlvUtyDdCdQx5jgxEbDbKjEwobtq2cNcVe12ZjavIMLFrNw15FbjAoNgavfnR8D2XH8vfpbJPuPR_EArT_MkipGrp6wqGEZWESLNzyMUB79/s1585/Screenshot%2002-24-2024%2000.08.26.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1057" data-original-width="1585" height="259" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSIGMoH0qdRGu8fYz1DI1Y3mrNJ-79j8speTtCo4GLYnAq6Y2SyJKyhatfglhVlbUZiNfE4KDykeRQl1_GSBlvUtyDdCdQx5jgxEbDbKjEwobtq2cNcVe12ZjavIMLFrNw15FbjAoNgavfnR8D2XH8vfpbJPuPR_EArT_MkipGrp6wqGEZWESLNzyMUB79/w389-h259/Screenshot%2002-24-2024%2000.08.26.png" width="389" /></a></div><p>I just spent the past three plus hours transported to Rome and Egypt along with Shakespeare's <i>Antony and Cleopatra</i>, in the guises of Ralph Fiennes and Sophie Okonedo. Director Simon Godwin has created a modern, yet still timeless world for Shakespeare's characters to spring to vivid life in, and while overall the cast was excellent, with superb performances by (nearly) all, the show is aptly named for this formidable couple. Shakespeare did well with his titles, eh ? </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFbppqsVGP-9hSq2iSYjpycqwtpjcluYGS64imHf9rmkYfio9M-IkPIMNXczQgWilk7Ngu7G9-DijY-MdcNNK_gV_5Mj779mb7AswHkw6zwdsYLAfHdGgfQ-ehNcHTfko7lHTYt8nKSbWmF1kvBM03sEl3g9xfZ5xtZ3XFoDuPz6DqqYPabh4-lAa97QWH/s1440/ralph%201.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="774" data-original-width="1440" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFbppqsVGP-9hSq2iSYjpycqwtpjcluYGS64imHf9rmkYfio9M-IkPIMNXczQgWilk7Ngu7G9-DijY-MdcNNK_gV_5Mj779mb7AswHkw6zwdsYLAfHdGgfQ-ehNcHTfko7lHTYt8nKSbWmF1kvBM03sEl3g9xfZ5xtZ3XFoDuPz6DqqYPabh4-lAa97QWH/w372-h200/ralph%201.jpg" width="372" /></a></div><br />Fiennes' Antony is one of surface bravado but with deep and myriad underpinnings of ego, self doubt, jealousy, delusion, loyalty and genius. An interesting, and telling choice, was to portray Antony as an alcoholic, subtly but effectively putting his choices and actions in a light I'd never considered before. When Caesar sends Thidius to "steal" Cleopatra, and seeing through Caesar's intent, toys with the boy, he begins kissing her. Antony staggers in, waving a half empty bottle of Bulleit bourbon (my old favorite!) and his rage seems fueled by the whisky, orders the boy whipped and beaten, and unleashes his rage upon his queen, including what sounds like a liberty taken with the line "Ah, you kite!" (you can imagine what's in its place). Fiennes moves like an aging dancer, elegant one moment, clownish the next, crawling on the floor, all with abandonment of regard of to how he appears. He simply (or not so simply) . . . just "Is."<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin0wEyt05YHRApOlbuaNhWduxx_fswSJ70RNKpQjR_LjOYJzCxcjgD5Qlt-Jrnl8mOyU3r3C31V1ZryjUlEsVV6t-ThyphenhyphentdS79B_YZjAmh7tBCTnjyrvMYfJhqelNptPqM8fSZkkSd7p4Z5xylHzhwbv64AH2s5H3E5FlUNL1rJyPccVtuvE6YE-tJg44VZ/s600/sophie1.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="338" data-original-width="600" height="235" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin0wEyt05YHRApOlbuaNhWduxx_fswSJ70RNKpQjR_LjOYJzCxcjgD5Qlt-Jrnl8mOyU3r3C31V1ZryjUlEsVV6t-ThyphenhyphentdS79B_YZjAmh7tBCTnjyrvMYfJhqelNptPqM8fSZkkSd7p4Z5xylHzhwbv64AH2s5H3E5FlUNL1rJyPccVtuvE6YE-tJg44VZ/w418-h235/sophie1.jpeg" width="418" /></a></div><p>As his Cleopatra, Sophie Okonedo is . . . formidable seems too slight a compliment for her performance. As many shades as Fiennes' Anthony presents, Ms. Okonedo seems to go even further. She is regal, elegant, sexy, a swaggeringly dangerous beauty, loud of voice and character. She gives such depth to a character already complex on the page that it is difficult not to be overwhelmed by her, which is as true of the viewer as it is of the many characters in the play. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha6jyhMeQKuk6VeBlg01msYj7nV-7bfFJ0tbWk2pOZ-UBhvv-7zh54ha0n8pcG7SUlMp5bagehtBeZzhdlax-qmBhSPaLG_EyGv0JfRbMOULNNWIECH2P140Z6K_4nmZKMq7Z9gvZHTC5rE52Iu32TUNlvc9OThyphenhyphen3jfTZcAUojoOvSDJgBMyAbwq3ndvf6/s1001/ralph%20sophie%201.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="1001" height="244" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha6jyhMeQKuk6VeBlg01msYj7nV-7bfFJ0tbWk2pOZ-UBhvv-7zh54ha0n8pcG7SUlMp5bagehtBeZzhdlax-qmBhSPaLG_EyGv0JfRbMOULNNWIECH2P140Z6K_4nmZKMq7Z9gvZHTC5rE52Iu32TUNlvc9OThyphenhyphen3jfTZcAUojoOvSDJgBMyAbwq3ndvf6/w407-h244/ralph%20sophie%201.jpg" width="407" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnmUT1hzgSTLHnD8zn9i3sYQVkCnS6HFQD-d8SVWLdyP9MfUpqA_MlKCZNHgHRUAy8NraFNu2ydACzefhHdKfyWvsm4nlREagPPCyYP4HxICRff502b70N18jFytiyNCBThy40wgH7AA_N1B72cbEyyAe8P5fUCZlB2rXtMx6zWsV3SM4IyxJAyIaA-wph/s1440/e0d73d008e291c9da9baf66070e34d25.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="772" data-original-width="1440" height="217" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnmUT1hzgSTLHnD8zn9i3sYQVkCnS6HFQD-d8SVWLdyP9MfUpqA_MlKCZNHgHRUAy8NraFNu2ydACzefhHdKfyWvsm4nlREagPPCyYP4HxICRff502b70N18jFytiyNCBThy40wgH7AA_N1B72cbEyyAe8P5fUCZlB2rXtMx6zWsV3SM4IyxJAyIaA-wph/w403-h217/e0d73d008e291c9da9baf66070e34d25.jpg" width="403" /></a></div><p>While their scenes alone and with others felt daringly theatrical, together Fiennes and Okonedo created fire. The Johnny Cash/June Carter song lyrics "We got married in a fever, hotter than a pepper sprout" kept springing to mind. The pair almost seem to have a secret language in each other's company that goes beyond words and gestures and straight to the passion and soul of their partner. Godwin had a gift in the pairing of these two formidable actors and the result of their work together is thrilling, almost always on edge and, even for someone knowing the play well, full of constant, welcome surprise, </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN6eVG0n46rHt9nWGDxy-z8fkeGUevc1JiFKarAMLVDA2FkPVGhBRcWh6juBdwPoAMDZoTZx-zV7jLQkimEeY-7P-gBnmC_4T5JvUVis8jHAP5Dx6WrLiwjyWDRiApIbuarEm3ZhazEvpGzWDqG3-AemYqLKhBCpXJ5BDY9sVsofUlYYBn_kNkGJ5oZ9Td/s780/antony%20aloft.webp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="566" data-original-width="780" height="280" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN6eVG0n46rHt9nWGDxy-z8fkeGUevc1JiFKarAMLVDA2FkPVGhBRcWh6juBdwPoAMDZoTZx-zV7jLQkimEeY-7P-gBnmC_4T5JvUVis8jHAP5Dx6WrLiwjyWDRiApIbuarEm3ZhazEvpGzWDqG3-AemYqLKhBCpXJ5BDY9sVsofUlYYBn_kNkGJ5oZ9Td/w386-h280/antony%20aloft.webp" width="386" /></a></div><p>Some criticism was made of the initial run (back in 2018) of the length of the play and how Godwin's production - setting each scene in its own locale, rather than a unit set - added unnecessary stretching to an already long work. Similarly, criticism abounds about how Shakespeare knew not how to end this play, a good half hour between the deaths of Antony and Cleopatra. Nonsense. We've moved into an era where plays are frequently shorter than ever, while we easily spend three hours at the cinema watching planets explode, with trite dialogue wanly delivered by beautiful actors afraid of their voices, in films with quick cuts geared toward those with Attention Deficit Disorder. This is not Shakespeare's fault . . . it's ours. If one can give oneself over to the glory of language that speaks beyond the obvious, that is rendered from the hearts and minds of superb artists, on a stage that serves all of it up splendidly, i can think of no better use of a few hours of one's time. </p><p>The film of this live performance is available on several pay streaming platforms presently, and, happily as of today, free on YouTube. Go watch it. Now. </p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://technorati.com/faves?sub=addfavbtn&add=http://sharkonarts.blogspot.com">Add to Technorati Favorites</a></div>Sharkyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06354556120599729324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-644158760598157015.post-518822707399390662024-02-22T23:59:00.001-05:002024-02-22T23:59:37.770-05:00Falling Figaro: Not Too Deep, But Delightful<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAiJILMM6RlDzSaZWjBI5HjQzIaXtqLj8RKTzIlrOdT1n0_Egssfp0Arcyldrc4x0GnEN-mD-4Y-0LQu9FuVdggydTns6WycxEk8jlc8Y7oaFZa31x6jwwGCq8N5IblRynPQIC1fXO8v0VhaBmM-F13wsPeZpK1o-Unu8a6PrYFSvKZdEGdSevKdt3iFYX/s597/1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="597" data-original-width="403" height="391" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAiJILMM6RlDzSaZWjBI5HjQzIaXtqLj8RKTzIlrOdT1n0_Egssfp0Arcyldrc4x0GnEN-mD-4Y-0LQu9FuVdggydTns6WycxEk8jlc8Y7oaFZa31x6jwwGCq8N5IblRynPQIC1fXO8v0VhaBmM-F13wsPeZpK1o-Unu8a6PrYFSvKZdEGdSevKdt3iFYX/w264-h391/1.jpg" width="264" /></a></div><p>Upon receiving a major promotion at a London financial firm, American Millie Cantwell, leaves her job, long-term boyfriend, and posh London flat to take up residence at The Filthy Pig, in the Scottish Highlands - in tiny village tiny village of Drumbuchan to pursue her lifelong dream of becoming an opera singer. </p><p>Drumbuchan, you see, is where Meghan Geoffrey-Bishop, one of the opera's former great divas, lives in a ramshackle, leaky-roofed cottage bequeathed to her by an alleged fan. ("After seeing my Tosca, a woman came up to me and told me she was leaving me her home in Drumbachan. It was only after I arrived that I wondered if she actually liked my Tosca.")</p><p>Geoffrey-Bishop is cruel, venomous in the worst way, petty, temperamental and a true bitch. You know a true "diva." She agrees to take on Millie to prepare her for the "Singer of the World" competition . . . I'm sorry . . . the "Singer of Renown" competition. (wink). She bilks Millie an outrageous sum for the lessons, and the young hopeful gladly pays. Geoffrey-Bishop has only one other student, Max, a handsome, awkward young baritone who has a strange relationship with his teacher - a cross between mother and lover, but actually neither. He has entered, and lost the competition four years in a row, and was promised by his teacher, she would focus solely on him. Now, with Millie, there is competition - and a sexual attraction. A humble guy, Max wears a number of hats at the Filthy Pig; janitor, maintenance man, plummer and chef. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7R9iTWXvwQNxaoy5msBCiLsjFtdgvpkAssDXmmQFBGLM3M7e8PpVa5tbZdmi90EDhUS18LUwnZ5izhgKQXbGIAJ3Oa-Tg2U2teUdktH1RJu3dO3wTtDORleEB0mrMrHctxw1ao8n5vb4D4g64WopXA85jJSFaM9tzt3atZAQ6Fbj1OmBh0k4fDE9wGKWL/s1296/2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="730" data-original-width="1296" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7R9iTWXvwQNxaoy5msBCiLsjFtdgvpkAssDXmmQFBGLM3M7e8PpVa5tbZdmi90EDhUS18LUwnZ5izhgKQXbGIAJ3Oa-Tg2U2teUdktH1RJu3dO3wTtDORleEB0mrMrHctxw1ao8n5vb4D4g64WopXA85jJSFaM9tzt3atZAQ6Fbj1OmBh0k4fDE9wGKWL/s320/2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p>The film was obviously made by people who know something about opera, but there are obvious glaring moments that will be caught by true opera fans, although as I laughed and winced through these, I wondered if it was a kind of "wink and a nod" like an insider's joke. There is in the diva's studio, a photograph of her as Tosca, but it is her head photoshopped onto the famous photograph of Callas during a curtain call of the famous Zeffirelli London "Tosca." There is a similar photo of her Norma, while oddly enough there is another well-known photo of a casual Callas seated and lovely. </p><p>The score is filled with operatic music, some of it sung, some of it interestingly arranged for a variety of instruments, and we hear the singers in music from Barbiere, Don Pasquale, La Traviata, Romeo et Juliette, Carmen, Don Giovanni, and more. </p><p>The villagers of Drumbachan seem to love opera, and Millie wonders why everyone is so nice to her. The inn's owner explains, "Well, right now you ARE the economy." . While the film is not great, and doesn't plumb the depths of the opera world in any seriousness it is very easy to watch and its characters rather loveable, even Madame Geoffrey Bishop. She is played by Johanna Lumely, with aplomb, zero humility and just the right amount of self-centeredness. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmpfyo22JCYtnnY5Dl6D7p_w8-6zD0kYktlUPvfCObRs62SqoEkhJ9r0VCBYfhoPBFqyBz5K21s6Gbw8_uhz_A0cy5YfByEvuLs9tOvXvr8lAgvSvlHimose0kgEAKIJvzFXHMUJKBTBXRMHWXcYwdNgyW_i7zB9n_6fHUAjXFA2NfttoXI73u2QtvnzHH/s1250/3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="703" data-original-width="1250" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmpfyo22JCYtnnY5Dl6D7p_w8-6zD0kYktlUPvfCObRs62SqoEkhJ9r0VCBYfhoPBFqyBz5K21s6Gbw8_uhz_A0cy5YfByEvuLs9tOvXvr8lAgvSvlHimose0kgEAKIJvzFXHMUJKBTBXRMHWXcYwdNgyW_i7zB9n_6fHUAjXFA2NfttoXI73u2QtvnzHH/s320/3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p>Danielle Macdonald fairly sparkles as Millie, sometimes cluelessly, sometimes annoyingly but you can't help but root for her, even in this almost ridiculously unbelievable scenario. </p><p>Hugh Skinner is marvelous as Max. You're puzzled by his sullenness, his somewhat childish behavior and his face is marvelous at making quizzical looks with eyes that make you wonder what the hell is going on in that head. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgerfBgiUIk89p2vDKirA5dUwTBVc-SAXS3hQbTFVoZ6WHHd3hKTCPndwb4xp7ExT0WYt19NvFZzoXVZDdpKGajTTQzlEz5OOdHAkRxuWrBsDNxvbq2u9ffcEr0094qqz-eTv0bPXYxo79Cdz3VH7tB0oZ9oKBncY4kTl__5oSGB_wnRUBAsgMzqVnSb-x5/s1200/4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="675" data-original-width="1200" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgerfBgiUIk89p2vDKirA5dUwTBVc-SAXS3hQbTFVoZ6WHHd3hKTCPndwb4xp7ExT0WYt19NvFZzoXVZDdpKGajTTQzlEz5OOdHAkRxuWrBsDNxvbq2u9ffcEr0094qqz-eTv0bPXYxo79Cdz3VH7tB0oZ9oKBncY4kTl__5oSGB_wnRUBAsgMzqVnSb-x5/s320/4.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p>Though neither actually sing in the film, Macdonald and Skinner each studied voice and languages in order to get the lip syncing right and show an understanding of the text. </p><p>There are too few films about opera for those of us who love it, and it's nice to get a semi-romantic comedy that at least tries to get things right. So, deep? Nope. Fun? You betcha.</p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://technorati.com/faves?sub=addfavbtn&add=http://sharkonarts.blogspot.com">Add to Technorati Favorites</a></div>Sharkyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06354556120599729324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-644158760598157015.post-20335039988090438102024-01-27T11:59:00.002-05:002024-01-29T23:55:30.480-05:00 And the Lady Makes It Complete. Boston’s Magnificent Lady Macbeth Of Mtsensk.<p> </p><div style="text-align: left;"><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRIE8abNZvXvbFtPh1Oe-CHTY_sH9KP8iudRlmUmXGKG2As3Z8AdbjzxTZy5EUlyaFem4pSuFylr5SV-ScuRisE8jS9AZOLgdFsTEJUe3ehEvGcw0mNJ_RxY6ORP14pb-yH4TbEVukJ90Epq9zxv86yXmkwEbW2Dk5wZoMkEDycSZ8FS403dKyVgf5pyAH/s1244/1.25.24-Kristine-Opolais-Andris-Nelsons-Brenden-Gunnell-Winslow-Townson.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1244" data-original-width="688" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRIE8abNZvXvbFtPh1Oe-CHTY_sH9KP8iudRlmUmXGKG2As3Z8AdbjzxTZy5EUlyaFem4pSuFylr5SV-ScuRisE8jS9AZOLgdFsTEJUe3ehEvGcw0mNJ_RxY6ORP14pb-yH4TbEVukJ90Epq9zxv86yXmkwEbW2Dk5wZoMkEDycSZ8FS403dKyVgf5pyAH/s320/1.25.24-Kristine-Opolais-Andris-Nelsons-Brenden-Gunnell-Winslow-Townson.jpg" width="177" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">Andris Nelsons ambitious Shostakovich Cycle with the Boston Symphony Orchestra reached its climax Thursday night with one of the composer’s earliest major works, an eagerly anticipated Lady Macbeth of Mtsensk, which may be considered the crown jewel of the project. The seemingly endless ovation at night’s end was like a collective explosion of joy. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">The fact Shostakovich began composing this masterpiece of mayhem before his 24th birthday – completing it at age 26, is significant. Already behind him were three symphonies, four film scores, a slew of chamber music, orchestral suites, a piano concerto, incidental music for a half dozen plays (including Shakespeare’s Hamlet), and two other operas, leaving no doubt this was one of the most significant, prolific and gifted composers the 20th century would see. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">Lady’s score is as sui generis as it gets, calling for an orchestra of immense size; full strings, winds, alto flute, extra brass – including four tubas (forced into a side aisle owing to limitations of the stage) and an enormous battery of percussion including celeste and a whip. Shostakovich uses them – and the chorus – like an assault on the senses, reaching a fever pitch loudness, creating a cacophony of sensational beautiful noise that is, quite simply, overwhelming. The genius is that, with those same forces, the composer gives us moments of such transparent delicacy, such beauty they cause the heart to ache with their tenderness, their ineffable sadness. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">Driving in from Portland, we arrived early at Symphony Hall and already there was a sense of occasion – a crackle in the air, if you will. Eventually musicians began entering the stage, warming up, tuning, bits and blurts of the score repeated loudly, softly, filling the house along with increasing conversation as the audience steamed in taking their seats. That buzz. Nothing like it.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">Maestro Nelsons, then Christine Opolais – looking all the world more movie star than singer, in a stunning gown of white, entered the stage to hearty applause and then we were on. (For the second half, Opolais appeared in an equally stunning gown, black, that would not have been out of place for Anna Bolena). The opera begins, with a melancholic aria for Katerina, a childless young woman, trapped in an abusive marriage living on her in-law’s farm. Opolais conveyed this beautifully and one was immediately, as we need to be, in her corner. Her overall performance was magnificent, even if the voice at times failed to register – or indeed, in large orchestral moments, even be heard. It was not uncommon during these moments to see her mouth wide open – screaming – but little or indeed, no sound at all. Fortunately, such moments are few and even then, the characterization of the bored, unloved beauty Katerina came through with (almost) full force. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">Tenor Brenden Gunnell was terrific as Sergei, the sturdy new laborer who seduces Katerina and sends the story into a tailspin, relishing the bawdiness of the terrific libretto – jointly written by Alexander Preys and Shostakovich himself. The consummation scene – even with the lovers on opposite sides of the podium – was what I’d call sinsational. His feckless betrayal of Katerina on the road to hell, I mean Siberia, came as natural as his declarations of love. (In my fantasies, it is always HE I want to see Katerina throw into the icy waters.)</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">As father-in-law Boris, Günther Groissböck was, as ever, at the top of his game. His experience in the role going back a few years proved to be the kind of asset one longs for in an opera like this (an opera like this?); still handsome, youthful, but with that rich, venerous sound that crosses over into lechery, he was . . . brilliant. Commanding. Sleazy and needed killing. The mushroom/murder scene played out showing Shostakovich’s strength combining humor with horror, and Groissböck and Opolais made a meal out of it. (I couldn’t resist.)</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">Peter Hoare’s Zinovy also proved to be another bit of excellent casting. The relatively small role is nonetheless the obvious lynchpin. Hoare’s sound carried perfectly while creating a genuine milquetoast character under his oppressive father’s cruel thumb. I almost felt bad for the guy when he met his end. Almost. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">The rest of the enormous cast larger roles and small ones – were all committed to putting their characters across in the strongest fashion, their quick entrances and exits enhancing the frenzy of the tale. Standouts included Alexander Kravets’ Shabby Peasant (Shostakovich’s nod to Boris Godunov), who held the distinction of being the only rumpled, dirty character of the evening, stumbling drunkenly, face contorted perfectly, and nicely exposed gut. Marvelous really. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">Goran Jurić was excellent as The Priest, repeating the role of his Met debut several years ago. Dmitri Belosselskiy stepped in as the last-minute replacement for Paata Burchuladze’s Old Convict. My disappointment at not hearing the great Georgian basso was instantly relieved to hear the depth of pathos and beautiful sound Belosselskiy brought to the opera’s final scene.</span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmrUwmuP7chx1_g-EFEJwq7B2EOiWH_-I_JLRaG6-fYOV0EcXpF7gtqHI5c6wBM5QfrqI0aUmJ0yADOFoSfkdp20TCNWNhrT9uAXdEmxM8N9SPdve8EE2qojwsF7H-yplzoZrl-hg_HB_XpqppIfpL7GBHIS4ch_T-_w3Lt2O0HPdrSl3YuuNDYXwrkWHs/s2400/GEzBYnNWwAA6CRw.remini-enhanced.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="2400" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmrUwmuP7chx1_g-EFEJwq7B2EOiWH_-I_JLRaG6-fYOV0EcXpF7gtqHI5c6wBM5QfrqI0aUmJ0yADOFoSfkdp20TCNWNhrT9uAXdEmxM8N9SPdve8EE2qojwsF7H-yplzoZrl-hg_HB_XpqppIfpL7GBHIS4ch_T-_w3Lt2O0HPdrSl3YuuNDYXwrkWHs/s320/GEzBYnNWwAA6CRw.remini-enhanced.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">As Anatoli Sivko’s Chief of Police entered for his first scene. His corrupt, exploitive character was immediately on display as Sivko, in tight pants, patent leather shoes, earrings and buttons all sparkling into the house, one could not resist a smile. The handsome devil had the air of a model, dancer . . . or hustler. His sound – deep and rich projected the sleazy confidence to perfection. Patrick Guetti was imposing in every way as the Sentry, the voice, easily the biggest of the evening, sounded as though he had a microphone built into this larynx. I look forward to hearing much more from all of these.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7T6FK1FtX1rDIMkawh7Ss9YwRFTD8jALO_RBpqZADJoua2Ag87cng8y-cIZ5oX7wDFBejqHQ2-IFg5tdYHQmyt3Ypgz7-yg-ezyKevVmY200YTAeEJt3AAtR3claKm1TfwmFy41EJRifKsSaRa-IKB2WE_Iym2eMTevE-O5gfCT8nJS623AZKLTG2K5hE/s1284/421274206_1406483646911708_386941668204665173_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="962" data-original-width="1284" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7T6FK1FtX1rDIMkawh7Ss9YwRFTD8jALO_RBpqZADJoua2Ag87cng8y-cIZ5oX7wDFBejqHQ2-IFg5tdYHQmyt3Ypgz7-yg-ezyKevVmY200YTAeEJt3AAtR3claKm1TfwmFy41EJRifKsSaRa-IKB2WE_Iym2eMTevE-O5gfCT8nJS623AZKLTG2K5hE/s320/421274206_1406483646911708_386941668204665173_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">The real star of the evening is, of course, Shostakovich himself, so, by default, Andris Nelsons who had every detail of the score well in hand. Dmitri’s sprawling score seemingly covers everything, from folk music, jazz and showtunes to Mahler-esque Ländler-like dances, the chaotically comical Keystone Kop music and the Wozzeck-like Passacaglia, and through it all, the Bostonians made it come alive with vivid clarity and dramatic punch. Equal to that task was the singing of the Tanglewood Festival Chorus who delivered the right mood every time in splendor from the merry toast making of the wedding to the devastating final chorus. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">As the final chord faded, the house burst into an ovation finding most immediately on their feet, roaring as one in a collective explosion of joy. That ovation was one of the longest I can recall anywhere, the cast and conductor returning several times to the deafening applause and cheers. Though diminished, it was steady and loud enough that Günther Groissböck, clearly moved and buoyed by the enthusiasm, led the cast out for one last round of love from the house. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">Seeing mics throughout the house, a mixing board behind the first section of orchestra seats, confirmed hope these performances are being recorded by Deutsche Grammophon for release alongside the rest of the Shostakovich Project. Happy news indeed. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">There is another performance at 7 p.m. tonight being broadcast live on WCRB, and then a performance at Carnegie Hall next Tuesday, the 30th. It should not be missed.</span></div><div><br /></div></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://technorati.com/faves?sub=addfavbtn&add=http://sharkonarts.blogspot.com">Add to Technorati Favorites</a></div>Sharkyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06354556120599729324noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-644158760598157015.post-12126276078209235392023-12-21T23:06:00.006-05:002023-12-29T01:08:53.122-05:00Maestro: A Love Letter to Lenny<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin4FZdVevHhrmRx7SyKMEDcuEgsNP8B0z2C6qKLTisyg8H83mJ_8iA1cjFIuESCGQ9W3hZGJboq3HPhKGzQsNHAOyWbQ7D1oZyrvuLGF-lW56kNUWG10PPLFdDCo2jkdeyj0YLydADoVGoyVScqiY0ZERh71Hdv3ik1UkAVk6wxA57A1zLyuF3-t_yZK_L/s448/1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="252" data-original-width="448" height="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin4FZdVevHhrmRx7SyKMEDcuEgsNP8B0z2C6qKLTisyg8H83mJ_8iA1cjFIuESCGQ9W3hZGJboq3HPhKGzQsNHAOyWbQ7D1oZyrvuLGF-lW56kNUWG10PPLFdDCo2jkdeyj0YLydADoVGoyVScqiY0ZERh71Hdv3ik1UkAVk6wxA57A1zLyuF3-t_yZK_L/w406-h228/1.jpg" width="406" /></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><span>I just finished watching Bradley Cooper's film on Leonard Bernstein. It was not at all what I was expecting, and, in fact, I went in with a lot of hesitation. For one thing </span><span>I was not expecting a love story, and I'm one who fairly loathes and avoids love stories, generally. Even more unexpectedly, <i>Maestro</i>, went straight to my heart. Having not particularly cared for most of Mr. Cooper's roles or films, I've always felt there was a great actor often miscast in mediocre movies and crude comedies. Every once in a while, however, a role came through that confirmed for me something great was coming. This was that something. Cooper's style of filmmaking - at least for this motion picture - is pure, old-fashioned Hollywood. So much so in fact, the entire first half, shot in vivid black and white, with its period costumes, decor and sense of style, made had the feel and look like a classic film. So, seeing him co-write, direct and act in a project with this much care, attention to detail and understanding of the medium was . . . well, rather beautiful.</span></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">The transition from black and white to color was almost imperceptible . . . it just happened, no segue, no waking up in <i>Oz</i>, but nonetheless there was a clear delineation which divided the two distinct halves of the film. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">I've heard much made about the falseness of Lenny and Felicia's relationship, the sham marriage, and more. This I find to be nonsense, entirely missing the point of how despite the complexities, the difficulties (and not only sexually) that two people can love each other this deeply, this profoundly. The chemistry between Cooper and Carrie Mulligan was, at least to these tired old eyes, pure magic. The courtship had me smiling, imagining them both that young, with all manner of hopes and dreams for their respective careers, but really not a clue how all of this would play out in real time and on the world stage. <br /><br />There are accusations of the film not going <i>gay enough</i>, which I also find rather a bit of nonsense. One needn't look too far back to see a far different reality for gay life than we are witness to today. And again, the film was essentially about the Bernstein marriage more than it was anything else, including his career, for which we already have recordings, films, and countless books, articles, and essays which, more adquately address that aspect of his life and career than is possible in a theatrically released movie. My Bernstein <i>Bible </i>will always be the Harvard lecture series <i>The Unanswered Question</i> - over thirteen hours of Lenny sharing with us, probing beneath the surface of nearly every aspect of the why, how, when and more of music. </span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpeWy9jhoFb69R2zy58lgzZdKEjXZ2g01zNnZBuHjiWi9j5uFXsu7QoJI3pyYfNPyAWMC-KGdnnwowFIFEbQ76AiUwOkUVGxGhba5BidxIVXypECqsLYS3a0bRy21TlihZTW9MhZAUQLsKNOayC5doHkwbQcs1q04kU4Ba0W58C1Uhk_syzgaKRKuhm_zT/s2048/2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1462" data-original-width="2048" height="260" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpeWy9jhoFb69R2zy58lgzZdKEjXZ2g01zNnZBuHjiWi9j5uFXsu7QoJI3pyYfNPyAWMC-KGdnnwowFIFEbQ76AiUwOkUVGxGhba5BidxIVXypECqsLYS3a0bRy21TlihZTW9MhZAUQLsKNOayC5doHkwbQcs1q04kU4Ba0W58C1Uhk_syzgaKRKuhm_zT/w365-h260/2.jpg" width="365" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;">Ms. Mulligan gives, hands down, perhaps the finest, most bravura performance of an actress I've seen on-screen this year. I can't think of a performance I've loved as much. Mulligan's Felicia is presented as a beautiful, charming, and gifted, strong willed woman whose smile, voice and style would captivate anyone. Regardless of his sexuality, it was easy to see why Lenny fell for her. Similarly, regardless of knowing his sexuality, one could just as easily see why she fell for him. </span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">This is not a movie about Bernstein as a conductor, or composer, or classical superstar - although all of those elements are wed into the story (how could they not be). We don't witness his triumphs in Vienna, Rome, Israel, Munich, Paris or London, but instead the story about the marriage of Lenny and Felicia. Indeed, nearly every scene in the film revolves around their lives, their decisions, their love story, thorns and all.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5ViyZeC9FSSrR_l483GiiMqx6OTgMjKb1EAmONmjDu5U7QkcHvqaBLsXbESWVIlkOhytkYn7gfSDtTob993qkN0HU5WPit4jApVUWKeATUoBrI7549vAHXs5hYsM8J9oSbROuqfo4zgIjuGYEIo4pdoVjaF36cEHZYeD3xS-TQLeTMj4S7X4RUVWJ9Im1/s3000/3.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1689" data-original-width="3000" height="222" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5ViyZeC9FSSrR_l483GiiMqx6OTgMjKb1EAmONmjDu5U7QkcHvqaBLsXbESWVIlkOhytkYn7gfSDtTob993qkN0HU5WPit4jApVUWKeATUoBrI7549vAHXs5hYsM8J9oSbROuqfo4zgIjuGYEIo4pdoVjaF36cEHZYeD3xS-TQLeTMj4S7X4RUVWJ9Im1/w395-h222/3.jpg" width="395" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;">If the first half felt like a sweet romantic comedy involving two larger-than-life figures, the second, which developed the ongoing difficulties, Felicia's illness, Lenny's insecurities working their way into everything, and even poisoning some things, I often felt as though I was a voyeur, intruding on moments too private and not meant for my eyes. Of course great art can do that to us . .. it's part of its job. </span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">The large supporting cast feels handpicked and appropriate to the era, especially Sarah Silverman as Lenny's sister, Shirley.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">While Bernstein's music is ever present as (most of) the soundtrack, the music, for the most part, takes a back seat to the story of Lenny and Felicia. But, when the music does drop in, it is in moments that can sweep us away. The dance rehearsal of On The Town, when, through the magic of film, Lenny transforms from smiling observer alongside Felicia, to a sailor showboating for his lady love is absolutely magical. In a different vein, the Ely Cathedral Mahler 2nd - Resurrection - ends in a triumph that segues us into the most difficult and last leg of this beautiful film.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">I'm not ashamed to say that, several times, Maestro hit me like a suckerpunch, and had me in tears, and involuntarily sending my hand to my heart..</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span>Mr. Cooper's effort, as well as those of the cast and production team, reveal this as a labor of love . . . a love letter to a man I've loved and revered since boyhood, and was one of the people who shaped my own relationship to music. It doesn't get much more personal than that.</span><span> </span></span></p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://technorati.com/faves?sub=addfavbtn&add=http://sharkonarts.blogspot.com">Add to Technorati Favorites</a></div>Sharkyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06354556120599729324noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-644158760598157015.post-14206496198073233292023-12-03T20:26:00.002-05:002023-12-03T20:31:06.484-05:00Holy Tannhäuser, Batman! Baremboim and Berlin: 2014 <p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguZapG7RMIPww2mrqDUOvLhpRFeYz6LbntqBVXGfhbmPgPLMu_kh9SH9l2xFgoHGbO5L79Pbh-OPriTdEVDZTuk6eGtl6yaPy4xBZ2mgfte5F0Uv5-bCuNu8AM5SSiBW4U3eZ6cm3MP3cH0wUtQq0GcXmE9x6B3skQXLlgZc3KIiHXATf8blPj_hlP1t3q/s720/lintannha0414A.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="720" height="277" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguZapG7RMIPww2mrqDUOvLhpRFeYz6LbntqBVXGfhbmPgPLMu_kh9SH9l2xFgoHGbO5L79Pbh-OPriTdEVDZTuk6eGtl6yaPy4xBZ2mgfte5F0Uv5-bCuNu8AM5SSiBW4U3eZ6cm3MP3cH0wUtQq0GcXmE9x6B3skQXLlgZc3KIiHXATf8blPj_hlP1t3q/w417-h277/lintannha0414A.jpg" width="417" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: medium;"> <b>Need Another Tannhäuser?</b></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">As is usually the case with me, when something grabs me - as did the Met's recent <i>Tannhäuser</i> -shouting protests notwithstanding - I ended up listening to and watching three more <i>Tannhäuseren </i>First, the old Met cast of Cassily, Troyanos, Marton, Weikl,MacCurdy, Levine, next the premiere of the current run, and just now, finished the 2014 Staatsoper Under den Linden, which I'd heard, but never seen. While I was mildly hesitant with the staging after the Venusberg, it not only grew on me, it drew me in a manner more than an evening of traditional Medieval tableau (which I love and am NOT bashing so just STOP). Once I settled in I found the staging, directed by Sasha Waltz, who with Pia Maier Schriever designed it, together with superb costuming by Bernd Skadzig and the tremendous lighting design of David Fin to be enormously powerful and I was, moved to tears at all the appropriate moments, but also in a few surprising places. </span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhggbDx7Vvljs36DGSCrb7OwUz7gdlCkt-ZhUxiJZzv4Guk7V2uCEQGP9sjbS9Ue9KQtoQfl_XKchXoEs5CkHibli63eySmHcKYUtzC_bJEkaRp-S01VvOJGsNClgSwU37nbJAcWdWZoH6M3qbI3Kjzx1hNPNBEzOs0_dj_RiLMWfzlg-m5O7eCaGmShEy9/s768/https___www.staatsoper-berlin.de_downloads-b_en_media_194_0a5f47ef5640160180f26053dc143842_TannhA4user_56.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="478" data-original-width="768" height="260" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhggbDx7Vvljs36DGSCrb7OwUz7gdlCkt-ZhUxiJZzv4Guk7V2uCEQGP9sjbS9Ue9KQtoQfl_XKchXoEs5CkHibli63eySmHcKYUtzC_bJEkaRp-S01VvOJGsNClgSwU37nbJAcWdWZoH6M3qbI3Kjzx1hNPNBEzOs0_dj_RiLMWfzlg-m5O7eCaGmShEy9/w417-h260/https___www.staatsoper-berlin.de_downloads-b_en_media_194_0a5f47ef5640160180f26053dc143842_TannhA4user_56.jpg" width="417" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br />Waltz, a renowned dancer and choreographer, infused every moment of her <i>Tannhäuser</i> with dance and movement, at times making it feel almost like a physical manifestation of a moto perpetuo. The Venusberg crowd (in a variety of costumes once they don actual clothing) wend and work their way into every scene, as observers, pilgrims, Elisabeth's family, and more. Their gestures in and around the principal characters add depth rather than detract from the telling of this redemption tale. </span><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVAV_W1Gk_c1zSvMdENWxHjT5hiR4y7eiA3zJG6ngKBuvfnITKvqAsBvwGjEiaA2OXEO58S8adLcaLKajZQ9J4FHv3ARwENSnzydW86_ES8gUZUWS19s_ZFSnN9MQAbGGzrhWVqeWK1ndit8L7ymwB6hzheWYiLgdFTDqBNOUQ15GbAxBXq9hLPfwrL8aw/s768/https___www.staatsoper-berlin.de_downloads-b_en_media_192_cf7e3c4c7d78addf745dd7cae8fd036b_TannhA4user_50.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="478" data-original-width="768" height="272" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVAV_W1Gk_c1zSvMdENWxHjT5hiR4y7eiA3zJG6ngKBuvfnITKvqAsBvwGjEiaA2OXEO58S8adLcaLKajZQ9J4FHv3ARwENSnzydW86_ES8gUZUWS19s_ZFSnN9MQAbGGzrhWVqeWK1ndit8L7ymwB6hzheWYiLgdFTDqBNOUQ15GbAxBXq9hLPfwrL8aw/w438-h272/https___www.staatsoper-berlin.de_downloads-b_en_media_192_cf7e3c4c7d78addf745dd7cae8fd036b_TannhA4user_50.jpg" width="438" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br />Musically, this performance is nearly ideal. As Heinrich/Tannhäuser Peter Seiffert is in his 60's and looks every one of those years, and vocally, at times sounds older than that. And yet, there is still beauty in the voice when it isn't pushed and remains within a narrow range - mostly the mid-upper. Low notes can growl and higher passages feel pushed and can be both throaty and then switch on a dime, to thin and strain-y. Somehow he makes all of this work for him and the intensity of his Heinrich feels personal. In that vein, the Rome Narrative is rough going, but again, <i>Tannhäuser</i> is a man who's been to hell and back (so to speak) and the interaction between him and Wolfram is great theatre. </span><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwMwQxe5vb1AFJXpQuZjFB1Of7-JPKAOwgcdvoN5JsmsC7GtJ2DMJahDOU-Q_FHLnTuYHSnxhN-vJkGO-51lzzIS06qyBw3ElemgKfS-uTv7T96civ-yQXcfECv3FWB7NoudKuoSBhht_Ibo_WuV-ynqsG7mrfv0LeBaCL_f_sd05nkooN9LAfUqmMas2w/s768/https___www.staatsoper-berlin.de_downloads-b_en_media_193_21e3e21965364ab20782fcae18d094dc_TannhA4user_51.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="478" data-original-width="768" height="273" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwMwQxe5vb1AFJXpQuZjFB1Of7-JPKAOwgcdvoN5JsmsC7GtJ2DMJahDOU-Q_FHLnTuYHSnxhN-vJkGO-51lzzIS06qyBw3ElemgKfS-uTv7T96civ-yQXcfECv3FWB7NoudKuoSBhht_Ibo_WuV-ynqsG7mrfv0LeBaCL_f_sd05nkooN9LAfUqmMas2w/w439-h273/https___www.staatsoper-berlin.de_downloads-b_en_media_193_21e3e21965364ab20782fcae18d094dc_TannhA4user_51.jpg" width="439" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br />As Wolfram, I honestly can't think of a performance (at least now) as beautifully perfect as nor as emotionally on the nose as As Peter Mattei's turn here. The man is, as ever, a masterful actor and the opening scenes of the third act are, for me, the heart of the opera. His commentary on, then scene with Elisabeth, found me (again) in tears and it all segued into the breathtaking beauty of <i>O du mein holder Abendstern</i>. Waltz gives Wolfram some odd, dancerly moves to perform and poses to strike, but like elsewhere these do not deter but rather embellish the meaning of the opera's most beautiful aria. Mattei takes on the dance and the gestures, and, with nothing on stage but Elisabeth's shoes and his shadow, through that gently commanding voice nearly steals the entire evening.</span><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgESrdeWyNlklbZJhhUt5tj3M33H4l3EzLXWvvQVi8K3b9ej79brWBngf2Ax3HP7z_Vvdc8S7dmhnpL0_xuA1cx6en6eSvuP-yA6GN8lRAn4Garj1wd4ODr32zluczU33Dcc-Hjp74lXmAnGcPdXkmgIOeor0SD1foca4ly1owF8WJ0whISl35Bni-emnoB/s700/Tannh%C3%A2user-Staatsoper-Berlin.-left-Peter-Seiffert-and-Petter-Matei-as-Wolfram-right-Tannh%C3%A4user-foto-Bernd-Uhlig.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="394" data-original-width="700" height="277" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgESrdeWyNlklbZJhhUt5tj3M33H4l3EzLXWvvQVi8K3b9ej79brWBngf2Ax3HP7z_Vvdc8S7dmhnpL0_xuA1cx6en6eSvuP-yA6GN8lRAn4Garj1wd4ODr32zluczU33Dcc-Hjp74lXmAnGcPdXkmgIOeor0SD1foca4ly1owF8WJ0whISl35Bni-emnoB/w493-h277/Tannh%C3%A2user-Staatsoper-Berlin.-left-Peter-Seiffert-and-Petter-Matei-as-Wolfram-right-Tannh%C3%A4user-foto-Bernd-Uhlig.jpg" width="493" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br />Ann Petersen imbues Elisabeth with angel-like purity, through a voice capable of sounding equal parts girlishly youthful, devout, and passionate. She is truly ideal as Elisabeth. We don't see her name much here, but I just read an excellent review of her in a revival of Simon Stone's brilliant <i>Tristan</i> (on video with Nina Stemme and Stuart Skelton), and I'd like to hear more, and how the voice has held up.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">While he still sings beautifully, hearing the 2014 René Pape as Landraf is almost jaw dropping. It's a voice lesson in accuracy, conveyance of emotion, a seamless legato line and . . . well, he is simply marvelous. </span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmShLnnIC-WEtXjOQO7Buwm1NOXEfskNKrpsHTviKu-cDknSAiMRDu-xGLJJBTo9fzQpaUTWb2v45YqI_hCt5aSkF7miJOwahWwMmLoz6wzZtR_VNByN72Obdl0aZmzn8QQx_nfraUNAJn8Xroan3A_6CUNGKjMLAKc_SRagBkp1XDsRdEdH-1aN3PaUIY/s1200/Venus%201.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1200" height="308" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmShLnnIC-WEtXjOQO7Buwm1NOXEfskNKrpsHTviKu-cDknSAiMRDu-xGLJJBTo9fzQpaUTWb2v45YqI_hCt5aSkF7miJOwahWwMmLoz6wzZtR_VNByN72Obdl0aZmzn8QQx_nfraUNAJn8Xroan3A_6CUNGKjMLAKc_SRagBkp1XDsRdEdH-1aN3PaUIY/w411-h308/Venus%201.jpg" width="411" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br />The rest of the cast all measure up, but I have to bring up the Venus. Gott in himmel (what an inappropriate phrase for this character!). While I still carry a torch for Troyanos (and Dame Gwyneth) Marina Prudenskaya's Venus is the epitome of schoolboy sexual fantasies. Mama Mia. Gorgeous and lithe she also posseses that both cuts and slinks through the siren's call with erotic venom. </span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Barenboim leads the Berlin forces - chorus and orchestra in a glowing, dramatically propulsive reading that vibrates even in its quietest passages (i.e., Wolfram's Evening Star) and thrills from first note to last. I don't know what other platforms it's on, but I do know it's yet another performance keeping me glued to MediciTV.</span></p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://technorati.com/faves?sub=addfavbtn&add=http://sharkonarts.blogspot.com">Add to Technorati Favorites</a></div>Sharkyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06354556120599729324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-644158760598157015.post-75419607247461844422023-11-01T16:17:00.005-04:002024-01-23T20:21:05.594-05:00La Monnaie Launches Castellucci's New RIng<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDWt8dx2c3b8be4kunHGMEW_uhjmPunJ0VWQceDwTr3LseK__w2hm3C-b1fuy8sTdqKXDTjr6tyjnoat1W_XsrGx31iRxvv1mYK79IQx6Moi_Cv9sJAns26DER7_Dxxt1LIV3zAFIUtqXsMCGUJiIfoQ27emzMNnzz0Dz_Zly7LvRt5TcS-lR4mTaAMAoU/s1974/alberich%20ring.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1316" data-original-width="1974" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDWt8dx2c3b8be4kunHGMEW_uhjmPunJ0VWQceDwTr3LseK__w2hm3C-b1fuy8sTdqKXDTjr6tyjnoat1W_XsrGx31iRxvv1mYK79IQx6Moi_Cv9sJAns26DER7_Dxxt1LIV3zAFIUtqXsMCGUJiIfoQ27emzMNnzz0Dz_Zly7LvRt5TcS-lR4mTaAMAoU/w398-h265/alberich%20ring.jpg" width="398" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;">After more than a few viewings of Romeo Castellucci's new <i>Das Rheingold </i>for the Théâtre royal de La Monnaie, I still have some questions, some confusion, but I welcome those. I've always been one to welcome productions that provoke and confuse me, particularly when I find them to be so beautifully thought out by the director that they allow expansion of thought as to the deeper or hidden meanings - even if those are made up in my own mind. It's all about perception and response isn't it? (The answer to that is yes.)</span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj2M5sD2gBuXa0CGSZtO_XiAxR_hWvEjncCjwzPbgKMjEh3Yiy0Fs7_r-ZOoxKbFkiMxy0qmU3XRlANINf7so_jd6klbVR3FKmNb5SpMaA4SwIustotKF6Glf5e86LCQ211ZzvJ8gHCk1x3qpEyHzbW-UoZHrXfgsHisQ5x2Ot08zmeR4VRR7G_OUyrbIV/s2064/Alberich%20maidens.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1376" data-original-width="2064" height="234" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj2M5sD2gBuXa0CGSZtO_XiAxR_hWvEjncCjwzPbgKMjEh3Yiy0Fs7_r-ZOoxKbFkiMxy0qmU3XRlANINf7so_jd6klbVR3FKmNb5SpMaA4SwIustotKF6Glf5e86LCQ211ZzvJ8gHCk1x3qpEyHzbW-UoZHrXfgsHisQ5x2Ot08zmeR4VRR7G_OUyrbIV/w352-h234/Alberich%20maidens.jpg" width="352" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br />Before the first note of the prelude begins we behold The Ring. This is no finger-sized piece of jewelry, but rather an enormous circle that appears to have been dropped from the Universe and and we observe it spinning, oscillating, and whirling on its edges, powered by its own force. We witness it velocity - speeding up and then slowly stopping, before finally laying down . . . and then disappears. As the music begins, the stage is dark, barely illuminated at all as one strains one's eyes to make out the barely perceptible nude figures of The Rheinmaidens, and their dopplegangers who dance and move, intertwining their bodies gracefully into dramatic looking postures. Soon enough appears Alberich, whose initial demeanor is of a physical grotesque figure, yet somehow Christlike in his physical posture. The image is striking . . . powerful. </span><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd2nwMoNsTXKcHDNGdPaZ8qhoQDGYLMWtai4hS2sDJOqZ5kVkQs7RVXeNCu10dUCqdwG3gH4JOrlzxqpkqbqRwI3-uyrICthYKygGtK37OMFTjzlv9SqLIAFUrH_eaiWjjID14ZxGAHcx2F4T8TPlQEFaVg-cJlR7zt4OVQcyOzoQRc8gnYmovQuwacjHu/s1240/gods.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="827" data-original-width="1240" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd2nwMoNsTXKcHDNGdPaZ8qhoQDGYLMWtai4hS2sDJOqZ5kVkQs7RVXeNCu10dUCqdwG3gH4JOrlzxqpkqbqRwI3-uyrICthYKygGtK37OMFTjzlv9SqLIAFUrH_eaiWjjID14ZxGAHcx2F4T8TPlQEFaVg-cJlR7zt4OVQcyOzoQRc8gnYmovQuwacjHu/s320/gods.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;">The change from this dark, eye straining watery, almost primeval underworld to that of the gods could not be more contrasting. In true Castelluccian fashion we are transported to a white, museum-like space populated with antiquities in various stages of ruin. This combination of secular, biblical and sacred makes for a wildly diverse, and not unperplexing visual. The detail of much of this would be - would have to be - lost on a live audience, although it is so worked through that I believe it could probably have be <i>felt</i>. As example one of the reliefs, suspended on its side, depicts the theft of the Menorah from Solomon's temple. This image, while certainly specific also states a universal truth about theft and its consequences which, in turn, relates to the story at hand. Cross culturally that is a lot to take in, but as with so much of this director's work, it lelts us probe deeper into this story we may think we know inside and ot . . . or just sit back and be entertained. Neither is a wrong approach. </span><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">Does any of this bare real weight, or increase or change the drama at hand? Maybe yes, maybe no. But it <i>is</i> fascinating to look at in the grand scheme of things, and the similarities we find in our own stories and connection. But, I digress. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">The next scene begins with the figure of a man; barefoot, wearing a high waisted black robe resembling some Orthodox cassocked religious figure, a tall, black crown in his hands. He is facing away from the stage, and soon the floor beneath him is flooded with near nude figures writhing and undulating as if some collectively they were some great human river. We have met Wotan. Fricka enters, identically dressed, and the pair awkwardly, and with obvious difficulty navigate themselves over the bodies. I know this drove people crazy, but I loved its obvious symbolism. Interestingly, all of the gods are dressed in the same manner, while Freia stood out with a kerchief atop her head, rather than a crown.. </span><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRfa2EX9A8JS6QOJQe0MllCp1BudLS8osw0i2egRISiwXOB4102b1ryJn4UFIRDR7q9-Xt6hzi-hpTMfKF7VB0CjbS-FNq07UkY5UfS1lP9SB-hpYOJXFod5G779NPynGfZltLgus_Xx7jVGi0fZJHsRjxbQZlfQK7FeqqMrzxqIEIMIOEvvZVXaDDKc6C/s2064/child%20gods.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1376" data-original-width="2064" height="245" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRfa2EX9A8JS6QOJQe0MllCp1BudLS8osw0i2egRISiwXOB4102b1ryJn4UFIRDR7q9-Xt6hzi-hpTMfKF7VB0CjbS-FNq07UkY5UfS1lP9SB-hpYOJXFod5G779NPynGfZltLgus_Xx7jVGi0fZJHsRjxbQZlfQK7FeqqMrzxqIEIMIOEvvZVXaDDKc6C/w369-h245/child%20gods.jpg" width="369" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;">The entrance of Fasolt and Fafner, here twins, provides further opportunities of exploratioin, th s time a re-examining of the brothers. Tall, with bare torsos, each mouths the words the other is singing, manifesting a connection and unity unique to twins. I was struck by this and it put the giants into a new light, and made all the more devastating the fratricide which I think not coincidentally puts us in mind of the <i>original</i> first murder: Cain and Abel. </span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">The scene became even more fascinating with Castellucci giving the gods child doubles. The child gods do all of the interacting with the giants making them seem even more immense. It also emphasizies the futility and helplessness of the gods in this confrontation. The children are wonderful, their lip synching near perfection. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Loge, appears, rotund and balding, clad in a crimson short set, a flame rising from the palm of his hand. We notice a separateness by this demigod from Wotan and company. It accentuates his status as an outsider which is all the more evident by his almost tourist-like appearance. During his great monologue about the fading gods, their aging, etc., we get a Castelluccian parade led by an elderly, frail Wotan and Fricka, then workmen, who wheel out enormous portraits of Birgit Nilsson, then Astrid Varnay as . This moment, with its pointing up of Wagner's text, felt like both an enormously comical yet a profound statement on art and on our relationship with it. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsSjBWSRh5IlJiPgM-O_gY7VYfsjE64CKDYPef2BawWCysqUvNNg0ta3ygLKYgDpwO0VpSqXj60CR7wgSb2CbxGDGubDr0j8MJlb_JNMBjfOB8HECXfdUOWbKAS47pTIfCcsGBVjoSpAZSz0mC2Ka46vswMVUAQNfRzadcfZlUbn7CqOJysnOOGmVXFHRI/s2019/nibelheim1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1346" data-original-width="2019" height="234" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsSjBWSRh5IlJiPgM-O_gY7VYfsjE64CKDYPef2BawWCysqUvNNg0ta3ygLKYgDpwO0VpSqXj60CR7wgSb2CbxGDGubDr0j8MJlb_JNMBjfOB8HECXfdUOWbKAS47pTIfCcsGBVjoSpAZSz0mC2Ka46vswMVUAQNfRzadcfZlUbn7CqOJysnOOGmVXFHRI/w352-h234/nibelheim1.jpg" width="352" /></a></span> </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br />Nibelheim is a stark, mechanized world, hardhatted workmen, cylinders of gas, girders, and that beam we first saw Alberich tied to in the first scene. Mime is a manipulative sadist and the interactions between the gods and the Nibelungen escalates - as written - ending with Alberich being tricked (as always) but here, stripped of his grotesque outterself to reveal a human being. Naked and humiliated, hanging and tortured it is a difficult and horrific thing to behold. Alberich is increasingly covered in some black, oily substance and his last gesture to Wotan, his torturer, is to smear half of the god's face with it, leaving a sort of mark (of Cain?). Chilling. </span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Upon the return from Nibelheim, there are robed figures chipping away at the rear stage wall, revealing, little-by-little - an enormous gold circle in which we make out some reflection of the stage action. It eventually falls, dust flying up from it, and somehow - as if by magic - becomes an enormous circular hole - a void in the earth. Following Freia's freedom, Donner instead of swinging his hammer, holds one of Freia's golden, life giving apples. He recedes towards the center of the stage, extends his arms in cruciform and falls backwards into the void as a rainbow faintly appears on the wall. My heart nearly stopped and I was grateful I was at home or the audience would've heard me gasp out loud. The rainbow disappears, then reappears for each god as he/she repeats the action, falling into the void. Finally the image of Wotan, his face, and white robe stained with the black from Nibelheim approaches the circle, kneels behind it and seems both moved and frightened by the Rheinmaidens disembodied cries, moves before it and, extending his arms, falls into the void. Loge stares out, smugly smiling at the audience, then pointing to himself asking, "Me?" We know better.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihEh25YHdhKJlg99PpdlDFZ_FBrgD1hsqfHSRkNGTzGiec1HGtfdI0kzIoW6MdlIyhKBY__EH2VxPRwg5GDQmz20QCiDxqw-PXd4k_LbOxhRnSr22c17KLSlWnT5PPKPsApNjkRyjym3D58lnO6p2eouJMHL3NLPKwcFqGTI2pmAXDrTutf6gSlYQQ6FnW/s2064/alberich%20torture.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1376" data-original-width="2064" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihEh25YHdhKJlg99PpdlDFZ_FBrgD1hsqfHSRkNGTzGiec1HGtfdI0kzIoW6MdlIyhKBY__EH2VxPRwg5GDQmz20QCiDxqw-PXd4k_LbOxhRnSr22c17KLSlWnT5PPKPsApNjkRyjym3D58lnO6p2eouJMHL3NLPKwcFqGTI2pmAXDrTutf6gSlYQQ6FnW/s320/alberich%20torture.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-3YqBg1uVlmQzZET-wpF2hiWojgJQWmjusGM08qx7a3M1yya8SbJQz5pZGUvdDjwxM48WFvgXQ3RWrTaSc-m6gk3kXTxg_apAIxgkQpuj6E1GbA2hzELCf9E5NqOPj1M4S1D7DhJvdOfgrQxwF8oWNUj9lo68GLZeE-RMBmR-tLhaci9AH68r5Ns05Z1-/s2144/alberich%20wotan%20smear.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2144" data-original-width="1429" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-3YqBg1uVlmQzZET-wpF2hiWojgJQWmjusGM08qx7a3M1yya8SbJQz5pZGUvdDjwxM48WFvgXQ3RWrTaSc-m6gk3kXTxg_apAIxgkQpuj6E1GbA2hzELCf9E5NqOPj1M4S1D7DhJvdOfgrQxwF8oWNUj9lo68GLZeE-RMBmR-tLhaci9AH68r5Ns05Z1-/s320/alberich%20wotan%20smear.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><br />There is simply so much going on in Castellucci's mise-en-scene, the mind can barely take it all in visually, and, like a sort of balm, Wagner's great genius takes over and washes over everything. To me, if seemed as though the director felt the music could not just bear up under his ideas, but emphasize his own actualization of them. Audiences are certain to be split down the middle, but for me, after seeing so many other concept Rings, found this one so . . . filled with mystery and wonder that I absolutely revelled in every moment. </span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">The singing was, to my ears, close to perfection as were the characterizations in this director's very specific ideas of who is who and does what to whom. There are, alas too many singers to mention, so I'll stick to the three who stood out for me. Pride of place goes to American Scott Hendricks, who turns in possibly the most beautifully sung, and physically as well as emotionally tortured, brilliantly defined Alberich in my memory. This is, musically and dramatically, a performance that is impeccable and heartbreaking. Tremendous. </span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigSHUW1i4NreeHBdjaLl2ftrZCjdMeTiaIGpee0ibfpfx6GyXwIuKMlppmIyWT-xznCwDzd_zy_TcOhRxZqcIJ5nBlNawGxjwbNRuAA1nOIm9bhL5opTo2YAOlrRwY5fJn1heMmbkdjmg7diseKirzcZrwiluSBfi29rXD7Jm66GhqFnKTRkJj22-TqfH1/s2064/gold%20circle.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1376" data-original-width="2064" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigSHUW1i4NreeHBdjaLl2ftrZCjdMeTiaIGpee0ibfpfx6GyXwIuKMlppmIyWT-xznCwDzd_zy_TcOhRxZqcIJ5nBlNawGxjwbNRuAA1nOIm9bhL5opTo2YAOlrRwY5fJn1heMmbkdjmg7diseKirzcZrwiluSBfi29rXD7Jm66GhqFnKTRkJj22-TqfH1/s320/gold%20circle.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;">Castelluci puts a unique spin on Wotan, which, I imagine, could be frustrating for a singer. Quieter in nature, less imposing than most, and at times almost self-effacing in his behaviour, we remember nonetheless he is king of the gods. From his skinhead/military like buzzcut, down to his bare toes, Gábor Bretz embodies this concept of the god to perfection. A sense of tortured humanity radiates from this god. I noticed this when along with Loge, he cruelly Alberich, cruelly, monstrously, yet there was no enjoyment of this brutality, but rather a requirement of fulfilling his position. Bretz is quite possibly the youngest, handsomest Wotan I've encountered, but none of that matters if the voice is not up to the challenge. This one was. The voice is easily, almost seamlessly produced from top to bottom, glorious in its richness and strength and filled with power and expressiveness. This music <i>feels</i> right in this voice, and I imagine we will be hearing and seeing many more Wotans in his future. </span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Nicky Spence brings a completely over-the-top persona to the role of the demigod Loge, and it is is thrilling to watch his self-serving, evil comedian/magician manipulate nearly everyone. The voice itself is a stunner; a rich, gorgeously bright heldentenor with real gleam. A fine actor, Spence seizes every opportunity to make the most of Loge, and thankfully, there are a lot of those. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Upon repeated viewings, I've changed my opinion abot the reading of the score by Maestro Alain Altinoglu. While I liked it a lot the first pair of times, I've come to absolutely lovehis performance. Perhaps I was so dazzled by the singing and what was happening onstage I just wasn't paying close enough attention to what was coming from the pit. Altinoglu connects all of the motifs and bits into a seamless whole, and the sound produced - even on video - is so detailed the individual brilliance of the sections, the solos, the harps, come through with a clarity of a studio recording. His balances and the synchronization between stage and pit seems carefully nuanced, but organic not <i>manicured. The totality of it makes this one of my favorite Rheingolds in ages, and one I shall return to frequently. </i> </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">I look forward to (as in "can't wait for) the rest of this Ring. </span></p></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://technorati.com/faves?sub=addfavbtn&add=http://sharkonarts.blogspot.com">Add to Technorati Favorites</a></div>Sharkyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06354556120599729324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-644158760598157015.post-543828778426344682023-10-19T23:22:00.000-04:002023-10-19T23:22:57.350-04:00Cherishing Cesare: Handel's Masterpiece in Paris<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0vjz_IfU2bbeiqLlTBrDLACOTEoqZv5PapGXRG5vOs-wGFgkgQkR9TnmxJnrClUnu4vMsmFB94ofpUBOZirxyatPKTiMY6t70mPwwTdsmYnPxSF7P269umDkbq4WkZ8OM5423O-UoW-Rep9-q8H-Y76OrdzfAZxZGoAqHRRrIiY81P5UBSvOXeh5WFYUa/s1235/3.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="581" data-original-width="1235" height="226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0vjz_IfU2bbeiqLlTBrDLACOTEoqZv5PapGXRG5vOs-wGFgkgQkR9TnmxJnrClUnu4vMsmFB94ofpUBOZirxyatPKTiMY6t70mPwwTdsmYnPxSF7P269umDkbq4WkZ8OM5423O-UoW-Rep9-q8H-Y76OrdzfAZxZGoAqHRRrIiY81P5UBSvOXeh5WFYUa/w478-h226/3.png" width="478" /></a></div><br />Am I the last to know that countertenor Philippe Jarrousky has become the latest singer to transition over into Conductorland? I've spent nearly 8 hours watching one of the most dazzling performances of <i>Giulio Cesare </i>I've ever encountered, and I dare say maybe one of the best of the last century and the current one. I was expecting - I don't know what - but Jarrousky gave a reading of the score for the ages. While some numbers approached the usual "fast route" where one worries about the singer running out of breath, the conductor reigned those tempi in so that never happened, and the focus remained on the drama at hand. There was also a greater amount of rubato than one typically hears in a Baroque score, with Jaroussky suddenly slowing things down (particularly before a cadenza), allowing his cast to phrase in ways that singers ache to phrase. Here is yet another singer who allows his knowledge and instinct of the voice and singing to influence how he paces, shapes, and colors the score and the marvelous period orchestra Artaserse, responded thrillingly. It was truly a performance to be cherished. <p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqm_F7XlQ75h4_6vWeAoCOizmScTVWzg0ENJHEmfaITwA9H0ZW_dm3SZSlkhcx6oCpNpxfOx9g6p5sNzbScyyrg7pMTCYdFnkhJxWDI4INXrsQky5-axDZF7_uyC5h3C98Lp-VfLn1T9wIBGqUDTA1X2HiyxZDv951GMZ83GtjLBsabZobJ8Drhz4TV0yq/s864/1.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="577" data-original-width="864" height="278" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqm_F7XlQ75h4_6vWeAoCOizmScTVWzg0ENJHEmfaITwA9H0ZW_dm3SZSlkhcx6oCpNpxfOx9g6p5sNzbScyyrg7pMTCYdFnkhJxWDI4INXrsQky5-axDZF7_uyC5h3C98Lp-VfLn1T9wIBGqUDTA1X2HiyxZDv951GMZ83GtjLBsabZobJ8Drhz4TV0yq/w415-h278/1.png" width="415" /></a></div><br />The production team of director Damiano Michieletto, with the contribution of the set designer -Paolo Fantin, costumes by Agostino Cavalca, lighting by Alessandro Carletti and choreographer and movement by Thomas Wilhelm were a dream team, working in concert to put Michieletto's vision across resulting in a thrilling, dramatic show. There is a greater emphasis on the dark seriousness, the treachery, the prophecy of things to come in the production, so the moments of lightness contrast far more than I'm used to in my favorite Handel opera. While the empty stage as a box is oft overused today, Fantin's designs, hidden doors, rising and falling panels that open up, or seal off is clever and makes for a marvelous playing area on the smallish stage of the Théâtre des Champs-Élysées for the singers. While I did not love every moment of the staging (the naked 3 Fates showing up in most scenes, plodding ghostlike in the background) I can say that watching it a second time, I didn't mind some of the odd things I wasn't crazy about, and some scenes I did like - I liked even more. <p></p><p>And what singers. The cast is, top-to-bottom all playing their A Game, fully invested into the detailed portrayals of these characters. Even with that being said, and a true ensemble effort given by all, it is impossible not to single out Sabine Devieilhe's "knocks it out of the park" homerun turn as Cleopatra. In her gold and rhinestone bathing cap, and heels she looks sensational as she sounds, every aria, recitative and scene invested with equal parts power hungry queen, charming paramour and scheming minx. That she tosses this off this incredibly difficult music with such aplomb while doing so results in plenty of cheers that build up to a predictable, frenetic ovation at the final curtain. You know you're in for a treat when during a humorous <i>Non disperar</i> chi sà?ends with a solid, perfect high Eb, as she runs offstage. Later, she seduces all of us as she does Cesare in a <i>V'adoro, pupille </i>for the ages. Sighs all around. Pure wow. Then there is the staging of <i>Se pietà </i>which is easily one of the most oddly compelling moments I've seen on a stage. My my jaw dropped from its sheer mystery of it, as the beauty of Devieilhe's voice took my breath away. </p><p><i></i></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAF7BP1Xd5BaUws2g85gy7s0bnmEklnDkX4lGghUEVxpLm5LO5y-sV10xpB78Woju9Kvkgmf-ZCT8wm8HnR3FkHC_yo_eomLB8-5OXgQ0TPu_-9fRJv7kKGrMwNBNQOzs2MMIJKUyVO_VCMRMb_FksJmRRsG7T9oCeWIuurEbCp7e2utlyPhjqCBPXjxem/s1347/5.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="801" data-original-width="1347" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAF7BP1Xd5BaUws2g85gy7s0bnmEklnDkX4lGghUEVxpLm5LO5y-sV10xpB78Woju9Kvkgmf-ZCT8wm8HnR3FkHC_yo_eomLB8-5OXgQ0TPu_-9fRJv7kKGrMwNBNQOzs2MMIJKUyVO_VCMRMb_FksJmRRsG7T9oCeWIuurEbCp7e2utlyPhjqCBPXjxem/w421-h250/5.png" width="421" /></a></div><br />Indeed, a trademark of all of the singing in this <i>Cesare </i>is the sheer virtuosity of the singing. Ornamentations approach "over the top" and while some may say they're on the borderline of poor taste, each ascent into the heavens, or plummet to the depths seems to FIT the character in that moment. da capos are practically rewritten entirely, across and through the melody that never belies, but rather enhances the intent of the music and text. Nowhere is this more evident - or more beautiful - than in the great duet, <i>Son nata a lagrimar</i> for Sesto and Cornelia. Here, Franco Fagioli and Lucile Richardot, their voices a study of contrasts, hers deep and sensual, his light and properly boyish, weave around each other and the line in a display of grief that is overwhelming. I could no more hold back my tears than if I wanted to, and I did not want to.<p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT3-V6iQT0ay5vx_3G2_BTRGqNtj97usGioHgYvTlDK7oanix-nFI5biqq3sPD4CI8UjMb9X3BlBerieG8BxuqH7n0bfHwC50r_ODvYNLy9Xx50BN7hGOP3Jnlaw0fVHS5Vic1BPCqr10C34GQmf9MbCuAx6zbJnnabYGihcE6oTWMH0wJlF6lNdpGHq4A/s1056/2.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="582" data-original-width="1056" height="254" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT3-V6iQT0ay5vx_3G2_BTRGqNtj97usGioHgYvTlDK7oanix-nFI5biqq3sPD4CI8UjMb9X3BlBerieG8BxuqH7n0bfHwC50r_ODvYNLy9Xx50BN7hGOP3Jnlaw0fVHS5Vic1BPCqr10C34GQmf9MbCuAx6zbJnnabYGihcE6oTWMH0wJlF6lNdpGHq4A/w461-h254/2.png" width="461" /></a></div><br />Gaëlle Arquez is a forceful, dark and sometimes scarily dangerous Cesare, and while she can't show it onstage, she must be having an absolute ball with the role. Her <i>Va tacito e nascosto</i> scared the bejesus out of Tolomeo and Achilla . . . and me! <p></p><p>Michieletto stages every aria, every scene with a true sense of theatrical magic, so much so that I could spend a day writing about each number. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhYWiO8naNW5hgtgBh-DXP_OUYRsqTIFwoPH3UDohkI1WlFEWq9XzBK7ql4UojuTcwxc25hsce2-f0URD8PLVR_lfV1of_0hyVpyaia3c7R0BTEm5x6BmW7WV0eigv7ylANBJJpSMxXuMsEespSXc0MYjOlXUj__28MSt7hJZ9v1g5XxI7pjQdHkwLfwPH/s1671/6.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="789" data-original-width="1671" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhYWiO8naNW5hgtgBh-DXP_OUYRsqTIFwoPH3UDohkI1WlFEWq9XzBK7ql4UojuTcwxc25hsce2-f0URD8PLVR_lfV1of_0hyVpyaia3c7R0BTEm5x6BmW7WV0eigv7ylANBJJpSMxXuMsEespSXc0MYjOlXUj__28MSt7hJZ9v1g5XxI7pjQdHkwLfwPH/w451-h213/6.png" width="451" /></a></div><br />Everybody looks as sexy as they sound, which while not necessary, is always a bonus when it happens. Carlo Vistoli's bad boy Tolomeo, Francesco Salvadori's duplicitous Achilla, Paul-Antoine Bénos-Djian's Nireno, and Adrien Fournaison's Curio complete a truly remarkable cast. <p></p><p><i>Giulio Cesare </i>is one of my favorite operas and I believe I've heard most if not all of its recordings and likewise have seen - via video - most of the major productions of the last 40 years, and while my favorite staging has long beeen McVicar's Glyndebourne, this cast takes pride of place and, odd as it seems, is - at least for now, my favorite of them all. I'll be returning to it often. </p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://technorati.com/faves?sub=addfavbtn&add=http://sharkonarts.blogspot.com">Add to Technorati Favorites</a></div>Sharkyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06354556120599729324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-644158760598157015.post-64201450668101226422023-09-24T21:59:00.000-04:002023-09-24T21:59:05.435-04:00New Yorker Article<p>By June Mayer<br />May 28, 1995</p><p>The New Yorker<br /><br />Up until the unusually chilly early-morning hours of Thursday, September 13, 1990, Gina Grant’s future seemed assured. At age fourteen, she was perhaps the most promising girl in the town of Lexington, South Carolina. She was bright, popular, accomplished, and pretty—a cherubic-faced, blond-haired honors student, who always seemed to have time to help her friends with their problems, from homework to romance, and who had finished eighth grade in glory as her school’s first female student-body president. The day before, she had still been musing about which she wanted to be when she grew up—a Supreme Court justice or a doctor. But now her choices had narrowed: either she could sit in the back of one of the patrol cars parked in her family’s driveway while detectives, uniformed officers, and forensic experts swarmed through her family’s stiffly proper Colonial brick house or she could warm up at the Lexington County sheriff’s office, a few miles away. Ostensibly, the law-enforcement officers presenting her with these choices were concerned about her catching cold. But in truth Gina Grant was already in custody, the prime suspect in the savage killing of her mother.</p><br />Inside the house was a grisly scene—the detritus of what Detective John (Jay) Phillips, a long-faced, laconic veteran of the Lexington County Sheriff’s Department, described as “one of the top three most brutal homicides I’ve ever seen.” In the kitchen, blood was splattered from the floor to the cereal boxes on top of the refrigerator. On the parquet floor in an adjoining hallway, a wide smear of blood traced a trail from one room to another. And at the end of the trail lay the corpse of Gina Grant’s mother, forty-three-year-old Dorothy Mayfield—or, as she was known around town, Dot. Protruding from her throat was the handle of a kitchen knife, which had been plunged so deep that the tip lodged an inch and a half into her spinal column.<br /><br />In January, 1991, Gina Grant pleaded no contest to her mother’s killing. She served approximately eight months in detention. Three years later, in the fall of 1994, she applied for admission to next September’s freshman class at Harvard. Nearly eighteen thousand students applied for places in the Harvard Class of 1999, and just over two thousand were admitted. Gina Grant was one of them. It was a remarkable turnaround.<br /><br />Harvard, however, knew nothing of the nature of the dark chapter of Gina’s past. Indeed, the university’s admissions officers had come to refer to her as “the orphan,” because, as a number of glowing recommendations revealed, for the previous four years she had been living without parents. Her father, an engineer, had died of cancer when she was eleven; and, as far as the admissions office knew, her mother, an executive secretary at Bankers Trust, had died in “an accident” when Gina was fourteen. The facts were that after being released on probation Gina had moved to Cambridge, Massachusetts, to live with a paternal aunt and uncle, and to piece her life back together as a high-school student. She had gone back to school, at Rindge and Latin, a large and well-regarded public high school, where she had ranked near the top of her class, tutored underprivileged children, and served as co-captain of the tennis team. Her secret, she believed, would stay legally buried. As a juvenile, she’d been told, most of her court records were confidential, although some court proceedings were open to the public, and had been reported in the local papers. Her time had been served, and, having paid her debt to society and succeeded in staying out of additional trouble, she expected to be given the fresh start that is the fundamental premise of the juvenile-justice system.<br /><br />In her determination to be treated just like any other college applicant, Gina Grant posed some uncomfortable questions: Should someone who took another person’s life—whatever the circumstances were, and however reformed the taker of that life was said to be—be granted so spectacular a second chance? Should a young killer, even one of inarguable talent and accomplishment, be accorded the same opportunities as her law-abiding peers to seek the rewards of society? In juvenile-justice theory, the law says yes: rehabilitation is the primary goal of corrections. But theory and practice can be quite different things. In an era of anger and frustration at the erosion of values, the special protections extended to juvenile offenders are coming under particular attack. In April, the Harvard admissions office rescinded its acceptance of Gina Grant. The school, which considers admissions matters confidential, suggested that its only reason for deciding against Grant was that she had failed to tell the full truth about herself. But it is far from certain that had she done so she would have fared better.<br /><br />Gina Grant quickly became the subject of a national debate, even though only the barest outlines of her case were known. A Times editorial criticized Harvard for “unseemly haste” in rescinding its offer of admission and declared, “Because universities teach by how they act in society as well as what they offer in the classroom, Harvard has an obligation to behave in an educated way. In the matter of Ms. Grant, it has not.” Frank Rich, the Times columnist, suggested that although not all the facts were known, it appeared that Grant had faced a judge and been punished for a crime “that may have been committed in at least theoretical self-defense.” Some conservatives took Harvard’s side; Tom Knott, a columnist for the Washington Times, mocked Grant’s defenders and asked, “What’s a little matricide if a person is willing to grow from the experience?”<br /><br />The debate has divided those who know Gina Grant as well as those who do not. It is a debate between those who see her as a con artist who has lied, connived, and literally got away with murder and those who consider her to be as much victim as perpetrator—someone with a childhood so horrific, and a life both before and after the crime so exemplary, that she is the very model of a juvenile offender entitled to a new beginning.<br /><br />Certainly no one questions the brutality of the killing. Dana Grant, Gina’s older sister—she was twenty-three at the time—later recalled the events of that night in a statement to police. Dana had arrived home shortly after midnight and had been unable to open the front door. Upon finding it bolted shut, she rushed to a local gas station to call the sheriff. When she returned, she found her sister at the top of the family’s driveway in a state of near-hysteria. Gina told her that she and their mother had got into a terrible fight, and that their mother was hurt, possibly even dead.<br /><br />By the time the first police officers arrived at the house, Gina had recounted, further, that she and her mother had been arguing over a boy she was dating at the time—a football player in her class who was a poor student and had a record of petty crime. Mrs. Mayfield (who had taken the surname of a man she had married three months before she died) had forbidden her daughter to see him. Gina had also stated that later that evening, when she came out of her bedroom after a twenty-minute phone conversation with her boyfriend, her mother—who tests later showed was inebriated at the time—had told her they “needed to have it out” about “that son of a bitch.” Mrs. Mayfield, according to transcripts of Gina’s initial statement, then “took off her blouse and said, ‘I don’t want to mess up my $300 suit’ . . . and took off her watch and rings like she was getting ready to fight someone,” and began to attack Gina at the top of the stairs. At one point, Gina told the officers, her mother had rolled down the stairs and landed unconscious at the bottom. But then she unexpectedly “got up, and started tussling again,” Gina said. “She grabbed my neck and said, ‘One of us has got to go.’ ” Then Gina said, “I don’t know how she got it, but she got a knife. Her eyes were half closed—they were always like that when she was drunk—and I was terrified. I knew at that point she was going to kill me. I said, ‘No Mamma! No!’ ”The next thing she knew, Gina said, her mother had grabbed the knife and stuck it in her own neck.<br /><br />The investigators were not convinced. It was improbable that someone would commit suicide by stabbing herself in the throat. Besides, the coroner later counted at least thirteen crushing blows to Mrs. Mayfield’s skull. Gina’s explanation that her mother’s head injuries had been caused by a combination of her falling down the stairs and “bumping into” a heavy vase did not enhance her credibility. Nor did the discovery in Gina’s bedroom closet later that night of a black garbage bag stuffed with bloody towels and a heavy crystal candlestick. The candlestick had been a birthday present from Gina to her mother. Forensic studies later suggested that it had been the object used to bash in her mother’s skull.<br /><br />Confronted with this newly discovered evidence, Gina said, “I only withheld it from you because I thought you’d think I killed her. I didn’t want to go to jail because I did not kill her. I knew you would find it, but I was just hoping you wouldn’t. I did not kill my mother. I promise you, I did not.” At that point, Dana Grant cut off further questioning, saying she believed that her sister needed a lawyer. Gina was thereupon charged with her mother’s murder, and only then, according to the law-enforcement officials present, did she begin to cry.<br /><br />By the next afternoon, because of unusual actions taken by the Lexington County sheriff, James R. Metts, virtually the entire county knew of Gina Grant’s arrest. A South Carolina state law protects juvenile defendants by requiring that their names be withheld from the press and the public. For nearly a hundred years, the American judicial system has treated juveniles differently from adult offenders, on the ground that their judgment and sense of responsibility are less developed and that their potential for rehabilitation is greater. In essence, the system holds that the punishment of youthful offenders should not include the stigma of public censure. But Metts released Gina Grant’s name to the press that very day. Four years later, a packet of the resulting newspaper stories was anonymously dropped off at Harvard’s admissions office, prompting the college to rescind its offer. “Yes, I did give her name out,” Metts said recently. “There was a law, and still is, that juvenile activity should remain anonymous,” he acknowledged, but in this case, he went on, he decided to ignore the law. “I was agitated,” he explained. “I felt this was a serious, adult kind of crime. And I think that the juvenile-justice system makes a mockery of justice.”<br /><br />The sheriff’s attempt to make an example of Gina Grant backfired, however. In the aftermath of such a brutal killing, one might have expected mass condemnation of the accused—particularly in Lexington County, a conservative pocket of the Deep South that has been voting Republican long before it became fashionable to do so. Lexington County, whose population of a hundred and sixty-seven thousand is largely white, affluent, and fundamentalist Christian, is a bedrock of support for traditional family values—a place where “Honor thy father and thy mother” is still a matter of religious conviction. Yet, instead of branding Gina Grant a pariah, many members of the community embraced her cause. Her defense attorney, Jack Swerling, says that at first he was “outraged” that her case had been opened to the media, “but then it started working for us.”<br /><br />Some would later suggest that the sympathy for Grant was merely an expression of élitism. “She was one of theirs,” declares Penny Miller, one of several juvenile-parole-board officers who saw no other reason to support Grant. The chairwoman of the board, Marlene McClain, suggested that if Grant had not been white, pretty, smart, and upper middle class, attitudes would have been quite different. “If she had been a minority with an I.Q. of seventy, she’d still be in jail,” McClain said.<br /><br />While this is probably true, there was an additional reason for Lexington’s sympathy. Unlike the police, the parole board, and, later, the Harvard admissions committee, many in the community actually knew Grant and had some inkling of the difficulties she had faced at home. Although none condoned the killing, a number of conservative, hard-line supporters of law and order—including the family-court judge who eventually allowed her to plead no contest to voluntary manslaughter and serve less than a year in detention—believed that there had been mitigating circumstances. In fact, as word of Gina Grant’s incarceration spread, so did details of the home life she had been covering up, and these engendered a collective sense of guilt that a girl who had helped many other people with their troubles had tried to keep far more serious troubles of her own hidden. “We thought we had this terrible secret,” Dana Grant later said, “but after this happened we realized that it was no secret at all. Everybody knew about it, from the clerks to the neighbors.”<br /><br />Mrs. Mayfield’s death was not the first to take place in the family’s house. When Gina was eleven, her father, Charles Grant, whom she adored, died, after a long and painful struggle with lung cancer. Although Gina was only in elementary school at the time, she had taken care of him herself after school until her mother got home from work. Moreover, there were nights during that period when her mother, whose drinking was growing more pronounced, did not come home at all. “She saw things that no child should see,” Eddie Walker, a former assistant principal of the Lexington Middle School, says. For one thing, Walker believes, Gina’s mother was “running around” with other men “at the time her daddy was dying.”<br /><br />Then, one morning not long after her father’s death, Gina awoke to find herself alone in the house with the corpse of one of her mother’s older male friends: he had died overnight, and she was left to figure out what to do with the body. These traumas were compounded, according to several sources, by the behavior of her mother, who inexplicably blamed her for her father’s death, berated her incessantly, and refused to allow her to keep a photograph of her father in the house. Gina’s father, other family members say, had harbored hopes that Gina would one day go to Harvard.<br /><br />By all accounts, Dorothy Mayfield’s alcoholism, which had been severe enough for her to have sought treatment at a rehabilitation center not long after her husband’s death, worsened alarmingly over the next three years. Although she managed to hold down a responsible bank job, court testimony suggested that she had passed out drunk almost every night, frequently after unleashing wild, abusive tirades, many of them directed at Gina. On occasion, she had also threatened to harm Gina if she ever told anyone about the family problems. Dr. Harold Morgan, a forensic psychiatrist in Columbia who was a consultant to the state’s Departments of Mental Health and Corrections, and who was hired as an expert witness by Gina Grant’s defense team, says, “It was the worst case of psychological abuse I have ever seen—and I’ve seen other kids who have killed their parents.”<br /><br />Because the court records of Gina Grant’s case were supposed to be treated as confidential, Swerling and the presiding judge, Marc Westbrook, say they are not at liberty to discuss the nature of the child abuse to which Grant was subjected. Gina herself has also declined all comment. But Swerling, one of the state’s premier criminal lawyers, who has represented hundreds of murder defendants, and who has a wife and two teen-age children, says he was so moved after learning how difficult her family life had been that he toyed with the notion of becoming her legal guardian, but then an uncle and aunt, Allen and Carol Bennett, of Cambridge, Massachusetts, agreed to take on that role. “I was just floored when I learned what had been going on in her life, and how well she had been capable of doing anyway,” Swerling says. “In my twenty-three years of practicing, this is the quintessential case of a juvenile who deserves a second chance.”<br /><br />Equally sympathetic, though for different reasons, was her mother’s brother, a certified public accountant named Curtis Dickson, who lived nearby and had special insight into the family problems. “Before this happened, I had never heard of a dysfunctional family,” he says. “But since then I’ve done a lot of reading. This family is not dysfunctional—it’s nonfunctional.”<br /><br />The parents of Curtis Dickson and Dorothy Mayfield were small farmers battered by the Depression and overwhelmed by financial and psychological strains while the children were growing up. Dickson says his father “hoarded money” and “refused to provide” for his children; at one point, they were reduced to wearing flour sacks for clothes. Even more damaging, though, was their father’s “emotional violence.” Dickson says, “He’d run you down in a minute. You were stupid, lazy, couldn’t do anything right. He was just mean.” Like their father, Dickson adds, his sister could be “vicious,” and later on his nieces “faced constant harassment and ridicule, just like what we faced growing up.” And so when his niece Gina killed her mother, Dickson says, he understood why. He says of his own father, “I could have been driven to kill him. Don’t think I can’t relate to what went on in Gina’s mind.”<br /><br />Yet, Sheriff Metts counters, there were virtually no eyewitnesses to this psychological abuse other than Gina’s sister, Dana, and although she corroborated Gina’s account in court, she had made no public statements. According to Paul Mones, a nationally known attorney and child advocate from California who has made a career of defending children in parricide cases, lack of witnesses and the defendant’s failure to confide in anyone are typical. “These cases are so alike it’s eerie,” Mones says. “I can’t tell you how many straight-A, honors students I have seen.” Rarely, he says, do such children tell authorities of abuse at home, even when they are asked about it. And something that further complicates their cases in the eyes of juries is that frequently they don’t just kill but “overkill,” leaving gruesome scenes behind. Moreover, most of them, he says, have a tendency to come across badly when they testify, because they become so detached from their own emotions that they seem to exhibit no remorse. Finally, in order to survive at home they are likely to develop “manipulative” personalities. Many seem, in Mones’s words, “like little shits.”<br /><br />Indeed, one of the strikes against Gina Grant, in the eyes of the Sheriff and also, later, of the parole board, was what was seen as a tendency to coolly “evade responsibility” by “minimizing” what she had done. Metts was particularly scandalized by a report that only hours after killing her mother she had joked to a female officer accompanying her into the ladies’ room, “Don’t worry, I don’t have body parts in my pocket.” Gina was soon suffering chronic nightmares and needed to be sedated in order to sleep, but Metts had by then concluded that she was “a sociopath with no conscience.”<br /><br />Lacking eyewitnesses, Gina was left with a number of adults who could testify only that they had seen what they described as previously overlooked signs of abuse. Eileen Harrelson, the mother of Gina’s best friend, Christy Harrelson, says she blames herself for not having taken more seriously various times when Gina showed up at her house with oddly explained injuries. Once, when Gina had a black eye, she said that her mother had accidentally poked her in the eye with her knuckle. On another occasion, Gina arrived on crutches after being treated at the hospital for torn ligaments in her ankle; she said she had fallen down the stairs, but admitted years later that in fact her mother had caused her fall. On occasion, according to Gina’s testimony in the court records, her mother had hit her hard enough to raise bruises for such lapses as failing to wax the kitchen floor after washing it.<br /><br />Mones says that the act of parricide is usually triggered in children by a sense that their survival is at stake. “It just explodes one day, when all their options seem to them to collapse,” he says. “They’ve attempted to run away, and it didn’t work. They’ve tried to notify some authority, and no one cares. Afterward, everyone says, ‘Why didn’t they just tell someone, or open the door and run?’ But to them the apparent reality is that they are going to be killed, and in certain cases they are right.”<br /><br />In the period preceding Gina’s killing of her mother, a number of these conditions coalesced. To begin with, two of the adults to whom she had grown closest had withdrawn from her life. Eddie Walker, the assistant principal who had taken a real interest in her, had been promoted to principal and moved to another school. Meanwhile, Gina’s former nursery-school teacher, Norma Brown, who had hired her as a helper when she was in eighth grade, had subsequently become, she herself says, too preoccupied with her own divorce to pay much attention to Gina’s growing problems. Then, during the summer before the killing, Gina faced the futility of trying to run away. Twice she stayed out of the house all night with the boyfriend her mother had forbidden her to see; each time she was caught. On the second occasion, she told police an incredible tale of her own abduction just as her mother was phoning in a missing-person report. Her concocted alibi suggests that she had a healthy respect for her mother’s temper, even if she disrespected her authority. As her friend Christy Harrelson says, “She really didn’t think of her mother as a parent. It was more like her mother was the child—a baby—just a drunk idiot.”<br /><br />Ten days before the killing, Gina finally confided to Christy, whose family she had been living with as much as her mother would allow her to, that she was really scared. “Before that, she’d just tell me it wasn’t true when I said her mother was an alcoholic,” Christy, now a student at the College of Charleston, recalls. “But I knew. All you had to do was to go over to her house. Her mother was always drunk, and yelling at her.” As Christy relates it, the two girls were out on a float in nearby Lake Murray that Labor Day, when Gina confessed for the first time that she was afraid her mother might kill her. Christy urged Gina to repeat her account of her fears to Christy’s mother. And Gina finally opened up. “She told us she was scared for her life,” Christy recalls. Gina said that her mother had been drinking and taking Xanax, a sedative, and that she had been flying into violent rages, breaking into Gina’s room in the middle of the night and threatening to kill her. Gina and Dana had become so worried that they had disposed of a gun their mother kept.<br /><br />Alarmed, Eileen Harrelson called the sheriff’s office the following day, and reached an officer named Mary Van De Weghe. As Mrs. Harrelson recalls the conversation, she told the policewoman that the mother of fourteen-year-old Gina Grant was a violent alcoholic, and that the daughter was afraid for her life. She says that Officer Van De Weghe told her that if she wanted to file a formal complaint she could, but Mrs. Mayfield would have to be told who had filed it. “For sure, that would have made Dot blow her stack, and probably would have kept her from letting Gina stay with us anymore,” she says.<br /><br />Nine days later, after the sheriff’s office charged Gina Grant with murder, documentation of a self-defense motive might have helped her considerably. But there was no record that Harrelson had ever called. Van De Weghe soon left the sheriff’s office, with no forwarding address, and the Sheriff himself questions whether such a call was ever made.<br /><br />But Mary Van De Weghe, on being reached in Louisville, Kentucky, where she now works in the security department of the Federal Reserve bank, confirms that Harrelson called to alert the sheriff’s office. She says that Mrs. Harrelson’s call had seemed like a minor matter and that she hadn’t bothered to take notes. On being asked how she had felt about the killing so soon afterward, she said, “Well, it was just like one of those things—damn, it happened!”<br /><br />On January 21, 1991, Gina Grant, by now fifteen, pleaded no contest to voluntary manslaughter in the death of her mother. Notes taken by the psychologists who examined her for the state’s Department of Youth Services indicate that she couldn’t remember exactly what had happened that night. But after her psychiatrist had given her sodium amytal, a narcotic used to reduce inhibitions, she blurted out in a jumble of fragmented sentences the recollection that her mother had picked up a knife, that she herself had knocked it out of her mother’s hand, that her mother had then picked up another knife, and that she herself had then reached for the candlestick on the mantel.<br /><br />Gina Grant’s boyfriend, a sixteen-year-old named Jack Hook, pleaded no contest to the charge of accessory to voluntary manslaughter after his fingerprints were found on the knife in Gina’s mother’s throat. Prosecutors believe that after Gina killed her mother Hook came over to the house and helped her make the death look like a suicide by stabbing Mrs. Mayfield, who was already dead, and then wrapping her right hand around the knife. Hook served nearly a year in a juvenile detention center, was subsequently arrested on new charges, of grand larceny, and is now serving a ten-year sentence in an adult high-security prison. (Hook declined, through his lawyer, to comment on Gina Grant unless he was paid, but he told one syndicated TV magazine show that Grant had lied about him. He also said he knew nothing about any abuse by her mother.)<br /><br />Donald Myers, the prosecutor in the case, agreed to accept Gina Grant’s plea to a lesser charge than murder because, he acknowledges, he was afraid that she would be acquitted. “To tell you the truth,” Myers says, “I would have been afraid of a not-guilty verdict because of the whole victim thing. She is very convincing, and in this county people believe in self-defense.” Grant’s defense attorney also had reasons for bargaining. The coverup at the crime scene, along with her changing stories, created problems. Particularly disturbing was a statement she gave that falsely pinned the murder on Hook. Even worse, Hook’s mother had taped Gina confessing to her on the phone that she had falsely accused him, in what Gina described as a gambit designed to get them both off.<br /><br />The greatest surprise in the case was the lenient sentence imposed by Judge Westbrook. Despite a reputation for toughness, he sentenced Gina Grant to about a year of incarceration, including her pretrial detention. In September of 1991, he released her on probation, until the age of eighteen, into the custody of the Bennetts, in Massachusetts, who promised to enroll her in a residential treatment center for girls considered dangerous to themselves or to others. Gina lived at the treatment center only a few months, undergoing psychotherapy, while she was attending Rindge and Latin.<br /><br />By taking Gina Grant out of the hands of the overcrowded and understaffed Department of Youth Services in South Carolina, Judge Westbrook stirred up a furor, and won the lasting hostility of the state’s juvenile-parole board, which believed that its authority was being undercut. As the parole board saw it, Gina Grant needed not just rehabilitation but punishment. “In the final analysis, people are responsible for the choices they make about their own actions,” Richard McLawhorn, then the Department of Youth Services commissioner, wrote in a letter to Allen Bennett in August, 1991. “And teen-agers are no exception. They need to understand that principle and not see themselves as hapless victims whose antisocial actions should be excused because of their backgrounds.” Not only did the parole board refuse to accept the idea that Gina Grant was a victim; it found the arguments made in her favor, such as her superior intelligence and the community support she had received, to be aggravating rather than mitigating circumstances. “We have many, many children who have been abused physically or emotionally who don’t commit crimes this brutal,” Marlene McClain, the board’s chairwoman, says. “And, with the resources and intelligence she had, I have to believe she could have found other solutions.”<br /><br />In many respects, the fight over Gina Grant’s sentence presaged the later battle over her admission to Harvard, forcing participants into taking sides between condemnation and redemption. Judge Westbrook, though he did not excuse her behavior, focussed on her potential, which he believed would be squandered if she were to be locked up in South Carolina. Every judicial sentence requires a prediction of the future, and Westbrook gambled that Gina Grant would, if she was given therapy and the chance to continue her education, go on to lead a useful life. After she left the state, he assumed—since her court files were confidential—that unless she was again charged with a crime she would never have to tell anyone about her juvenile record: she would be free to start a new life.<br /><br /><br />When Gina Grant applied to Harvard, she put this principle to the test. She immediately faced the dilemma of how much to say, and decided to tell virtually no one about her past, including her high-school teachers and administrators, some of whom subsequently wrote enthusiastic college recommendations for her. Her aunt and uncle knew, of course, but shortly before her senior year she had had such a severe falling out with them that they had forced her out of their house, and she went to live in an apartment on her own. Neither Gina nor the Bennetts will comment on the nature of the fight, which, of course, raised anew the spectre that, no matter how well Gina was doing academically, she still had disturbingly unresolved emotional problems. Gina’s choice of boyfriend appears to have again been an issue, and so were limits that the Bennetts tried to place on her. And again Gina has a number of defenders; they see her in this dispute, too, as the victim of unreasonable relatives. In any case, the rupture between Gina and the Bennetts was a bitter one.<br /><br />Besides the Bennetts and her therapists, perhaps the only people in Cambridge who knew of Gina’s past were her high-school boyfriend, a fellow honor student named Liam Case, and his parents, John and Quaker Case. Gina herself had told Liam when she felt that their relationship had become serious, and he’d had a traumatic reaction. She decided to tell his parents, too, though she was apparently terrified that by confessing she would lose what had become her surrogate family. But John Case, a business writer who graduated from Harvard in 1966, and his wife, Quaker, who is a psychiatric social worker, continue to support Gina wholeheartedly.<br /><br />When it was time for Gina to fill out college applications, she turned to the Cases for advice. As they understood the law, her record was confidential. They believed she had served her time and had proved her ability to excel in the outside world. So they advised her not to disclose her juvenile record. Later, when an alumna interviewer asked her how her mother had died, Gina used what had apparently become her standard response to this question: “In an accident.” Because she had pleaded no contest to manslaughter, which is a killing without malice aforethought, she apparently rationalized that the circumlocution was technically correct.<br /><br />Gina’s current attorney, Margaret Burnham, argues that in declining to disclose her past Gina was following Massachusetts law, which, she says, explicitly bars educational institutions from asking questions of applicants about any criminal matters not resulting in convictions. Since juveniles are “adjudicated delinquent” rather than “convicted” (the latter term is used only for adult offenders), Burnham contends, Gina Grant had no obligation to be more forthcoming. “Clearly, when the judge sent her away from Lexington he believed that she would have the advantage of anonymity,” Burnham says. “And Gina accepted that she was to have a fresh start. These are the first principles of juvenile justice.” On the other hand, Alan Rose, a Boston attorney specializing in educational matters, argues that those “first principles” do not bind the Harvard admissions office. “Harvard is entitled to establish rules about who should go to school there,” he says. “And on the top of the list of applicants you’d screen out are any who have directed bodily harm at anyone else.”<br /><br />The issue was hypothetical until Monday, April 3, 1995, when Harvard’s admissions officers held a rare emergency meeting to consider the contents of an envelope that had been dropped off by hand the Friday before, together with an anonymous letter. Perhaps not coincidentally, an article about young people who had triumphed over long odds—an article that featured Gina Grant but did not mention her juvenile record—had appeared in the Boston Globe Magazine on April 2nd. The anonymous letter that Harvard received accused Gina Grant of “hoodwinking” a succession of institutions, beginning with the South Carolina judicial system, continuing with her Cambridge high school, and concluding with Harvard itself. It mentioned that she was estranged from her guardians, and described her as a deceitful, manipulative personality who had covered up the fact that she had killed her own mother. Accompanying the letter was a set of four-year-old news clippings from South Carolina detailing the case.<br /><br />The admissions committee voted to revoke Gina Grant’s acceptance on the ground that she had “made material misrepresentations” about herself, and Harvard thereupon drafted a rejection letter. Worried that the news might leave her in a state of despair, the admissions committee arranged to have it delivered to her in the company of her high-school guidance counsellor. But Gina, instead of despairing, demanded an opportunity to discuss the committee’s reasons in person, perhaps hoping that she would be able to change their minds. Harvard, however, refused to allow her to meet with the admissions committee. She was told that the university wished her good luck—but someplace else.<br /><br />It appears that another college will give Gina Grant a second chance. Before her juvenile record became known, Columbia, Barnard, and Tufts had all eagerly accepted her. Then, when Harvard’s rejection became public, the others, too, developed serious qualms. None would comment on their admissions procedures, but last week Tufts confirmed that, after much consideration, it would stand by its offer of admission for this coming fall.<br /><br />But, as Harvard’s reaction suggests, even if Gina Grant excels at Tufts and never again raises a hand against another living soul, the concept of a clean slate may be a legal fiction. The problem, Paul Mones notes, is that “most of these children who have killed their parents have been treated violently and told they’re worthless by their parents. And in the eyes of society they’ve proved that their parents were right.” <img alt="♦" aria-label="♦" class="an1" data-emoji="♦" loading="lazy" src="https://fonts.gstatic.com/s/e/notoemoji/15.0/2666/32.png" /><div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://technorati.com/faves?sub=addfavbtn&add=http://sharkonarts.blogspot.com">Add to Technorati Favorites</a></div>Sharkyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06354556120599729324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-644158760598157015.post-42305399118374987412023-09-16T20:28:00.001-04:002023-09-16T20:28:09.698-04:00A Callas Fanboy Continues His Journey <p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsZfclr7P8JFllrbB9zxJSswbSYTY3KeRQhPlzn4YK0ZQ7c_LbOdhE6o08Slmp36Ld5XHwZVAEkSw6MX3iBnIFxtENAlO8wXrp05lYaoLHjnYm3Q76LyzbYq5Wy6q0WvbcEw3NLEZtJzXh7isWRRGHNe4KE6_AaVqToWh5zlnKmLrFc4H46vsuHycVPFES/s720/00001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsZfclr7P8JFllrbB9zxJSswbSYTY3KeRQhPlzn4YK0ZQ7c_LbOdhE6o08Slmp36Ld5XHwZVAEkSw6MX3iBnIFxtENAlO8wXrp05lYaoLHjnYm3Q76LyzbYq5Wy6q0WvbcEw3NLEZtJzXh7isWRRGHNe4KE6_AaVqToWh5zlnKmLrFc4H46vsuHycVPFES/s320/00001.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />As a child I was forever wondering what grown-ups meant whenever they spoke of "fleeting time." Flash forward more than half a century and I think I'm closer to understanding. When Maria <span class="gmail-il">Callas</span> died on this day, September 16, in 1977. I was 17 years old. It was a pivotal, transitional year: Although I left home at 13 for boarding school there were still summers home, but at 17 I knew I was leaving for good to study music at a university over 600 miles away from my parents. In many ways this was the most transformative year I was to ever experience. It seems almost unfathomable forty-six years have passed. Fleeting time? 63 now, I well understand that phrase.<p></p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwj-3GRSffWfmSpQdRPstcc6Y45opfrE1VvC7rIMRv8AQcCEZTyT1t03BUxHF0kwl3vcGuqt9EL7UM5ixFSgpIIXGzrRKZ01pDfM25l7WpjxSTfxMj1O8fmPid9jJUU7eqHel3yIqdLL9wBIaZoSe-RC7MRjj2HmAoPRsbCvNcrOshtcApeveTnLnLuWJC/s981/lucia%20san%20carlo2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="981" data-original-width="736" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwj-3GRSffWfmSpQdRPstcc6Y45opfrE1VvC7rIMRv8AQcCEZTyT1t03BUxHF0kwl3vcGuqt9EL7UM5ixFSgpIIXGzrRKZ01pDfM25l7WpjxSTfxMj1O8fmPid9jJUU7eqHel3yIqdLL9wBIaZoSe-RC7MRjj2HmAoPRsbCvNcrOshtcApeveTnLnLuWJC/s320/lucia%20san%20carlo2.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br />Over the course of those ensuing years I became one of those "kooks" who collected pretty much <span class="gmail-il">Callas</span>’ entire recorded legacy - studio and live - with barely a day having gone by where I've not spent listened to, and thinking about, the singer whose impact on my life was enormous, musically and otherwise. I've done the same with Bach for even longer, so there IS precedent.<br /><br /><span class="gmail-il">Growing</span> older, I became more aware of her flaws, but not one deterred me from believing that, for me, Maria Callas was the consummate singer. What she was able to do, the characters she could create from the page of the score, and bring them all so brilliantly, so vividly to life, despite those flaws, or even perhaps because of them, made these characters so remarkably real, so utterly human. Her ability, craft, sourcery, call it what you will, only deepened and made even greater, my appreciation for that truly sui generis artistry.<br /><br />It was, of course my absolute good luck and privilege that during these years that the internet "happened," and because of it, through it there was the revelation of discoveries of things almost previously unimaginable: details of student recitals, a more complete look at her training in Athens, those youthful, crazy roles which eventually helped a career that seemed propelled almost as if by a rocket. <br /><br />One of the most amazing things was discovering the published programs from her Athens Conservatory days, recitals and concerts from the earliest part of her professional career, and so much more. I ate it all up, spending days upon days digging through all of the archival material I could lay my hands and eyes on. It was dizzying, endlessly fascinating, teasing a smile onto my face, imagining her as Suor Angelica, or singing a wild, dizzying array of arias, songs and scenes none of us - certainly not me -had ever associated with "Maria Callas" with the likes of Rameau, Vaughan Williams ("On Wenlock Edge" with string quartet!), Mozart, Rossini, Brahms, Handel. I tried to imagine what that young voice may have sounded like in Thaïs' "Dis-moi que je suis belle," or how she closed a concert belting out Landon Ronald's classic, "Love, I have won you!" Even reading all of this, seeing the documentation, it proved difficult to believe. <br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQLPjHi0PJl6aVAJ37t10_tQ3XwsLj4z6EAy0gjvu6kwSdzteA5fcDGBv-E-OSH2b_L7mNi9OR4tTA6UsNNn-EiWPi4ykWgC9TYAQDwXW3hu73hnCx5qg3eMkfp9FJsn38Y03NmV-24bAatXGLTOMinv4jlTlW-7VP2O6l9A1d48mXgQcdyxL0vKEKUm8P/s564/casual%20glam.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="422" data-original-width="564" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQLPjHi0PJl6aVAJ37t10_tQ3XwsLj4z6EAy0gjvu6kwSdzteA5fcDGBv-E-OSH2b_L7mNi9OR4tTA6UsNNn-EiWPi4ykWgC9TYAQDwXW3hu73hnCx5qg3eMkfp9FJsn38Y03NmV-24bAatXGLTOMinv4jlTlW-7VP2O6l9A1d48mXgQcdyxL0vKEKUm8P/s320/casual%20glam.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />With Callas I can't help but imagine the roles that got away . . . those"almost" roles. The oune that grabbed me the most was the Greek National Opera's plan to open the 1944 season with the Company's first, Wagner: "Der fliegende Holländer," with the 21 year old Maria (who'd already starred as Tosca there) cast as Senta. This was to be followed by “Fedora," a role she would sing at La Scala over a dozen years later). Callas learned these roles, but the company was forced to cancel the entire first half of the season because of the Athens Civil Disturbance. When it reopened, it was with Maria as Marta in a revival of “Tiefland.”<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3UfZLoe6CQmNIe_WCmQ0o7qvGN7qCMrdaJuCbyB2lSSS2p6-wzs0cpeMktO-uKckq_YjkyDy7c3s4Z04XURJutQC9SD2rTqD-SjK6iymvHAKJ6TJGsgAdq-kJFPglMn0sXKR2K8a04xaIJX3an3XLawVa0kGCShUBrI0YrY0PgautiY3ZUtQv5fWaV8I6/s2048/antonio%20votto.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1532" data-original-width="2048" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3UfZLoe6CQmNIe_WCmQ0o7qvGN7qCMrdaJuCbyB2lSSS2p6-wzs0cpeMktO-uKckq_YjkyDy7c3s4Z04XURJutQC9SD2rTqD-SjK6iymvHAKJ6TJGsgAdq-kJFPglMn0sXKR2K8a04xaIJX3an3XLawVa0kGCShUBrI0YrY0PgautiY3ZUtQv5fWaV8I6/s320/antonio%20votto.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />Before long there came the Walküre Brünnhilde, Isolde, Kundry, Gioconda, Turandot, Aida all segueing towards the bel canto and Verdi (and Toscas) that would define most of her career. All of this shot into her role as one of the greatest, most talked about, and absolutely controversial stars in the operatic firmament. That controversy "great or not" is still part of what she is remembered for. It seems fitting. <br /><br />After the best years of her career were over, and years of semi-retirement there came projects turned down, offers, and rumors of offers for even more interesting choices no one would would have ever associated <span class="gmail-il">Callas</span> with: a"Salome" with von Karajan; another role debut as "Melisande" for the Paris Opera; Charlotte in "Werther"; Ottavia in "Poppea”; Valentine in "Les Huguenots”. Then, there was Sir Rudolf's "peace offering": a return to the Met in a double bill starring as Elle in Poulenc's "La Voix Humaine," followed by the mime role as the great seductress Potiphar’s Wife with Rudolf Nureyev as Joseph in Strauss’ “Josephslegende.” Of course, not one of these would come to fruition, most seeming downright improbable and at best, unlikely, yet still that does not diminish one iota the fascinating possibilities in considering what one, or all of these, might have been like had they happened.<br /><br />Throughout the years since her passing, I've grown <span class="gmail-il">up</span>, and learned to love and appreciate countless other singers, but the simple truth remains: Not one has meant as much to me, has moved me more deeply, or quite broken my heart than La Divina. Her artistry has been a part of my life from almost the very beginning and, along with a few other major influences like Bernstein or Bach, has shaped the very way I listen to and approach music, how I think about it and the powerful role it has played every day of my life. For her part in all of this, I can only say, grazie, Maria. 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text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmM-FXicbszLVeXMs7SlwbuhrtKSrs2VAwb7GANxnSrX3G5B5mgJPqjWOY22kRAK4yWOosf5s-TlfD3PJe8c2dDF6D70J3O2_BIJla4avkTorkOgK2Hu3DPTmNY9jsFM1L699a1EyfrRm34Wnm_6pbPeHOFry7-uiAv3fGVWkZ9KNrpTqYsyqvtzy0MIGA/s765/with%20pipo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="765" data-original-width="564" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmM-FXicbszLVeXMs7SlwbuhrtKSrs2VAwb7GANxnSrX3G5B5mgJPqjWOY22kRAK4yWOosf5s-TlfD3PJe8c2dDF6D70J3O2_BIJla4avkTorkOgK2Hu3DPTmNY9jsFM1L699a1EyfrRm34Wnm_6pbPeHOFry7-uiAv3fGVWkZ9KNrpTqYsyqvtzy0MIGA/s320/with%20pipo.jpg" width="236" /></a></div><br /><div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://technorati.com/faves?sub=addfavbtn&add=http://sharkonarts.blogspot.com">Add to Technorati Favorites</a></div>Sharkyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06354556120599729324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-644158760598157015.post-6465585899648211252023-09-09T22:01:00.004-04:002023-09-09T22:04:03.785-04:00Notes From Tár<p><span style="font-size: large;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghnZihC_DysnmAWvh6X7TlyK7xDBr3oxYGFvdMEqQfY7dTEAcOKjyb8wyvhscU2w4d0YLU0W1lJqztl7AsTqmttYYjswo0EwYUo3LZteRgM3kJn6HWRF6nPddUjOxyTh4U7jzYwp3MxnsagQpyveLskq8dku0kkq254REocbM1anMNDnkDj0RibuEycAu3/s916/4fec722aff49dc9c6eb26dd703796b3d_3x3.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="515" data-original-width="916" height="270" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghnZihC_DysnmAWvh6X7TlyK7xDBr3oxYGFvdMEqQfY7dTEAcOKjyb8wyvhscU2w4d0YLU0W1lJqztl7AsTqmttYYjswo0EwYUo3LZteRgM3kJn6HWRF6nPddUjOxyTh4U7jzYwp3MxnsagQpyveLskq8dku0kkq254REocbM1anMNDnkDj0RibuEycAu3/w480-h270/4fec722aff49dc9c6eb26dd703796b3d_3x3.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: medium;">TÁR. I cannot write what one would call a review. No time. Where to begijn? Instead, I am posting my notes, fucked up as they are . . . incoherent ramblings to anyone who's not seen the movie - maybe even those who have . I do believe it may be one of the greatest movies to have been released in the past half dozen years. Others I've discussed this with have hated it, with perhaps a passion equal to my love of it. I don't know. I shouldn't care, but maybe I do. Perhaps like the title character, I'm losing my mind . . . my way . . . my grip on reality? Again . . . don't care. So here we go. The Notes, such as they are.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">* * * * * * * </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Wow. Just minutes in: touching, profound. Surprisingly funny. The conducting class showed how clever, self-satisfied but brilliant she could be . . . knowing . . . mean . . . there is just a touch of that teacher who shames you hopefully into seeing the bigger picture. Toxic to some children . .. college kids and grownups too. Unfortunately, her bipolar, pansexual student . . . the one who finds Bach so misogynistic with his 20 kids, etc., that it's literally impossible for him to take Bach's music seriously. He actually says this! Fighting words right there for me. And Tar. Then . . . Earlier in their exchange we see a preview of what' to come: </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span>"You're a violinist? Then I can see why you would choose to conduct a piece like this. There </span><span>must be a familiar pleasure in presiding over a bed of strings that behave as if they’re tuning. This piece is very <i>au courant</i>. Here the composer tells us to begin with <i>back and forth tremolo strokes </i></span><span><i>with wire brush & slowly sliding crotales over skin</i>. Sounds like René Redzepi’s recipe for reindeer." </span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxsIHd1g69yYj7j4g4UW11mdjcj84-4NLoWsGU1Erzeti0xwZvkZJrwReFmu35Dn-eT-73AkFOi96v1XpqGfkDfxD20CYg8xvnVeVTd2uhURscKbEfyLyQldkcusuciYbddbDlHPQLYtOZFpcWo5xxJ9cpRcOKRJXXibQLP2cNDHyOLuBuwIXtaFvjYnQ3/s1280/tar2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1280" height="272" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxsIHd1g69yYj7j4g4UW11mdjcj84-4NLoWsGU1Erzeti0xwZvkZJrwReFmu35Dn-eT-73AkFOi96v1XpqGfkDfxD20CYg8xvnVeVTd2uhURscKbEfyLyQldkcusuciYbddbDlHPQLYtOZFpcWo5xxJ9cpRcOKRJXXibQLP2cNDHyOLuBuwIXtaFvjYnQ3/w484-h272/tar2.jpg" width="484" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br />She crucifies the kid, who's knees and body are visibly shaking . . . Uh oh. I smell trouble down the road with this one. (LATER NOTE INSERTED HERE; boy was I right!) </span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Jesus. Tar is me. Insomniac, bothered by noises, obsessed by putting everything into rhythm, seeing it everything in time signatures . . . as time, rhythm: the punching bag, the running, all of it! Oh, shit . . . the anagrams with people's names. This is <i>so me</i>! </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Krista's suicide. Uh oh. What happened. Really. Suddenly now Krista is everywhere. This has become a ghost story . . . A GHOST STORY! Wow. We're now in an elegantly wrapped horror and art film. Nothing is real anymore. Nothing. FUCK. A GHOST STORY! </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">The whole movie has gone in a different direction now. Ms. Taylor is everywhere . . . seen and unseen. WTF happened to these two women? Between them. Really. I mean what <i>really </i>happened????? </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">And now the cellist chick . . . with the Elgar Concerto. Of course. She's Russian . . . hahahaha . . . of course she is! Just <i>who </i>is seducing who here? </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Again we're no longer the real world. It's one of my dreams right now . . . right down to the sparkling clean parking garage . . . the fucked up warehouse like spaces: squallor living for the cellist (really?) The word <i>FAG </i>writ large in graffiti on the wall of her . . . home? Tar is parked outside. Empty rooms, stagnant water, . . . is that her composition the cellist is singing from . . where? the roof? Where is she? Barking dog unseen and air . . <br /><br />Tar has sacrificed relationships - all but the child. Trusts no one. Lying ... Shit . Lydia Tar has entered into and is starring in her own horror film . . . I see Dario Argento disciple Michel Soavi's brillilant <i>Cemetery Man </i>stamped all over the place here . . . in several ways.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> Again, her Insomnia . . . like mine - hallucinations ... what is real? There's a beauty - like a disturbing vision of Bergman . . . and other filmmakers . . . a bit of the Russian - Sokurov and YES ... KUBRICK as well . . . big empty spaces feeling claustrophic at the same time . . . distance, lighting. Marvelous. It's a ghost story borrowed from masters we don't think of as ghost story tellers. Bloody marvelous!</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">This <i>deposition </i> is <i>not </i>a deposition . . . a court . . . a trial of private/public opinion ... fake evidence, doctored video, all against her. Of course it is . . . Lydia has made herself a victim . . . Now protesters . . . protests in the streets. What a bad, bad dream. Chilling. This is the opposite of reality. A dream . . . BUT SHE CAN'T WAKE UP. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span>The fight at the Mahler 5. SHIT! New Movie: <i>LydiaTár </i></span><span><i>Unhinged</i>. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">FIVE: Fuck me. The number 5 - why am I just realizing this now? The Big 5 Orchestras, Mahler 5, Massage Parlour Girl No. 5 . . . how many plagues is she having? 5? . . . it's probably more: 1 Metronome, neighbor's beeping monitor, 2 woman screaming in park, 3 barking dog, . .. Oh, the book she tosses (research this) in the airplane toilet trash (4?) . . . . the fancy handbag . . . all kinds of things blowing past me . . . none of this is random. Can't be . . . Symbolist shit everywhere. <i>Everywhere</i>. I <i>love </i>this. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Returns to her old home. Bernstein VHS of young people's concert . . . "music makes us feel what there aren't words for." YES! Lydia cries - tears? Lydia? First time? Brother is so cold. Want to feel bad for her. I KNOW she did something to him. What? Not important. Maye later? Brother: "mom said you'd be here. Hiding out? None of my business. You don't know where you're from and don't know where you're going." Exactly. Yikes.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgldKIqGZ6zBCfgUwF_2zZ7xMEh5Fu9sGf_W_DgrBePdTWZqSzBFRO8bXH-ZRkqhs_r1hShDO1gkEvDVQe_XZRJsXmFk8RPk5_ecXD6rqTyseVKhz2eUan4C4r3JC0NUv3GNymAFFiz5xo_Bd6mcVGxaJ5SNIIabPHLm_Nq2Y7d7CD8YguKN7BR-k4XurDT/s1280/tar%20horror.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="536" data-original-width="1280" height="232" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgldKIqGZ6zBCfgUwF_2zZ7xMEh5Fu9sGf_W_DgrBePdTWZqSzBFRO8bXH-ZRkqhs_r1hShDO1gkEvDVQe_XZRJsXmFk8RPk5_ecXD6rqTyseVKhz2eUan4C4r3JC0NUv3GNymAFFiz5xo_Bd6mcVGxaJ5SNIIabPHLm_Nq2Y7d7CD8YguKN7BR-k4XurDT/w554-h232/tar%20horror.jpg" width="554" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br />OMG . . . this Asian premiere concert . . . it's NOT a concert . . . it's a video game cosplay convention? A fucking video game? Jesus Christ . . . these are <i>my </i>nightmares.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">What an experience. What a movie (speaking of Bernstein Hahahaha . . . Dinah won't ya blow? LOL) All I'm thinking of now - exhausted, drained and insane . . . all I can think of is some lines from Shelly . . . <i>Prometheus Unbound</i>:</span></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>To suffer woes which Hope thinks infinite;<br /></i></span><i style="font-size: large;">To forgive wrongs darker than death or night;<br /></i><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>To defy Power, which seems omnipotent;<br /></i></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>To love, and bear; to hope till Hope creates<br /></i></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>From its own wreck the thing it contemplates;<br /></i></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Neither to change, nor falter, nor repent . . .</i></span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://technorati.com/faves?sub=addfavbtn&add=http://sharkonarts.blogspot.com">Add to Technorati Favorites</a></div>Sharkyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06354556120599729324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-644158760598157015.post-7460156513583619422023-09-02T20:25:00.002-04:002023-09-02T20:25:31.004-04:00HALLELUJAH: GREAT 'N GHASTLY GOSPEL ALBUMS<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; 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text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizDU2-uSafNUUNw-mlI0BnDUa0OYJZNxfVHq63Qkm05Sk_SJoiuBGZS0soyTsMjWxq2QrzBxmo8dLBdDh5inpKS7BYB3tGRVs8U04uDSgVWYnvHgeQJ-Ba8gCZInXoQlaj86D_pVaxDEfdnXDU_VHmoh_B6iieUdMGLoSGdVuRPOYTIKJ0X9HxvfzNCEYR/s1429/poster.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1429" data-original-width="1000" height="551" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizDU2-uSafNUUNw-mlI0BnDUa0OYJZNxfVHq63Qkm05Sk_SJoiuBGZS0soyTsMjWxq2QrzBxmo8dLBdDh5inpKS7BYB3tGRVs8U04uDSgVWYnvHgeQJ-Ba8gCZInXoQlaj86D_pVaxDEfdnXDU_VHmoh_B6iieUdMGLoSGdVuRPOYTIKJ0X9HxvfzNCEYR/w384-h551/poster.jpg" width="384" /></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;">I was stunned, shocked, horrified and moved both to anger and tears by Wladyslaw Pasikowski's powerful 2012 movie, <i>Aftermath</i>. Even though Pasikowski was inspired to make this fictional film born of shame by the Jedwabne Massacre of 1941, it's difficult to review without giving away what makes it so powerful, but I'll try.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">After twenty years in America, Roman Catholic Pole, Franciszek (Franek) Kalina returns to his family farm outside of his native village in Poland to visit his younger brother Józef , and hopefully discover why Józef's wife left him, taking their children. There is an instant animosity from Josef who cannot forgive his brother for abandoning the family, and not returning after their father's death, leaving Józef and his mother to farm the land, nor for returning after their mother's. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMCzs0MZHB_GOwkEGR5mXvK9AL_HFVc0liLe8HUBe3VspyWcdvfzEMasfxVfOXlTCbeAGwUeyBEBVvzGuWM7PK5TnsEJfRBczyxcuU4SSkmH6Rm-LFSd7IxxZMkHUoci-imFPdJfrTfHq1Z3f-4nlth4-nOkBcN8uXF7d3pPdIIVXdbmMj0psjIb5oWlXI/s686/hq720.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="289" data-original-width="686" height="191" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMCzs0MZHB_GOwkEGR5mXvK9AL_HFVc0liLe8HUBe3VspyWcdvfzEMasfxVfOXlTCbeAGwUeyBEBVvzGuWM7PK5TnsEJfRBczyxcuU4SSkmH6Rm-LFSd7IxxZMkHUoci-imFPdJfrTfHq1Z3f-4nlth4-nOkBcN8uXF7d3pPdIIVXdbmMj0psjIb5oWlXI/w453-h191/hq720.jpg" width="453" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br />Franek can't help but question why Józef is so horribly treated by the villagers, and regardless of their heritage there, regarded as an outsider. Without provocation, Franek's curiosity increases after Józef is beaten by a gang in a tavern, denied by his bank despite having the collateral, and he is compelled to find out why. It turns out, Josef is compelled by something, too. His discovery of hundreds of Jewish tombstones used by the Nazis as paving stones for a now unused road has horrified him. The cause of his shunning is owing to his active reclaiming of the grave markers, setting them on display in part of his field. He cleans each stone of the years of muck and decay, as well as teaching himself to read Hebrew and to understand the words inscribed on these sacred stones. Even though a lifelong Catholic, Józef is called a Jew, as though it was the vilest of words, and is seen as a betrayer, a pariah, a Judas.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8TxJhIxcPox8v4JY7maHrSLIeI5_7c64aeBpyHFr1JXhCZOTc8Gr-traQKYkCaZbRNjcti3PW6XEs-kOa0UdjiPtQ96D-ekaDcu_6egP1K2FOGkkhJ91D8Uzamu4W2V8cRPFmM0iMHeEywn_ciNtMyIB3r7jt_gCNo7ObvRV0qOCkmP-oDuB8vBpAtXtq/s750/5d14d38b461cd.image.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="750" height="271" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8TxJhIxcPox8v4JY7maHrSLIeI5_7c64aeBpyHFr1JXhCZOTc8Gr-traQKYkCaZbRNjcti3PW6XEs-kOa0UdjiPtQ96D-ekaDcu_6egP1K2FOGkkhJ91D8Uzamu4W2V8cRPFmM0iMHeEywn_ciNtMyIB3r7jt_gCNo7ObvRV0qOCkmP-oDuB8vBpAtXtq/w407-h271/5d14d38b461cd.image.jpg" width="407" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br />Pasikowski wrote the brothers Kalina as fairly unremarkable everymen. Neither is actually righteous or particularly virtuous, and the seemingly more sophisticated Franek is prone towards mindlessly tossing out anti-Semitic slurs, then corrected by his bumpkinish brother. Franek even questions why Józef should care about these dead Jews, Józef answers only with, "they were human beings."</span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ_rX4RFV_PoPoomYrVq6F0hIUCvGUO-0A8OiQcxfb9SNNjpGAqfgMqzGhhubKJkeFoZ1yPXbuCUnOTijfxmPKbSpbGPabQMR7elJh5qkqu8qIf5pv8g_w6KOKQPwUPD7syMI8hZwaMD-Sv4xaU8mfLYtLRvHFNXvxO99X6BLG4EGAsbs3_MLdB0CZCpvV/s750/5d14d38b1535a.webp" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="750" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ_rX4RFV_PoPoomYrVq6F0hIUCvGUO-0A8OiQcxfb9SNNjpGAqfgMqzGhhubKJkeFoZ1yPXbuCUnOTijfxmPKbSpbGPabQMR7elJh5qkqu8qIf5pv8g_w6KOKQPwUPD7syMI8hZwaMD-Sv4xaU8mfLYtLRvHFNXvxO99X6BLG4EGAsbs3_MLdB0CZCpvV/s320/5d14d38b1535a.webp" width="320" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br />As Franek joins and assists Józef in the reclamation, an uneasy peace develops between the estranged brothers, who are secretly blessed by the retiring local old priest for their work. His younger replacement, however, is not so keen on any of this. Smelling something rotten at play, and prompted by the denial of the bank loan, Franek sets off to the local land registry to dig through the archives, and later seeks out whatever information he can glean from the oldest remaining villagers to uncover the truth about the village's history. </span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">The film is primarily carried on the backs of its principal actors, with Ireneusz Czop as Franek, and Maciej Stuhr as Józef, each inwardly seething for his own reasons, both seemingly ready to explode at any given moment. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBohtVsSlqe3t7yjXoeLfUYtHZkYUxcm63_Sel6IrqFS5H-9ZebKrSnw0wR4XF2ZiT4YtwBrlYNcRibPmqQ7KSSAtJfSJujdPJ745n-kd5wjBRb4lG6puQEoXuYBtyDrgXw28yyhCJSAaDfKnk6Lrx90F8_IEYUiRDSUZe0HkjUdMEXYSNWJ_pbXU0TwSo/s3840/fire.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2160" data-original-width="3840" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBohtVsSlqe3t7yjXoeLfUYtHZkYUxcm63_Sel6IrqFS5H-9ZebKrSnw0wR4XF2ZiT4YtwBrlYNcRibPmqQ7KSSAtJfSJujdPJ745n-kd5wjBRb4lG6puQEoXuYBtyDrgXw28yyhCJSAaDfKnk6Lrx90F8_IEYUiRDSUZe0HkjUdMEXYSNWJ_pbXU0TwSo/w455-h256/fire.jpg" width="455" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;">Even though essentially a drama, Pasikowski and his crew - cinematographer, Paweł Edelman, and editor Jarosław Kamiński - do not shrink from using camera and editing techniques more common to thriller or horror films, so that even scenes that could almost be described as bucolic have an ever mounting anxiety about them. Every scene with the townspeople,instantly recalls the classic horror movie trope of villagers as soulless monsters, at some points I found myself thinking of James Whales' 1931 <i>Frankenstein </i>and Lars von Trier's 1991 Jewish ghost story, <i>Europa</i>. </span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="white-space: normal;">Jan Duszyński's provides a generally unobtrusive, and appropriately atmospheric soundtrack, and in the film's quieter moments, and achieves a sort of nonspecific spiritual quality I found hauntingly beautiful. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">The film received wildly mixed reviews, and there is no doubt as to why some regarded it so poorly. <i>Aftermath </i>was seen as controversial, and reignited great anger, confusion and arguments about guilt regarding the Jedwabne massacre. While praised by Polish governmental and private cultural institutions, as well as by renowned film director Andrezej Wajda, <i>Aftermath </i>was condemned by nationalist groups, right wing publications and web sites who in their outrage damned it as <i>harmful, mendacious, slanderous</i>, and succeeded in getting it banned from screenings in a number of cities and towns. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLa3mtcDAO050Wm-D7uiD0IbIC3mkGmN2eqWX54QHqirAbE3jKoQwBWz7MdcspUjPxgbz-j4lxMsLUzf51TYBdBKnAk4DSNQZj4Y98-iEMXNN1ed_P76I_Pa8Wg-SMMzACBg3_a0C1gRsQroJe5loPHnb-gfvmUkHS6vKEaXzGFdBJdeCfbtAxZ4wkufrP/s1000/MV5BMGQ4MGY4MWUtYzdkNC00NzlkLWI4NTEtZDgwZTZiMjQ5Y2YxXkEyXkFqcGdeQXVyMjMwOTA0Ng@@._V1_.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="667" data-original-width="1000" height="304" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLa3mtcDAO050Wm-D7uiD0IbIC3mkGmN2eqWX54QHqirAbE3jKoQwBWz7MdcspUjPxgbz-j4lxMsLUzf51TYBdBKnAk4DSNQZj4Y98-iEMXNN1ed_P76I_Pa8Wg-SMMzACBg3_a0C1gRsQroJe5loPHnb-gfvmUkHS6vKEaXzGFdBJdeCfbtAxZ4wkufrP/w457-h304/MV5BMGQ4MGY4MWUtYzdkNC00NzlkLWI4NTEtZDgwZTZiMjQ5Y2YxXkEyXkFqcGdeQXVyMjMwOTA0Ng@@._V1_.jpg" width="457" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;">Pasikowski spent the better part of a decade trying to obtain funding to produce the film, which, being (loosely) based on Jan T. Gross' book <i>Neighbors </i>- an account of the Jedwabne pogrom - was seen as too controversial for most backers. </span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">What has fascinated me (though it shouldn't have) was the divisiveness of some Jewish critics on the worthiness of the film. While Pasikowski explained he felt it necessary, even if <i>only </i>in a fictional treatment based on an actual event, that reality . . . truth, must be addressed; that we cannot build a positive future without admitting the sins of the past. Despite this, a number of critics (of every stripe) have been offended by <i>Aftermath </i>finding its message as an obvious attempt by Pasikowski to turn Polish Catholics into martyrs and that he is guilty of equating them with the Jews who were slaughtered, one going so far as to mockingly ask, "Poor Poland, ‘what have the Jews done to you, that you have to go through so much suffering?" Wow. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">I was moved by the review from <i>The Times of Israel</i>'s Jordan Hoffman, the only critic I've found who both praised the film, and called Pasikowski up to interview him, asking probing questions, allowing the director to offer details into his thoughts on making it, and his feelings about his final results.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Controversies aside, <i>Aftermath </i>has won accolades as well as a number of prestigious awards, including the 2013 Jerusalem Film Festival's Chairman's Award and Maciej Stuh as Best Actor in the 2012 Polish Film Awards. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Neither an easy or pretty film to watch, <i>Aftermath </i>has seemed to find an appreciative audience, and I'm glad to be part of it. </span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://technorati.com/faves?sub=addfavbtn&add=http://sharkonarts.blogspot.com">Add to Technorati Favorites</a></div>Sharkyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06354556120599729324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-644158760598157015.post-81251882921081408952023-08-28T12:32:00.004-04:002023-08-28T12:33:55.594-04:00Martinů's The Greek Passion . . . Christ Recrucified in Salzburg<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_6XrYSaZj_CAZUdYGSM46VQ-feUOXvd-Fx3AjnyA7_9AzKjTbLRzkE-DKL-NSo4J7IlnVtWG89rPypX9qzL1RceQx2sVQJhJ7iX-Pz9wIV4OHGYx1z_uVRw_Z6HkU6pd2-uf-St-GzdnG9OMtUB9612cv-fRdLOYQpyJiYuAUOPioKcfWWrgCgo8pD0rO/s2560/the-greek-passion-2023-sf-monika-rittershaus-002-1-scaled.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1707" data-original-width="2560" height="271" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_6XrYSaZj_CAZUdYGSM46VQ-feUOXvd-Fx3AjnyA7_9AzKjTbLRzkE-DKL-NSo4J7IlnVtWG89rPypX9qzL1RceQx2sVQJhJ7iX-Pz9wIV4OHGYx1z_uVRw_Z6HkU6pd2-uf-St-GzdnG9OMtUB9612cv-fRdLOYQpyJiYuAUOPioKcfWWrgCgo8pD0rO/w407-h271/the-greek-passion-2023-sf-monika-rittershaus-002-1-scaled.jpg" width="407" /></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><span>I have for decades loved the score of Bohuslav Martinů's opera </span><i>The Greek Passion</i><span>, but until the current production by Simon Stone at the 2023 Salzburg Festival, have never had opportunity to see it. Well, the reviews are in and they are - predictably for such an essentially little know opera - all over the place. There are reviews that praise the revised (1961) score and trash Stone's production, reviews that take a dim view of the opera - </span><i>flawed, unimportant, overreaching, preachy </i><span>- but praise Stone's production, and some that seemed to hate both.</span></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Having just finished, I'm going to agree with the audience at the Grosses Festspielhaus who heartily cheered for over ten minutes, the broadcast stopping while the ovation was still in full bore. </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRrriUQjkLO-zFIBK8Jtu1sjwrEIYs4aXjBM3194wt4ZYtUkzbq3uB9VLnvb1ifswni0sRj5vX1nlE--lGgsGxhHud5HIwXPr_dll0tjyJRXzULgBs3EGPgq0E64YMwztXB-gGboPpIg71debU4UAtBMLnswwNm6RKkHKYR0oQL5hG3psu31a369PTyRwK/s750/GreekPassion_Salzburg1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="750" height="269" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRrriUQjkLO-zFIBK8Jtu1sjwrEIYs4aXjBM3194wt4ZYtUkzbq3uB9VLnvb1ifswni0sRj5vX1nlE--lGgsGxhHud5HIwXPr_dll0tjyJRXzULgBs3EGPgq0E64YMwztXB-gGboPpIg71debU4UAtBMLnswwNm6RKkHKYR0oQL5hG3psu31a369PTyRwK/w404-h269/GreekPassion_Salzburg1.jpg" width="404" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><br /> </span><span>The opera calls for an enormous cast of soloists,some with very short roles, several different choruses, and a large orchestra. </span></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">I won't go into many details, but will single out tenor Sebastian Kohlhepp in the role of Manilios/Christ, Sara Jakubiak as Katerina, Gabor Bretz as the Priest Grigoris, Lucasz Golinski as the Refugee Priest, as well as the exemplary work of Conductor Maxime Pascal who kept the entire thing moving forward, while lingering in just the right places to point up the spiritual aspects of the work. The multiple choruses were all thrillingly involved.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQeQIyh8XCPhuPzBiCk-mtV8uTpB959zP5FzcgHtbXXLoC_ff3Hvr_At2vT59jb6q_4EsZvpLKiN_kEct2opUdNbCE3b1BZdi3lLStM_3qUY-6HXpvgc4NSSdJXmduyYkxZnv7r3cRy3HzsZpV_jGya-QDBYVDEKTet_fd2cklR1FbidMnaP1Q_yK0hJkY/s994/the-greek-passion-2023-sf-monika-rittershaus-100~_v-img__16__9__xl_-d31c35f8186ebeb80b0cd843a7c267a0e0c81647.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="558" data-original-width="994" height="246" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQeQIyh8XCPhuPzBiCk-mtV8uTpB959zP5FzcgHtbXXLoC_ff3Hvr_At2vT59jb6q_4EsZvpLKiN_kEct2opUdNbCE3b1BZdi3lLStM_3qUY-6HXpvgc4NSSdJXmduyYkxZnv7r3cRy3HzsZpV_jGya-QDBYVDEKTet_fd2cklR1FbidMnaP1Q_yK0hJkY/w437-h246/the-greek-passion-2023-sf-monika-rittershaus-100~_v-img__16__9__xl_-d31c35f8186ebeb80b0cd843a7c267a0e0c81647.jpg" width="437" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">For those unfamiliar with it, <i>The Greek Passion</i>, is based on the powerful novel <i>Christ Recrucified</i> by Nikos Kazantzakis (<i>Zorba, the Greek, The Last Temptation of Christ</i>, etc.) about a small village putting on their annual Easter Passion Play. The villagers begin to "become" their characters, one more so than Maniliios who undergoes a spiritual transformation (and a huge epiphany near the end), all while refugees begin arriving in desperate need of help. </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6awKAORCFFHLCy7ONu5OV3eentKCExiWaOVysdyBXsN5XztaFaCCr0xuDfyy2_F7h-nt2fT7FQrDrqJdZ2NW-9YUagiWaivLo-jg0_PXjOzFCFByv3jTV6gC5a4h2oDgCZh83avisA7CFNYD-UaiCNEeCwYkDz_rJYozMp79kjtLLs4wPi5WEsEG6ujzx/s1200/85950011474720662_BLD_Online.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="762" data-original-width="1200" height="282" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6awKAORCFFHLCy7ONu5OV3eentKCExiWaOVysdyBXsN5XztaFaCCr0xuDfyy2_F7h-nt2fT7FQrDrqJdZ2NW-9YUagiWaivLo-jg0_PXjOzFCFByv3jTV6gC5a4h2oDgCZh83avisA7CFNYD-UaiCNEeCwYkDz_rJYozMp79kjtLLs4wPi5WEsEG6ujzx/w445-h282/85950011474720662_BLD_Online.jpg" width="445" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">The opera plays out much like Christ's own passion, with the Church's authority seeing Manaliios' message of peace, love and brotherhood and embracing of the refugees as threat enough to kill him, more ill will directed at the refugees. It's a timeless work emphasizing how little the world has changed regarding who should hold the wealth, the power and control over the people.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Stone's production is one some may complain of - an enormous back wall painted white runs the length of the stage, but with "pop out" windows and panels on the floor, with the top of the wall, a series of Greek arches high above that comes into play. A pair of painters on scaffolding paint in bright orange a message, that begins looking like the letters "J" and "C" but ultimately reveal the two words "REFUGEES OUT." Again, while some may complain there were no boos, but instead a wall of cheers as Mr. Stone came out to take a well earned bow.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgynCiLonkYYfppzSZUXZzGrGDqMDmK27jaQ029KEaR_ut7K1IpP5UR160ac6-DCqP9VL9gXKvY3caxurQPXtxcwjuerk7jP00CFsvL1VYJHi-ZG0q1HRzCKT1naqdco_lmg-NUdpeNL5S36ot3mF3jOAwvlAORpZMBHskQ8_Tkdyjhsz_CNsc5wyJeNklB/s1200/media.media.da4a2118-3f84-48f9-9e2c-42f6daace0ab.original1024.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="788" data-original-width="1200" height="314" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgynCiLonkYYfppzSZUXZzGrGDqMDmK27jaQ029KEaR_ut7K1IpP5UR160ac6-DCqP9VL9gXKvY3caxurQPXtxcwjuerk7jP00CFsvL1VYJHi-ZG0q1HRzCKT1naqdco_lmg-NUdpeNL5S36ot3mF3jOAwvlAORpZMBHskQ8_Tkdyjhsz_CNsc5wyJeNklB/w478-h314/media.media.da4a2118-3f84-48f9-9e2c-42f6daace0ab.original1024.jpg" width="478" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">It's currently only available for streaming on MediciTV, but however you can get your hands on it, I recommend you do so. A powerful, timely work that demands to be seen. </span></p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://technorati.com/faves?sub=addfavbtn&add=http://sharkonarts.blogspot.com">Add to Technorati Favorites</a></div>Sharkyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06354556120599729324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-644158760598157015.post-16728701977484915372023-08-26T12:09:00.009-04:002023-08-26T12:32:36.227-04:00Christopher Nolan's Oppenheimer<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcVuFmLSSFrT55PSMtlHDL0FwWEj5V09J7ZzDzOIBnINdzfPpgD-tIxCdZkCfdGk25upVUOgiPXyBjSnf5GcF10WWh2No4Swa4l3zIGolLsbmP64WJ6xyXYuPzI7nHQq2pi3O0SY1n7ysri589MrisEqm_YRnSZxDknkOAZ2p-Dp8oK0WJiFtAQLMR6zix/s3454/Oppenheimer.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3454" data-original-width="2331" height="584" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcVuFmLSSFrT55PSMtlHDL0FwWEj5V09J7ZzDzOIBnINdzfPpgD-tIxCdZkCfdGk25upVUOgiPXyBjSnf5GcF10WWh2No4Swa4l3zIGolLsbmP64WJ6xyXYuPzI7nHQq2pi3O0SY1n7ysri589MrisEqm_YRnSZxDknkOAZ2p-Dp8oK0WJiFtAQLMR6zix/w380-h584/Oppenheimer.jpg" width="380" /></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><span>I finally made it to </span><i>Oppenheimer,</i><span> the </span><span>only movie I was interested in seeing this summer, and I was not disappointed. Not in the least. I love Christopher Nolan's work, starting with </span><i>Memento </i><span>(technically </span><i>Following</i><span>, was his first, but I saw that afterwards). Since then there has been a fairly steady stream of impressive work, some of it problematic, or even awful like </span><i>Tenet</i><span>, (which I'm just guessing in having refused to go . . . at least not yet) but Nolan is always his own man, and as such, always dividing opinion, which </span><i>Oppenheimer </i><span>certainly seems to have done.</span></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">I had a predilection towards wanting to like <i>Oppenheimer</i>, given the subject has been one I've been obsessed almost my entire life, and having read and loved Bird and Sherwin's epic biography that was the basis of the film. The author's spent twenty-five years researching and writing their book, Co-author Kai Bird, in a forward to Nolan's now-published screenplay commends Nolan for taking the massive, complex biography and transforming it "into visual art that is faithful both to the history and the man." </span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Nolan combines his faithfulness to <i>American Prometheus </i>amplifying it magnificently with his command of technical prowess and vision. Each frame is evidence of the love for his subject, and is lavished on with almost painterlike obsession. The pace of the film is amazing. Simultaneously moving slowly, yet seemingly at the speed of light, its nonlinear progression shifting between color and black and white, in a way that can be dizzing. One is forced to be alert, aware andu tune in at all times. With a running time of three hours, it demands full attention (I'd recommend a bathroom visit beforehand). At times this pacing put me to mind of Gurnemanz' line from Wagner's <i>Parsifal: You see my son, here time becomes space</i>. This hit home all the more since Albert Einstein, whose <i>Theory on Special Relativity </i>appeared some 30 years after Wagner's libretto, is an integral part of the story. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">By eschewing (other than offering them generally where necessary) details of the science behind the bomb - math, physics, mechanics - and remaining faithful to his source material, Nolan offers a vivid portrait of one of America's most complicated and tragic figures. The emphasis therefore is placed almost solely upon the man himself, as well as the supporting characters; those who built him up, and brought him down.And what characters they are. Niels Bohr, Werner Heisenberg, Albert Einstein, Gen. Leslie Groves, Ernest Lawrence, Edward Teller, Lewis Strauss, and a dozen others, all of whom spring forth from the page into vivid life by a cast as remarkable as it is vast. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">At the center of all this - the nucleus if you will - is Cillian Murphy in perhaps his greatest role to date. Murphy appears to have thoroughly studied Oppenheimer, as not only does he bear a striking resemblance, but the mannerisms, the tilt of the head, the seemingly cocksure arrogance that was tempered by a clear vision of the worth (or worthlessness) of others/ There is the smile, the body movement which was athletic but could be both graceful and awkward - it's all there and feels so natural that Murphy seems to disappear entirely into this character. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Nolan's screenplay presents Oppenheimers as a force of nature . . . larger than life, with an unusual appeal that earns him a certain celebrity status of a movie rockstar with crowds thunderously chanting "Oppie! Oppie!" but also does not shirk from showing the darker and more difficult sides, from his infidelities that caused damage in his relationships, down to the poisoned apple incident of his Cambridge days (here, for dramatic purposes, Nolan using cyanide, while the actual poison remains unknown). </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">One also senses the uneasy decision of General Leslie Groves, in selecting Oppenheimer to head up the Manhattan Project, the two being as diametrically opposed as poles on a magnet. Even so, Groves recognized Oppenheimer's unique genius and was able to put their conflicting politics aside knowing he selected the right man for the job. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Every story must have a villain, and in Robert Downey, Jr.'s tremendous performance we are given a petty, jealous, vain, weak but still potent and dangerous Lewis Strauss. Strauss, clearly the strongest of Oppenheimer's enemies and worked hard to keep his hands "from holding the knife" that would do him in. </span><span style="font-size: medium;">So convincing was RDJ I more than once had to resist the urge to boo and hiss.</span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">The rest of that cast, including Emily Blunt's wrenching Kitty, Florence Pugh's tortured Jean, Matt Damon's charmless General Groves, along with Tom Conti, Rami Malick, Josh Hartnett to name but a few, all deliver equally fine, believable performances. It truly is a remarkable cast.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">While during the infamous and unjust kangaroo court of the security hearing we learn of the Oppenheimer's lawyer being kept in the dark about the information being used, of the illegal wire tappings, the raiding of Oppenheimer's trash, the use of his massive FBI file in attempts to tie him to the Communist party, the accusations of providing state secrets to the Russians, Nolan shows us, without specific reference to their being blackmailed, close associations of Oppenheimer turning on him, ultimately resulting in his being stripped of his security clearance even while, begrudingly, acknowleding his service to his country. When there is concern about Kitty's testimony possibly hurting him, Robert insists his wife be allowed to speak and his trust in her, as well as the depth of their love is shown in his words "we've walked through fire together." That hit powerfully, straight to my heart. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span>Visually, </span><i>Oppenheimer </i><span>is stunning. Cinematographer Hoyte van Hoytema captures lightning (literally) and creates a Los Alamos that is a near mythological take on </span><i>The Old West</i><span>. Indeed, when getting her first tour of the new town, an unimpressed Kitty Oppenheimer quips "All it needs is a saloon." Throughout, van Hoytema ensures Nolan's vision is executed with extraordinary results. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Jennifer Lame is responsible for, and must be acknowledged for the look and the nonlinear editing mentioned above. That nonlinear look - jumping through eras in the blink of an eye - has brought up several mentions of the work of Terrence Malick (another favorite of mine). I liked that. As the film is about the "Father of the Atom Bomb," Lame's editing often employs images that explode across the screen, a repeated visual in the mind of Oppenheimer, coming unexpectedly and the effect is tremendous, and caught me off guard every time.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Wedded to all of this is the near continuous soundtrack provided by Ludwig Göransson's marvelous score, perfectly matching the visuals from moments of glorious wonder to the uncomfortable "tick-tick-tick-ing" underlying the Ground Zero sequence.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">At over three hours, <i>Oppenheimer </i>plays out not unlike a Shakespearean tragedy, but like Shakespeare, those hours pass swiftly. This is a demanding film, and coming to it late as I have, I've heard plenty of criticism, which I can understand, but cannot agree with. Few liberties are taken with the film, which is confirmed by Manhattan Project historian Chris Griffith, who says the those "adjustments made were for understandable artistic reasons." </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Aside from its historical and biographical relevance, Christopher Nolan has given us what I consider to be his greatest work to date, and it's exactly the kind of film I go to the movies for. </span></p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://technorati.com/faves?sub=addfavbtn&add=http://sharkonarts.blogspot.com">Add to Technorati Favorites</a></div>Sharkyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06354556120599729324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-644158760598157015.post-48234678973856183762023-08-13T16:53:00.005-04:002023-08-13T16:56:43.731-04:00The Death of Stalin: As Black As Comedy Gets<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw32OafdMtHpfnCCBFZr5aA8skQEjvfWkmIMUO9YvC6o4-nSgXeRj6zicqZ6UrfzWpB6CUFPOjhZvGEQ69ylNqc1sDM6qODSkh0IRGrxjTBqH8iuIe5wZ5879AXpsvmA0Mi2yw4ZtXvxMR8FvKk9anMxrjRC0EyKWsuUi_lnTWl4HMkSrbN6eWAUWKfqZF/s3400/death%20of%20stalin%20poster.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2000" data-original-width="3400" height="188" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw32OafdMtHpfnCCBFZr5aA8skQEjvfWkmIMUO9YvC6o4-nSgXeRj6zicqZ6UrfzWpB6CUFPOjhZvGEQ69ylNqc1sDM6qODSkh0IRGrxjTBqH8iuIe5wZ5879AXpsvmA0Mi2yw4ZtXvxMR8FvKk9anMxrjRC0EyKWsuUi_lnTWl4HMkSrbN6eWAUWKfqZF/s320/death%20of%20stalin%20poster.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">I've put off watching this for several years, but a hot, wet, muggy day seemed the perfect opportunity to stay indoors and watch Armando Iannucci's droll, madcap, violent and uncomfortably hilarious farce. As he showed us in his brilliant writing for the series <i>Veep</i>, Iannucci nothing is off limits when it comes to comedy, even if one or many may be offended. The only people who should be offended by this (in my opinion) are communist Soviet sympathizers. The entirety of the Soviet Union's leaders are deliciously skewered like Shashlik roasting on an enormous mangal. All of them, particularly the monstrous Stalin, deserve no less. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Pedantic scholars may balk at some of the liberties taken with the history, but there is enough "there there" to make the film ring true enough, and it's fun to see most of the major players of the time portrayed as bloated, egotistical, brutally cutthroat apparatchiki out for their own interests following their leader's demise. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: arial;">The film begins with a variation on a story from </span><i style="font-family: arial;">Testimony</i><span style="font-family: arial;">, Solomon Volkov's controversial purporting to be Dmitri Shostakovich's dictated memoirs. Radio Moscow is broadcasting a concert featuring renowned pianist Maria Yudina in Mozart's Piano Concerto No. 23. Stalin is listening from his dacha and so moved he calls the concert hall's director, Andreyev - a hilarious turn by the brilliant Paddy Consadine - and demands a recording of the performance. Unfortunately, it was not recorded. Panic ensues and Andreyev decides to restage the concert running into the auditorium, rushig to the stage banging a cymbal as the audience is leaving:</span></span></p><p><i style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Andreyev:</span></i></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><i>(to the guards): Lock the doors! Lock the doors!</i></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><i>(to the audience): Don't worry, no-one is going to get killed. But I do need you to stay!</i></span></p><p><i style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Technician: Half the audience have gone. The acoustic will be very dry.</span></i></p><p><i style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Andreyev: Pull people in off the streets! Fat ones, so we won’t need so many!</span></i></p><p><i style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Musician 1: I could call my wife. She’d dampen the acoustic.</span></i></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Everyone agrees, except for Yudina who had suffered under Stalin. She agrees after being offered a ridiculous sum of money, and in an act of defiance, pens a note to the leader expressing her contempt, and slips it into the recording. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: medium;">This is just the first few minutes and what follows is worthy of a Marx Brothers movie - or perhaps more accurately, a Marx-ist Brothers movie. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Iannucci holds nothing back and at times the gallows humor - which can get rather violent ad brutal - gets about as black as can be, so much so I, at times, found myself laughing hysterically while simultaneously cringing.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The cast is absolutely an inspired one starting with the aforementioned Paddy Consadine, along with Olga Kurylenko (Maria Yudina), Simon Russel Beale (Beria), Jeffrey Tambor (Malenkov), Steve Buscemi (Kruschev), Michael Palin (Malatov), Jason Isaacs (Field Marshall Zhukov) and scores more in a truly ensemble effort.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Not surprisingly, the film, which is a basically a British production has been declared by various Russian agencies, "an unfriendly act by the British intellectual class," . . . "a nasty sendup by outsiders who know nothing of our history" and a "revolting attempt to spark discontent." </span><i style="font-family: arial;">The Death of Stalin </i><span style="font-family: arial;">was given a pre-release showing for, among other agencies, The Ministry of Culture, which withdrew the distributor's credentials and banned the release. Two movie theatres, unaware of the ban, but still possessing copies of the film, showed it and then were successfully sued by the Russian government. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: arial;">What makes all of this even more delicious is only 30% of Russians approved of the Ministry of Culture's banning of the film, and in less than a year and a half </span><i style="font-family: arial;">The Death of Stalin </i><span style="font-family: arial;">was downloaded in Russia over 1.5 million times. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: medium;">One of the chief joys of this movie for me was it's incredible soundtrack. Acclaimed British composer Christopher Willis pays enormous homage to Dmitri Shostakovich that at times the music sounds so hauntingly familiar I found myself - a total Shostakovich groupie - wondering exactly what piece I was listening to, or if something from the master previously unknown had been unearthed. One critic called it "the greatest soundtrack Shostakovich never wrote." I'd agree.</span></span></p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://technorati.com/faves?sub=addfavbtn&add=http://sharkonarts.blogspot.com">Add to Technorati Favorites</a></div>Sharkyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06354556120599729324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-644158760598157015.post-19073124028851812022023-08-11T15:46:00.000-04:002023-08-11T15:46:23.088-04:00The Mission: Loyola - An Unearthed 18th Century Gem<p>Originally Published 16 October 2006</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMpvOJmqWI2SOc2LXV464YFVTxoGBMfiREBfQSx1aNIRGCSwCD4UTTiQWvf7dNaBnrVFAGxzE5FYOxvzFg5RrCqthNlrdKNBnZNcMZ8AL3GMwGt1ODj8fHFHy7f720yisKQP3ND1E9hx0VWnw6KL7rvd5D4GiNb5xtUbDeBlpVzt3XyrEUV4jBExfMJwiY/s1280/Iganacio%20Loyola%20Zipoli.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1280" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMpvOJmqWI2SOc2LXV464YFVTxoGBMfiREBfQSx1aNIRGCSwCD4UTTiQWvf7dNaBnrVFAGxzE5FYOxvzFg5RrCqthNlrdKNBnZNcMZ8AL3GMwGt1ODj8fHFHy7f720yisKQP3ND1E9hx0VWnw6KL7rvd5D4GiNb5xtUbDeBlpVzt3XyrEUV4jBExfMJwiY/s320/Iganacio%20Loyola%20Zipoli.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /> <p></p><p>“The Mission: San Ignacio De Loyola,” a recently discovered early 18th century opera by Dominico Zipoli and two collaborators was performed here in Portland tonight, and I, for one, couldn’t have been more thrilled. I was only informed today of the performance by a friend who’d seen it in Worcester, last night, by the early music group: Ensemble Abendmusik with stage direction by Rev. Michael A. Zampelli, S.J., of the theatre department at the University of Santa Clara. </p><div>The opera appears to have been a collaborative effort by the Italian Zipoli (a composer turned Jesuit who moved to the famous Jesuit Reductions in Paraguay), the Swiss-born composer Martin Schmid and one or possibly more of the native musicians from the Paraguayan rain forest. Written in two acts, the opera tells of the calling of St. Ignatius Loyola and his founding of the Jesuit order. Interestingly, it also attempts to explain – or at least delves into – the metaphysics of Ignatius’s famous “Exercitia Spiritualia.” You know I was all over that. </div><div><br /></div><div>Initially, as it began, I found myself mildly disappointed as the opera was not quite what I expected. Once my expectations were let go of, I found the entire thing a genuinely lovely and moving experience. </div><div><br /></div><div>Two woman in modern dress served as interlocutors coming out from the audience and walking between the posed singers, making commentary on the action and telling of the relevance the tale has to modern audiences. </div><div><br /></div><div>Sopranist Randall Wong sang the role of Ignacio beautifully, handling the difficult coloratura in fine form and spinning some lovely, pure-sounding high notes. Initially he started off a bit raspy and underpowered but, as he went, on the performance grew into a moving, convincing portrayal of Ignacio. Mr. Wong moved sparingly, but each gesture was highly stylized and projected a certain nobility to them. His facial expressions were noble and earnest . . . one easily believed his devotion, his desire to serve and his love for his mission.</div><div><br /></div><div>Romanian Countertenor Andrei Caracoti did double duty as The Second Angel and as the young Francis Xavier. His entrance (as the Angel) in a Spanish Warrior/Roman Centurion costume, accented with an ancient Peruvian style skirt and stockings, was enormously powerful. As petite as Mr. Wong was, Mr. Caracoti is a very tall drink indeed. I wondered if he'd been a GQ model as for the first 20 minutes he didn’t move or vary from his statuesque pose. I'm fairly certain he didn't even blink. <br /><br />The first Angel, soprano, Susan Consoli, on the other hand looked cherubic with a smile best described as comforting. </div><div><br /></div><div>Where Mr. Wong’s voice has more of a boy soprano timbre, at times very sweet in its purity, Mr. Caracoti has more of a female mezzo-soprano’s weight to his sound . . . and what an absolutely gorgeous sound it is. (The biographical information stated he began his studies in Bucharest as a bass-baritone, and transferred to Boston where his teachers decided to "make him a countertenor." I've no idea what he might have sounded like as a baritone, and frankly, don't care. I want to hear more of THIS voice. </div><div><br /></div><div>The musical highlight of the first act was referred to as a 3-way, or “triple aria” . . . what today we’d just call a trio . . . between Ignacio and the angels. It was absolutely dazzling, the three singers spinning off separate virtuosic lines, each tossing off runs and roulades with relish matching the joy of the music. </div><div><br /></div><div>In Act II Caracoti assumed the role of Francis Xavier and the scenes between Ignacio and Francis (which constitute most of the second act) were powerfully moving as the two best friends whose love for one another is clearly evident, prepared to part forever in order to further their unified cause. Like many baroque operas, the only "real" duet comes at the end, and is between Francis and Ignacio. </div><div><br /></div><div>Tenor Murray Kidd was a delightful and handsome little Devil. Dressed as Louis IV (nice touch) in stunning 18th century silk and curly wig and was THIS TALL. His was almost more of a pop sounding voice, yet somehow suited the baroque style well. It was clear he relished singing the Spanish text which. emanating from his mouth, was highly sensual, as opposed to the pure, almost Latin-sounding Spanish of the other characters. <br /><br />After the final duet and advice from the Interlocutors inviting us to draw our own conclusions, the First Angel sings a glorious aria with trumpet solo which smacked strongly of Scarlatti. Here, soprano Susan Consoli's bright, light voice matched the music's brilliance and sense of elation, during which all participants the devil included), returned for a final tableaux which strongly suggested how completely interrelated is EVERYTHING in our world is: good to evil, hope to despair and hate to love. <br /><br />Ensemble Abendmusik was conducted from the harpsichord and organ by James David Christie. A particular delight was the constant playing of the theorbo and baroque guitar, complete with traditional Spanish hand slapping on the instrument. </div><div><br /></div><div>Not a bad way to spend an evening! </div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://technorati.com/faves?sub=addfavbtn&add=http://sharkonarts.blogspot.com">Add to Technorati Favorites</a></div>Sharkyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06354556120599729324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-644158760598157015.post-76108001067133000562023-07-28T20:45:00.002-04:002023-07-29T09:41:33.203-04:00Opera Maine's Cinderella: Goodness Triumphs!<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcf5G28yb_5N4hdlj8pI1cZGbE3FJT-Knr1_SIyntFG0mpJSqfM0bR7uW0uXKOwvCblMaNEBhpoMtOOzZZluD1MClKPAyviafDVnWawpC5IpX8Op5LFkfV7srUV009aa2KOVjsroqc8ZiGu8o_JY33gX_x1azsjtCpWiLFHdcLW6CFyL3LlcOw_W4MEkpk/s867/Screenshot%2007-27-2023%2023.03.23.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="867" height="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcf5G28yb_5N4hdlj8pI1cZGbE3FJT-Knr1_SIyntFG0mpJSqfM0bR7uW0uXKOwvCblMaNEBhpoMtOOzZZluD1MClKPAyviafDVnWawpC5IpX8Op5LFkfV7srUV009aa2KOVjsroqc8ZiGu8o_JY33gX_x1azsjtCpWiLFHdcLW6CFyL3LlcOw_W4MEkpk/w371-h228/Screenshot%2007-27-2023%2023.03.23.png" width="371" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">There is no
doubt in my mind which opera is Rossini's greatest comedy: <i>Il Barbiere di
Siviglia</i> often takes that prize, but for me <i>La Cenerentola</i> sings
rings (or bracelets) around the more popular of the two masterpieces. Last
night in Merrill Auditorium, Dona D. Vaughn's sparkling new production for
Opera Maine made Rossini's alternate title, <i>Goodness Triumphs</i> (<i>La
Bonta' in Trionfo</i>) abundantly clear. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">With what
appeared to be a nod to a sort of </span><i style="font-size: 14pt;">fairy tale noir</i><span style="font-size: 14pt;">, set and lighting
designer Christopher Akerlind's created a series of backdrops that felt
like a picture book fairytale wed to a Warner Bros. cartoon. Diaphanous,
almost transparent pinks and purples defined Don Magnifico's fading estate. The
look was completed with an old-fashioned stove, and colorful stairway leading
up to the unseen living quarters for Cinderella's cold-hearted, scheming
stepfather and stepsisters. With a wink and a nod to the classic Disney classic
film, Vaughn deployed human sized mice who hid and scurried about aiding in the
scene changes. The effect was both hilarious, and enchanting. Hilarious
and enchanting is also the most accurate description of her
entire production.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Blessed with
a cast that I cannot imagine being bettered today, Vaughn created
magic before our eyes. The intricacy of choreographed movement between
the large cast and chorus was picture book perfect, the exquisite delineation
of each character made the story pop with life. Recitatives came
off like well written, witty scripts connecting arias, duets and ensembles with
a life force, not something to get through until the next big tune.
The comedy was never overplayed, but with Rossini's champagne bubble score,
felt and looked funnier than I can recall ever before - and this was perhaps my
20th Cenerentola. I cannot remember the last time I heard actual </span><i style="font-size: 14pt;">raucous </i><span style="font-size: 14pt;">belly
laughs at the opera. No, this was not the gentle comic </span><i style="font-size: 14pt;">tittering </i><span style="font-size: 14pt;">so
often heard in the opera house but genuine, house ringing laughter. I would
occasionally take my eye from the stage to look around the house and saw
nothing but teeth from huge, open smiling mouths, and . . . yes, my heart kind
of exploded seeing that kind of reaction from an entire audience. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">
<br />
Few directors know how to move a chorus onstage as well as Vaughn, and she
proved this yet again with this <i>Cenerentola</i>. Each entrance of the
Prince's chorus of servants - men of all sizes - paraded on, each identically
bewigged, in pink stockings and classic 18th century livery. The effect was
both regal and ridiculous and yet beautiful as well. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Everything
about the production is memorable, but those many moments I will
single out a favorite: the Act One finale. The entire company is
here displayed in gorgeous array, as the insanity of the score increases with
its gurgles, dance-like bouncing, as it threatens to erupt into the chaos, the
libretto describes: are we confused? Dreaming? Is the earth quaking? The
dizzying confusion grows in the pit as onstage, now plunged into blue strobing
light effects, we watch these characters singers spin out of control; rising,
falling, crashing into one another all while in perfect Rossinian symmetry and
harmony. When it finally stopped, the roar of cheers that rose from the
entire house as the music was still hanging in the air, was instant and
deafening. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Also worth a
mention: the </span><i style="font-size: 14pt;">Proud Mary</i><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> style choreography for the famous sextet of Act
Two. Here, too, was more of the spirit of hilarity and yes, sweetness.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">What can one
say about the costumes of Milly Hiibel? Delightfully eye-popping, brilliant of
color, at times almost architectural, they were a perfect visual match for this
production, adding immeasurably to the entire effect. The purple and
green creations for Clorinda and Tisbe were over-the-top in elegance and
ridiculousness, yet entirely beautiful. Don Magnifico's pajamas then his
preposterous </span><i style="font-size: 14pt;">fancy man</i><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> ensemble was given an extra comic punch up by
having a train on his coat trailing behind him in a design that would've made
Floria Tosca jealous. Brilliant. Likewise, Amanda Clark's hair and makeup
designs worked in concert with Hiibel's costumes to make sure everything
looked well . . . fabulous is the only word that will do. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">And now onto
the singers. What an extraordinary cast we were treated with last night:
true bel canto artists who fearlessly navigated the intricacies, dangerously
vertiginous coloratura of Rossini even adding fioritura that sounded as natural
breathing.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDe9k3RDB1oCxFwPnmofIf09N-v1_FpJEOi4MBswf-qQThsz6ItSdDZ0YAvxiVjogM60NHd5eHHUOuLxew9c1IbOZWuQvHhu-Runej_klODrh2xkdpAYAhgN_PoZVcnTIHQrEfHa2HbHYnnm0fE63Sdue837c97DJRykkB89EDWWp8SbIVif4F00p_ZoLh/s880/Screenshot%2007-27-2023%2023.05.07.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="880" data-original-width="869" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDe9k3RDB1oCxFwPnmofIf09N-v1_FpJEOi4MBswf-qQThsz6ItSdDZ0YAvxiVjogM60NHd5eHHUOuLxew9c1IbOZWuQvHhu-Runej_klODrh2xkdpAYAhgN_PoZVcnTIHQrEfHa2HbHYnnm0fE63Sdue837c97DJRykkB89EDWWp8SbIVif4F00p_ZoLh/s320/Screenshot%2007-27-2023%2023.05.07.png" width="316" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">I hate to
doom a singer to a single role, but Hongni Wu could have a career singing
nothing but Cenerentola. The beautiful Chinese mezzo had everything needed, vocally
and every other way, at her disposal; expressive features, a voice with a big
bright top, a girlishly warm middle voice, and an easy plunge into the lower
register. The speed and accuracy of her coloratura was never less than
dazzling, even possessing an impeccable old-school trill that thrilled. There
were subtle differences in her acting as well. The first time we hear
Cinderella's opening, wistful ballad </span><i style="font-size: 14pt;">Una vola c'era un Re</i><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> (</span><i style="font-size: 14pt;">There
once was a king</i><span style="font-size: 14pt;">) it's plaintive . . . almost mournful, but when she
repeats it in the second act, there is a change both vocally and visually, and
it’s these subtle little details that stand out and make all the
difference. Ms. Wu was an absolute delight in every aspect of the role,
and in </span><i style="font-size: 14pt;">Nacqui all' affanno ... Non piu mesta</i><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> one of the composer's great
razzle-dazzle ending scenas, she quite brought down the house. Once again,
as at the first act curtain, the audience went wild with applause and cheering.
Bonkers would not be inaccurate, as the ovation went on and on.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Her charming
Prince was Jack Swanson who presented a classic handsome prince-in-disguise,
and like his Cinderella, had the full arsenal of bel canto necessities – rapid fire
technical agility, easily produced high notes, a genuine and all too rarely
heard these days, head voice that had a brightness and clarity which helped
define his character. <i>Si, ritrovarla io guiro</i>, </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">his bravura aria with chorus, was easily one of
many highlights of the night. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Bass
Baritone, Patick Carfizzi was born for buffo characters like Don Magnifico, and
his turn as the comically evil stepfather was never less than bel canto buffo
perfection in both voice and character. Capturing the arrogance, and
deliciously smarmy sense of entitlement, Carfizzi sang with relish and aplomb,
clearly enjoying the great comic bits laid out for him, as he attempted to reign
over the stage all while that crazy coat train trailed his every step.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">It was a
treat to have Opera Maine favorite, Robert Mellon back in town and owning every
inch of Dandini. With actorly flair, Mellon relished his role as "Prince
for a Day," taking to royalty as the proverbial duck to water. The
comic business devised for his duet with Don Magnifico (involving an ever
moving and unavailable chair) had the house in stitches. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Cenerentola's
one </span><i style="font-size: 14pt;">serious</i><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> role is the philosopher/teacher, Alidoro who in
Rossini's hands is equal parts Gurnemanz and Fairy Godfather. It is
Alidoro who directs and dictates the shape of the story, and in William
Guanbo Su we had one brought out the best of both of those qualities.
With his rich, beautiful basso </span><i style="font-size: 14pt;">Là del ciel nell’arcano profondo</i><span style="font-size: 14pt;">, flooded
the house with a wave of warm sound filled with love and hope, and segued the
tale into its first bit of magic, as glitter rained, sparkling down as
descending from the heavens a gown for Cenerentola to attend the ball. I
normally don't approve of interrupting the music, but the effect was so
special, so breathtakingly beautiful, one simply </span><i style="font-size: 14pt;">had</i><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> to forgive the
audience for breaking into applause.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Katherine
Henly and Rachel Barg took on the comedy team of Clorinda and Tisbe with
such delightful absurdity that they threatened to steal the show at every
turn. Indeed, stealing the show - and the prince - seemed to be their </span><i style="font-size: 14pt;">raison
d'etre</i><span style="font-size: 14pt;">. Once again comic timing and vocal agility provided the backbone of
these two gloriously daffy sisters.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Rossini's
score is, like all great bel canto comedies, deceptive. On the surface we see
and hear music of such delightful charm, bubbling away like freshly poured
champagne, but the dirty little secret is: it's hard. Really hard. With
time and key signature changes, music that shifts from legato to staccato,
melodies that begin with one instrument that flow into another, accelerandos
and ritardandos that come and go without warning . . . it's all </span><i style="font-size: 14pt;">standard</i><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> in
the work of one of music's true geniuses. Then there is the balancing of voices
against (or rather hopefully </span><i style="font-size: 14pt;">with</i><span style="font-size: 14pt;">) the orchestra, be it a solo, a duet
or an ensemble with full chorus. <br /><br />The ingredients required are many and holding
the entire thing together last night was Maestro Israel Gursky, a man who
clearly </span><i style="font-size: 14pt;">gets</i><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> Rossini's magic and knows how to transfer it from the
stage and pit directly to the audience. From the outset of the overture,
through the dazzling finale, Maestro Gursky kept the Rossinian flame lit with
just the right amount of everything: security, control were ever evident as
they must be to keep the entire thing from collapsing or becoming a train
wreck, but at the same time there was buoyancy and brightness to make it all
come alive. Indeed, it is always something of a joyous miracle to hear
all of the intricate coloratura from the singers, particularly in ensembles,
perfectly coalesced with the rapid passagework coming from the pit. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">While</span><i style="font-size: 14pt;"> La
Cenerentola</i><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> was well attended, it was not sold out, and that is a pity. I
want everyone I love to be able to see this. As it so happens, there is
one more chance, this coming Sunday afternoon. If I were you, I wouldn't
miss it for the world. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://technorati.com/faves?sub=addfavbtn&add=http://sharkonarts.blogspot.com">Add to Technorati Favorites</a></div>Sharkyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06354556120599729324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-644158760598157015.post-43043268182837576122023-07-08T06:45:00.005-04:002023-07-08T07:13:18.729-04:00OPERA MAINE’S ROCKING HORSE: A WINNER<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkoTBfjDf_oudmjR-xkX2GA0eYKGXWFuUxMzxnW1jX2vgBMG568W0F2nW7E-QHsreE0QtmGtHbtsaQbXcy_e1H754McCWB73FqvH0NlbIrxFuhRoEZgwSqAPHMBgRCHQjl0a2gkFVXk4f1jEKrertmkk-iXbfzNgEw6VBG6zN4DnAE2HBTClVyoBD8K9l5/s1093/blog1.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="666" data-original-width="1093" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkoTBfjDf_oudmjR-xkX2GA0eYKGXWFuUxMzxnW1jX2vgBMG568W0F2nW7E-QHsreE0QtmGtHbtsaQbXcy_e1H754McCWB73FqvH0NlbIrxFuhRoEZgwSqAPHMBgRCHQjl0a2gkFVXk4f1jEKrertmkk-iXbfzNgEw6VBG6zN4DnAE2HBTClVyoBD8K9l5/w358-h216/blog1.png" width="358" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I was fortunate to attend the second (and sadly final) performance of </span><i style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Rocking Horse Winner, </i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">by </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Irish composer Gareth Williams opera and Canadian
playwright/librettist Anna Chatterton. Based on the short 1926 story by D.H.
Lawrence (in turn based upon the lives of real people) </span><i style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Rocking Horse</i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">
confronts some very tough family issues like a parable or a modern take on a
medieval morality tale.</span></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Ava is a difficult woman to like, self-absorbed manner
with a hard shell, she exhibits neither patience or love (even while singing of
both) for her son, Paul, here an autistic young man of no determinate age, and
changed (necessarily) from the little boy in Lawrence’s story.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Both man and child, he senses mother’s sadness
over the family’s modest financial status, and works himself into a frenzy in
endless attempts to alleviate that sadness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The impossibility of that task is also, sensed with devastating
results.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Lawrence presented this as a type
of ghost story, the house itself a character, and defined by Ava’s misery and
Paul’s desperation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Scored for string quartet and piano, Williams’ opera alternately
drones, sparkles, soars and dances as it reaches flights of excitable fantasy
and plumets to profound depths of sadness. There are moments, (particularly for
Ava) which seem to reach back to the recitativo style of Monteverdi, only to
burst forth with the type of luminous energy we often associate with
minimalists like Philip Glass, yet remains distinct and individual. distinct. These
are but two examples of the wide range of Williams’ musical vocabulary.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That vocabulary is perfectly in tune with Chatterton’s
libretto, itself a healthy blend of styles at once poetic and declamatory.
Conductor Jackson McKinnon led the ensemble in a powerful reading of Williams’
score that hours later is still resonating in my brain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I imagine it will for a long time. I also
know I will be seeking out more of this composer’s music.</span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhweyeOiucrIz4DzP7Vg--db9mQbQzHOnh6MldNtPqpJMxx3Nsm7ISfVP6U-jK7Bm8h6kH9msNhESvdqa3HDSmKpTYMdDU6mRnZlk6lXRmeUadPPrEiqsACMsLd2D9zkfXtr57RM6f2dMsqYSLs6znTScDZuR9ztIkgu-CGzqlUf7MtuUqGgG9yfLCRZkY_/s1336/blog3.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="591" data-original-width="1336" height="142" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhweyeOiucrIz4DzP7Vg--db9mQbQzHOnh6MldNtPqpJMxx3Nsm7ISfVP6U-jK7Bm8h6kH9msNhESvdqa3HDSmKpTYMdDU6mRnZlk6lXRmeUadPPrEiqsACMsLd2D9zkfXtr57RM6f2dMsqYSLs6znTScDZuR9ztIkgu-CGzqlUf7MtuUqGgG9yfLCRZkY_/s320/blog3.png" width="320" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">As integral to the story as its pro/antagonists are Paul’s Uncle Oscar, and Bassett, Paul’s caretaker. The pair are racetrack enthusiasts, and discovering Paul’s innate ability to pick “only the winners” exploit the boy’s gift in order to increase the family fortune, as Eva sips champagne, adapting to an easier life in the house that appears to be consuming and destroying them all.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></span></div><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Christopher Akerlind’s spare set – chairs, benches,
rocking horse, etc., achieves a dream-like quality through his dramatic
lighting design, drawing us in from the moment the opera begins. As directed by
Richard Gammon, every element, movement and effect seems heightened, and
strikes a splendid balance between Paul’s sense of the world, and the world as
seen by everybody else. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: medium;">While it is easy to love Paul and loathe Ava, I felt
myself pitying this woman who, for me at least, exhibited a paralyzing
depression that kept her bound . . . stagnant, unchanging from first to last. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: medium;">As Ava, mezzo Lauren Cook sang with intensity and
managed a difficult balancing act of self-pity and ennui, that made me feel
sorry for, instead of hating, her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tenor
Houston Tyrell was handsome, affable Uncle Oscar disguising his greed and
self-interest with a smarmy sincerity and sounding splendid doing so.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was nice to have baritone Marcel Sokalski
back from last season’s <i>The Fall of the House of Usher</i>, to infuse
Bassett with perky energy, as well as provide the megaphoned horse race
analyses in the scenes at the track. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: medium;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBsGpEd-Q4b9PzYz2IgaxCmOM9onJHg5RYv6HZNrKo-JvW-Mk6ybmRr9QtYUOXlokdz-tWWMu6IeOk-VnDGTfb9P4naOPpDBuAEN6vPW5MgsMPf69_W9d4rqqgeJyhEjkJQBKZkA5BJthGF-4WgDGOZVLe2Wydnb1DopL4U2lvpMczwBx58XAqEYFdbl1N/s1082/blog4.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="535" data-original-width="1082" height="158" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBsGpEd-Q4b9PzYz2IgaxCmOM9onJHg5RYv6HZNrKo-JvW-Mk6ybmRr9QtYUOXlokdz-tWWMu6IeOk-VnDGTfb9P4naOPpDBuAEN6vPW5MgsMPf69_W9d4rqqgeJyhEjkJQBKZkA5BJthGF-4WgDGOZVLe2Wydnb1DopL4U2lvpMczwBx58XAqEYFdbl1N/s320/blog4.png" width="320" /></a></span></div><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Pride of place goes to the incandescent performance of tenor Dylon Crain’s Paul. From his “tight rope” like entrance atop the four benches to his final collapse at evening’s end, Crain made me believe in Paul, made me care for Paul and, ultimately, broke my heart as Paul. <span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Lawrence’s Paul is a little boy, but rather than a treble, Williams and Chatterton wrote the role for a tenor.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Happily, in Mr. Crain we got both; boy and man, the thrilling sound of a tenor perfectly wed to the emotions and actions of a boy.</span></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: medium;">As The House, Jamila Drecker-Waxman, Emily J. Cottam,
Taka Komagata, and Daniel Chiu observed all, propelling the tale through sound
and movement, haunted whispers, and full throated singing, frequently with an almost
dizzying use of rapidly choreographed gestures that added an appropriate zing
of the surreal and helping us steer the action from one point to the next.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiWSnJmyxJN_o7tY45DV2qYwRUm6tcEc_KiUzmk-qNq9LLTenrPKvPRyVUFqX4GtwulFR1WCTyeinH9ktmKTiC6A6pcp4wKi5bvxpI-guQaGX18qf5I0WXBDX2ojwbn5OJsL6JRE-k2co-5jBk9E5TYKq-HBKhNFpRDRMA4W7u8aOGGC4ia_xwxBt1yK1r/s917/blog5.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="507" data-original-width="917" height="177" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiWSnJmyxJN_o7tY45DV2qYwRUm6tcEc_KiUzmk-qNq9LLTenrPKvPRyVUFqX4GtwulFR1WCTyeinH9ktmKTiC6A6pcp4wKi5bvxpI-guQaGX18qf5I0WXBDX2ojwbn5OJsL6JRE-k2co-5jBk9E5TYKq-HBKhNFpRDRMA4W7u8aOGGC4ia_xwxBt1yK1r/s320/blog5.png" width="320" /></span></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Following tonight's performance, Opera Maine’s Artistic
Director Dona D. Vaughn hosted a <i>talk back</i> featuring Shilo Goodue from
the Autism Society of Maine, Dramaturg M. Calien Lewis, and tenors Houston
Tyrrell and Dylon Crain, in a discussion as well as questions and answers from
the audience.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I’m proud of Dona D. Vaughn and my home team not just
for the outstanding artistic work they provide year-after-year, but also their ongoing
effort of tying in the complexity and diversity of life into the performing arts,
and exploring what that means to each of us. </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://technorati.com/faves?sub=addfavbtn&add=http://sharkonarts.blogspot.com">Add to Technorati Favorites</a></div>Sharkyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06354556120599729324noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-644158760598157015.post-64017628992736611192023-05-16T16:50:00.000-04:002023-05-16T16:50:14.528-04:00BENJAMIN BRITTEN: THE HIDDEN HEART - A LOVE STORY IN THREE PARTS<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB0PfvxNZp8vtKH352JblkHiiUP240oIWTaly38_cQS0nyw7AY3S9pyjy4vTMVgoGRzzHk2mBKPEV-Rgo_xbzAnrADgGGm9mETbz0SlGOiCy5X2yYqHNQIrtQVhxn0GdmPpffxkY-PzX6MSIK2nU8U1YkRfBBZV5I4GWFS64Dn0PsVfi9RWZpT7coGlQ/s894/cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="878" data-original-width="894" height="314" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB0PfvxNZp8vtKH352JblkHiiUP240oIWTaly38_cQS0nyw7AY3S9pyjy4vTMVgoGRzzHk2mBKPEV-Rgo_xbzAnrADgGGm9mETbz0SlGOiCy5X2yYqHNQIrtQVhxn0GdmPpffxkY-PzX6MSIK2nU8U1YkRfBBZV5I4GWFS64Dn0PsVfi9RWZpT7coGlQ/s320/cover.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p><span style="font-size: medium;">I've just watched, remarkably for the first time, Teresa Griffith's remarkable 2001 documentary Benjamin Britten: <i>The Hidden Heart - A Love Story In Three Parts</i>. I'm fairly wrecked by this beautiful film which is, as the title implies. told in three acts: I - <i>Peter Grimes; </i>II - <i>War Requiem; </i>and III - <i>Death in Venice.</i> </span></p><div class="Ar Au Ao" id=":656"><div aria-controls=":67a" aria-label="Message Body" aria-multiline="true" aria-owns=":67a" class="Am Al editable LW-avf tS-tW tS-tY" g_editable="true" hidefocus="true" id=":652" role="textbox" spellcheck="false" style="direction: ltr; min-height: 376px;" tabindex="1"><div><span style="font-size: medium;">Each act concentrates on the creative process, public and critical opinion, and the lifelong love between the composer and Peter Pears. As much as I've read and known - or thought I knew - this pair, insight from beloved friends, family, artistic contemporaries and others bring more into focus the dynamics of their relationship, the dependence upon one another. Most surprising for me was that I'd always viewed Britten as the stronger one being the "creator" of so many works, but it appears now it was Peter who was (as he is referred to several times) "the rock." </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">For lovers of Britten's work, the detail behind the creation of these three fairly career defining roles is nothing short of glorious. Indeed, I felt giddy as Grimes was getting ready to go on to reopen the Sadler Wells, after the war, when the general consensus was the theatre should reopen with something more <i>Aida</i>-like. This was particularly true as it was Britten's first opera, and one fairly had to go back to Purcell's <i>Dido, </i>to name an important British opera.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkxVOnnwTf0T0YrVmsZlqM8gEjs5QRWzSPwGnRK_ppd1BP_m7WNTrt0iyt-85Ro3nPQcjA8TKG2Ph8ah229PNIDWksunaG059z0ZQ-rXxfuHIDoZgYx2cc8QIstpQQYKfJEltJq6OtYV3Qs7wNC0LJCBGvhYbYf97_g7f-OlZfhLskC3iuON438rXASQ/s720/peter%20grimes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="404" data-original-width="720" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkxVOnnwTf0T0YrVmsZlqM8gEjs5QRWzSPwGnRK_ppd1BP_m7WNTrt0iyt-85Ro3nPQcjA8TKG2Ph8ah229PNIDWksunaG059z0ZQ-rXxfuHIDoZgYx2cc8QIstpQQYKfJEltJq6OtYV3Qs7wNC0LJCBGvhYbYf97_g7f-OlZfhLskC3iuON438rXASQ/s320/peter%20grimes.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><i>War Requiem </i>features letters and interviews with Galina Vishnevskaya and Mstislav Rostropovich after Britten had written the part specifically for her, but the Soviets forbade her to take part. It was especially revealing as Vishnevskaya was scheduled for a run of <i>Aida </i>at Covent Garden and then go straight to Coventry for rehearsals and the world premiere. The Soviets called her back saying that they would not permit a Soviet woman to stand beside a German in an antiwar statement. The interviews with Heather Harper who auditioned and replaced Galina is very touching.</span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdaIrzGAToztGY7IJvzd6rwjA-_4PfMmNCroX90JE6KCzAr71pHIvJx-C2rVuY4lDtsrnKGfe5UBeQ57Y5Kwnn8QZwyWDOeBYldB-16mTO7abcv6dOSy1etLWOsgfbUpwxrbzbY9h1FHfaqJkyGdvypos8-eiL3tGaWYViHUS5ec7YNYkmLpJjPl9Z4w/s616/slava%20galina.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="355" data-original-width="616" height="184" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdaIrzGAToztGY7IJvzd6rwjA-_4PfMmNCroX90JE6KCzAr71pHIvJx-C2rVuY4lDtsrnKGfe5UBeQ57Y5Kwnn8QZwyWDOeBYldB-16mTO7abcv6dOSy1etLWOsgfbUpwxrbzbY9h1FHfaqJkyGdvypos8-eiL3tGaWYViHUS5ec7YNYkmLpJjPl9Z4w/s320/slava%20galina.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Death in Venice </i>deals with Britten coming to terms with his own mortality, his frailness and identifying as Aschenbach in nearly every way. It got a little uncomfortable in its honesty, but also pulls no punches as to the complexities of our human selves. I'd never thought of it before, but there is some extra fascination in that in writing the role for Peter, he was having his lover portray him in his final opera. Fascinating.</span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYxCTgvFIP-XRhDDDs8lyFlmbSxHlCDI0YMyZrYA6cWrYSsBtmMvLqpoz1FOnRmr9VwmMvvab-9mNMk6krblka3qyEFxHCsrfo2LYHW8Ivwo7aei5HuqPlVHruIZP2YGnCEScBp9Zb5qzaiYibk4JRLoeizwTNGzFhLyhjEfmngFA6rIU3_OZEeiSs9A/s1200/death2.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="934" data-original-width="1200" height="249" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYxCTgvFIP-XRhDDDs8lyFlmbSxHlCDI0YMyZrYA6cWrYSsBtmMvLqpoz1FOnRmr9VwmMvvab-9mNMk6krblka3qyEFxHCsrfo2LYHW8Ivwo7aei5HuqPlVHruIZP2YGnCEScBp9Zb5qzaiYibk4JRLoeizwTNGzFhLyhjEfmngFA6rIU3_OZEeiSs9A/s320/death2.png" width="320" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;">The archival footage of rehearsals, performances, the seaside and just living all add depth to this wonderful love story, but it is the final two letters - Ben to Peter as he was too ill to travel to New York for Peter's Met debut in <i>Death in Venice</i>, and Peter's response to Ben that absolutely destroyed me. </span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0sx63kEZZttooD4xihXYLODal_59ueytvdHgBJ-DxzZI6En-ArkkMenrezGl_arMUAS6lIxh3_fB5cJUmP4mkW3IVxY7rhXDNwWm92Xph489JYOY1I9smVTjp23RN-TJeu1VmyxekF3SlpYrSwT4-K3BSQd7wdN9TC44sSwZDBrWlJSKseowSRQ_WeQ/s556/Britten-and-Pears-during-WW2-372bf81.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="505" data-original-width="556" height="291" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0sx63kEZZttooD4xihXYLODal_59ueytvdHgBJ-DxzZI6En-ArkkMenrezGl_arMUAS6lIxh3_fB5cJUmP4mkW3IVxY7rhXDNwWm92Xph489JYOY1I9smVTjp23RN-TJeu1VmyxekF3SlpYrSwT4-K3BSQd7wdN9TC44sSwZDBrWlJSKseowSRQ_WeQ/s320/Britten-and-Pears-during-WW2-372bf81.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">This is simply top drawer filmmaking about one of the 20th century's greatest composers and I can't recommend it highly enough. </span></div></div></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://technorati.com/faves?sub=addfavbtn&add=http://sharkonarts.blogspot.com">Add to Technorati Favorites</a></div>Sharkyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06354556120599729324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-644158760598157015.post-61879608639473885312023-04-25T01:18:00.006-04:002023-04-25T01:20:28.076-04:00THE WONDER: Sebastian Lelio's Film Is Aptly Named<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcylImrov8Yb5__HnHnwXkwQB9Ux0BuU9SB4UcUXc4NcqXgOLq3dgXP_INcHB1B6GtCwuKxni1OpLZlA59UxEleC2S_5ZBepSgPrYWEeJlTFKDsCCyIgiGONbtkWUqlsri8BRFVJOnYIMw5EK67I6HbAh6I5rkmXkjqz4GU3IdHJeSIWrawxGANlocRg/s3039/WONDER_Unit_05830RC.webp" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2026" data-original-width="3039" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcylImrov8Yb5__HnHnwXkwQB9Ux0BuU9SB4UcUXc4NcqXgOLq3dgXP_INcHB1B6GtCwuKxni1OpLZlA59UxEleC2S_5ZBepSgPrYWEeJlTFKDsCCyIgiGONbtkWUqlsri8BRFVJOnYIMw5EK67I6HbAh6I5rkmXkjqz4GU3IdHJeSIWrawxGANlocRg/s320/WONDER_Unit_05830RC.webp" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">I always say a movie cannot be compared to the novel it was based on and that is a GOOD thing. Many complain, but the reality is the two things are, and must be, entirely different entities. It is literally impossible for them to be otherwise. It is therefore that rare thing - for me - when novel and film affect me exactly the same, which is what happened for me with Emma Donoghue's novel <i>Room </i>and the film based upon it. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">I've wanted to read Donoghue's <i>The Wonder </i>for some time, but still have not gotten around to it, so when I saw the film was on Netflix I was conflicted if I should wait, or just hit "play." I opted for the latter, and having just moments ago finished watching it, believe I made the right decision. </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzS2YH1VBSZFRsSIAGf25UwqV4k9UBWNfGJ0wtezAf2WYwXGn81g06RlrmanDOwotWU6so4qUrEaGI8mT48oeYGD1G9ek-3zQjtigK8CyRWQX3tNOqu2qzQ1XNAWs_ER0sK4aaZ9vkrbFcZtoVoMEJuGx0jTEepitG4ZXFx0z72wJd839xs2ZUub37_Q/s1280/im-666505.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="1280" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzS2YH1VBSZFRsSIAGf25UwqV4k9UBWNfGJ0wtezAf2WYwXGn81g06RlrmanDOwotWU6so4qUrEaGI8mT48oeYGD1G9ek-3zQjtigK8CyRWQX3tNOqu2qzQ1XNAWs_ER0sK4aaZ9vkrbFcZtoVoMEJuGx0jTEepitG4ZXFx0z72wJd839xs2ZUub37_Q/s320/im-666505.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Sebastian Lelio, using the screenplay adapted by Donoghue herself, along with Alice Birch goes directly to the spirit of the movie in a way that is extraordinary and the result is a film that is . . . extraordinary.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Without giving anything away, Lelio uses an ingenious framing device for his movie that transcends what is true and what is not true, that, and that in its way makes irrelevant arguments between what is right and wrong. None of this comes easy, nor is it an easy film to watch.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWqQb9hU5G9-DmeP5wIjv_N-_otX3eP2ZK0lGUpC5o9mmQsOQt1MCi8-DDwfLB9071PREx9a8fBNDKUF4jY6ncL6nOhVvLiXDT4ySumRa6stOWTxCaxXkk06ePpSsqjqvjwC_5SfBUhVcIvhTvHxPGVMa1PhwYf22gpVxg-ovGdcfJ8ZDGNAZ54NnpoQ/s1000/345-1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="562" data-original-width="1000" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWqQb9hU5G9-DmeP5wIjv_N-_otX3eP2ZK0lGUpC5o9mmQsOQt1MCi8-DDwfLB9071PREx9a8fBNDKUF4jY6ncL6nOhVvLiXDT4ySumRa6stOWTxCaxXkk06ePpSsqjqvjwC_5SfBUhVcIvhTvHxPGVMa1PhwYf22gpVxg-ovGdcfJ8ZDGNAZ54NnpoQ/s320/345-1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;">A decade after the Great Irish Famine, a small village believes they have a saint on their hands in the form of a young girl who has refused to eat for four months, yet seems relatively healthy. "She is a wonder," we are told by one of the many visitors to her home to witness the miracle child themselves. Skeptical, a local committee hires an English nurse to observe young Anna to either prove or disprove the claims the faithful believe to be true. </span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">As nurse Elizabeth "Lib" Wright, Florence Pugh gives a performance of towering strength, hiding, for as long as she can, Mrs. Wright's insecurities and vulnerabilities as she tries to pit science against the kind of blind faith that helps give religion a bad name. Treated poorly, and all but shunned by the religious zealotry who are longing for a miracle, she slowly unravels the truths behind the tale of the girl who lives on nothing but "Manna from Heaven." </span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRgVkWsQKzdPc8eSTk04ctklIp-UtQnKPBiC9DUIGWNRDEW_YXCKMp4xaPKfDkEt6UYkye3fF3hLC-xSVwxzw5DGQeWY4HBsXbWTqco1OMeUE4ndJm-bJttXsnBfoPWrsDawoz-NNQChVFW0Q1ZdQehpYRwj97v5cUUzDUpySKRtYNnVgKLQnZppjyog/s1200/wonder-unit-04458rc.webp" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1200" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRgVkWsQKzdPc8eSTk04ctklIp-UtQnKPBiC9DUIGWNRDEW_YXCKMp4xaPKfDkEt6UYkye3fF3hLC-xSVwxzw5DGQeWY4HBsXbWTqco1OMeUE4ndJm-bJttXsnBfoPWrsDawoz-NNQChVFW0Q1ZdQehpYRwj97v5cUUzDUpySKRtYNnVgKLQnZppjyog/s320/wonder-unit-04458rc.webp" width="320" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;">In an equally impressive performance, Kila Lord Cassidy imbues in Anna a sense of purity that seems both other wordly wise, yet frustrating in her simplicity and religious fervor. She is constantly praying, speaking of heaven and hell and the precious blood of Jesus. But her earnestness and belief strikes something in the skeptical nurse. At this I felt there was more than a faint similarity between Donoghue's story and John Pielmeier's 1979 play <i>Agnes of God</i>, though the stories themselves have little in common. </span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">While the story is centered on the relationship between nurse and patient - observer and observee, this is a large ensemble piece creating Anna's family and community, and without singling any of them out here, there is not a weak performance among them.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP0H6pgGXUdUo9pydV54fxdz7vg-gbFmwOsJCxY1-kzAB-nCSa0EECltydGjfJDMHz_j_AzL5NaVxOyGvwcGCVC0Z1fUOiYIiItisE07xknktJR1eXhGn-OxIMszCrmFBCq-XoTmlY_ij4Li1GMwj4ny5d9PNeshIvJ31LTe62PesS7Z0PDP8owP1EZg/s3600/2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2400" data-original-width="3600" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP0H6pgGXUdUo9pydV54fxdz7vg-gbFmwOsJCxY1-kzAB-nCSa0EECltydGjfJDMHz_j_AzL5NaVxOyGvwcGCVC0Z1fUOiYIiItisE07xknktJR1eXhGn-OxIMszCrmFBCq-XoTmlY_ij4Li1GMwj4ny5d9PNeshIvJ31LTe62PesS7Z0PDP8owP1EZg/s320/2.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br />Lelio's direction, is always exquisite and often remarkable, in the way his cameras seem to capture lighting, color and halo effects in a scene that seem almost inspired by the paintings of Rembrandt or other of the Dutch Masters. Everything is perfectly placed, nothing appears to be random or extraneous . . . all essential, visual elements serving to point up the story in a most revealing manner. </span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">The score by Matthew Herbert is perfect an aural match highlighting everything we see or think we see. (in 2010 Herbert famously shocked the music world with his "recomposition" of the Mathler 10th for Deutsche Grammophon). <i>The Wonder </i>serves not only for the title of this film, it's also an apt description of Lelio's work.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOqlRPSda3YaPCXvmjp_WW0xYbKVuJFRogzlqC3waA9-fE6kgQ_XrSErM2LRLV0pLzInvevoDjZ7acJMQVkTi_CUN4-xyIrVJFUEtRfw7qEG_oBZJ5u2vVwO1JbahkcPuk_OccZi4zr8RZvPrVBqd0xRXwwWOhXEDC76nRQfVbJ1y7oZtdEnN8jgw_Zg/s3600/2123.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2400" data-original-width="3600" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOqlRPSda3YaPCXvmjp_WW0xYbKVuJFRogzlqC3waA9-fE6kgQ_XrSErM2LRLV0pLzInvevoDjZ7acJMQVkTi_CUN4-xyIrVJFUEtRfw7qEG_oBZJ5u2vVwO1JbahkcPuk_OccZi4zr8RZvPrVBqd0xRXwwWOhXEDC76nRQfVbJ1y7oZtdEnN8jgw_Zg/s320/2123.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p></p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://technorati.com/faves?sub=addfavbtn&add=http://sharkonarts.blogspot.com">Add to Technorati Favorites</a></div>Sharkyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06354556120599729324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-644158760598157015.post-44156870496798328432023-04-10T18:16:00.008-04:002024-03-03T21:17:41.981-05:00Terence Davies' Benediction<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih8jjsnoBIbQfMJWG5HtFb3hs0KhoZEwIZmB52EWHuELeaoPxDJoTuLnFcUbC_vVQ3qvhYtMTiQpWeA4AAAyTLtTD5QWDooamM-kkjQEKnX7scRXT6VmciSAL8nIDKLEaYlstFlgMwhRsFvbYTdGN0lB9QuwDiQ7wac5SGgPlPInwGt30PLvLl_C3NJg/s1920/04-10-2023%20benediction.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1920" data-original-width="1296" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih8jjsnoBIbQfMJWG5HtFb3hs0KhoZEwIZmB52EWHuELeaoPxDJoTuLnFcUbC_vVQ3qvhYtMTiQpWeA4AAAyTLtTD5QWDooamM-kkjQEKnX7scRXT6VmciSAL8nIDKLEaYlstFlgMwhRsFvbYTdGN0lB9QuwDiQ7wac5SGgPlPInwGt30PLvLl_C3NJg/s320/04-10-2023%20benediction.jpg" width="216" /></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;">Taking a break Holy Saturday from my <i>Parsifal </i>and <i>Matthäus-Passion </i>fest, I opted for a movie I've been putting off for some time: Terence Davies' <i>Benediction</i>. Typical of Davies' work, Benediction is complex, richly poetic and filled with symbolism that penetrates on many levels. Davies' has created my favorite kind of film: a challenge. </span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span>It is not an easy film to love, or to sit through. </span><span> Many have not been able to do either of those.</span></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Based on the adult life of British War Poet, Siegfried Sassoon, Davies weaves myriad elements of powerful imagery, superb acting, characters who endear, amuse, entertain, and repulse, some of them simultaneously, others possessing perhaps only one of those qualities. Chief among them is the subject himself, Sassoon who deftly displays them all. As Sassoon, we are treated to perhaps Jack Lowden's finest performance to date. Peter Capaldi is also excellent as the poet in his later years. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">I believe the opening minutes of <i>Benediction </i>to be among the most powerful, wrenching anti-war statements committed to film. In a voiceover, we hear the letter Sassoon wrote to the authorities, fully prepared to be court martialed and possibly face the firing squad, as we are barraged by an assault of images of young soldiers fighting, mangled, being blown up, unrelievedly depicting the horrors and brutality of war. I was so awestruck and affected by this brief sequence, I had to copy Sassoon's words, and share them here.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>"I am writing you this private letter with the greatest possible regret. I must inform you, that it is my intention to refuse to perform any further military duties. I am doing this as a protest against the policy of the government in prolonging the war by failing to state their conditions for peace. I have written a statement of my reasons, of which I enclose a copy.</i></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>I am making this statement as an act of willful defiance of military authority, because I believe that the war is being deliberately prolonged by those who have the power to end it. I am a soldier, convinced that I am acting on behalf of soldiers. I believe that the war upon which I entered as a war of defense and liberation, has now become a war of aggression and conquest. I believe that the purpose for which I and my fellow soldiers entered upon this war, should have been made so clearly stated as to have made it impossible to change them, and that had this been done the objects that actuated us would now be attainable by negotiation. I have seen and endured the sufferings of the troops, and I can no longer be a party to prolong the sufferings for ends, which I believe to be evil and unjust. I am not protesting against the conduct of the war, but against the political errors and insincerities for which the fighting men are being sacrificed. On behalf of those who are suffering now I make this protest against the deception, which is being practised upon them. Also, I believe it may help to destroy the callous complacency with which the majority of those at home, regard the continuance of agonies, which they do not share, and which they have not enough imagination to realize."</i></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">In addition to Sassoon's measured words he eloquently expresses the literal banalities of war, which had me examining its meaning in terms both poetic and factual. It's a masterful thing Davies has done here in so short a period of time on film. Having made this point early on, the filmmaker has this effect pop up again, less frequently, but underlining its potency. It is, ultimately, I believe, the sole reason for this film's being, even when the narrative appears to have been abandoned, which occurs about midway through. It has not. More on that later.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Due to the intervention of Robbie, a prominent family friend (Simon Russel Beale), Sassoon never gets that day in court, and instead is whisked off to Scotland to be rehabilitated at a military hospital. He's treated brusquely by the commander (a nice cameo from Julian Sands), with great compassion by his therapist, (a wonderful turn by Ben Daniels), and with awe by fellow soldier and the young poet, Wilfred Owen (a gloriously moving portrayal by Matthew Tennyson). Though Owen reveres the older soldier, Sassoon, who initially looked down on him, realizes who the better poet is, and quite possibly, the better man. Davies points up the undeniable attraction between the pair through scenes of controlled restraint offering subdued elegance as romance. That restraint and elegance becomes unbearable poignancy when Owen is called back to the front and the two must part. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbP6GOXlBMEzYZJktJZxIzGKUuXJYndA370k2evEX8HcB4SCJrW6Bx3F7-0X0hd8mKQvvYQNwrNl07g3aFBwMJSMe6gIgZvCpWtgBmATxsEidHwvNd0m0sDAwfimwT1qKNg__rg46ldzyXnNWidX6pp8vcRD2fOz0tvAnf80NgV6LfKGszqxtL4RS2ZA/s2048/image-asset.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="858" data-original-width="2048" height="134" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbP6GOXlBMEzYZJktJZxIzGKUuXJYndA370k2evEX8HcB4SCJrW6Bx3F7-0X0hd8mKQvvYQNwrNl07g3aFBwMJSMe6gIgZvCpWtgBmATxsEidHwvNd0m0sDAwfimwT1qKNg__rg46ldzyXnNWidX6pp8vcRD2fOz0tvAnf80NgV6LfKGszqxtL4RS2ZA/s320/image-asset.jpeg" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><span> </span><span>All of this morphs into what almost feels like another movie, and the war story seems (as hinted above) abandoned. In this regard, I could not help but see </span><i>Benediction </i><span>in terms of a symphony, this center section acting as its scherzo. </span></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Like a scherzo, humor punctuates this movement; broad, witty, uncomfortable. We witness the lives of prominent homosexual men living in a sort of secretive flamboyance, ever aware of the risks and limits of what will be tolerated and what could get them imprisoned . . . or killed. We also get glimpses of celebrity, even Edith Sitwell in <i>Facade</i> with music by William Walton. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">I admit some difficulty with this section. I wasn't particularly liking it - or any of the characters, coming as it did on the heels of all that preceded it, and the melancholic mood I was enjoying. At first I thought myself uncomfortable with those characters, snide and quick to bitch, and on the surface at least seemingly nothing but petty. I quickly realized that flamboyance was, at least in part, worn as armor, shielding . . . defending themselves from a world that would not allow them to be who they truly were. Also, I'd grown to care for Sassoon's character so much, that to see him, squirming, desperate, and almost masochistically settling for companionship and love, was unsettling in the extreme. Again, Davies peels away the layers of a character to reveal so many facets it's alarming to realize how many levels there are to each of us. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">The scherzo segues perfectly into the third movement of Davies' symphony, with the awkward, platonic courtship and marriage of Sassoon and his bride Hester Gatty (Kate Phillips, then later, Gemma Jones), each knowing what they are getting into, but going ahead anyway. Perhaps they were filled with the same hope I was that there could be a happy end to all of this. Life doesn't work that way though, does it? </span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje66Bc5OFvlPQR4lV1GZRPUW0Z6ITS5UdFxKLmPP4bWrOnHMFUiDFfuNhAoTkPSWDXZtP4vybNr7GPX3P9LiisdLrKJSvgtLZBqjgJ-oHrQin89oUD2n5AjbVRZNirMdE-Z2MNPZEtXFTGhrafQvf8T0uLqNbc0gPVwPTu33AXgJ87V66LM6YEX0W6hA/s1200/5694.webp" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1200" height="192" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje66Bc5OFvlPQR4lV1GZRPUW0Z6ITS5UdFxKLmPP4bWrOnHMFUiDFfuNhAoTkPSWDXZtP4vybNr7GPX3P9LiisdLrKJSvgtLZBqjgJ-oHrQin89oUD2n5AjbVRZNirMdE-Z2MNPZEtXFTGhrafQvf8T0uLqNbc0gPVwPTu33AXgJ87V66LM6YEX0W6hA/s320/5694.webp" width="320" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;">Though essentially linear, Davies transcends timely narratives weaving together the young, melancholic Sassoon, with the bitter old version of himself, and in at least one sequence we see the two merge. The effect is beautiful. It is also arresting and haunting. </span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Benediction'</i>s final movement ties all of its many themes together, again, through the use of war. We get the bitter humor, the poignancy, the anger, the betrayal, the longing and ultimately the acceptance, but we don't arrive there easily. Like a great composer, Davies has saved the best and most powerful moment for the end of this amazing symphonic film, and I, for one, could not have been more quietly devastated by it. I sense we humans will never not be at war for very long; history has shown it is not in our nature, and that war shapes everything around us and always has. Benediction makes that abundantly clear.</span></p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://technorati.com/faves?sub=addfavbtn&add=http://sharkonarts.blogspot.com">Add to Technorati Favorites</a></div>Sharkyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06354556120599729324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-644158760598157015.post-28513973602217129122023-04-01T01:51:00.004-04:002023-04-01T01:55:06.809-04:00DISCOVERY OF NEW STRAUSS OPERA DECLARED "DELICIOUS"<p> <span style="font-size: medium;">FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">J.P. Donnegan</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">International Musicologist Review Daily</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">1 April 2023</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">For over a week the hushed air of top secrecy has surrounded the authentication process following the discovery of an opera previously alleged to have been composed by the great German composer Richard Strauss. The opera, <i>Carpaccio, </i>a romantic comedy, has long thought to have been destroyed by the composer sometime in the 1940’s. There has been considerable debate among leading musicologists, some of who alleged the work had not been written by Strauss at all, while others declaring no such work ever existed.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Musicologists Dreyfus Bertrand and Joan Kaye Hershey-Calliope headed an international team summoned to verify and authenticate the work, the autograph of which was discovered just over a year ago in the basement of the Internationale Jugendbibliothek München. Following more than a year of extensive examination, the process is now complete and the official announcement is this indeed is the work of Richard Strauss.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">The opera is in a single act, with a prologue. Set in Venice, <i>Carpaccio </i>centers around Marie Therese Ariadnedaphnebella (aka Madeline), widow of a wealthy Baron and Venetian restaurateur, and her quest to answer the eternal question: which element of a dinner engagement is the most important; the appetizer/cocktail hour, or the dinner proper? Madeline’s dilemma is made all the more deliciously difficult by two rival suitors, each hoping to gain her hand in marriage. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">First, is Hermann Bacchus, a local purveyor of international wines and cheeses, world renowned for his dazzling miniature creations combining exotic meats, seafood and vegetables either encased in pastries or enrobed in cheeses, pierced through their hearts and fastened together by means of miniature swords bearing his family crest festooned upon the fanciest of ribbon flourishes. His most dazzling creation, however, is his simplest: Raw beef, sliced so thinly it’s practically diaphanous . . . . transparent, and dressed with but a drizzle of olive oil, lemon juice and a gentle sprinkling of his beloved Parma Reggiano. Such simplicity, is balked at by the servants, and houseguests, but Madeline’s eyes moisten as on a silver charger, the meat of Bacchus is thrust before her.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Madeline’s second suitor, Hans Jäger, is a handsome local whose hunting prowessis legendary. With a particular penchant for wild game he is known to be capable of killing and field dressing a wild boar in the blink of an eye and, within the hour, have it roasting upon a spit, its fragrance wafting through the village, leaving mouths watering and eyes moistened by tears. Jäger extols the virtues of his roasts, hearty and succulent and always accompanied by soufflés of such height and delicacy they all but lift themselves from the table on invisible, fragrant clouds. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">The guests arrive for Madeline's dinner party, a celebration of epic proportions, the highlight of which will be her announcement of her decision as to which element of the dinner is most important . . . and revealing the man she will wed. Her guests are entranced as each hero sings his own praises. In an elaborate coupe de theatre specifically described in Hofmannsthal's libretto, a panel at the rear of the stage rises, to reveal a working kitchen, with dozens of cooks, working at a dizzying pace, frantically putting together the meal.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">As ever with Strauss and Hofmannsthal, complications arise with the unexpected arrival of a young pastry chef from France; the impossibly handsome Renè Mignon. Mignon,shutters himself behind a screen where rapidly the audience alone can see as he whips egg whites into a frenzy, grinds almonds into flour, assembles butter, sugar, adding shavings from enormous blocks of 86 percent cacao nibs slowly simmering in cream, before adding a final touch of extravagance; a wild and strangely bitter orange liqueur. Quel mysterieux! With the deft hand of an artiste, Mignon blends all into a creation of such delicious breadth and velvety depth that when it is presented before her, Madeline is rendered incapable of preventing a certain biological response she’d hitherto rarely known. Elated, she bursts into a rapturous ode, as, mouthful after mouthful, she extols the glories of the virtuous young Mignon.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">All assemble for her decision. Madeline checks her watch and sings of the passing of time. Gazing into her mirror to adjust her coiffure, she finally turns back toward her guests to announce her choice: it is the young Monsieur Mignon, who has captured her heart, and he she shall wed. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Defeated, but not forlorn, Bacchus and Jäger, call it a day and depart for an evening at Harry’s Bar for a repast of some Bellinis and . . . Carpaccio.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Curtain.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">* * * *</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Naturally, with a discovery of such magnitude, bidding wars for the world premiere of Strauss' "new" opera had already begun with the confirmation. A drawing earlier today the publishers have announced drawing reveals the work will be a co-production between the 2024 Glyndebourne Festival and the Miami/Dade County Community Civic Light Opera Association and Gilbert and Sullivan Society.</span></p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://technorati.com/faves?sub=addfavbtn&add=http://sharkonarts.blogspot.com">Add to Technorati Favorites</a></div>Sharkyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06354556120599729324noreply@blogger.com1