BENJAMIN BRITTEN: THE HIDDEN HEART - A LOVE STORY IN THREE PARTS

I've just watched, remarkably for the first time, Teresa Griffith's remarkable 2001 documentary Benjamin Britten:  The Hidden Heart - A Love Story In Three Parts.  I'm fairly wrecked by this beautiful film which is, as the title implies. told in three acts:  I - Peter Grimes; II - War Requiem; and III - Death in Venice.  

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." 

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 Aida-like. This was particularly true as it was Britten's first opera, and one fairly had to go back to Purcell's Dido, to name an important British opera.

War Requiem 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 Aida 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.

Death in Venice 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.

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 Death in Venice, and Peter's response to Ben that absolutely destroyed me.  

This is simply top drawer filmmaking about one of the 20th century's greatest composers and I can't recommend it highly enough.  

Peter Grimes: Bayerische Staatsoper - 6 March 2022

I just finished Stefan Herheim's production of PEER GRIMES for Bayerische Staatsoper. Britten's opera is one of those that, as many times as I've seen it, I don't think I can recall ever sitting through a production that didn't work - at least on some level.  Most have actually been excellent, and I'll even stand up for the mostly deplored Doyle production for the Met that still sets tongues wagging at its mere mention (and won't be surprised if it's derided here).  Herheim's however, worked on a dozen different levels, unfolding the drama like a sort of operatic equivalent of a Wes Anderson movie (most specifically, I found myself thinking of MOONRISE KINGDOM).  

Set in an auditorium that was either in a high school, or, as I saw it, a municipal auditorium once often found in small villages.  At least, living in a fishing town in New England, that's how I saw it.  

The tragedy of Grimes was both witnessed  and acted out, by the citizens of the Borough  its participants retelling a tale at once familiar yet being told and lived anew by its participants. While much of the story took place on the auditorium floor, each time the curtains parted we found ourselves on a different level of theatre filled with spectacle, violent waves, oceans filled with fish, an ancient "budget wave" with attached boat, etc.  We seemed to be evenly split between the reality of "now," and the uncertain ritualized memory of "then."  

PETER GRIMES is one of those operas that allows a community to be made up of as many characters as there are choristers., allowing a rich individuality not frequently employed in most operas and, quite frankly, not needed in most operas.  GRIMES is a different beast.

The chorus pulled out all the stops vocally and theatrically creating a town of like-minded individuals, moralistic and superior on the surface, but cruel, petty, and ugly underneath.  

The named cast could hardly be improved upon, starting with Stuart Skelton, recognized as one of the leading interpreters of the title fisherman in the world today.  He is all the things I want in a Grimes: nervous, mildly belligerent when pushed, hard on the surface, but loving beneath it and tired of being misunderstood, never heard or seen as anything other than the ultimate outsider  . . societal outcast. His Peter is sung with bright, peeling tones, beautiful when need be, but never afraid to reveal the cracking frustration as his story moves forward.  In this production he seems mildly removed from Ellen, which I found odd and bothered me initially.  As it went on, however, I tended to see Grimes as one already gone, more apparition than living being.  This was confirmed in my eyes (and maybe mine alone) by his physical relationship to his apprentice, John.  There was more father/son in this pair than I've ever encountered before, and, indeed, in Herheim's hands John was more of a presence than I ever recall elsewhere.  The pair of them felt like ghosts, haunting the auditorium.  

Rachel Willis-Sørensen was a perfect match to Skelton's antihero.  Noble, touching, a genuinely warm and very human woman.  Her Embroidery aria seguing into her scene with Balstrude wsa lovely, but much more than that.  We could hear her own escape from a world of cruelty that she wanted to change, making the scenes between her, Peter and John feel more connected and familial.  Her final "No!" was shouted where generally it feels more like a quiet gasp.  Again,  this made her actions feel more remembered and embellished.  She appears ready willing and able to plunge to her death in the sea, but is prevented.  Very powerful image there. 

Balstrude, Auntie, Ned, Mrs. Sedley, Auntie and the Nieces were all well thought by Herheim and executed nicely by Iain Peterson, Claudia Mahnke, Brindley Sherratt, Jennifer Johnson, Lindsay Ohse, and Emily Pogorelc.

In the pit, Edward Gardner led a richly nuanced account of the score, wide of dynamics and well balanced, while coaxing a dramatic sense of foreboding, doom and hope during the famous sea interludes.

Today's prima should be available already on the BSO TV website.  I highly recommend it.  . 

Peter Grimes: The Incredible 1969 Film

It has . . . embarrassingly . . .been just shy of ten years since I watched the 1969 film of "Peter Grimes," but with all of this list discussion on the opera, I remedied that error this afternoon. Just as the last time, as it began I recalled Natalie Dessay’s introduction to the Met’s HD cinecast as with wide, wild eyes she lugubriously invited us in to experience “the sad, horrible story of Peter Grimes.”

I have always been intrigued by the physical production of this “Grimes” filmed for the BBC not in a London studio, but rather in a converted barn at Britten’s home in Snape Maltings. David Myerscough-Jones’ brilliant, realistic sets were built in London, then trucked in and assembled onto a makeshift soundstage in the barn. The tight fitting of its overly cramped stage works perfectly in creating the claustrophobic world of the burrough. The planks, catwalks and breakwater with its jagged wooden pilings . . . the sea roaring and crashing on a rear projection screen . . . all of it work in concert in something of a theatrical miracle to create this all too believable stifling microcosm.

I too often forget what a truly amazing conductor Britten - something not every composer can claim, and his now 25 year old score it’s safe to say, no one knew - or possibly ever shall - know how better to put across this amazing music better than its creator. Every nuance, every secret thing is mined in this reading making the score into a living organism, propelled by its own volition, inexorably, to a conclusion that can be imagined in no other way. From its opening notes, Britten’s invisible hand guides us over the next several hours which fly by as if in dream time.

Peter Pears at 59 was not the same singer - neither physically nor vocally, that he was at 35 when he created the role, however, like his partner, having lived with this music inside of him for a quarter century, he brings to it something unique, infuses it with a similar animalistic wildness Vickers would later bring, yet also a vulneribility, a tenderness which was never part of Vickers' Grimes - or any other role he took on. It was sometimes said, Vickers' Grimes was like a bear fighting to get out of a trap, while Pears was like a kind, gay uncle (or worse, "auntie") pouring tea. Nothing could be further from the truth . . . or more offensive. Watch him and you'll see.

Heather Harper is Ellen Orford right down to her boot laces. Theatrically, Harper is tremendous, investing Ellen with an intriguing mix of young, idealistic widow, with an old soul while.  Still in her 30's she is visually striking while as soars through Ellen’s music with a limpid beauty as though it were Mozart or Puccini, and convinces that in matters operatic, Britten is their equal.

Bryon Drake offers a stolid Balstrode with the right amount of gruffness and sensitivity, loyal to Peter, while fully aware of where this story must go.

Amidst all this bleakery, it was great fun to discover a voluptuous Elizabeth Bainbridge strutting her stuff as a most intriguing Auntie, the one outsider who knows her way in. She is simply terrific.

Aside from the magnificence of the score, the acting in this film is about as good as it ever gets in opera, and this must be attributed not only to a fine, handpicked cast, but to the direction of Joan Cross - the original Ellen Orford. This outstanding level of acting extends to every role large or small as well as to every single member of the chorus - all who create a believable, terrified and blood thirsty mob, yet who are also capable of singing with a sweet earnestness in their church scene. Their hunting down of Grimes is here, perhaps the most chilling I can recall and Brian Large’s camera work - weaving through the tight configurations of the masses magnifies this to terrifying proportions.

The chemistry throughout the cast presents the best of all possible worlds from cinema and opera, offering 100 percent believability and a naturalness of movement.from old and young alike.

Despite having studied and knowing this opera fairly intimately, countless remain the number of moments (both visually and musically) that elicited gasps from me, or caused me to shrink into the back of my couch in terror . . . or just let the tears flow: Ellen’s reappearance after the storm, holding John, as the door to the tavern bursts open, or Peter’s striking Ellen (in what appears to be a punch in the face) to name but two.

It was wonderful, too, seeing Jill Gomez, Anne Pashley and Robert Tear in supporting roles early in their careers.

The opera's penultimate scene is as absorbing, as profoundly moving as anything that exists in the operatic canon. How Britten achieved this employing such economically musical means is nearly incomprehensible and yet works as if by magic, standing both as great music and great theatre. An a cappella mad scene, punctuated only by the offstage cries of “Grimes” and a few distant fog horns . . . well, there is, for me, no more hopeless nor bleaker picture in all of opera than this.

Just shy of 60, Pears still tears into this scene like a man possessed, pouring every last ounce of himself into it. His cries of “Come home! Come home!” terrifying . . . his utterance “Turn the skies back and begin again,” cutting straight to the heart. It is, I believe, impossible not to have one's heart broken by this man, as this character, in this moment. Ms. Harper's Ellen watches on, heartbroken as Balstrode gives Peter instruction on what happens next. Often her "No!" is shouted as though she could stop it, but Harper whispers it in a near gasp, an automatic reaction at the horror of it all.  

Mr. Cross stages the final moment with a true director's insight. After Peter disappears, Ellen stands near the pilings, watching the sea, as the villagers sing on. Then she moves down the pier until she disappears, and we are eerily left with the same people the first act began with . . . without Peter, without Ellen, without John. It is chilling.

If I have one criticism (and clearly I do), it is the costumes. While they are marvelous in detail of the period and each helps identify its character, they still look a bit too . . . new and clean, as if straight from the costume department without having made (most of them) appear to have ever truly been lived in. Nonetheless, once gotten used to this fact, it's no longer even a "thing" to be concerned about as everything else more than compensates.

This is filmed opera at its very best and if you are a fan of this amazing opera and have never seen this . . . well, you should fix that immediately. The entire film is available on youtube right here:

Wes Anderson's Beautiful Moonrise Kingdom

I just finished watching Wes Anderson's Moonrise Kingdom, which is, hands down, one of the most whimsical, magical films I've encountered in many moons. An Anderson fan, I hesitated to see this when it was released as mixed reviews (which usually happens in Anderson films anyway) many discounting it as "a series of poses and postures" often singling out the "awful" acting of the two leads discouraged me. Well, I was a silly goose, and those critics, as earnest as they may have been, couldn't have been more wrong in describing this thing if they'd tried.

The leading couple, Sam (Jared Gilman) and Suzy (Kara Hayward) are a pair of emotionally challenged 12 year olds who fall in love during a performance of Britten's Noye's Fludde. I couldn't imagine either role cast better than here, nor more nuanced performances coaxed by a director who actually "gets" kids - particularly troubled ones. The story begins when Sam, a highly decorated, though not well liked cadet Sam flees the confines of Camp Ivanhoe and his Khaki Troop (think Boy Scouts of America) to run away with unpredictable and misunderstood Suzy. Their inventory for survival includes a kitten in a basket (with accompanying cans of gourmet cat food), a battery operated record player and a suitcase full of stolen library books. My kind of kids. Living on a remote island (about to be hit by the storm of the century) they can't really escape far . . . or can they? Through (several) ensuing chases, unsuccessful captures, and re-escapes the story grows exponentially, layer by layer as it introduces us to the foibles, quirks and ticks of the residents as our Island Romeo and Juliet explore their burgeoning sexuality (all tastefully within the confines of its PG-13 rating).


Speaking of Noye's Fludde, Anderson had me from the start, as any movie that bookends its opening and closing scenes with Britten's Young Person's Guide to the Orchestra, has already got plenty going for it! And Britten's music (in addition to large chunks of Noye) looms large throughout, as does that of Schubert (An die Musick), Mozart (Cosi's Soave sia il vento) Saint Saëns (Carnival of the Animals) and Hank Williams. So, too, does the score by composer Alexandre Desplat who pays tribute to Britten (remarkably directly in the closing credits, where his own "Guide to the Orchestra" is narrated by the film's hero). Rarely does one find film music these days that is this integrally bound to the storytelling that it's virtually impossible to imagine the story without it.

Anderson sets his tale circa 1965 on the fictional New England island of New Penzance. The nod to Gilbert and Sullivan is here more dramatic than musical, but nonetheless unmistakable. The parallels between Moonrise's young Sam, and Pirates' Frederic are plentiful. While entirely original, Moonrise nonetheless feels punctuated throughout as it evokes gauze-covered memories of other things. It was constantly conjuring fleeting instances causing my mind to race to discover connections between it and Romeo and Juliet, The Tempest, The Keystone Cops, Lord of the Flies, and more. Robert D. Yeoman's remarkably nuanced cinematography makes every frame look like a page from an old family photo album, capturing summer camp, skinned knees and emotional secrets barely covered through veils of thin smiles. Moonrise Kingdom, indeed.

Though Sam and Suzy are the heart of the film, Moonrise is truly an ensemble piece and Anderson is able to evoke marvelous, sometimes larger than life, performances from an inspired cast of Bruce Willis, Edward Norton, Bill Murray, Frances McDormand, Tilda Swinton, Jason Schwartzman, Harvey Keitel and Bob Baliban (who serves as narrator/Greek Chorus), and all of whom create the believable, quirky, characters who populate this magical island town.

In my estimation critics who found this "stifling" simply are never going to like films made by the likes of Mr. Anderson, directors who essentially eschew The Hollywood Way, as they put out beautiful, boutique films for small audiences willing (or wishing) to escape into the fantastic worlds they've created for us. For those not willing to do so, I suppose these films really can be, as one critic described Moonrise "a long, dull exercise in alternative comedy." For the rest of us . . . it's a dream.