BLASPHEMY: SPIELBERG'S WEST SIDE STORY IS BETTER!

A couple of years ago, I finally broke down, gave in, call it what you will, and watched Stephen Spielberg's 2021 treatment of the beloved musical West Side Story.  While I had a few issues with it (minor ones) I'm incurred the wrath of millions of people . . . okay, tens of people by saying "This is actually a better movie than the 1961 classic."  <insert mic drop here>  

Having said that, I will admit I completely pushed the original film out of my mind before watching it.  Completely.  Entirely.  I approached this new "version" as an entirely separate beast, which, others may dispute, indeed, several have argued with me on this, but that's exactly what it is. 

Tony Kushner's new script treatment gives the characters plausibility, depth and motivation for ther actions that move the familiar Romeo and Juliet story along to its tragic conclusion.

Visually, the film is stunning delivering both eye-popping color and amazingly muted tones transporting us to the era of the story.  Two examples:  The Dance which sets up the romance between Tony and Maria.  I couldn't help but think of the hyperrealism and color schemes in David Lynch's Wild at Heart as well as Twin Peaks. Then,there was the muted greenish hues of Maria and Tony on the Subway, which brought a bit of genuine gravity to the young lovers as they're about to move into the darkness of Tony's backstory.  Both scenes, along with America and much more - flowed with an organic kind of storytelling I found both hypnotic and wildly exciting.

Did I miss Jerome Robbins iconic choreography?  Nope.  The dance here (which seems to incorporate or approximate Robbins' to some degrees) was perfect for this story.  Again, it's a different movie . . . comparisons need not be made.  At least not by me.

The singing was, overall, far better than what was heard in the snippets and clips during the promotions and all of the film's trailers.  Ansel Elgor has a real voice and it blooms  - beautifully - at the top of his range. I was mildly disappointed by his throwing away of certain phrases, usually heard at the beginnings of his songs. This was, for a voice fanatic, a bit of an oversight that should have been caught by someone during the coaching of the role.  Did it ruin anything for me? Nah, and it's a quibble likely to be missed by the general public, and the kid, when it mattered, could pull off his songs winningly.

Rachel Zegler also fared better than the clips I heard beforehand, though at the top of the range she does pull some, albeit very mild, Christina Aguilera-type breathiness and an unnecessary (and unwritten) melisma or two. But, she's scrappy, lovely and tragic and that's what matters most here, isn't it? 

I found the characters of Riff, Anita, Bernardo, Chino all vivid and believable . . . and well performed.  I have to say, I was bowled over by original cast member, Rita Moreno now in the new role of Valentina.  It was a stroke of genius, and Moreno's performance which began with a wisp of heart warming nostalgia, grew into something emotionally shattering. 

There is so much more to comment on, but never enough time. I plan on rewatching this one in the future and I'm certain there will be even more  that I've thught about by then. But, the chief take away for me remains: I was one hundred percent surprised by just how moved I was by Spielberg's skill and efforts to retain, respect, and ultimately recreate a legend. Aside Just about everything about this movie feels right.  

Andrew Scott is Vanya. and Alexander, and Sonia, and Michael, and . . .

 

Last night I stayed up to watch the National Theatre's production of Simon Stephen's one-man adaptation of Anton Chekhov's UNCLE VANYA . . .  VANYA, starring the work's co-creator, Andrew Scott.  As a lover of Chekhov's play, and a major fan of Andrew Scott, I've wanted to see this for over a year now, despite its wildly mixed reviews. VANYA appears to be one of those polarizing pieces is loved or loathed . . . or if not loathed, not loved. Well, put me in the love camp - so much so that I watched it all over again this morning.   

Mr. Scott takes on all eight of Chekhov's characters (whose names here are Anglicized) and therein lies the rub, prompting the NY Times' Houman Barekat  to deliver the harshest review titled  Andrew Scott Plays Every Part in ‘Vanya.’ Why?"  Barekat places equal blame on the play's failure with playwright and actor. Whilst praising Scott's challenge as "an impressive feat" he, in the same breath writes:

"Scott flits between the various parts by nimbly modulating his voice and bearing  . . . a certain amount of realism is sacrificed — to help orientate the audience, the characters’ names are mentioned more frequently than is natural, and the female characters occasionally come off a bit campy"

He goes on to describe Scott's performance as "shallow" complaining of coy half smirks and knowing glances to the audience that robs the play of pathos. Further that Scott is the possessor of 

a certain glassy inscrutability that suggests he’s a little too steeped in wry self-awareness to comfortably inhabit any other mode . . . this is Chekhov after all — the best he can serve up is an ironic facsimile of wistfulness. What artistic benefit is derived from having a single actor play all the parts? . . . what was the point?  . . . the play is not well served . . . its pathos diluted. Constraint for its own sake is self-indulgence, and there’s a fine line between a conceit and a mere gimmick

So, armed with that, I plunged headfirst into Vanya . . . and there was not only not a single moment of regret in so doing, but a sense of theatrical magic - even on the screen - that I last saw this past winter in the same company's Frankenstein (with Benedict Cumberbatch and Jonny Lee Miller). While Mr. Barekat rants about a lack of pathos, I found the play - and Mr. Scott's portrayals - filled with that quality. What made it even more - dare I say "pathotic" (that's not going to make into the OED!) was precisely the bits complained about: the knowing glances, the half smirks, and so on, because they left me entirely unprepared for the inevitable eruptions of the emotional volcano of ennui and resentment and and from Chekhov's original tragicomedy and fully inhabited in Mr. Stephens' brilliant adaptation.  

Despite its title, this is not Chekhov's Uncle Vanya, (which Chekhov himself adapted from his earlier play, The Wood Demon), but an adaptation . . . an entirely new work and NOT merely a translation.  I think the critics that compare it unfavorably to Chekhov were being perhaps a bit obtuse and damning the play for not being . . . well, Chekhov.  In wanting and waiting for Chekhov they missed the point of this play entirely. Of course I could be wrong, but . . . so could they. 

The writing - and the direction by Sam Yates - and the set by Rosanna Vize - , a working semi-kitchen, stairs and doors to nowhere, a player piano (which plays an important part) some plastic chairs, a half bottle of Smirnoff - provide Scott with an emotional playground and allows for all eight characters to spring to life - even if once or twice it can't be helped you forget which character is talking or to whom. Pay attention though and they all have their ticks and unique speaking voices, accents and styles.  It is one of those all too rare, bravura solo performances - a true tour de force with an emotional range that ranges from the lighthearted to moments of searing intensity, rage, pain and hopelessness. And tears. Mr. Scott, more than once, almost seems to cross the line between acting and being - actor and character - and successfully walking that dangerous edge in the world of theatre, is one of the most exhilarating, breathtaking things you can give to an audience.  And that audience - including this homeviewer  - goes mad with admiration and adoration before a clearly moved performer. 

It's not surprising that Andrew Scott was nominated along Joseph Fiennes, James Norton, and David Tennant for this years' Olivier Award (which went to Mark Gatiss' portrayal of John Gielgud). 

Vanya comes to New York this Spring where it will play at the Lucille Lortel Theatre, and anyone in range of Manhattan should try to go.  It's really that good. 

Pelleas Goes Broadway!

While there have been successful opera productions on the Great White Way . . . The Saint of Bleecker Street, La Boheme, Porgy and Bess, etc., no one to date has taken the challenge of producing Debussy's mercurial family drama, "Pelleas et Melisande." Until now.

Legendary director John Doyle announced he's bringing his stripped down vision of "Pelleas" to the Ethel Barrymore in a production that features one of his trademarks: each character playing an instrument when not singing. The production features a newly pared down arrangement of Debussy's score arranged by William "March of the Falsettos" Finn.

Cast and orchestration details are as follows.

Pelleas: Jeremy Jordan on the English Horn
Melisande: Katherine McPhee on the Trombone
Golaud: Michael Cerveris on the Cello
Arkel: Kelsey Grammer on the Banjo
Yniold: Billy Porter on the Marimba
Genevieve: Cher on the Ukulele

Can't Wait!

Nathan Lane Shines in "The Nance"

I'd known little of Douglas Carter Beane's play The Nance other than its premise, so wasn't sure quite what to expect. I expected it to be funny, and it was, but what I wasn't expecting it to be was thought provoking, gut wrenching and infinitely touching.

As comic Chauncey Miles, Nathan Lane gives one of his finest performances I've yet seen from him as a character both complex and complicated, adding nuance, dimension and revealing the carefully hidden heart of this tortured, self-destructive character.

In his play with music by Glenn Kelly, Beane nearly seamlessly weaves together the secret, pre-Stonewall and dangerous world of gays of the 1930's with the end of the burlesque era resulting in a wondrous tapestry evoking a unique ethos that, despite all the positive
changes in the world made since, still resounds loudly today.


Wedged into the very heart of "The Nance" is a romance between hard bitten Chauncey and the earnest, brand-new-to-New York, Ned (a marvelous Broadway debut by Jonny Orsini) who truly appears to have just fallen off the turnip truck. Despite its predictable outcome,
the unlikely romance adds a much needed tenderness that makes the plays crusty outer layers snap and pop all the more.


As the three burlesque queens, Cadi Huffmann, Andrea Burns and Jenny Barber, give Mazeppa, Electra and Tessi Tura a run for their money, a little raunchier, a little more broken and a little more real. They're wonderful.


Lewis J. Stadlen's aging "seen it all" clown offers some masterful acting, desperately clinging to the world crumbling around him, and doing anything to prevent letting go.

Having the luxury of hindsight, Beane is able to offer up some timely, hilarious lines. A rabid Republican, despite being homosexual, Chauncey forever seizes opportunities to rage against socialism, at one point complaining about Social Security prompting one of the
characters to say, "Trust me, in 80 years no one's gonna be worrying about who's gonna pay for Social Security" or comparing Chauncey's Republicanism to "a negro joining the Klan . . . or the League of Jewish Nazi Voters."

Jack O'Brien's production is sensational, featuring John Lee Beatty's rotating stage instantly moving the scenes from the Horn and Hardart, the stage of the theatre, Chauncey and Ned's apartment, and the theatre's backstage. The set is employed brilliantly throughout, right through the final curtain.

PBS has put it up on its web site and I recommend anyone who missed it Friday night, try and catch this.

Composer Rivalries: Menotti v. Stravinsky

Of course we all know the Salieri/Mozart feud (both alleged and real), but they weren't alone.

I recall in college reading an interview with Menotti, and his making some disparaging remark about Stravinsky . . . something along the lines of "not knowing what to do with the key of C." Despite my great love of all things Stravinsky, I found the remark humorous, though slightly bitchy on Menotti's part.

Years later, I read more of some supposed rivalry between the two composers.

In his book, Stravinsky, Inside Out, Charles M. Joseph tells of how Stravinsky was jealous of Menotti's celebrity due to his popular operas on radio, television and Broadway. Stravinsky figured he'd also have a go at it, and of course, created The Flood for television. Later, he thought he'd also take Menotti's model of producing opera on Broadway and bring The Rake's Progress to the Great White Way.

Rouben Ten-Arturunian (designer for The Flood) approached Igor, suggesting he forgo producing Rake on Broadway, scrap the Metropolitan Opera's production (which had only seen five performances in the house its premiere season, and two the following) and allow Menotti to re-design and direct it for the Metropolitan Opera. (One of Menotti's biographers incorrectly asserts Menotti did have a hand in the Met's production, though nothing in the Met's annals suggests such a thing actually occurred).

That notion sent Stravinsky into a tailspin of rage, and, incensed he wrote a letter to Ten-Arturunian stating he'd rather not have his opera staged there at all, much less have Menotti put it, "especially if it played between Lulu and some jazz-integratationist rubbish." Youza!

So, it isn't just the performers who can snipe at each other.

p.

Menotti: The Saint of Bleeker Street

While I'm aware there's a good number of folk who despise the music of Gian Carlo Menotti, I'm going ahead with this post anyway.

I recently re-watched the old telecast of  The Saint of Bleeker Street from New York City Opera and found myself in a puddle of tears not only at the end, but at several other moments throughout. A well regarded critic - who's also close friend, once told me it was "too manipulative." I thought about that for a moment:  too manipulative?  Okay . . . perhaps, but cannot the same charge be leveled of not only many other operas, but of art and music generally?  The story is not presented as a series of unbiased facts but rather something told by a storyteller who invites us (and yes, manipulates) us into trying to see the tale as he or she does. I believe a willingness to be manipulated is part of the agreement we make whenever we enter an opera house, theatre . . . or even a museum.

Menotti's so-called "simple story" is, in truth, no such thing; From the beginning its layers peel back like the proberbial onion, each one revealing more and more. 

We are confronted with myiad components; it is at once a tale of fanaticism, the quest and questions for a spiritual journey, the interactions of a displaced community, the story of an abiding friendship, misunderstanding, loyalty, jealousy, murder, poverty, and . . . ultimately, hope. All of this hits us full force, without apologies, without excuses and yet, by the end, Menotti has left us even more room for thought as its many questions are left unresolved to all, except for Annina - the Saint herself, who, of course, cannot tell us.

I find Menotti's score to be the most beautiful of h is operas, and will go so far as to say, that musically it's one of the finest of all of the mid-20th century operas,  Even so, it gets frequently dismissed as "warmed over Puccini," though nothing could be further from the truth. As with most composers, there are noticeable influences throughout, and I'd go so far to say that Menotti puts as much Alban Berg and Mussorgsky into his score as Puccini.  Ultimately, however, he speaks here in a voice that, is distinguished and very much his own. We hear that turgid - angular chugging found in most of his scores for strings and winds that propel the story forward, He understands - and relishes - the relationship between dissonance and consonance and yes, when needed, is ever unafraid to tug at our heartstrings for those who, like myself, welcome having them so tugged. It is obvious he is writing from love and passion as well as skill.

His writing for strings rivals, and shares similarities here with Sibelius and Tchaikovsky. The tension of the string movements in the opening recalling a certain, more celebrated work by his friend, Mr. Barber. While giving us much to ponder, the long-phrased melodies for both orchestra and singers, can go directly to the heart - which is what I often want from an opera composer - and cause me both to think and feel . . . . simultaneously. Music allows us the unique ability to overpower more than one sense at a time, as happens with the gentle intermezzo before the final scene.

The writing for chorus in this opera is majestic and powerful. Ingeniously, Menotti's libretto never places this cathedral-like music in a vaulted church setting, but rather in a cold water flat, adding yet another dimension of thought . . . another layer of palpable emotion. I often think of Boris Godunov or even Porgy and Bess at times.

Saint is also packed with some marvelous arias, beginning with Annina's Stigmata aria. Brother Michele's I know that you all hate me has become one of those Menotti arias that finds its way into auditions and recitals for young tenors.  Desideria's big scene raises  the dramatic stakes to a boiling point.  There is  Don Marco's short aria with its postlude that becomes an intermezzo between the two halves of Act 1, and so many other ensembles.

The scenes of loyalty and friendship, between Annina and Carmela go straight to the heart.  Manipulated that way? Yeah . . . and beautifully. 

I know all the reasons it is not, yet personally still find it difficult to comprehend why this opera is so seldom performed. 

 How fortunate I was to attend several performances at Washington Opera back in the 80's, in a stunning performance directed by the composer himself, a production mounted in honor of his 80th birthday. Remarkable.

City Opera was fortunate to have Catherine Malfitano and Diana Soviero, as Annina and Carmela; each giving a performance nothing short of amazing. Malfitano, while a bit strained at some moments handles the music skillfully and theatrically . . . well, she is devastating. Soviero, in what can be perceived as a secondary role, turns it into a virtual tour-de-force; caressing each note with tenderness and emotion. As Annina's protective best friend, Soviero seems the one person who best understands Annina's desires. Even when wordless, kneeling beside her friend's chair - Soviero's face radiates an ecstasy that transcends words, mirroring the mystical Annina's faith as she embraces, and welcomes death. We watch her, cradling with love, her friend's lifeless body, suppressing her sobs as she lifts Annina's arm to accept the ring of faith. At this moment, Carmela's situation is more heartbreaking than her friend's death because we identify immediately with her grief. This is great opera. This is great theatre.


So, after this performance, then what?  More Menotti.  After drying my eyes, I put on the Piano Concerto in a sparkling, scintillating performance by Earl Wilde. The Concerto belongs alongside Prokofiev, Barber and Poulenc in wonderful 20th century concerti. With its Scarlatti and Bach like polyphony, it requires both bravura and charm, and would offer a nimble fingered pianist - something unusual and rarely played. And yet, like his operas, the Concerto gets very little recognition.  Lord knows, I'd prefer hearing it once in a while as an alternative to yet another performance of Brahms or Rachmaninoff.

While I also have enormous respect for  . . . and a similar reaction to The Consul, it is easy for me to say that of all Menotti's operas, I find The Saint of Bleecker Street the most deserving of being brought back and could imagine a terrific production somewhere in Lincoln Center.  Even though it was conceived for The Broadway Theatre (where it ran for 92 performances), it's a grand work and deserving of the first rate treatment . . . and an HD performance.  I already have a cast in mind! So let's do it!

Bernstein's Exquisite Peter Pan

“Peter Pan” was a score I was once in love with, heard live in concert performance, but which I (as well as many others) have put in the back of the memory banks.

While I no longer have the original cast LP, the discussion had me pull out a wonderful five year old recording on Koch Classics I’d also not paid much attention to, but which I’ve played a number of times the past few days and have fallen in love with this score – to the point of being enthralled enough that I’d wish someone would mount a major revival of this Peter Pan. The score is an absolute gem.

The first song is Wendy’s lullaby “Who Am I?” – a lovely, lyrical piece but showing Bernstein’s penchant for difficulty of extremes of range requiring a singer who can sustain some hushed, piano high notes. Similarly, Wendy has more high note challenges – keeping them within the scope of the hushed music in the exquisitely tender “Build My House.” Bernstein’s mastery of this kind of music produces a sort of swoon in the orchestration that spills over into the listener of this most beautiful song. The lyrics themselves raise this far, far beyond a mere children’s story –

Make the ceiling strong
Strong against the storm
Shelter when the days grow shorter
But build my house of love,
And paint my house with trusting.
And warm it with the warmth of your heart.
Make the floor of faith.
Make the walls of truth
Put a roof of peace above.
Only build my house of love.

They fit right in with the universal, almost archetypical themes Bernstein yearningly makes in nearly all of his stage works from West Side Story to A Quiet Place. A bit more wistful is Wendy’s closing song “Dream With Me” though still hardly your typical Broadway ballad. (And it’s a wonderful final number).

As stated this was a “play with music” – NOT a “musical” in the sense we think of today. Historically, this sort of “score” harkens back to the great theatre music composed by Beethoven, Grieg, Debussy, Mendelssohn – a sort of lost practice that (with few exceptions) is just not much enjoyed anymore. A pity.

Though the songs come few and far between (and no spoken dialogue is offered in the recordings) there appear to be three principal singing roles: Wendy, Captain Hook and the chorus. As with Wendy and Hook, Bernstein has given challenging, difficult and exquisitely atmospheric music for the choristers. (Some will note how the women’s chorus “Neverland” has a hypnotic, almost Philip Glass-like minimalism – even in the manner Bernstein chooses to end the song. (Can’t tell me Glass was not familiar with this score!)

Similarly the chorus for The Pirate Song – provides wonderful, rhythmically comical work for the men with a sort of built-in theatrical bravura aria for Captain Hook.

Hook gets it even better in “Captain Hook’s Soliloquy” – called a “song” – it is in every other way but title an “aria” (and has been picked up by operatic baritones, and recorded as such by no less than Thomas Hampson). Again, though set for a “children’s story.” – the dark inward look and psychological insights Hook sings of would confuse almost any child. But for grown ups it is glorious stuff.

Hook and his henchmen get another doozey of a tune in the hilarious “Plank Round” (a wonderful bit where every line rhymes with “plank” – and the accompaniment is a brilliantly minor-key rendition of the opening of Bach’s Brandenburg Concerto No. 3. Genius – and guaranteed to put a smile on yer mug!

With such wonderful songs as these, the bulk of Bernstein’s “Pan” score falls to the incidental music and overall, it is a rich score full of surprises, and covering a wide range of emotions. Melodically, rhythmically and theatrically we hear a lot of Bernstein’s ideas we’d hear earlier and later from “On the Town,” “West Side Story,” as well as from his symphonic works.

In the new(ish) recording, the original orchestrations by Trude Rittman and Hershy Kay are expanded upon by a team led by Alexander Frey, who also restored and edited the score. Broadway/Pop soprano Linda Eder, baritone Daniel Narducci and an uncredited (but wonderful) chorus join the Amber Chamber Orchestra under Frey’s leadership in a reading that is atmospheric, respectful of the original, and (sigh) just a real treat to spend some time with.

A “bonus” comes in the form of “Spring Will Come Again” a lovely, but forgotten song Bernstein composed for – but dropped from Wilder’s “The Skin of Our Teeth.”

This recording was clearly a labor of love and the efforts are well worth it. For anyone looking for some off-the-beaten-path, wonderful, music, some delightful and touching unfamiliar songs I can’t recommend this recording highly enough.