Microbrow
“I agree that Gelb has had problems actually identifying what’s going to make a successful production. But I submit that the real problem is exactly the same problem the Met had under Gelb’s predecessor, Joe Volpe: not that the company engages unusual directors, but that it doesn’t let them actually do what they’re good at. Gelb seems to me to have the same micromanaging side that Volpe did: the side that would see something unusual in a new production, get nervous about it, and try to rein it in.” [The Classical Beat]
I’m not playing any more until I get myself under control.
Gonna just lurk for a while.
peter, it IS the right blog for you because you have a clear POV, from which you should continue to argue (er, discuss) the good points of new prods.
When did Chereau direct his first opera? By that, I really mean: were his first few prods seen as failures or as successes?
I like his Ring Cycle (as seen on video) but understand that this too was upsetting and forward at the time.(Now, it seems rather tame.)
If nobody knew ahead of time whether Mary Zimmerman could direct opera or not, was it necessary to hire her for three productions to find out?
Okay, I think my head’s on straight again.
Gracious hostess, it is a complete delight when you enter into the conversation. For almost six months, all I knew of you was “You’re on moderation,” and “YOU’RE on moderation,” and “Would you turds stop calling each other turds !” (End of preamble prologue)
(Prologue) I have not seen a live opera performance in ten years. My experience is so limited that even I would have to say that it’s not worth shit, EXCEPT that I have a memory of the way things used to be and an extremely strong ego-driven sense of the way things SHOULD be. Maybe, just maybe, there is a validity to my assessment of where I think we’re going wrong. I call it “the Gordon Gekko Factor.” Operas are being produced for the wrong reasons.
(Anecdote introducing central thesis) A seminal moment occured in the NYCO LA TRAVIATA directed by Tito Capobianco. After the departure of the party guests in Act One, there was a long moment, and I mean a lonnnngggg pause as Patricia Brooks’ Violetta came down off her party high into a moment of rumination. When she uttered “E strano” it was because she had thought it, about her life, the nature of happiness, love, and the unlikelihood of any future. I never saw it, I never heard it, but when I read about it I was jolted by the utter, total, and complete rightness of it, emotionally, psychologically, and theatrically. I think even Verdi himself would have said, “Yes, that’s right.” But of all the directors since who have seemingly studied La Traviata to find its emotional, psychological, and theatrical values, no one else has used it. Why? Because they don’t want to copy Capobianco. To me, that’s the wrong reason to do or not do something. Can you even conceive of a director coming up to a manager and saying, “I have studied La Traviata, its times, its music, and its characters, and I have come to the conclusion that Rolf Gerard had it all and my direction will duplicate his.” He’d have to turn in his riding crop and jodhpurs. Directors are expected to innovate. (BTW, I am talking about directors; designers are a whole different ballgame.) Directing for the purpose of innovating is the wrong way to go. Directing should primarily accomplish illumination, elucidation and entertainment.
On the other hand, suppose Verdi liked the idea well enough that he actually wrote it into the score. “Here Violetta pauses to reflect.” (Only in Italian, of course.) What then? Well, first there would be endlesss diatribes on this site that Maestro X paused only 79 seconds whereas Maestro Y paused an earth-shattering 132 second. Beverly Sills would judge Violetta to be quick-witted enough to accomplish the whole process in 8.3 seconds. Montserrat Caballe would take the opportunity to waddle offstage for a bite of pastrami on rye before she had to be back for “E strano.” Natalie Dessay would drag out pie charts on easels. Renata Tebaldi would pose stage left, pose stage right, sit, rise, and sit again. Etc. I digress.
B_A_B–As it happens, my first Traviata was that Capobianco Traviata, seen in L.A. around ’77 or ’78. Ashley Putnam was the Violetta, and I remember that pause, during which one could feel the air being let out of her balloon, and her very slowly taking off her shoes in silence–boy, you could tell her feet were hurting. Yup, it was a great way to play that scene. (But I sure wouldn’t want to be the one telling subsequent sopranos that’s how it’s supposed to be played from here on out.)