Cendrillon at City

Most of the critics disliked City Opera's new "Fabulous 50s" production of Massenet's Cendrillon. My wife would have agreed with them. At intermission last Thursday night (November 1st), she told me that it reminded her of Pump Boys and Dinettes. Which is quite a slam, when you think about it: she was basically saying that it didn't rise to the level of Grease.

I am going to be the dissenter here, and take the risk of holding myself up to mockery--and my wife's continued bafflement. But I will try to defend a production I found entertaining, clever, and often quite touching.

By setting the action in the 1950s, the production team, Renaud Doucet and Andre Barbe (who received a lusty boo from someone in the half-filled auditorium), found a smart way to realize Cendrillon's and the Prince's alienation. All around the two lovers were those hallmarks of what we associate with the 1950s: empty consumerism (personified by a troupe of marching Mr. Cleans, a touch that was perhaps a bit de trop); relentless conformity; and gender-role stereotyping. These last two were beautifully illustrated by the second act's ballet, choreographed by Doucet, in which the five princesses vying for the Prince's attention variously cooked, cleaned, sewed, ironed, and tended to the needs of a baby, in a tour-de-force sequence that included such Ed Sullivan Show-esque acrobatics as headstands and plate-spinning.

Is it any wonder that Cendrillon, for whom all of this is endless drudgery, and the Prince, who is bored by the hollowness of it all, fell in love with each other? Their scene in the forest--here transformed to a drive-in movie theater (one of the cars memorialized the opera's creator and year of creation with the license plate "JM 1899")--was prefaced by documentary footage of royal weddings from the period, most notably Grace Kelly's, that are romantic only in their pageantry. But then, as an appropriate counterpoint, the entr'acte to the fourth act was accompanied by a home movie of a 1950s wedding--real people, really in love, a beautiful objet trouvee that brought it all down to earth. While these newlyweds were also caught up in the gestures of the period--they're seen driving off in an enormous new car at the end--they also seemed so innocent that you couldn't help but feel charmed. It captured why all but the most heartless of us indentify with the Cinderella story: Cendrillon and the Prince are all of us on our wedding day.

It's true that by updating the setting, the production eliminated the dichotomy the libretto sets up between the pure world of nature for which the lovers long, exemplified by Pandolfe (who regrets giving up his farm in the country), the fairies, the scene in the forest; and the corruptions of the court, as seen in the ambition of Madame de la Haltiere. However, Doucet and Barbe were able to supply a metaphor which presented its own dichotomy, and, in the end, the longing for true love and freedom that is at the libretto's heart was here as well.

In addition, the production was in keeping with the spirit of the libretto's and music's mix of irony and poignancy. Massenet's score commands a whole range of mood and affect--he takes us from the deliberate archaicisms of Madame de la Haltiere and the retinue of the court to the lilting melodies of Cendrillon and the Prince with such ease and grace that you hardly register the change in style. Not to mention his mastery of the orchestra, which goes from chamber-music-like intimacy to a lush neo-romantic Niagara of sound and back throughout the course of the evening. The New York City Opera Orchestra played well under George Manahan's baton--it was a lucid, clean and clear account. I wish, though, that Manahan had infused his reading with more drama and bite.

As for the singers, they all should be praised for being so game, either for wearing oddball costumes or for the complicated movements that were required of them--the step-sisters, Lielle Berman and Rebecca Ringle, who danced as much as they sang, need to be singled out in particular. Cassandre Berthon's Cendrillon and Frederic Antoun's Prince were sincere and impassioned. Unfortunately, I cannot really comment on the quality of anyone's voice, because I couldn't really hear them. This might have been on account of where I was sitting--second-tier, left side, above the pit; the orchestra may have drowned them out from that vantage. It might also have been the fault of the set, which placed a scenic procenium behind the actual stage procenium. Quite often the singers were positioned well back on the stage, behind those two proceniums, which did not help them get heard. It could also be the case that none of the singers had a particularly large voice.

The production team might have been able to make their points about rebellion against conformity with even more emphasis had they insisted on the original vocal distribution of roles and had the Prince played by a soprano. (Which leads to an interesting thought: why not a countertenor in the role?)

There are five performances left of this too-infrequently performed opera, and tickets are available. It's definitely worth a trip.

Metcalf on Roth

After I read Exit Ghost, I considered posting, but I had trouble wrestling to the ground what I really thought. There is much to celebrate in it, but there is also much of the dross that has crept into late Roth--the often flat writing, the unnaturalistic dialogue in which characters give speeches that go on for paragraphs. Worse in Exit Ghost is a female character to whom Nathan Zuckerman is drawn, and who seems to possess absolutely no attractive qualities whatsoever, aside from youthful good looks (which we have only on Zucerkman's say-so). But there is also the Rothian honesty, of looking at life squarely and unflinchingly, of testifying to emotions that we may not have rights to but that still need to be expressed. Few writers have that kind of courage.

Anyway, Stephen Metcalf (a friend), in his usual adept fashion, has reviewed the book and has done a much better job than I could have in getting a handle on Roth and his contradictions.

Off-Topic Update

After extensive video review, the NHL has determined that the winning goal in Monday night's Rangers-Lightning game should be credited to Brendan Shanahan, whose skate deflected Jagr's slap shot. Not as good a story, but it still attests to Jagr's toughness.

(Related post is here.)

Shock of the New

There's a wonderful French music blog called Le Journal de Papageno, very much worth a look if you can read the language. Currently there's an interesting post about a live recording of the first Parisian performance of Edgard Varese's Deserts. Apparently one can hear quite distinctly the cries and whistles of the audience, including one person who waggishly shouted, "It's too slow!" Maybe not the kerfuffle that the first performance of The Rite of Spring was, but still an interesting document.

There's another post that reviews a book (Tuning, Timbre, Spectrum, Scale by William Sethares) on the organization of pitches into scales; the book's argument is that an instrument's timbre should best determine the scale it uses. Voice, violin, piano are well suited to the well-tempered scale, but, goes the argument, certain percussion instruments do better with the scale of the gamelan. Apparently there is some science to back this up. It's an interesting argument--can one expect to hear a piece scored for Harry Partch-type percussion instruments and traditionally pitched string instruments?

Mendelsohn on "Lucia"

I'm not sure if Daniel Mendelsohn, who happens to be a friend, has ever written about opera before. But in the current issue of The New York Review of Books, he has an absolutely brilliant article/review of the Met's "Lucia." It has tons of insights into bel canto opera, Donizetti, and "Lucia," and his take on Dessay's performance resonates with what another connoisseur expressed to me, that her interpretation was somehow underwhelming despite her vocal endowment.

To the editors of the New York Review: Please have Daniel review more opera! His voice is much needed. And I'd say that even if he weren't a friend!

This Stinks

I never much liked it when the otherwise great Andrew Porter reviewed performances that either used his translations or, in the case of John Eaton's lousy Tempest, featured his own libretto. (And surprise! He gave it a favorable review!) But he was Andrew Porter, and I suppose that was part of the price one paid for the benefit of his wisdom.

Jay Nordlinger, music critic for The New Criterion, is no Andrew Porter, and his shameless report on Salzburg makes for disturbing reading. Nordlinger not only attended the summer festival as a member of the press. He also conducted public interviews, sponsored by the Festival, of the performers. So, unless I've missed something, he was on the Festival's payroll. That should disqualify him from reporting on it, no?

You will not be surprised to find that all his interviewees were wonderful. Tenor Michael Schade, we learn, is "Wunderlichian." Ferrucio Furlanetto "is one of the great King Philips in history." Who knew? Perhaps most risible is Nordlinger's characterization of a response from Valery Gergiev:

"Valery Gergiev, the Russian conductor, was in Salzburg, conducting Benvenuto Cellini, the Berlioz opera. He was an interviewee, too, and I questioned him about Cellini: 'Is it a great opera, a good opera, an okay opera?' Gergiev’s answer demonstrated his integrity, certainly his honesty."

I'm stopping here, because I want you to fully appreciate the "integrity" and "honesty" of Gergiev's response. Ready? Here it is: "It is an interesting opera, an unusual opera, an imaginative opera." Wow! What a bold thing to say! Well, I suppose someone who reports on a festival that pays him would know all about "integrity."

It doesn't help that Nordlinger bathes his reactions and pronouncements in an orotund style. Try to figure out the vocal qualities of Anna Samuil, the soprano who sang Tatiana in Eugene Onegin:

"She has a most interesting voice, Samuil: It is darkish, as you can expect from the East, but it is also changeable, adaptable, and beautiful. Even more than beautiful, it is interesting (as I’ve said). And it is alive, always alive. As for technique, that was 100 percent secure, on the night I attended. And Samuil’s musical and dramatic instincts were faultless—faultless. This is a mightily intelligent singer. You can go five, ten, fifteen seasons without hearing a Tatiana so right."

OK, but what made it so right? Can you give us any details? This is the kind of writing that C. S. Lewis warned his pupil, Kenneth Tynan, about when he told Tynan that a critique should "distinguish (and not merely praise)." Throwing a bunch of words at Anna Samuil tells us nothing about her voice ("darkish"?--is that even a word? And what "East" are we talking about here?).

Such is what passes for music criticism these days.

Off-Topic: Why I Love Hockey

In the second period of Monday night's game against the visiting Tampa Bay Lightning, something knocked out two front teeth of the Rangers' Jaromir Jagr. (It wasn't clear if it was a puck, a stick, or an elbow.) That came after his skate broke in the first period, and his glove broke earlier in the second.

Jagr didn't miss a shift, and wound up shooting the winning goal in the third period. You can't beat the work ethic of a hockey player.

Self-Promotion

My review of Jonah Lehrer's remarkable book, Proust Was A Neuroscientist, is up at the Los Angeles Times. Lehrer writes with authority and real sparkle, and his command of subjects is terrifying. And he's only 25.

Sandow on Berio

Greg Sandow writes in his usual perspicacious way about music by Luciano Berio--how he enjoyed a piece, and how two composer friends of his hated it. Worth reading: the fault lines in "modern music" are still strong. Personally, I endorse Sandow's implicit pluralism.

Literary Real Estate

For Sale: Guy de Maupassant's home. Asking 1.3 million Euros. In case you were interested.