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.
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.
