natalie said what…?!

It is Official.  Natalie Dessay is annoying me.  In a recent ‘back-stage’ interview conducted with Norman Lebrecht at the Theatre des Champs Elysees, she said a number of things which smack of so much horse s@!t even I have switched sides.  A bit of back story first, this is the girl who showed up in 1993-4 and wowed the world, she was musical, had a faultless technique, stratospheric high notes no one had heard in decades, and looked good on stage.  Two separate surgeries have seen the very very top notes go but the overall voice is still exceptional, she has a good high E-flat (as high as Sutherland ever sang well), and tremendous flexibility.  She is wonderful in Bel Canto, Baroque and French Repertoire but shies away from Modern repertoire (no Lulu? WHY? It is a role which requires her remarkable levels of musicianship and a slim figure AND the ability to act!) as well as heavier lyric roles.  Her first Traviata is next year in Santa Fe, the heaviest role she will have attempted at that point.   So in this interview, the first thing she says is ‘I got rid of my high notes, they were getting in the way. It is very easy for someone with high notes to impress, even if the rest is not very interesting. High notes are something that people seem to like – I never understood why. It’s like being able to fly. OK, you can fly, so what?’  

Umm…well…Natalie, being able to fly is pretty impressive in my book. And guess what? High notes are part of opera. An intrinsic part.  Take them out, the audience notices, and feel they are missing something.  Also, I would argue that she has NOT gotten rid of her high notes. She is still singing roles like Amina, Margeurite and Violetta, all of which feature High Cs, Ds and E flats.  True, she does not sing above an E in public anymore, but she hasn’t ‘gotten rid of’ these notes.  She simply can’t sing them anymore, an unfortunate outcome of two throat surgeries.  IN this interview, she goes on to turn up her nose at the Vienna State Opera, saying ‘They are not interested much in theatre, only in music.’  Interesting to note, her biggest triumph of late was a production of La Fille du Regiment with that very company, a production as lauded for its theatrical qualities as its musical gems.  That, and it is one of the top Five companies in existence. They must be doing SOMETHING right Natalie.   She went on: ‘I have given up solo recitals. I don’t like to be alone on stage.’  Fair enough, but I feel the need to point out that in a solo concert you have a pianist with whom one is in constantly communication (or should be) or an orchestra and a conductor, in which case one is onstage with fifty or more people.  Also, not alone.  A conductor’s job is to make the singer feel less alone.  Among other things.  Dessay has said publicly that she is not interested in opera unless it is theatre, and that she is, in fact,  not a singer at all, but an actress.  If that is the case, why is she singing the soprano solos in the Bach Magnificat with Emanuelle Haim ant L’astree?  There is no character there, no ‘role’ other than singing, therefore it is not ‘theatre’.  Based on her statement, besides her cancellation of any future solo concert/recitals, I also expect her to never make another recording (or reap the substantial financial benefits thereof), as a recording is played in a persons house, away from the theatre, and she is not ‘acting’, but ‘singing’, and as she has said, she is not a singer, but an actress.  Does this whole thing reek of ‘phoney’ to anyone else? 

Next…I finally got to go to Glyndebourne.  Unfortunately, the opera I saw/heard was Eotvos’ ‘Love and Other Demons’, based on the recent-ish book by Gabriel Garcia Marquez.  Extremely short synopsis: Girl bitten by dog in Latin America, locked up by superstitious Priests, Nice Priest falls in love with bitten girl, psychotic priest performs psychotic exorcism, girl dies.  Sounds like perfect plot for opera, and it is, but frankly I think the picturesque Sussex countryside would better suit Mozart, Handel or Strauss.  The music kept me on edge all night, as it should.  I love horror films and this piece at times resembled one.  The music is prohibitively difficult, the central role of Sierva contains some of the more vicious coloratura I have ever heard.  Nathan Gunn did what he could with the underwritten role of Delaura.  Interesting to note, even when playing a priest, the director finds reason for Nathan Gunn to get his kit off.  Given his physique, no one complained.  The real show stoppers were Felicity Palmer as the eventually unhinged abbess, and Jean Rigby as a psychotic ex-nun.  I have been longing to see these two women onstage ever since I saw them on TV in the English National Opera’s lauded production of The Mikado.  There were fewer laughs in this production.  The Glyndebourne experience overall is somewhat surreal.  During the interval, the ruling classes picnic on the lawns, dreading the bell calling them back to the theatre.  Despite the ‘Summer Season’ quality of the place, the standard musically and theatrically is absolutely top notch.  But it has to be said, this is an audience of people who to some extent come to Glyndebourne because it is expected of them.  Frankly, I’m inclined to leave it.  I think, if one wants to go to the opera, one should go to the opera. If one wants to go on a picnic, go on a picnic.  The prices are prohibitive to anyone on a less than considerable income, and getting a hold of tickets in the first place is nigh impossible.  One must first become a member to get access to tickets, and there is a waiting list for membership, to say nothing of the fee.  Depressing when the season is full of things actual music lovers would love to see, and instead, an elite group of people who in many cases don’t give a damn what they’re hearing get first dibs.  

Next…’Piaf’ at the Donmar.  I love the Donmar. It is my favorite company in London. When I got here, the place I was dying to go more than any was the Donmar.  The space is tiny, a few rows of seats on two levels.  Each year a handful of productions including a musical are put on, usually selling out before the opening night.  Donmar audiences don’t wait for reviews, they book early because of the limited number of seats, and trust that the show will be good.  And they tend not to be disappointed.  This year’s Othello sold out in hours, partially due to the presence of Ewan McGregor as Iago.  He turned out to be the weakest link in a phenomenal cast.  Donmar policy is to sell 10 day seats to each show at 10.00 am each day.  For Othello, people slept overnight for them.  So did I. I saw the closing night and it was one of the great evenings of my life.  For Piaf, I wasn’t having that, I booked the day the seats went on sale.  Good thing too, it was also sold out before opening night.  Pam Gems play is over 30 years ago, and I had previously seen it in Australia starring genius Caroline O’connor.  I remember it being a slightly flawed, but funny, moving, and wonderful night in the theatre.  No one put on French accents, it was done with English accents, class differentiation clearly audible.  The production at Donmar was less effective.  Gems edited the play from 2 hours to 90 minutes, taking much of the details and humour out in the process.  Director Jamie Lloyd directed over what few jokes and humour remained.  I counted three laughs.  The men in Piaf’s life (who were hardly detailed in the 2 hour version) were now so sketchily drawn it was hard to remember who they were.  This was done, I assume, to better highlight the star of the evening; Elena Rodger.  She made a phenomenal splash in London as Evita on the West End, helped by the fact that she is actually Argentinean. In Piaf she seems good casting, and she is.  She is diminutive (like Piaf), has an expressive body (like Piaf)  and is able to morph her voice into something startlingly like Piaf during the songs.  Problem is, all the other actors use English accents.  She can’t as English is not her first language, so she does her best to turn her Latin accent French.  She does an excellent job of this, but sadly a lot of her dialogue is hard to understand.  It is not helped that Lloyd has directed everyone to do everything so fast that things get garbled.  But Rodger brought the house to its feet, because in the end she is a smarter performer than Jamie Lloyd is a director.  

The Revenger’s Tragedy at the National Theatre was he last thing I saw, and it was my first evening in the Olivier Theatre, the largest in the National Complex.  The play is one of those Jacobean Tragedies where the pile of corpses at the end begs for a War Crimes Council.  What was wonderful about this play (and Piaf) is that neither are commercial, they rely on a generous subsidy from the Arts Council.  Therefore, they can be generous with casting, extras, sets and everything which is missing from commercial theatre.  Six people contributed live music.  Each role was cast individually (24 actors!), and the single set was lavishly appointed.  The actors were entirely unmiked in an 1100 seat house, and I would say 90% of the dialogue was clear enough to be understood.  Not bad.  The play itself is part black comedy, part revenge tragedy, often switching between the two in the same scene.  When, at the end, Rory Kinnear as the protagonist Vindice looks around at the pile of corpses for which he is largely responsible, the sense of ‘I overdid it a little’ in his speech is both devastating and funny.  The standout performance for me was Barbara Flynn, as Vindice’s mother who manages to gain the audiences sympathy, lose it, gain it back a little, then bring us to tears as we see her told of her sons’ deaths.  The audience jumped more than once in this show, I won’t tell you where…

 

West Side Story…it gets no better…

Am still buzzing from the performance I just saw at Sadlers Wells, so thought I would write this now instead of waiting.  ’West Side Story’ is one of those things people talk about as a history maker, a work of genius, a masterpiece.  Well, they’re right.  What I saw tonight at Sadlers Wells was the finest piece of theatre I have seen, ever.  For once, every aspect of the performance had been seen to.  This production has done sold out runs in Tokyo, Beijing, and Paris.  It started a 6 week run at Sadlers Wells this week, and from what I am told, it is sold out.  I had seen WSS once, a staging by Victorian State Opera in 1994, but I may have been slightly too young to realise what I was seeing.  The 1961 film is one I know VERY well though, and the choreography in that is almost identical to that used in the original stage production, and the production I saw tonight, so that was something I was familiar with.  I have also spent hour after hour memorising the original cast recording.  So, in some ways, I know this show VERY well, but tonight was my first real chance to see it in the context of itself.  The production is immaculately designed, a series of moveable balconies swing into position, creating various locations, while the back wall is projected with B&W images of 1950s New York City.  The cast ranged from very good to phenomenal.  None of them stars, which makes sense.  It is an ensemble show, and once you put a big star in it, it would draw attention away from the whole.  The dancing dominated (Sadlers Wells is primarily a dance theatre), and when you see it happening in front of you, its understandable that it should, brilliant score or no brilliant score.  Robbins devised the most amazing way of performers to express a character’s emotions physically.  They dance ‘in character’, as if only these people would be dancing these steps. And within that, it becomes even more specific, when characters like Riff and Anita are given solos, they are dancing steps which could only be danced by Anita and Riff.  As Anita, Oneika Phillips was the favorite, as a dancer and an actress, she was mindblowing. In her final scene, the audience communally stopped breathing.  A ‘theatre magic’ moment.  It was her singing which was least interesting (mainly in her big ‘A boy like that’ moment), which leads to the ‘problem’ with this show.  It asks more of performers than they should be able to give. They have to sing VERY difficult music, dance like Balanchine etoiles, and act like RSC actors.  Invariably, one of these is going to be weaker than the other two. If, like Oneika, two out of three are phenomenal, the audience will not (and should not) worry too much about the third.  I didn’t.  Elisa Cordova as Maria believably matured through the course of the evening, but unlike Natalie Wood in the film, remained a believable teenager.  Her operatic soprano was the only voice which played slight havoc with the miking.  The use of mikes in this production was the best I have ever heard, it was very subtle, at times it was hard to tell whether the singers were miked or simply projecting well. Cordova’s soprano has such a cut to it (perfect for opera) that it occasionally sounded harsh through the mikes.  Not her fault. Plus, she is exceptionally beautiful, so a lot is forgiven.  Scott Sussman’s Tony looked slightly too old, but possesses one of the most beautiful voices ever, and acted beautifully.  Also looks gorgeous. The entire company performs with uniform dedication and passion, throwing themselves into the dance numbers with the kind of energy which makes me fear for their lives.  Between the Dance at the Gym, ‘America’, and ‘Cool’, one wonders how they can sing at ALL.  That they sang (often at the same time) wonderfully seems almost miraculous.  The score provided them plenty of opportunities, I think its the finest score ever to be written for Broadway.  When one song after another consistently comes up aces, it almost feels like too much of a good thing, but in this case, too much of a good thing is Fantastic.  If you are in London and can afford the price of a ticket, go.  If you live in London and can’t afford the price of a ticket, steal it.

Opera at $200 per 1.7 ounces…

American prima donna Renee Fleming has branched out.  She is no longer just a singing star, TV host (was that embarrassing for everyone or what?) and subject of multiple dreary biographies.  Now she is also a fragrance.  Global ‘beauty’ leader Coty has produced a fragrance dedicated to La Fleming, called (no surprises here), ‘La Voce by Renee Fleming’.  It is not released until September, to coincide with the Metropolitan Opera’s Opening Night Gala featuring…you guessed it.  All profits go to the Metropolitan Opera, and at $200 US a pop, that’s potentially a lot, but it all seems so strange.  The point of La Fleming is, the appealing, easy on the ears, no questions asked Lovely Voice.  And all the infuriating mannerisms she insists on schlepping to the performance along with it.  So how does this sometimes amazing, sometimes infuriating performer translate into a fragrance?  Well according to Coty,  “La Voce by Renee Fleming opens with top notes of passion fruit and white truffle accord and transcends to a rich floral heart of jasmine and lily of the valley. Notes of dark chocolate mousse and ebony wood winds complete this luxurious fragrance.”   That sounds so busy.  Is it a fragrance or a three course meal at Café Des Artistes?  The cross-fetishising of these two luxury items, Perfume and Opera, is a shock even to me, and I am used to bizarre things happening in the world of Art.  This is, I feel, one of those things which will be looked back on with a ‘can you believe we actually thought of that’ attitude. And the packaging (pictured left) really does have to be seen to be believed, proof that gay men should be supervised by at least one straight man when devising anything. Also, in the ‘irony’ section of this rant, and I must say, on a rather vulgar note, has anyone actually smelled an opera singer at the end of a show? Its not fun. Make up melts under the savage lights of a theatre and blends with sweat to form a unique and utterly unforgettable fragrance all its own; Canal no. 5.   Am determined in this post not to go on and on and on about the evils of the ‘Beauty’ industry, the sole purpose of which seems to be the mass lowering of self esteem by way of millions upon millions of dollars worth of advertising featuring genetic freaks who make up .001 of the world’s population, convincing the rest of us to spend what money we have on the purchase and consumption of one product or another which we tell ourselves will one day make us look like the people in the billboard, and then a rich and beautiful person will give us money and sex.  That this evil and destructive ideology is now extending to the world of Opera, where actual talent rules (supermodels have no talent, despite what anyone tells you, they walk up and down for a living, they should not to be rewarded for something they had no part in creating, they are to be reviled, loathed, spat upon, and in my opinion should be hunted for sport) is disturbing to say the least.  Anyway, like I said, I do not want to go on about the Fashion/Beauty industry, so I won’t.  Getting back to La Voce,  I am also a little disappointed by the name given this sensory hybrid.  ’La Voce by Renee Fleming’.  So predictable.  I personally would have gone with something a little more imaginative, possibly stemming from the world inhabited by La Fleming.  Perhaps even stealing from the titles of various operas…hmmm…Alternate Titles could include:                                  

Boulevard Solitude – which Fleming never sang, possibly as there is no possible spot for applause.  Great title for a perfume though. 

The Fiery Angel – which Fleming never sang, possibly as doing so is considered vocal suicide. 

Saint François d’Anisse – originally Saint François d’Assise - too specific?

Street Scent – originally Street Scene – wrong message?

Smelly – originally Semele – too blatant?

The Tender Loin – originally The Tender Land – good joke, keep for later

Das Parfum der Heliane – originally Das Wunder der Heliane…snore…

Lady Macbeth of Musk – originally Lady Macbeth of Mtsensk…I like that one

a stephen king weekend…

This past weekend I spent eight hours watching the 1994 television adaptation of Stephen King’ epic ‘The Stand’. The 1000+ page novel is one I have not read.  What I have read of King’s I have loved.  He is not only a brilliant writer, but an authority on the history and nature of his genre.  ’Carrie’ is his first published book, and it is remarkable.  It spawned a film which made history as one of the first VERY good horror films made in the US.  Horror films almost never attract good casts and writers, being relegated to the ‘trash’ side of things. But in Japan, Korea and increasingly Europe as well, this genre utilizes the BEST people in the business.  The US, largely, does not.  ’The Stand’ needs its 8 hours.  This novel could not be done in a 2 or even a 3 hour film without losing valuable information.  The cast lies somewhere between A and B list.  The thing about using less than stellar casts is that they tend to look a little more like real people than say…Julia Roberts who looks like, Julia Roberts.  This is a story about normal people taking part in the deciding battle between Good and Evil.  Quick synopsis (no spoilers I promise) is easy: The world is largely destroyed by a lethal (man made) virus.  In the US (the rest of the world is not mentioned) a few thousand people survive.  

In dreams, they are drawn to two places and people: Mother Abigail Freemantle, a 106 year old black woman in Nebraska played by the phenomenal Ruby Dee, and Randall Flag, the embodiment of evil in Las Vegas. Those drawn to Mother Abigail travel to Boulder Colorado to establish a new community, while the Others do likewise in Vegas. Eventually, it becomes clear that Flagg is an agent of darkness, and that the ending hinges on the destruction of one of the groups. Opening scenes depicting the death of 99.9 percent of the world’s population are well done.  Molly RIngwald (what happened to her?! Where IS she?!) is effective as the good girl trying to do good.  Ed Harris is reliable as ever, the much underused Gary Sinise as appealing as ever.  The scene stealers are Laura san Giocomo and Rob Lowe, who plays a deaf-mute.  One gets the feeling he should have had a larger role, but this was only a few years after that unfortunate sex-tape, so any work he could get at the time was probably badly needed. With regards to Laura San Giocomo, I have always thought she was an astonishing actor, and am puzzled by her apparent disappearance.  After ‘Just Shoot Me’ went off the air, what happened?!  In any case, she is a phenomenal presence in ‘The Stand’ as the would be Bride of Darkness.  What I took away with me after seeing this, more than anything,  was a sense of how BEAUTIFUL that part of America is. Southpark aside, I don’t know of any other story set in Colorado.  King is very smart to place The Good in a place as beautiful and unspoiled as Boulder, and The Wicked in the tacky Hell that is Vegas.  Overall, the look of The Stand is not big-budget.  Some of the shots are obviously sound stages, but given the Apocalyptic mood pervading, this doesn’t seem to distract.  One realises that if the story is good, and the characters worth caring about, the audience will go along for the ride.  

AFTER finishing The Stand, I almost immediately went and grabbed The Shining, and began on that. Straight away, one knows this is a different kind of entertainment. The Stand was scripted by King, adapting his own novel.  Much of the content is retained, plot is almost religiously followed. The overwhelming mood surrounding The Stand is one of genuine, almost base feeling and emotion.  Heartstrings are pulled and released shamelessly.  The Shining is a far more conceptual/intellectual piece of work.  Kubrick wrote the screenplay himself, and has taken what he wanted from King’s novel (seemingly very little), changed what he wanted (lots, personalities are transplanted, a polo mallet becomes an axe…) and eschewed what he feels superfluous (most of the book).  King is known to dislike the film intensely, and I don’t blame him.  His book is about many things, and the film is about one.  He had the option of writing the screenplay himself, but declined, having heard horror stories (insert irony here) about what Kubrick could be like to work with.  He must have been kicking himself when he saw what Kubrick left of his novel.  

Nonetheless, the film is absolutely astonishing, and genuinely terrifying.  Jack Nicholson and Shelley Duvall were Kubrick’s first and only choices for their roles. While it does work onscreen, one wonders how.  The point of the novel is they are two relatively normal people who are transformed by a place.  As Torrance, Nicholson is an unusual choice because, well, from the outset he already seems pretty whacky. Duvall is pretty much a nervous wreck from her first moments onscreen. One thinks, how can this work? Where can they go from here?  Well, it does work, because Kubrick manages to send them both even more over the edge than they already are, the end results of which are quite astonishing.  Duvall regularly ran from the set in tears.  She eventually ‘ran out’ of tears due to repeated takes, and had to drink water all day to remain hydrated.   Scatman Crothers (70 at the time of filming) dropped to the ground sobbing after 40 takes, begging Kubrick to tell him what he was doing wrong.  Kubrick, surprise surprise, simply told him to try it again.  An interesting factoid re casting, when it looked like Nicholson might not be able to take part, Kubrick considered two others for the role; Robert de Niro, and Robin Williams.  He vitoed the former as being ‘not psychotic’ enough for the role, and the latter as being ‘too psychotic’.   Does anyone else think Kubrick might have been a bit nuts himself?  Anyway, If you haven’t seen this film, see it. If you have, then see it again.  Kubrick may well have been an unstable wingnut, but he was a genius as well. Interesting note…this film premiered on the day I was born, in the year I was born. I hope thats where the coincidences end…

a floperetta, a farce, Noel Coward & Didion

Long time no post huh?  A lot has happened in the last couple of weeks.  My photo has been taken off my profile.  This post could be described as a conflict of interests were it to be known who was writing it.  It appears that as of September my job will be one directly linked to the opera world.  Therefore, better left anonymous methinks.  Anyway.  FINALLY saw a staged production of Candide, this one at English National Opera (my favorite company), directed by the brilliant Robert Carsen.  With me was The Actress, neither of had seen the piece before.  We were not thrilled.  While Carsen is a brilliant opera director, his musical comedy/operetta skills are not great.  This is pretty much the hardest piece to stage EVER.  From the outset, it has been a nightmare. Voltaire’s satiric novella inspired Bernstein to write some of his wittiest, most wonderful music, brilliant pastiche.  Our eponymous Westphalian hero meeting with one disaster after another, maintaining a perfectly stupid (and foolishly taught) sense of optimism throughout.  The Lyrics (by Bernstein, Sondheim, Dorothy Parker, Lillain Hellman) are brilliant, a perfect match for the music.  BUT, the Book (dialogue) which Hellman write was problematic.  Cumbersome, preachy (surprise surprise), and reeking of Hellman’s own ideology.  Since then, practically every time this piece is staged, a new Book is assembled, pieces rearranged, left out, added, edited…with mixed results. The best ever stage version was done by Hal Prince, in an environmental staging, with the dialogue kept to a MINIMUM, and the action treated as a madcap farce, with no messages of ideology and politics being forced down the audience’s collective throat.   Would that it were so at ENO… Carsen has decided to ’say something’ with this production.  Theatre Rule: The more one tries to ’say something’, the less one will manage to get across.  He sets the piece firmly in the US (West Failure, geddit)  , circa 1960 something. The piece becomes about the US, politics and money.  Cunegonde becomes a good time girl, determined to become a star.  Her big number ‘Glitter and be Gay’ becomes an homage to ‘Diamonds are a girls best friend’. The magnificent Auto de Fe scene becomes the McCarthy trials.  Note to Mr Carsen : while this was what Bernstein/Hellman were writing about, its far more potent when NOT stated obviously.  Although I did enjoy the Ku Klux Klan kick line.   My main issue with the pice was the lack of common sense.  At the end of act I, the characters all head off to The New World. But in Carsen’s production they are already in The New World.  I thought to myself, ‘Oh, they are off to the Middle East, great, I’m interested now’.  But no. As the curtain went up on Act II, there they are at Ellis Island. And all I wanted to do was scream “BUT THEY WERE ALREADY IN AMERICA WHY ARE THEY ‘ARRIVING’ THERE NOW?!?!?!?!”.  I was SO disappointed.  I expected this piece to be such fun, and here was a production determined to take itself SO seriously. Thank GOD the singers were good.  Tobey Spence was off sick (a major blow, he was one of the bigDraw Cards), but his replacement proved just as good. If only I could remember his name…Marnie Breckinridge was a magificent Cunegonde, high E flats an all. Alex Jennings was BRILLIANT as Pangloss/Voltaire/Martin, coping admirably with fussy direction. At one point he ran out of dialogue before finishing a sequence of stage business.  He improvised, hurriedly throwing the remaining props into the wings with a sideways “I’ll be with you all in a minute”, to the audience.  They responded with a tumult of applause, possibly in support of a brilliant actor coping with such an insane directorial request.  Beverly Klein stole the show as the Old Lady, a non-singer, who sang the role (including the material usually eschewed by non-singers), at the original mezzo-soprano pitch.  And in a size 17 Vegas showgirls outfit, she was a wonderful sight.  Proof that when you play is straight, its often a lot funnier.  Overall, the production was a wonderful chance; wasted.  This is not an opera, and it was treated as such.  Opera and Musical Theatre, very different. Has someone told this to Mr Carsen I wonder. 

A few days later I was lucky to see one of the London previews of ‘The Female of the Species’, one of Joanna Murray Smith’s latest plays.  It is incredibly funny, and makes no attempt to send messages or be in any way ‘important’ (make note, Mr Carsen).  the 90 minute, one act piece is loosely based on the time Germaine Greer was held hostage for a short period by a deranged fan. Eileen Atkins plays Margot Mason, a sixty something, languidly vile author, legendary for her femenist tomes.  It’s not exactly a Greer impression, but one can understand her fury, published in most of the London papers, at having her life turned into successful theatre.  Thus far she has sent back the script which was sent her, and not showed up at the Press Night to which she was invited. I loved every second of the play, the three women in the cast reveling in it; Atkins, Anna Maxwell Martin managing the role of Molly, the deranged fan, and Sophie Thompson as Mason’s married with kids daughter, driven insane by the noise and need of her children.  Thus far reviews have been generally good, to very good.  The UK critics do harp on about Murray-Smith writing a ‘less than worthy’ play.  This is the standard response to someone writing something funny and entertaining, particularly is they are not English.  Critics are, I am fast discovering, the lowest form of life in this country. One expects this play to do well, provided the casting remains good. Atkins and the other members of the cast will inevitably leave, and who they bring in to replace them will determine whether people come back to see it a second and third time.  I know I would pay to see another actress get her teeth into any of these three roles.

Next on the cultural agenda was ‘Sail Away’, put on by Lost Musicals, a company dedicated to the semi-staged revival of US Musicals which have been neglected since their premiere’s.  I took The Artist, and we both had a lovely time. Noel Coward wrote the slightly old fashioned piece for Broadway (where it ran for 167 performances, overshadowed by the by phenomenal ‘How to Succeed in Business without Really Trying’.  It then transferred to the West End where it ran 252 performances.  Both times it starred Elaine Stritch, and was directed by Coward.  It is easy to see why the piece did not do better.  It feels straight out of the 30s.  The Songs are charming, the dialogue witty (at times), but there is no real development of character and both A and B plot are deeply predictable.  The company is a delight. There is no set.  The cast sits at the back of the stage on chairs, in evening dress.  The musical director plays from a piano, the only instrument present.  The cast performs with script/score in hand, but with stage movement, and real energy.  Some of the musical numbers have choreography, all beautifully done.  The audience had a wonderful time, this is clearly a very popular company.  They perform their seasons on six consecutive sundays, with each performance generally sold out.  The Artist and I enjoyed it immensely, accepting its flaws as typical of its period, and its author’s penchants.  That we are able to see this show again, even in a pared down version, is a treat indeed.  

NEXT…’The Year of Magical Thinking’ at the National Theatre, with The Actress, fast becoming my London Theatre buddy.  My first experience of Vanessa Redgrave onstage, and I was not disappointed.  I had read Joan Didion’s memoir prior to seeing the play, as well as having read the play text. This was my first experience of Didion’s writing, and I found it appealing.  A sense of cool detachment might seem a strange way to write about the death of one’s husband and only child, but somehow it is far more effective (and moving) than a series of hysterical screams of grief.  While the play is heartbreaking (as is the memoir), at no point in the theatre did I cry, but for hours afterwards was aware of so much more than I had been before taking my seat.  Am re-reading the memoir this week.  She wrote the book about the death of her husband and the up and down (mainly down) health of their only child Quintana in the year following. As the book went into publication,  Quintana died.  The play (unlike the memoir) is about both their deaths.   Didion (with the help of brilliant director David Hare, both pictured right) has distilled the full length memoir into a 90 minute monologue (and added details about Quintana not written about) which is never for one second dull or self-indulgent, and always marvelously performed by Redgrave.  She is, in essence, playing Didion, and managed the accent well, along with Didion’s somewhat calculated delivery.  Packed House, well received.  An evening to treasure.  Have booked to see it again later in the year, after a second reading of the memoir.  Have also ordered two of Didion’s books and will start on them directly I have finished re-reading Year of Magical Thinking.  A fan is born…

the divine and the offensive…

Boy do I have news…but first, the concert.  Sunday Night I had the privilege of finally seeing and hearing the wonderful Jeff Blumenkrantz sing his extraordinary songs live.  I first saw this man on a DVD of a semi-staged performance of Leonard Bernstein’s ‘Candide’, in which he plays the vain pompous Maximilian to perfection.  At that point I thought of him as a character actor/singer, end of story.  Then my brother pointed out that he is also a composer.  I thought ‘good for him’.  I didn’t actively pursue the music at that stage, coming across it by accident when I downloaded and episode of the Jeff Blumenkrantz Songbook Podcast because it featured ‘Will and Grace’s Megan Mullally as a guest star. I may have thought highly of Mr Blumenkrantz but of Ms Mullally, I thought as high as Everest.  In the meantime I looked up what the Jeff Blumenkrantz Songbook Podcast actually was.  What he had done was instead of recording a CD of his songs with either himself or other artists, every week for 20 weeks, he would either record one of the songs himself and speak for a number of minutes about the song and its background, OR he would invite one of Broadway’s Leading Ladies into his home studio to record a song and discuss their career.  I listened to the Mullally episode which was in fact the last.  She was entertaining as was expected, but the song she sang was breathtaking.  ”Wow”, I thought, “this guy can WRITE”. I quickly downloaded every past episode of the podcast and became promptly addicted to all things  Blumenkrantz.  By the way, he accompanies each podcast himself, playing the piano and singing.  Many people are not impressed by those who can do this.  I am.

I was thrilled to hear that he would be coming to London, and surprised that he would be performing at St Paul’s cathedral in Knightsbridge, given the frank way he deals with his homosexuality through music.  He was joined by three of the West End’s star performers, Alexandra Silber, Lauren Ward and Damian Humbley; each of whom was given ample space to shine.  Blumenkrantz spoke in between numbers, providing information on when the song was written, if it was written for a show, if that show was finished (it seemed surprising that such extraordinary songs were written for shows which were not completed…).  He is a delightful person to hear speak about his own work.  

Apropos the Big News of the opening for this entry, the concert on Sunday night was when I admitted to myself that the relationship I was in at the time, was over.  I was therefore a little fragile to be hearing a concert of emotional theatre music.The first big number was sung by rising star  Alexandra Silber, and was entitled “I’m Free”.  I relaxed as the song accessed every emotion in my body and explained it musically.  The concerted proceeded perfectly, a major lyric fumble by Damien Humbley notwithstanding. The other major talent, besides that of the performers and composer, was the frequent contribution of poet Edna St Vincent Millay, of whom Blumenkrantz is obviously very fond of as a source of lyrics.  Her very American choice of words work perfectly with Blumenkrantz’s virtuosic use of eclecticism.  She was the first woman to receive the Pulitzer prize for Poetry, and someone whose words I am happy to hear over and over. I am known by some as someone who has no interest whatsoever in poetry…unless it is set to music.  

 

If Sunday Night was divine, tonight was DEFINITELY offensive.   It was the Press Night of the new musical ‘All Bob’s Women’ which I had been invited to.  I asked a friend to tell me something about it.  They said it was ‘Boeing Boeing but With Songs’.  This should be amended to read ‘Boeing Boeing but With Completely Awful Songs and minus the charm, good dialogue, wit, and intention’.   I can honestly say I have never seen a worse musical, and that is saying something.  

The performances alone were cringe-worthy.  One of the five women onstage seemed determined to sing a full tone off pitch for most of the evening.  The others settled for a slight flatness throughout. The performances aside, the piece itself is irretrievably flawed.  A play about a good looking creep who deceitfully shags all five women in the cast is not a suitable protagonist for a piece of drama unless he possesses enough charm and wit to keep us if not on-side, then at least interested.  Bob did not. His routine is to go to the local beauty parlour (the locations in this piece were vague at best) disguised as a woman, befriend the women, find out what they want in a man, and then show up AS that man and successfully get them into bed.  I know in theatre we are expected to suspend disbelief but I refuse to suspend all rational thought.  Throw in an embarrassingly basic dance routine and I wanted to leave.  Given I was seated in the back row on the aisle, I could have easily, but found myself paralysed, unable to move, such was the shock I seemed to find myself in.  Avoid this show at all costs.  

ariadne at Royal Opera

Last night was one of those vaguely chaotic evenings which can only happen when completely unplanned.  At four o’clock I had coffee with the Up and Coming Lyric Soprano.  She is one of the few female singers I know who doesn’t make me want to punch her on a regular basis.  She mentioned in passing that she was tossing up whether to go to the opening night of Ariadne auf Naxos at the Royal Opera.  Straight away my ears pricked up. ‘Can you get me a ticket?!’ I asked with mounting excitement. Turns out, she could get two! So I called up The Boyfriend and told him we were going to the opera. Then I realised I was in black slacks and a blue t-shirt.  Not on, not for Royal Opera and not for opening night.  So after a seriously rushed bite at the local KFC we went to Royal Opera via FOUR clothes shops looking for a jacket/blazer which will fit my broad shoulders but not cut me off at the waist.  The only thing we found was in French Connection, an absolutely fantastic jacket which fits a dream. It also fit the price tag of £130 quid, but it is black and will go with everything and is therefore a worthwhile investment yes?

Right, the opera.  This is a revival of a 2002 production which is known to be tres chic.  It is also famous for being at the centre of the 2004 ‘little black dress scandal’ in which soprano Deborah Voigt, the leading ‘Ariadne’ of the millenium was fired from the production because it was felt she would look ridiculous in the ‘little black dress’ which serves as the main costume.  Had I been the director the answer would have been simple:

“Get another f&*king dress…this woman’s voice is a gift from God!”

 

But no.  She was fired.  For the record, this is what she looked like at the time (see left) .She then proceeded drastically and had gastric bypass surgery.  Now she looks like this (see right).

Good for her, right? So when the Royal Opera called her and asked her BACK (now that she fits into the required costume…is this as stupid as it sounds…yes!) and she said ‘yes’.  My own response to this invitation would have been unprintable, but I guess I carry more of a grudge than she does.  So the whole house was on tenderhooks, to see the dress, to hear the voice, and if it was still in the same condition as it had been prior to the weight loss.  Drastic size change can have adverse effects (see, Maria Callas) and this is very drastic.  Meanwhile all I can think about is that there’s been all this stupid fuss over a black dress and I just spent an hour running from shop to shop trying to find a black coat which I can fit into.  In H and M, I asked the skinny bitch behind the counter if there were any jackets which aren’t ’slim fit’. She smirked and said:

‘no, we don’t make them anymore’.  

This was, of course, code for:

‘Get out of our shop, you obscene hephalump’.  

Never mind, French Connection people were lovely and helpful. Particularly after I left my Visa in there and ran back to get it.   The production is deeply elegant.  The opera is one about opera. The prologue shows us a composer backstage at the premiere of his new opera ‘Ariadne’, being told that to save time, a cabaret act which was to follow his opera will be performed at the same time as his opera, so he had better do some editing.  The ‘opera’ which follows is half Grand Opera (Ariadne lamenting the abandonment of Theseus) and half commedia dell’arte clowning by the cabaret troupe.  Not a whole lot of plot, and this is the problem. The music is extraordinary, but not thrilling, the plot thin, hard to grab onto.

The Prologue (40 minutes) is far more compelling than the ‘opera’ by virtue of the fact that lots is happening, and we have the wonderfully human character of the Composer, concerned that his High Art is being sullied. The role is written for a woman (Strauss really didn’t like the male voice did he…) and Kristine Jepson sounded wonderful. She can also act and knows how to move on stage. These male roles written for women are very high, but they do insist on casting mezzo-sopranos, and she coped well (who can compete with sopranos like Teresa Stratas & Julia Varady?!) although someone should let her know that there are sections of the score which are not marked forte.

As the Music Master, veteran Thomas Allen showed up everyone in the show, his voice still (somehow) in perfect condition, his musicianship faultless and his acting mesmerising.  Is this man the Energiser-Bunny of opera?  As the cabaret-operetta sexpot, Canadian Gillian Keith got around all the (savagely difficult) notes of Zerbinetta, sounded gorgeous, looked edible and knows how to work an audience. A well deserved volley of applause and shouting followed her (interminable and nastily written) aria.  Problem is, it all sounds the same.    

 

BUT it was Voigt peoplehad come to hear.  She stole the show in the Prologue, as the bitchy Prima Donna. At the moment the major domo announced that the opera (HER opera) would be performed in tandem with slapstick and sexual innuendo, she did  a double take in three sections which most people missed, but I will never forget.  She sings very little in the Prologue, the Opera is where she dominates.  

The Interval was to be 40 minutes but was 50, due to ‘technical difficulties’. For a problematic piece like this, a long interval is a bad idea ANYWAY.  Ten minutes into the Opera (70 minutes long) I thought the ‘technical difficulties’ were with her. Her first aria was atrociously sung, cringe worthy at times.  One could feel the audience’s toes curling.  High notes barely hit, middle register thing and curdled.  Then, in her second, she audibly relaxed (the low G on ‘Totenreich’ was one of the finest sounds I have ever heard in my life) , and by the second half (which is basically one long duet) she was glorious, filling the Royal Opera House with thick, rich sound.  Tenor Robert Dean Smith sang the role of Bacchus which is both unrewarding AND impossible to sing. Given these circumstances he coped brilliantly, without ever actually making music out of it. I hold Strauss responsible for most of this, as the music GIVEN this character is at best bland.  In the pit, the recently knighted Sir Mark Elder led the diminished Royal Opera Orchestra (the opera is scored for 35 players only) in a wonderful performance.  This really is a musician’s opera, and they obviously love playing it.   What I found most fun was having the role of the speaking role of Major Domo (who brings the increasingly distressing reports of bad news to the composer in the Prologue) was played by Alexander Pereira, real life director of the Zurich Opera, Zurich Festival, and various other high-end arts management positions. He was wonderful, and VERY funny.  The Boyfriend didn’t care for it much, the lack of plot being a key element in his thinking.  But the other quibble is one I also take issue with. At the end of the Prologue, the people who are about to ‘go on’ and perform the Opera/Burlesque do so, in their costumes.  After the interval, where we are supposed to SEE this Opera/Burleseque, they are all wearing completely different costumes.  In fact, the two halves seem to have little if anything to do with each other. Almost as if we saw the Opera section from a completely different production.  Aesthetically it was beyond compare, a model of stage design and elegance…just didn’t seem to have anything to do with what we had seen before the (long long long) interval.  Still, they keep reviving this production so I guess more people love it than don’t.  It will never be in the ABCs (Aida, Boheme, Carmen) category, but this piece has the potential to captivate. Maybe this production is a little too clever for its own good?

deep blue sea…take two

Tonight I took the Director and the Dramatic Soprano to see the Terrence Rattigan play ‘The Deep Blue Sea’.  I had actually seen it some weeks ago with The Boyfriend, The Tall Lady and The Producer.  I was not thrilled, but I put it down to the fact that I had been having the week from Hell and was in no mood to see a play about the end of a traumatic love affair. Turns out, I was wrong.  The problem was not that I had been having a bad week, the problem was the leading lady.  Greta Scacchi.

She’s always been a mystery to me. How can such an obviously flawed actress be as successful as she is? What is she famous for exactly? Disrobing in most of her films?  She was the only weak link in what I thought was a fine play (from what I have read, most people agree that Rattigan wrote some remarkable works) but one which I am not going to make any effort to see again.  The play rests on the question ‘is this character going to survive the next 24 hours or will she let herself die’?  With Greta in the lead role, one can easily find oneself thinking ‘who cares, she’s an idiot’.

Still, she is a name (why?) and as one, producers will insist on casting her in star roles hoping for a sold our run.  The reviews have been phenomenal.  The Telegraph reviewer called Greta’s performance: 

…shatteringly fine as the desperate, suicidal Hester, catching the agonising mixture of despair and hope in her doomed affair with the former RAF Spitfire ace Freddie Page.

The Sunday Telegraph called it:

…the finest piece of acting I have seen in a decade.

Perhaps he was watching a different play…which is also called ‘The Deep Blue Sea’…

I am my mother’s son…it seems…

It has kicked in late I admit, but the Handbag Gene has kicked in.  Last week I finally became depressed by the sight of my current bag.  See, below.

 

It is functional I agree, but it doesn’t go with anything, is ENORMOUS and therefore impossible to find anything in when you really need it.  That and lately I never take my lap-top anywhere (for which the bag was designed) and having a few small items jangling around inside a huge bag has lost its novel appeal.  

I went hunting for a new one.  And had no luck.  I wanted something large enough to carry documents but small enough to be able to hold on my lap without obscuring my vision.  

Enter, Visconti Leather.  On Amazon I found several I liked but couldn’t decide.  I suddenly remembered my mother’s obsession with the perfect hand bag.  I remember her once saying that finding the right handbag is the equivalent of six months of really good therapy.  I always thought she was off the planet until I realised I was thinking about a bag in the same way.  I NEVER cared about my bag before this, what has changed?  Eventually I went with the Visconti Leather Messenger Bag 18548, in black (pictured above).  I ordered it online Sunday evening (62 quid, reduced from…something more expensive) and it arrived today at work, much to the surprise of my co-workers, expecting anything BUT a man-bag to show up express post on my desk at eleven.  It is, of course, divine and I have already fallen in love.  I have also put off calling Doctor Kaminsky for another six months… 

apologies to brahms…

In an earlier post I referred to myself as One of Those People who Doesn’t Like Brahms.  I was asked by someone (OK it was my Father) to expound on this a little and why certain composers (or performers for that matter) appeal and some don’t.  Had I known how handsome Brahms was before I saw the concert, who knows how I would have felt.  Should I be judging dead composers by their looks I wonder…

I wish to correct myself somewhat, Brahms deserves an apology.  He could write remarkable music.  His setting of the Paul Johann Ludwig von Heyse  poem ‘Sonntag’  is a song of such unabashed beauty and affection (as opposed to affectation, hello Schumann, we’ll get to you in a minute) that you can’t help but wish he had written more Lieder and less orchestral and chamber music.  I think my issue with SO much orchestral and instrumental music is ‘what’ the music is about.  The concert last week was the Brahms followed by the Schostakovich. About the latter, one can have no doubt what the composer is trying to get at.  If you know even a little about the history of Russia at the time and what Schostakovich was going through, it becomes clear what the piece is about.  After the piece finished, you KNOW.  

After the Brahms, I felt like saying;

‘What’s your point?’

Perhaps this is why the Lieder appeal to me, the poem’s words tell you (more or less) WHAT the music is about, and therefore, gives the audience a much needed piece of information.  Certain  composers  (Mahler, Tchaikovsky, Beethoven, Strauss, Zemlinsky, Berg, Schoenberg…) write in a way that one knows IMMEDIATELY  what is being said, even if there are no words to tell us what to expect, although a well thought of Symphony title doesn’t go astray (The Titan, Pathetique, Pastorale) and can provide one with a clue.

And in the Brahms Piano Concerto no. 1, I had NO idea what the piece was about. To me, it was nondescript and therefore, impossible for me to latch onto in anything other than a positive appraisal of the skill of the players.  I literally missed the point.  And with a conductor as clear and obvious as Dudamel (this is not a man who could be accused of drawing out nuance from a piece, not yet anyway), if HE can’t get the point across to me, then no one can.  Given the fact that Brahms never seemed to get around to HAVING a personal life OR experiencing any real drama in his life, I’m not surprised the art he produced occasionally lacks…body.  His ‘Deutsches Requiem’,  his most epic (and operatic) piece is not (as I had thought) an epic outpouring of national and religious fervour.  It was inspired by the death of his mother.  This is a man with not enough happening in his life!  

Is it simply that the experience of an artist’s life determines on what scale he or she’s art should be produced.  Brahms had a pretty boring life so is THAT why his songs (small scale and intimate) are wonderful and his Orchestral works are merely acceptable? Reynaldo Hahn had a relatively blessed upper middle class Parisian life (along with scoring Marcel Proust as his longtime lover) and proceeds to write some of the best chansonne ever put on paper.  His large scale work has the shelf life of Yoghurt.  Wagner, on the other hand, takes part in the Dresden revolution, spends his life running from creditors, has affair after affair, artistically seduces the King of Bavaria and proceeds to write ENORMOUS scale music, BRILLIANTLY (if a little too lengthy at times). HIS small scale music…don’t bother.    

So I will amend my former title from One of Those People who Doesn’t Like Brahms (OOTPWDLB) to One of Those People who Doesn’t Like Brahms Piano Concerto no. 1 (OOTPWDLBPCN1) until such time as someone is able to tell me what I missed, at which time I shall be all ears.  There is nothing I like better than re-hearing a piece and discovering something miraculous.

Oh I never got around to Schumann…later perhaps…