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| go to lobby page | more reviews | go to other departments | GLENN LONEY'S SHOW NOTES
[01] Is "Irish Opera" an Oxymoron?
Caricature of Glenn Loney
by Sam Norkin.
[02] Reviving Forgotten Operas
[03] Karl Goldmark's "Queen of Sheba"
[04] Umberto Giordano's "Siberia"
[05] Stanislaw Moniuszko's "The Haunted Manor"
[06] Condensed Operas: "Faust," "Threepenny Opera," "Silken Ladder"
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For our archive of Glenn Loney's previous 1999 columns, click here.
A Trio of Forgotten Operas
At Ireland's Wexford Festival:Is "Irish Opera" An Oxymoron
The Republic of Ireland has an internationally acclaimed National Theatre—the Abbey, founded by poet William Butler Yeats and playwright Augusta, Lady Gregory.
—Like Irish Gourmet Cooking?And it also has a National Symphony Orchestra. Every self-respecting nation should have one of each.
But it doesn't yet have an Irish National Opera.
Cork City has an Opera House in name only. Cork doesn't have a resident ensemble or a proper season. Dublin doesn't even have an opera-house or a theatre bearing that name.
Obviously, this is not because the Irish are not a musical people. Isn't Ireland, after all, the Land of Poets and Dreamers?
Weren't the first Irish musical performances—long lost in the mists of Celtic pre-history—the great song-sagas of the Gaelic Bards?
Recently, an Irish music-critic explained the reason for this dearth of music-theatre in the Emerald Isle. He blames the Anglo-Irish aristocracy.
Proprietors of great estates with vast fields and woodlands, they were far more interested in The Hunt than in the High Performing Arts.
Whether they dwelt in medieval castles, made-over ruined abbeys, or imposing Georgian Country Houses in Ireland, they were more apt to spend "The Season" in their London townhouses.
This is one reason Dublin—although it was and is the capital-city—remained so long a provincial clone of London. Even the National Theatre was founded only in this century—and by two outstanding literary figures of the Anglo-Irish Protestant Ascendancy, Lady Gregory and Yeats.
Even major Irish-born playwrights who first won attention in Dublin—like the famed Dion Boucicault—rapidly departed for London. Boucicault's comedy-melodramas triumphed in London, Paris, and New York—where he won even more fame as author, actor, director, and producer.
The roster of emigrated Irish playwrights includes Oliver Goldsmith, Richard Brinsley Sheridan, Oscar Wilde, George Bernard Shaw, and Sean O'Casey. And, of course, Samuel Beckett, who went all the way to France.
Opera companies have long toured in Ireland. But there has apparently never been a large enough public—or sufficient public and private patronage—to support an opera-theatre, an ensemble, or a season.
Wexford Opera-Lovers To The Rescue!
That doesn't mean there were never any opera-fans in Ireland. Indeed, in the southeastern coastal town of Wexford, local opera-lovers formed an Opera Study Group in 1950.The noted British author, Sir Compton Mackenzie—a great opera-recording collector—told the group at its inaugural meeting that they shouldn't be content only with listening to recordings and studying scores and librettos.
The next year, the Wexford Opera Festival was born. The first production was The Rose of Castile, composed by Ireland's own Michael Balfe—who once lived in Wexford. Balfe is today best remembered for The Bohemian Girl and its hit-aria, "I Dreamt I Dwelt in Marble Halls."
Mackenzie remained President of the Wexford Festival until his 1973 death at age 90. But the real burden of organizing and funding the festival was borne by Wexford's Dr. Tom Walsh, first Artistic Director of the Festival. He was strongly assisted by several equally dedicated associates.
Every year since then, the Wexford Festival has explored forgotten or neglected works. In 1955, two operas were produced, instead of only one. In 1963, the annual tradition of mounting three obscure operas was launched.
This would be costly and difficult for major festivals, but Wexford's challenges are even greater. Operas are not chosen just because they have been gathering dust on some archival shelf in Vienna, Milan, Paris, or London.
The works must have interesting, dramatically viable libretti and scores with music well worth rediscovering. This also means the operas have to be cast with really good voices and with actor-singers who can bring the plots to vibrant life on stage.
Produced on very low budgets, the operas cannot be cast with Big Names. But outstanding young artists who have yet to win major acclaim find Wexford an excellent showcase for their talents.
This season, as last, at the annual press-conference, some music-critics—with strong Irish Nationalist feelings—asked Artistic Director Luigi Ferrari why there weren't important Irish vocal talents in the three opera-casts.
A cursory reading of the program does reveal a number of Italian names, but also a large contingent from Eastern Europe. So Ferrari can hardly be accused of favoring his own countrymen.
Ferrari pointed out that David Jones, conductor of Moniuszko's Haunted Manor, is an eminent young Irish musician. In fact, he noted, auditions are always widely publicized and held in several major European cities.
Young Irish singers are always more than welcome—if the roles are right for them.
The operatic reality, however, is that emerging Irish opera talents—as with young Americans, Canadians, and Europeans as well—usually are already under contract as members of opera ensembles. Many of these are in Germany and are already in production in September and October, when the Wexford Festival is rehearsing and performing.
The great good fortune for Wexford and its audiences is that Ferrari has been able to discover so many fine young singers with great voices and a real talent for the stage.
Austria's Bregenz Festival—which features only one forgotten or neglected opera each summer season—has also been showcasing new talents from Eastern and Western Europe, as well as from North America.
But it has a big budget, state-of-the-art backstage shops, and remarkable technical facilities. It also has the Vienna Symphony, which has an obvious edge on the National Symphony of Ireland.
So it is nothing less than remarkable that Wexford can present three handsomely produced operas, rotating nightly for 16 performances.
This fall was the 48th annual Wexford season. Next autumn—from 19 October to 5 November—will be the Millennium Season. Wexford's Golden Anniversary Season arrives in 2001.
If this year's festivities are any indication, the Millennium Season is going to be well worth a trip to Ireland. This past October, not only were there fantastic fireworks, but the President of Ireland—the Honorable Mrs. Mary McAleese—opened the festival.
The three forgotten or neglected operas chosen for 2000 AD are Tchaikovsky's Orleanskaya deva—The Maid of Orleans, Adolphe Adam's Si j'étais roi—If I Were King, and Riccardo Zandonai's Conchita.
Production photos, backgrounders, reports on this season, and next fall's program can be found on the new website: www.wexfordopera.com
The festival administration can be contacted by email: info@wexfordopera.com
But if you want to order tickets well in advance—the theatre is very small—the box-office can be reached by phone: 011-353-53-22144. Or by FAX: 011-353-53-47438.
Big Effects on a Small Stage
The greatest challenge at this ambitious festival faces the designers. Wexford's Theatre Royal, built in 1832, is a very intimate—and antique—playhouse of 560 seats. Its proscenium opening is only 6.77 meters wide by 5.43 meters high. The stage depth is 7.87 meters, with only a few feet of wing-space on either side.Some drops can be flown, but there are only a few lines. That each opera each season is handsomely designed is a wonder. Simplicity, Minimality, and Style are the keys to success.
Luigi Ferrari is not only Wexford's dynamic artistic director, but he's also the resourceful director of the Rossini Festival in Pesaro, Italy. So Wexford's sets and costumes are built in Pesaro under his close supervision.
Karl Goldmark's The Queen of Sheba Amazes
Outstanding this season in solving design problems for the small stage was Karl Goldmark's The Queen of Sheba.
BAD HAIR DAY IN JERUSALEM--Cornelia Helfricht as the Queen of Sheba visits King Solomon's Court in Karl Goldmark's opera. Photo: Copyright & Copy—Derek Speirs/Wexford Opera 1999. Set-and-costume designer Massimo Gasparon took his visual cues from Aubrey Beardsley's art-nouveau illustrations and Joseph Olbricht's Jugendstil decorations for Vienna's Secession Building. He even adapted Olbricht's famed "Golden Cabbage" dome of golden leaves as a set-prop.
An inner proscenium, two sets of four sliding shutters front and rear, an inner balcony, and a steeply stepped podium for King Solomon and his court were all basic black. This suggested an infinite feeling of space and majesty.
The front shutters, set in various positions, were highlighted by Olbricht's stylized silver trees—which can also be seen in Vienna on the walls of Secession. The rear set of sliding panels were adorned with Second Empire golden wreaths, fluttering ribbons, and crossed torches.
A single tall corkscrew column suggested the opulence of Solomon's Palace. In the Temple, its base became the High Altar. Later, segments of the screwed spirals littered the Judean desert.
The forestage was simply but opulently decorated with art-nouveau urns standing on turtles. Larger versions can be seen in front of Vienna's Secession, devised by Olbrich's fertile imagination.
From Beardsley's Yellow Book illustrations, Gasparon borrowed huge wide wigs for the Queen of Sheba, her attendants, and the women of King Solomon's Court. They wore long white gowns, while Solomon's men and priests—with bald skull-caps—wore long beige robes.
Cornelia Helfricht made quite an impression as the imperious, yet mischievous, Queen of Sheba. Her rich mezzo suggested both sexual allure and an aura of power.
I had already heard and admired Helfricht in Germany. But I did not know that she had studied opera-performance with my old friend David Thaw, longtime member of the Bavarian State Opera ensemble. He and the great Astrid Varnay have been training young singers for some time in Munich.
When I phoned David to report on Wexford, praising Helfricht, he told me how delighted he was to hear of his student's success. The small world of Opera!
Max Wittges was sonorous and majestic as King Solomon, strongly assisted by his High Priest, Piotr Nowacki.
Goldmark's impressive score suggests a collaboration between Verdi and Wagner. So it is no wonder this opera was once a repertory regular. It has some very powerful and some seductive arias and orchestral passages. But times and tastes change.
The central dramatic problem of this formerly popular opera—is the refusal of a favorite of the King, handsome young Assad [Mauro Nicoletti], to marry the High Priest's lovely but modest daughter, Sulamith [Inka Rinn].
Away from the Court, the lovesick lad has seen a beautiful lady bathing in a forest pool. He is instantly smitten. When the Queen of Sheba appears at Court, he recognizes her at once as his mysterious beloved.
He blasphemes in the Temple by calling the Queen his god. And he refuses his intended bride.
The quixotic Queen, however, spurns him as one unknown to her. And the angry people demand his death for his blasphemy.
She does ask Solomon to spare his life, but only Sulamith's pleas move the King, who sends the unfortunate Assad into exile in the desert.
The Queen follows him and tempts him again. He rejects her.
Motivations for her imperious and devious conduct are never made clear in the libretto or suggested in her music.
Andrew Porter—longtime music-critic for The New Yorker—told me in the interval: "She's Venus!"
Oh… Well, that does explain a lot, doesn't it?
In a violent sandstorm, Assad prays for death to expiate his blasphemy. Sulamith finds him and embraces him in forgiveness as he dies.
If this plot can hold the stage—as it did at Wexford—the time is probably ripe for a revival of Thaïs.
Beverly Sills was once ravishing as a luxurious odalisque Thaïs, reclining on a sumptuous bed with a great mirror suspended overhead. New York City Opera might take a new look at this work, if not The Queen of Sheba.
Stage-director Patrick Mailler wisely confined his players to noble poses and gestures, with some stylized movement suggesting both ritual and choreography.
In general, this worked very well on the small stage. But his decision to have two chastely-robed women pouring white sand from one shallow vessel into another, over and over, became visually tiresome.
Did this represent The Sands of Time? Or did it merely mean that time was running out for Assad?
In the desert, imperial majesty vanished, replaced by a red scrim, burning sun, and black silhouettes.
Claude Schnitzler conducted this would-be Grand Opera with subtlety and sensitivity. This gave added dimension to its story of doomed loves and the powerful emotions involved.
This protected it from the pretension of a monumental Aida-type production. That's the way it was produced in its heyday.
Umberto Giordano's Siberia Saved from Oblivion
Giorgio Richelli, who designed Umberto Giordano's Siberia, had to create three distinct scenic locales on the small Theatre Royal stage. Notable was that of a border-post with a stage-wide stretch of windows through which the long file of Russian prisoners could be dimly seen.
ALL FOR LOVE--Elena Zelenskaia and Dario Volonté as doomed lovers before their fatal march into the Gulags in Umberto Giordano's "Siberia." Photo: Copyright & Copy—Derek Speirs/Wexford Opera 1999. A door with windows, following the line of the window-wall, opened to admit guards, prisoners, and people come to bid them farewell on their long, dangerous journey into the Gulags. Sections of the windows opened to make the convicts more distinct and add power and pathos to their sung laments.
Although there are strong whiffs of Puccini in Giordano's score, he artfully infused it with a deep feeling of Old Russia. The melody of the chant of the Volga Boatmen runs through the opera.
Russian folk-songs and dances, as well as balalaika music, are also dramatically and emotionally integrated. This is a score which certainly deserves repeated hearings.
Even though the icy wastes of Siberia and the harsh conditions of the Gulags don't seem very promising territory for operas, that has not prevented several noted composers from creating scores for libretti which are either set or end in Siberia.
Janacek's Aus einem Totenhaus/From the House of the Dead achieves a very special power from the bleakness of the Siberian landscape, the hopelessness of the prisoners, and the harshness of their existence. The score provides a musical equivalent of this which stage-designers and performers find difficult to equal.
I asked Andrew Porter—who was sitting next to me—how many operas set in, or ending in, Siberia he could think of. He paused, mentally enumerating, and said: "Six!"
This could be a challenging Opera-Trivia question for WQXR, New York's "Good Music Station."
The concept of a summer opera festival featuring all of those operas—while initially seeming a bit visually bleak—might actually be artistically very rewarding.
In any case, on the evidence of the Wexford staging, we ought to have more new productions of Siberia.
At the very least, we ought to have its Wexford principals, Elena Zelenskaia and Dario Volonté, paired as doomed lovers in Verismo and Romantic "War-Horses" of the standard repertory. They are very impressive talents—especially together.
Zelenskaia sang—and wonderfully acted—Stephana, the beautiful mistress of the imperious Russian Prince Alexis. The opera opens with the Prince arriving to show off his human trophy to his brother officers and aristocratic friends.
She hasn't yet returned from a night-time tryst with her true love, the young infantry officer Vassili. He knows nothing of her real life. The old housekeeper Nikona and the butler cover for her, saying she's still asleep.
Posted away from Petersburg to the Crimea, Vassili comes to say goodbye to his old nanny Nikona. Unfortunately, he and Alexis clash, and he wounds the Prince.
Condemned to a living death in Siberia, he's joined at a border-post by Stephana. She wants to share the long march to Siberia and his grim exile.
In the Gulag, her former pimp, Gleby—strongly played and sung by Walter Donati—tries to get her to escape with him and resume their previous profitable relationship.
She refuses, so he exposes her past to all the prisoners, and especially to Vassili.
It is Easter in the camp, but a kind of sacrificial death awaits the lovers—shot while trying to escape.
Fabio Sparvoli directed, with choreography by Isadora Weiss, and costumes by Alessandra Torella. Daniele Callegari conducted with spirit, while chorus-master Lubomir Mátl roused the chorus to the challenges of the score.
Considering the number of Slavic artists in the chorus—outstanding in all three operas, thanks to Mátl—it was interesting to hear them sing old Russian melodies so easily in Italian.
eloved in Poland, Unknown Abroad—
Stanislaw Moniuszko's Haunted Manor may well be unknown in the West, but it is a repertory mainstay in its native Poland. I have seen Moniuszko's Straszny Dwór in several productions there, including Lodz, Krakow, and Warsaw—at the Teatr Wielki, or Grand Theatre.
Stanislaw Moniuszko's The Haunted ManorMoniuszko's Halka is even more beloved of Poles—and also just as unknown this side of the Oder and the Elbe Rivers. Wexford might want to take a look at that score in a few years?
What initially delighted Polish audiences in 1865—before the Russian censor abruptly suppressed the opera—is its celebration of the idea of a Polish Nation, with Polish Heroes to defend it.
Unfortunate Poland—which has a centuries-old history of being attacked, trampled upon, and occupied by foreign powers—at the time Moniuszko composed Straszny Dwór was partitioned among Russia, Prussia, and the Austro-Hungarian Empire.
Not only did Moniuszko integrate beloved Polish songs and dances—Mazurkas, Polonaises, Varsoviennes, Polkas, Dumkas, and Krakowiaks—but he also provided his leading men and women with arias, duets, and choruses demonstrating their courage and fidelity to the ideal of Poland.
This is not, however, an obviously Patriotic Opera—although that was surely an underlying intention. Instead, it is an often riotous comedy about two officer-brothers—sworn to soldierly celibacy—falling for the lovely daughters of an old officer who visibly represents the Polish Spirit.
The young men's aunt has already—and unasked—arranged brides for them, so she tries to prevent them from getting to know the two girls. She tells them the old officer's country-house is haunted.
She and a foppish rejected suitor of one of the girls contrive spooky effects and events in the old house, but the brave young officers are not to be scared off.
For those who know nothing of Polish history—or the brave resistance of its people to foreign overlords—the patriotic aspects of the story may seem but footnotes to an otherwise jolly comedy-melodrama, crammed with wonderful songs and dances.
From the lively hi-jinx of its plot—and its two couples happily united at the close—Straszny Dwór could easily be mistaken for an operetta, were it not for the ingenuity and weight of Moniuszko's score. This is a very rich, even demanding, score, in which the national musical forms are raised to a strongly dramatic level.
Francesco Calcagnini devised several ingenious scenes, including a Mondrian-like skewed-Modernist interior for the Haunted Manor. This may have been a mistake, clever though it was.
His bare army-barracks, with low camp-beds, was suggestive and quickly struck. The officers' own home was simply suggested with a boxed-in bed on casters, also quickly removed.
For the manor's interior, doors and wall-panels slanted toward stage-left. This wall looked like a mis-hung Mondrian canvas, rendered in 3-D profile.
The effect was rather like insisting that the Museum of Modern Art is haunted. This opera needs an antique and cob-webby ambiance, even if only suggestive.
The "haunted" grandfather clock—which should be a prominent stage-prop—seemed to be reduced to an odd unattached circle moving across the top of the proscenium.
Having Mylar mirrors become transparent so the two girls could be glimpsed as family portraits is also a modern effect. Here also, an old-fashioned effect would have been more astonishing: Painted portraits on scrim, lit from the front, would seem to dissolve if the girls, standing behind them, were lit and the lights in front dimmed.
The Mylar also had the unfortunate effect—at least in the steeply-inclined balcony—of reflecting the conductor and the orchestra in the midst of the setting. Perhaps in the orchestra, the audience was looking at reflections of the balcony?
wona Hossa, as Hanna, was outstanding in her coloratura aria. It almost brought down both the Haunted House and the Wexford playhouse. She is star-material.
As her sister Jadwiga, Victoria Vizin was also admirable, but Moniuszko didn't give her a comparable show-stopper.
Their father, the Sword-Bearer of Poland, Zenon Kowalski was dignified and stentorian, especially difficult in his peculiar costume with ceremonial wings.
As the officer-brothers, Dariusz Stachura and Jacek Janiszewski, were strong stalwart heroes, lovers, and actor-singers.
Elizabeth Woods was very amusing—if rather too much of a soubrette to be their old intriguing auntie. As the Sword-Bearer's factotum and the rejected suitor, Leszek Swidzinski proved a lively foil. At one point, this duo even swaped costumes—trans-dressing as they transgressed on the plans of the young lovers.
As played, the aunt seemed far too giddy—and "available"—and the suitor rather too swish to be a creditable candidate for marriage.
If the production had one really irritating fault, it was that there was far too much fussy "business," even among minor characters. Nothing and no one could be still for an instant. This suggested that the director didn't really trust the story or the score.
Considering his modernist setting, it's odd that the young Polish director, Michal Znaniecki, decided to present the final celebratory festivities largely in Commedia dell'Arte costumes. It looked like Carnevale in Venice.
Historic Polish costumes, however, may be anathema to Young Polish Directors. Still, it is historically accurate that both Polish and Russian aristocrats often spurned their own peasant-rooted native culture for visions of Paris and Italy.
Ireland's own David Jones conducted with a real feeling for the Polish musical elements and for the general jollity of the proceedings.
Opera-Digests, Concerts, and Fringe Events
Both before and after the performances, there are opera-feasts at White's Hotel and the Talbot Hotel. There are also late-night entertainments at both hotels and other city venues.During performance-days, condensed versions of operas and special concerts are presented. Most of these are performed in White's Barn.
Not only is White's Hotel a marvelous jumble of buildings and chambers from various eras, but it also incorporates two large barns side-by-side which now serve as ballrooms, concert-halls, and impromptu theatres.
Outstanding among the barn-stagings was a concert of Polish songs, with singers enjoying a richly laden table while singing or reacting to the songs of others. These included lyrics set by Chopin, Paderewski, Moniuszko, Selenski, and Karlowicz.
The singers were Iwona Hossa, Anna Janiszewska, Leszek Swidzinski, and Jacek Janiszewski. All of these performers are not only blessed with fine voices, refined by obviously good training, but they are also very attractive and able on stage. You will surely hear more of them in the near future. Rosetta Cucci accompanied.
There were three mini-stagings—or opera-digests—of Gounod's Faust, the Brecht/Weill Threepenny Opera, and Rossini's La scala di seta/The Silken Ladder.
The latter gave Wexford a taste of Rossini from Pesaro. But it was surely a novelty for those who had previously seen conventional period stagings of this merry work.
Staged by Musical Director Rosetta Cucci, it was set in a modern office, which rather changed the dynamics of the original plot. It was also unusual in that it was sung half in English, half in Italian.
Both these production effects were a bit dis-orienting, but the cast was so delightful, that one soon was drawn into the fun and the artful music-making.
For those critics who seem to worry that too many Italians and Slavs are taking away Wexford roles from deserving Irish singers, the fine young cast included one Irishman, Roland Davitt, four singers from the UK, and one charming Italian, Daniela Pellizzari.
Among the talented UK artists, Darren Abrahams stood out as Dorvil. He has a fine tenor voice, is a skilled actor, and is fortunate to be both athletic and handsome. He has already performed with the British Youth Opera. And he is a name to look for, a career to follow.
The Faust—probably chosen to salute Goethe's 250th anniversary—was generally well sung, but its ambitious staging lacked the technical support needed for major dramatic effect.
Frantisek Zahradnicek's Mephistopheles was especially riveting. Massimo Giordano's Faust, Chloë Wright's Marguerite, Vladimir Gluschak's Valentin, and Christina Wilson's Marthe were all effective.
Debora Virello and Michal Znaniecki co-staged Threepenny Opera, updated to contemporary homelessness, begging, and crime. There was even a Dumpster as a major set-piece.
One of Macheath's whores borrowed her costume-idea from the cardboard cutouts of Ennio Marchetto, which unfold to reveal costume changes or anatomy.
There were a number of clever production details, but Barbara Brecht-Schall would surely have suffered cardiac arrest to see her father's most popular and parodic work so trendily spoofed. Even though it is itself an ironic spoof.
Stewart Kempster and Kevin Ferguson, as Peachum and Mac the Knife, were outstanding among a generally able cast.
The updating of Brecht's ironic Happy Ending included a Royal Pardon on the gallows for Macheath, dispatched by King William V—Prince "Wills" at present. King Charles III must have been passed over?
For the finale, the cast took their calls in T-Shirts with their first names across their chests. This made a nice informal contrast with the dressy evening productions.
Even though White's Barn as a theatre is little more than a raised platform in a hall with a balcony, the Festival attempts not only to stage these condensed operas, but also to set, costume, and light them.
But there aren't enough lighting-instruments or sophisticated controls to do justice to the visual enhancements. Sometimes it's even difficult to see the singers.
But with two different shows—mornings and afternoons—daily during the Festival, it's apparently been impossible to devise a repertory lighting-system which will be at least adequate for all productions.
With more light-sources overhead—at least during the Festival—a skilled lighting-designer could conceivably create a workable system of sufficient wattage and variety. [Loney]
Copyright © Glenn Loney 1999. No re-publication or broadcast use without proper credit of authorship. Suggested credit line: "Glenn Loney, New York Theatre Wire." Reproduction rights please contact: jslaff@nytheatre-wire.com.
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