a shop window on B Street, Hayward
detail of Proscenium by Sargent Claude Johnson, currently at BAM/PFA & on view as part of the exhibit Object Oriented: Abstraction and Design in the BAMPFA Collection
This year we were given their tenth opera, & the first composed by a woman: 1707's Ercole Amante by Antonia Bembo, an Italian woman eventually resident in France, whose approach combined the two national schools of music. There was a concert performance in Europe a few years ago, but this production was the first modern, & possibly the first ever, fully staged production (another is scheduled for next year at the Paris Opera). The staging by Ricci was clever & often humorous, & kept the complicated story clear & moving (in every sense). The plot, as the title indicates, revolves around Hercules falling in love – with Iole, a woman whose father he killed, & who is also beloved by his son Hyllo. In addition, Hercules is already married to Deianira. And various gods get involved: jealous Giunone (Juno), who has always hated Hercules, & Venere (Venus), who wants to thwart Juno. There is also a Page, who delivers messages & comic asides. With those characters the plot starts spinning like a top, & as usual with baroque opera, there is no point in typing out a summary, as it would sound like confusing convoluted nonsense, but in performance it all makes complete logical & emotional sense (I've experienced this over & over & always advise people that the first rule of attending baroque opera is not to read the plot summary.)
I was reminded of one of my favorite movies, Renoir's The Rules of the Game, also about an insular, insulated privileged caste entertaining themselves with the frisson of love affairs while their world slides away; but perhaps the main theme that reminded me of the film is the interrogation of the role of the hero: like Renoir's aviator, Hercules is officially a hero, but he fits awkwardly into normal life. Heroes are perhaps easier to live with once they're safely dead.
Bembo's score, prepared for performance by Adam Cockerham & conducted from the harpsichord by Matthew Dirst, is consistently appealing & entertaining. I did feel that in a couple of scenes that required something a little more, she had not supplied it: the underworld scene involving Iole's father didn't seem differentiatingly eerie to me, & the death of Hercules was lacking in the tragic grandeur we find in Handel's version of the same scene: but perhaps the failure there is mine, conditioned to expect tragic grandeur by repeated exposure to Handel's work, when Bembo, consistent with her quizzical view of the Hero, is trying for a different effect: yes, he was larger than life, but didn't that make him a bit demanding, a bit difficult to have around? And doesn't life go on, perhaps even a bit more smoothly, after his death?
Zachary Gordin was a suitably beefy Ercole, Kindra Scharich the long-suffering & touching Deianira, Lila Khazoum & Maxwell Ary as Iole & Hyllo an appealing pair of young lovers, Aura Veruni a blazing Giunone, Melissa Sondhi a sly Venere; Nick Volkert portrayed an imposing series of gods with minor roles, as well as the ghost of Iole's father, & Sara Couden was funny & sly as the Page. Bembo's initial appearance was portrayed by Cynthia Keiko Black. I did feel that the score & story are rich enough to support a sometimes less humorous approach, particularly with Hyllo; if the Paris Opera production is made available, it would be interesting to see how they handle this opera. In the meantime, I am very happy with what we were given by Ars Minerva, & I am already eagerly awaiting their next rediscovery.
The storyline is based on the opening chapters of the very long & episodic Chinese classic novel, Journey to the West; the portion we are given is basically the Monkey King origin story. Sun Wukong, the monkey who makes himself the Monkey King & then a disciple of the Buddha, is, despite his spiritual trajectory, a rambunctious & brassy character, a variant of the Trickster God, but since he is also a King, he has some inherent responsibilities towards others that can lead him into more altruistic directions. The story of the opera is the story of his discovery of some level of selflessness & spiritual enlightenment, as he is guided through adventures & suffering by the compassionate bodhisattva Guanyin & the teachings of the Buddha.
It all makes for an emotionally & dramatically complete work, though (perhaps this is just my enjoyment speaking), as in any superhero-based tale, there is room for sequels. It was several scenes into the work, after seeing the Monkey King go underwater to gain his great weapon, & then ascend to the heavens to see the glittering, corrupt world of the powerful gods, when I started to think of The Monkey King as potentially part of a Chinese-American Ring cycle, an impression strengthened by later hopes expressed by his Buddhist teacher that the Monkey King will function as some sort of redeemer of a corrupt world. As with many of our insights, I realized this one was not unique to me: while reading the program-book on the train afterwards I found in one of the articles this very subject being discussed by the composer & librettist.
The visuals (the costumes, &, in particular, the make-up of the Monkey King) & the action (the acrobatics, the choreographed fights) are very influenced by Asian theater, particularly Peking Opera; the music also crosses traditional east-west borders. Though the orchestra (led with assurance by Carolyn Kuan) is largely a traditional European opera orchestra, the percussion battery includes large & medium Indonesian button gongs, a Chinese opera gong, & small Chinese crash symbols, & there is a prominent role for pipa (played by Shenshen Zhang), including a rock-god-guitar-type battle between the Monkey King & one of his heavenly opponents. But the music, though permeated by traditional Chinese sounds, is not aggressively "other" or even "exotic" to non-Chinese ears, which is why I earlier referred to it as a Chinese-American work.
But the political suggestions of this opera are secondary to its religious & philosophical explorations. How are we to live? is the main theme, the central & too frequently silenced question of our lives. The work opens & closes with choruses singing Buddhist sutras – the chorus, a collective, expressing poetic, spiritual thoughts in a way that suggests universalism. But during the course of the action, sutra sections are usually expressed in the powerful soprano of Guanyin, that is, not only an individual, but one removed both spiritually (by her status as an immortal bodhisattva) & physically (by her elevation above the stage) from what is happening below. She functions as a sort of musical conscience to the Monkey King. Does he truly understand, & accept, & live by, what she is expressing? Or is he just looking to her as a sort of deus ex machina to get him out of various scrapes? We have gone from the choral universalism of the opening to the individual struggle, in the toils of a baffling & illusory world, to understand, accept, & act on profound sentiments in a profound & meaningful way. As they keep saying in the Journey to the West, Splendid Monkey King! Handsome Monkey King! But after the gorgeous stage-pictures have faded, the unsettling underlying message remains: How are we to live in the world we are given?
Oroshi (Mountain Gust) by Kino Satoshi, on view as part of New Japanese Clay at the Asian Art Museum
(from left to right: baritone Brian Mulligan, director Francesca Zambello, Music Director Eun Sun Kim, General Director Matthew Shilvock)
Yesterday afternoon in the Taube Atrium Theater, adjacent to the Opera House, San Francisco Opera made it official: Der Ring des Nibelungen is returning, with three full cycles in June 2028, along with stand-alone Rheingolds & Walküres in preceding seasons. This announcement was not exactly a surprise, as the Verdi / Wagner project inaugurated when Eun Sun Kim was hired as Music Director implicitly would have to include the Ring, but there are now definite times, & at least some definite performers. What was a surprise, & almost a shock as far as I was concerned, was General Director Matthew Shilvock's statement that this would be the first full Ring cycle in the United States since the pandemic. But thinking for a moment about the dates, maybe I shouldn't have been so surprised, as it takes years to put together a Ring cycle (hence yesterday's announcement, years in advance of the performances) & the pandemic really wasn't that long ago: depending on how you calculate its end, maybe four years? And so much has happened since then, most of it ranging from bad to very very bad. (So I at least am grateful to have a Ring to look forward to.)
Kim of course will be the conductor, & this will be her first full Ring cycle. (During the Q&A after the presentation, Lisa Hirsch asked if Kim would be the first woman to conduct a full cycle in the United States, & it looks as if she probably will be.) Francesca Zambello's production will be revived (& probably, to some extent, revised, just because that's how these things go). Our principal singers were also announced: Brian Mulligan as Wotan (his first full Cycle in the role), Tamara Wilson as Brünnhilde (making her company debut), & Simon O'Neill as Siegfried. It's probably just me, but when they announced the "three" principals, I thought, "Wotan, Brünnhilde, & . . . who is the third lead?" Haha, so much for The Hero. (Personally, I might suggest Alberich as #3.)
You can get such details as are currently available here on the Opera's website. Here are some highlights, or maybe odds & ends, from the presentation:
We were fed, which is always important at these things! Various sausages (beef, chicken, & vegan), cut in half (not lengthwise, the other way), served on rolls, with mustard & sauerkraut available, very tasty, as well as thick pretzels, all very Bavarian, along with wine, beer, soft drinks, & sparkling water. Everything ran smoothly, on time, & was well coordinated (anyone who's been involved in any level in such presentations knows how impressive this is).
The large scene behind the panelists showed various logos (San Francisco Opera, the 2028 Ring logo) or various scenes from earlier productions, or shots of the performers. It was all appropriate & visually interesting, engaging enough to be useful but not obtrusive enough to be distracting.
Shilvock led a discussion with Kim, Zambello, & Mulligan. Each gave some highlights of her or his history with the Ring. Each mentioned, in their own ways, how different Wagner is from the rest of the repertory: a different level of engagement & intensity. Zambello noted that "obviously I love Verdi – look at my last name!" but directing Wagner is different. Both she & Kim noted that the musicians performing Wagner are ones who really want to be there. I was struck by the underlying theme (a leitmotif, if you will, & I guess we must) of the sheer physical difficulty of performing these lengthy & demanding works. Kim mentioned the shoulder strain of the musicians, Mulligan mentioned the daunting level of details involved in something like Wotan's Act 2 "soliloquy" to Brünnhilde in Walküre. Zambello mentioned at that point that that's where she & the conductor act as coaches, helping the singer break things down into less overwhelming segments of a few minutes each. Pacing yourself as for a marathon was repeatedly mentioned.
Zambello was asked what moment in the Ring was most difficult to stage, & she immediately said, "the end of Götterdämmerung." The music is a lot to live up to. All panelists talked about how thoroughly the music guides one through the works, but also about how difficult it is to live up to the music. Shilvock asked the three which role they would ideally play. Kim didn't give an answer, but Mullligan immediately said Hagen, which I thought was an interesting choice, & Zambello said it would have to be Brünnhilde: she even has the name of Brünnhilde's horse on her car's license plate. When discussing her staging of the Ring, Zambello mentioned that it had been described as a "feminist" Ring, but, she pointed out, that's what Wagner wrote. I've also heard other Ring stagings described as "feminist" & I'm never clear what exactly that means in this context, as that interpretation is inherent in the material: no matter what you think of Siegfried, it really is Brünnhilde who is the key to the Cycle.
There were some interesting questions from the audience; Joshua Kosman asked Mulligan about putting together the three Wotans: is there a development in the character, or do you approach each opera separately? Mulligan responded with his view of the arc of Wotan's development. I think it was then that he said Wotan's passionate outburst to Erda in Siegfried was one of his favorite moments in the role: the true love duet in the Ring.
Zambello had mentioned working through staging by way of character, which is how you turn moments from potentially mechanical exposition into something more dramatic. Scene 2 of Rheingold in particular was discussed as, in her terms, "a one-act play"; Mulligan mentioned the concentration necessary to keep up with all the overlapping exchanges of information in that scene. The Ring, for all its vastness, is often quite intimate (I was surprised by this initially, until I realized how much of it is based on Greek tragedy, which also mostly uses only a few individuals at a time in the dramatic scenes).
One questioner asked how many people had, like him, come to Wagner through Anna Russell. About ten had, but I noticed when he mentioned Russell, Kim looked puzzled & whispered something to Shilvock: time moves on, & it's been decades since Russell performed; it seemed likely to me that Kim had not heard of her. If she does look up the comedian's famous, or once famous, routine (in which she mostly just recites the plot of the Ring: "I'm not making this up, you know!") I wonder what she'll think of it. Unfortunately there was no follow-up question asking about What's Opera, Doc?
There were questions about the number of leitmotifs (someone in the audience offered I think it was 176 as the answer), & about how many musicians in the orchestra were new since the last Ring was done in 2018 (quite a few of them, apparently). Mention was naturally made of the great extra expense of putting on the Ring, which of course is one reason for announcing the performances years in advance, to allow for the necessary fund raising. And there was a question about the promised ancillary events: would they include some sort of partnership with our local WNBA team, the Valkyries? That too will be revealed as June 2028 draws closer.
Ring swag! Each attendee was given a branded tote bag.
Lovers in a Garden, a sixteenth-century stained glass work from the Netherlands, now at the Art Institute of Chicago
I was at the first performance of San Francisco Opera's current revival of Parsifal. As usual after one of the major Wagner works I reeled out afterwards, needing several days to adjust to what we so blithely, amusingly, & thoughtlessly call "reality". That's Parsifal, a work that has run like a leitmotiv through my inner life. I saw the Opera's previous staging, by Nikolaus Lehnhoff, a quarter of a century ago; my major memory is of Kundry at the end, wandering down the railroad tracks that were a prominent feature of the staging (intended as an echo of the Shoah, I think), heading towards . . . a life redeemed from the guilt that oppresses her? a death that relieves her of sin, sorrow, & regret? An ambiguity, among the work's other ambiguities, that can haunt the susceptible. It's the image that unwittingly stuck in my mind: Kundry, the conflicted, the wounded, the mocker & helper, finally free to wander off. That was several years before I started posting here, so I can link to no thoughts from the time. For other encounters with Parsifal, including the famous Syberberg film & the notorious "bunny" staging at Bayreuth, I offer an early post of mine, which you can find here.
The staging by Matthew Ozawa is elegant & evocative. It has a ritualistic feel & a fairy-tale look that suit the story & leaves what we're seeing open to ruminative & variant, even contradictory, interpretations. In the first & third acts, the arching Gothic columns turn into tree trunks & back with fluid ease; the colors are dark, with brighter splashes, including a trio of dancers in scarlet (Gabrielle Sprauve, Brett Conway, & Livanna Mailsen, with stately movements by Rena Butler; they added quite a bit to the ritualistic aura of the production). The Flower Maidens in the second act made a particularly lovely scene, in shades of green, teal, pale blue, & yellow, glowing softly against a midnight blue-velvet background; it looked like an illumination by Edmund Dulac.
It was such a striking moment that I regretted the failure in Act 3 to provide the contrasting field of Good Friday flowers; instead we were given the Act 1 set, a bit decayed like the Knighthood of the Grail, but glowing with the redemption offered by Parsifal, who takes up the Grail rituals – actually, in this production, offered by Parsifal with Kundry who stand together, united, both in flowing white robes. I know some who objected to this change to the libretto. I was fine with it. It's a union & liberation of anguished forces, a redemption offered regardless of sexuality. Kundry herself is such a fascinating figure. In Act 1, here, she wears an odd sort of feathered outfit that made her look like a misfit bird. (For some reason, the two young women seated in front of me found this cause for chuckling, which I did not understand. They disappeared during Act 2, but to my surprise they returned for Act 3.) It's an evocation of the natural world that flows into the potential meanings of this staging (a misfit bird, like the swan Parsifal shoots, though perhaps he is the one who is the misfit there). Kundry was performed with intensity by Tanja Ariane Baumgartner.
Parsifal is an interesting revision of an earlier Wagner hero, sort of a Siegfried 2.0. It was Bernard Shaw who pointed out the shift in Wagner, from a hero who was a dragon-slayer to one who is rebuked for, & regrets, shooting a swan in flight. There is the same alienation from conventional society, the same pang in him because of that alienation, his ignorance of his background &, especially, of his mother, that source of life & knowledge. Parsifal, though, is without what often strikes us as Siegfried's thoughtless arrogance, those Ubermenschy qualities that ring unpleasantly in 21st century ears. Parsifal listens. He considers. He is open to others, which is how he frees both them & himself.
Personally, I've always thought of Parsifal as one of the great examinations of the odd inextricable mixture of the spiritual & the sexual, a search for a cathartic synthesis of animal & angel that might count as, if not redemption, at least peace. I think Amfortas's wound, the unending, unhealable wound, is sexual desire. That's why the crucial moment in the opera is when Parsifal rejects Kundry sexually but still is open to her with compassion, as a suffering being. (This is the moment, in Syberberg's film, when the young man playing Parsifal is replaced by a young woman: I see his intention, despite the dubious gender assumptions.) Klingsor, like the Church Father / heretic Origen, castrated himself (allegedly, in Origen's case); that's one way of trying to avoid the struggle of fitting sexuality into life, but ultimately not a satisfying one (I think of Cleopatra's conversation with the eunuch, in Shakespeare's play, where he confesses that desire remains: "I think of what Venus did with Mars"). Wagner was clearly a person for whom eroticism was a guiding force (think of Tristan!); his music, with its sinuous, insinuating, opiate lines, argues for the inescapability of our urges. Did he solve it, in Parsifal? Did he dissolve the erotic in the religious & the ritualistically religious into the redemptive, in a five-hour dramatization of Bernini's Ecstasy of Saint Teresa of Avila, freeing us from our trammeling flesh? Is there even a possible answer to this question?
Perhaps the plenitude of Parsifal is to prompt questions, & offer nothing but suggestions of possible answers.