Saturday, December 22, 2018

Magic Flute

Met’s family-friendly “Magic Flute” only gets better with age

Thu Dec 20, 2018 at 1:16 pm
Photo: Erin Morley, Ben Bliss, Nathan Gunn & Kathryn Lewek; Harry Bicket conducts.Julie Taymor's production of Mozart's THE MAGIC FLUTE; dress rehearsal photographed: Monday, December 17, 2018; 11:00 AM at The Metropolitan Opera; New York, NY. Photograph: © 2018 Richard Termine PHOTO CREDIT - Richard Termine
Nathan Gunn and Erin Morley in Mozart’s “The Magic Flute” at the Metropolitan Opera. Photo: Richard Termine
Julie Taymor’s production of Die Zauberflöte only gets better with age and familiarity. For this holiday season, the Metropolitan Opera is putting on the abridged, English-language version (called The Magic Flute to differentiate). Wednesday night’s opening performance was a reminder of how fine this 90-minute version is–in some key ways even better than the full version–and just as true to the origin and spirit of Mozart’s opera.
Perhaps it is better to not call The Mage Flute an opera, because it’s not; technically, the spoken dialogue that moves the story along makes this a singspiel, which in the 18th century would be called a “song-play” and today is called a musical. It was also never an opera in the cultural and social sense, it was made specifically for the Freihaus-Theater auf der Weiden, outside the main part of Vienna, a place that presented musical (but non-operatic) work to a broad audience—aristocrats may have shown up, but they weren’t the intended audience.
The abridgement puts the theatrical emphasis on Papageno—baritone Nathan Gunn, who is so experienced in the role it seems an alter-ego—and the Queen of the Night (soprano Kathryn Lewek), and this adds a theatrical feeling that goes beyond the magical puppetry and beautiful, symbolic costumes.
Papageno was created for, and with, Emanuel Schikaneder, the librettist and an actor, singer, and impresario. Schikaneder was a skilled comic performer but not an opera singer, and so Papageno’s music lies within a tight frame of range and phrasing, atypical of Mozart’s vocal writing. The same is true for Papageno’s comic mirror image, Monastatos (tenor Brenton Ryan, his light voice encased within the character’s exaggerated kabuki mask and body suit).
This was a true collaboration, Mozart working with the individual performers, who at the 1791 premiere included Josepha Hofer, his sister-in-law, as the Queen of the Night. She was evidently an absolute virtuoso, and this is one of the most specialized roles in the repertoire, demanding exceptional range, precision, and power.
Lewek has to be the finest contemporary Queen of the Night, bar none. Her two main appearances were spectacular—along with the chops, she brings a fierceness and vocal excitement to the role, a great balance of camp and seriousness. This shorter version means the Queen’s appearances have larger proportions, and with her giant, dazzling wings, Lewek counterbalanced the comedy with darkness.
The Magic Flute is a fairy tale about magic and reason, embodied in Papageno and the Queen. The abridgment makes the two ostensibly lead characters, Prince Tamino and his beloved Pamina, into supporting roles, which makes perfect sense—they are at the center of the story but not of the action. Ben Bliss, who is becoming a leading Mozart tenor, and soprano Erin Morley, sang the roles, and they were sweet, lovely, and graceful, making the most out of parts that are fundamentally one-dimensional.
Morris Robinson brought his enormous bass to Sarastro. Robinson made it all the way down to the role’s subterranean notes while still projecting, and sang with an elegant sense of pace and articulation.
Conductor Harry Bicket, best known for his leadership of the English Concert, was in the pit. With him the MET orchestra had a warm, grainy sound, especially in the woodwind choirs, that had some of the sepia patina of early music ensembles. The overall pace was fine, with some of the coordination between singers and orchestra going in and out. There were a couple moments when Bicket and a singer played chicken with the end of a phrase, but nothing that diminished the overall pleasure.
The abridged production is meant for families and, even without intermission, doesn’t tax a child’s endurance.  J.D. McClatchy’s translation is true to that spirit and puts the libretto into vernacular English—one doesn’t really need the subtitles.
This was, and is a vernacular piece, in linguistic and cultural terms, and it should be translated into the primary language where ever it’s performed, because it’s supposed to speak directly to the audience. Mozart could not possibly have conceived of a house that fit 4,000 people, like the Met. Non-musical notions of what opera is supposed to be too often obscure and obstruct what opera is and should be, which in the case of The Magic Flute, and this production, is nothing but fun.
The Magic Flute continues through January 5, 2019. metopera.org; 212-362-2000.
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Amadeus Ex Machina

Chagall and Hockney have already had their way with Mozart’s Magic Flute. Now—cue the kite puppets —it’s Julie Taymor’s turn.

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Mozart’s music may not always take second place when the Metropolitan Opera stages The Magic Flute, but—at least as long as I’ve been around—the productions have been mostly defined by their sets and costumes. And, true to form, the big buzz over the latest Flute centers on Julie Taymor, Tony-winning director of The Lion King, and her take on this immortal operatic fantasy. No wonder, since her Asian-influenced sense of theater, with its kite puppets, animal imagery, and masks, together with set designer George Tsypin’s translucent geometric shapes and sculptures, give the eyes plenty to take in. To judge from the roars of approval on opening night, audiences will be finding new visual marvels to savor in this production for many years to come.
Yes, Taymor’s stage is a very busy one, but not so frantic as to obscure what is at heart a fairly traditional approach to the dramatic action. Sarastro and the Queen of the Night, their mythical realms located somewhere between the sun and the moon, are clearly depicted in a pitched battle between good and evil; the young lovers Tamino and Pamina are tested, grow, and become wise through their adventures; everyday folk like Papageno and Papagena remain endearingly unaware of life’s mysteries as they eat, drink, and make babies; and illusion is omnipresent as the characters wander through a world where humans of all ethnicities mix in surroundings that remain in a constant state of magical mutability. The stage pictures are dazzling, but the real wonder of Taymor’s production is how precisely movement is counterpointed with music to reflect the enormous emotional range of Mozart’s score, from slapstick comedy to solemn spirituality.
“This Magic Flute is likely to be remembered more for the way it looks than how it sounds.”
Taymor’s enchanted vision follows in step with past Met Magic Flutes, a tradition well worth recalling. The previous production was David Hockney’s 1990 version (originally designed for Glyndebourne in 1978), brushed all over with his typical crayon-box playfulness: painted drops filled with bold, colorful drawings of pyramids, obelisks, palm trees, desert expanses, stone heads, massive staircases, and trompe l’oeil temple interiors. Before that came the fondly remembered Marc Chagall production of 1967, another painterly approach full of that great master’s whimsical flying animals and fanciful human beings—one can only hope that this stunning work of art has been safely stored away somewhere for future reference. And those whose memories travel back even further will remember the Flute the Met commissioned for Mozart’s 1956 bicentennial, when general manager Rudolph Bing was startling audiences by importing famous names from Broadway and Hollywood to revolutionize the company’s production styles—which is exactly what the noted film designer Harry Horner accomplished in a production featuring freestanding three-dimensional sets and photographic projections that seemed, at the time, like the last word in modernistic stagecraft.
The current Met production, like its predecessors, is likely to be remembered more fondly for the way it looks than how it sounds. James Levine, always at his best in Mozart, gives a lithe, gleaming account of the score, but the singing leaves a lot to be desired. L’ubica Vargicová delivers the Queen of the Night’s scintillant coloratura flights gingerly and with scarcely a suggestion of the threat that motivates them, while Kwangchul Youn’s bass lacks the vocal weight, even legato, and solid low notes to give Sarastro’s solemn pronouncements authority. Also disappointing are Rodion Pogossov’s Papageno (a beaklike lid on his turned-around baseball hat is the most amusing thing about this pedestrian bird catcher) and Julien Robbins’s pallid Speaker. Dorothea Röschmann, on the other hand, is an exquisitely expressive Pamina, and Matthew Polenzani puts his bright lyric tenor to the best uses as Tamino, presented here as a dashing young samurai warrior. As soon as a stronger cast can join these two fine vocal talents, the Met’s new Magic Flute will be a show to hear as well as to see.

La Traviata


Review: ‘La Traviata’ Opens a New Era at the Met Opera

Diana Damrau, in bed, and Juan Diego Flórez, right, star in the Metropolitan Opera’s new production of “La Traviata,” directed by Michael Mayer and conducted by Yannick Nézet-Séguin.CreditSara Krulwich/The New York Times

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Diana Damrau, in bed, and Juan Diego Flórez, right, star in the Metropolitan Opera’s new production of “La Traviata,” directed by Michael Mayer and conducted by Yannick Nézet-Séguin.CreditCreditSara Krulwich/The New York Times
La Traviata
NYT Critic's Pick
It’s almost a month before New Year’s Eve, but as audience members left the Metropolitan Opera on Tuesday evening, they received free little bottles of sparkling wine. Confetti was blasted at the curtain calls.
What was the momentous event? Nothing less than the start of a new period in the Met’s history: the Yannick Nézet-Séguin era.
To begin his tenure as the company’s music director, Mr. Nézet-Séguin led an uncommonly fine rendition of Verdi’s “La Traviata,” in a new staging by Michael Mayer that stars the soprano Diana Damrau and the tenor Juan Diego Flórez. And in a rare gesture of respect and good will, the Met’s musicians joined Mr. Nézet-Séguin on stage for a bow after the show.
After the company’s traumatic break earlier this year with its former music director, James Levine, over allegations of sexual misconduct — which Mr. Levine denies — it’s no surprise the Met would want to turn the page and break out the bubbly. And on Tuesday it was well deserved. Since making his Met debut in 2009, Mr. Nézet-Séguin has proved his excellence in nearly 70 performances. I expected his “Traviata” to be good, but not this good.

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During the poignant music that opens the prelude to Act I, Mr. Nézet-Séguin drew radiant yet delicate playing from the strings. Then he shaped the melody that unfolds in sighing, descending phrases with elegance and refinement.
A little later, during the duet when the passionate young Alfredo expresses his long-brewing love to the courtesan Violetta, Mr. Nézet-Séguin excelled at the most essential requirement for a Verdi conductor: the ability to keep a simple oom-pah-pah accompaniment in the orchestra steady and undulant, while giving the singers just enough leeway to expressively bend vocal lines. Then, in moments of intensity, he drew vehemence without a trace of melodramatic excess.

The production suggests that all the action has merged in Violetta’s recollection as, dying, she flashes back to the events of her life.CreditSara Krulwich/The New York Times

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The production suggests that all the action has merged in Violetta’s recollection as, dying, she flashes back to the events of her life.CreditSara Krulwich/The New York Times
Mr. Mayer — who made his Met debut in 2013 with a “Rigoletto” updated  to 1960s Las Vegas and recently staged Nico Muhly’s “Marnie” — has said he wanted to capture the mix of romantic and decadent elements of “Traviata.” He presents the opera, as other directors have, as the memories of Violetta, who is seen dying in bed during the prelude.
The action take place in a semicircular room with an opening at the top, designed by Christine Jones. The turquoise walls are covered with leafy gold filigree that sometimes seems to separate from the walls and close in on Violetta, emphasizing the social pressures on her and her status as a kept woman.
In every scene — Violetta’s Paris home, her escape in the country, her friend Flora’s place — we see Violetta’s bed in the middle, her piano and dressing table at the rear. The production suggests that all the action has merged in her recollection as, dying, she flashes back to the events of her life.

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For all its decadent touches — slightly garish, Day-Glo costumes in the party scenes (designed by Susan Hilferty); steamy ballet dancers who perform for the guests at Flora’s party — Mr. Mayer’s production is essentially a traditional staging set in the mid-19th century. But the imagery is not that involving, especially in comparison with the boldly surreal, excitingly provocative Willy Decker staging it’s replacing. If a production is going to rely on what’s in effect a unit set, it would be better for that set to be more visually interesting.

For all its decadent touches, Mr. Mayer’s production is essentially a traditional staging set in the mid-19th century.CreditSara Krulwich/The New York Times

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For all its decadent touches, Mr. Mayer’s production is essentially a traditional staging set in the mid-19th century.CreditSara Krulwich/The New York Times
The singing, though, was wonderful. In a recent interview, Mr. Nézet-Séguin said that he had encouraged Mr. Flórez, as Alfredo, to sing the well-known toast “Libiamo” with lyrical grace and hint of shyness. Those qualities came through in Mr. Flórez’s lovely performance.
He has slowly been moving out of his comfort zone in the florid bel canto repertory, toward roles that require more weight and carrying power. His voice was a little light in comparison with some classic Alfredos. Still, I loved the lyrical nuances he brought out in the music, the clarity of his execution, and the honesty of his singing. He sounded fresh and rich, and he looked adorably youthful; in moments of jealous passion, he was a convincing hothead.

La Traviata: “Addio, del passato”CreditCreditVideo by Metropolitan Opera
Ms. Damrau was an extraordinary Violetta, singing with big, plush yet focused sound, taking enormous but well-calculated dramatic liberties during Violetta’s moments of soulful reflection and wrenching despair over her illness. The solid, robust baritone Quinn Kelsey was grave and formidable as Germont, Alfredo’s father, though the crucial scene with Violetta was nearly ruined by an ill-considered directorial touch.
Germont tells Violetta that he has a daughter at home whose engagement is jeopardized by the family scandal Alfredo has created. In this production, Germont brings his daughter, played by a silent actor, onstage with him. But Germont would never expose his daughter to a woman like Violetta. And the tragic poignancy of Violetta’s sacrifice when she agrees to give up Alfredo comes from her imagining that young woman’s predicament. The daughter is more real when we don’t see her.
Even if it was in traditional style, the Met has opened a new chapter with this “Traviata.” Early this season, Mr. Nézet-Séguin and the Met’s general manager, Peter Gelb, laid out ambitious plans, including commissions, unusual repertory and collaborations with Mr. Nézet-Séguin’s Philadelphia Orchestra.
But the company’s music director’s job, of course, also involves leading performances of staples like “La Traviata.” How did he do? Splendidly.