“Tradition”
Doesn’t Equate to “Stagnant”
There are those in the world of opera today who consider
presenting a “traditional” staging of a work the equivalent of being a “museum
curator.” My reaction to this is that these people do not understand anything
about opera.
Opera is a vibrant, living art form. It takes place only
when all the elements are put into motion as the composer intended. First and
foremost, these men of the theater – Mozart, Verdi, Puccini among them ─ had a
great appreciation for the human voice, that most perfect of instruments. No
other instrument speaks to the listener as the voice can; and in order to sing
opera, singers put themselves through many years of dedicated, difficult,
strenuous, sometimes heartbreaking training. They make sacrifices as few people
do. They live to sing.
For over thirty-five years, I have worked with probably
hundreds of people who wanted to improve their singing voice, and I can say
this with authority: every voice is unique. I tell my students early on, “Your
instrument is your entire body.” It’s actually more: it’s mind, body, and that
third element which I refer to as soul. The mind helps them understand their
instrument, which is produced through muscular control; but it is the soul
which makes the voice soar, which makes the listener respond by striking
something in his own soul, or heart, or whatever you want to call it.
This is the instrument which was vital to the composers of
opera, obviously. For the most part, they understood the singing voice and what
they could ask of it. This is why those of us who love opera want to hear it as
much as we can; far better to hear it live, but we’ll settle for televised
streaming, live radio broadcasts, or recordings. Anything to appreciate and be
transported by those glorious voices and these magnificent works of art.
Here’s something else you can take to the bank: no great
singer ever sings a song exactly the same way twice. Every time she sings it,
something is bound to be at least slightly different – maybe a longer tenuto on this note, maybe an earlier diminuendo on that phrase. Because the
great singers are always exploring the music, always finding something new to
incorporate.
Also,
as singers mature their voices undergo changes. Because of this, they find they
are singing the same role in a slightly different way – often with more ease.
Being a singer is a constant work in progress. The greatest singers never stop
learning and trying to perfect everything they do.
And because of that alone, no opera performance, even with
the same cast, is exactly the same as the one before. There are other
variables: the conductor may vary a tempo slightly, simply because he’s human.
He may feel it just slightly differently than he did three days earlier. He may
not have had a good night’s sleep. It will be almost imperceptible, but it
won’t be a carbon copy of the previous performance. That is not humanly
possible. Because it’s a live performance, who knows what might happen. That
element alone serves to create some excitement.
With the opera he wrote before Falstaff, Otello, he
finally had the libretto he had longed for all his life. Arrigo Boito, genius
that he was, provided him with a libretto of sheer poetry. The first production
of Otello was the best Verdi had ever
realized to that point, and he thought it would be what he’d have to be
satisfied with – not knowing that Boito would do it one more time.
To state the obvious, Otello
is a masterpiece. Some of the most powerful, most passionate music ever written
is heard in this work. In Boito and Verdi’s hands, Iago’s villainy is even more
pronounced than it is in Shakespeare. Otello trusts Iago, whose jealousy and
hatred of Otello have twisted him. Possibly Boito’s addition of Iago’s “creed”
defines him as an inherently evil person; Shakespeare hints at that. Whatever
the reason, or reasons, Iago’s sole aim is to destroy Otello. His course of
action is to plant seeds of doubt in Otello’s mind about his wife Desdemona’s
faithfulness, thereby causing her death and Otello’s downfall.
We know the story … Iago succeeds brilliantly, and Verdi and
Boito give Iago his moment of triumph. At the height of one of the most
breathtakingly beautiful ensembles Verdi ever wrote, Otello destroys all … the
music, his marriage, himself. He falls to the floor unconscious (Shakespeare
attributes it to epilepsy) as the offstage chorus thunders: “Eviva! Eviva
Otello! Gloria al leone di Venezia!” (Long live Otello! Glory to the lion of
Venice!) And Iago – according to the composer’s stage directions “standing
erect and, with a loathsome gesture of triumph, points to the inert Otello” –
sings “Ecco il leone!” (Behold the lion!)
That’s pretty much the plot. How it can be twisted and
misunderstood by some self-styled “directors” amazes me. One man’s mad desire to destroy another.
The complexity and sheer brilliance of the music, the
continuous movement of the plot, the extraordinary singers performing this, all
the elements of opera at its best mean this work comes to life vividly on the
stage, time and again. Yes, it can be performed a little differently. In just
the scene I briefly described, “A loathsome gesture of triumph” certainly is
open to interpretation. How does Otello fall? Is it apparent he’s had a seizure
or not? How does Iago react to hearing the cheers of the crowd offstage before
he delivers his scathing line?
Each singer in this opera will have his own understanding of
whatever character he is portraying, and each singer will bring a part of
himself to his performance. A part of his soul. In the hands of great singers and actors the
opera will always – always – be
fresh, exciting, engrossing, thrilling, moving. The audience will hate Iago and
weep with Otello.
And I feel sorry for people who fail to understand this.
