Too Much Theater (er, "Theatre")
Hey did you all know that Schiller died in 1805? Why did I think that Don Carlos was, like, well post-French revolution at least? Okay I guess we all know the answer to that: Verdi—particularly since Don Carlos seems to fit so squarly into what I've always understood as Verdi's post-1848 framework, of Realpolitik and compromise. Why was Schiller writing a post 1848 play in 1784? (That's a joke.)
Anyway, Don Carlos was way good. Great performances all around. Unfortuately, I read in the program book (which cast £3, since you never get a program for free in this country even though the programs are still filled with diamond ads you cheap bastards) that in the orginal mounting of this production the role of Elisabeth de Valois taken by Laura Linney, and now I'm obsessed with how much better that production would have been, both because Laura Linney effortlessly communicates that mixture of imperiousness and woundedness that characterizes Elisabeth, and also because an American accent would have nicely communicated her cultural difference as the free-spirited Frenchwoman in the oppressive Spanish court.
The other thing about seeing Don Carlos for me (and for my companion at the performance, the musicologically-inclined Spaniard), was, of course, the distance between the play and the opera. These went far beyond the standard "there are more characters and subplots in the play" observation, although one plot detail, that the Grand Inquisitor had tortured the Queen's page, filled the nagging plot hole—how does Philip know where to find Carlos and Elisabeth in the last scene? I was more interested in the lack of a big public spectacle scene in the play. Even though such a scene is a conventional requirement, and even though the presence of those dumb Flemish ambassadors never really makes sense, that one big public scene serves to really "open up" the whole drama, providing a hint of the social world outside the Escorial that is only referred to in the play, which dwells entirely inside oppressive hallways and chambers.
The scene between Phillipe and Posa which ended the first half of the evening was fascinating for being basically point-for-point exactly the same in the opera, with all the twisting, flip-flopping power dynamic (that one moment where Phillipe, out of nowhere, says "what do you know of my son" was exactly as chilling when spoken). The big exception is the very last line "but beware of my inquisitor," the final flip-flop, which if I were staging the play I would just insert. There is a similar of uncanny correspondance situation late in the play, when Eboli confesses her misdeeds to the Queen, who first forgives everything, until Eboli discloses the king's infidelity, at which point the Queen kicks her out of the palace. Again the drama proceeds in the order I was familiar with. But in the opera, of course, as soon as Eboli is kicked out, she launches into "O don fatale," in which she curses her own beauty, which has brought her nothing but misery. In the play, she is kicked out... and the scene ends. Verdi and his librettists... they really knew what they were doing, y'know?
Anyway, it was good. And, I think, relevant in the way I expected it to be, especially when compared to the second play of the day. Yes, after seeing no West End theatRE for four months, I see two plays in one day. H—, whom I haven't seen in weeks, had suggested we do "something," a concert or performance or movie, when we arranged to meet up. When we actually did meet up, he surprised me with ticket to Festen, a play based on that actually-pretty-good-but-tainted-by-its association-with-other-Dogme-movies film, Celebration. It was good, and quite convincingly theatrical, but after Don Carlos, the whole thing seemed so... small. It was a small play. Lots of yelling, lots of rolling and the floor and running around, but no big ideas. No philosophy.
I'm not explaining this well. Festen was a good play. It also felt emotionally "true." I guess there what I'm reacting to was the lack of what we might call "the social," or perhaps "the polis." As big as the emotions in Festen got, they could ever only be as big as the oikos. Does that make sense? I guess if I actually followed this line of reasoning, I'd end up sounding like Tom Wolfe arguing for a retour à Zola. Well, I don't know...
Anyway, today I'm having brunch with the housemates, maybe watching rugby(?!). and running an errand in Camden market. And then, hopefully, practicing the Cambridge colloquium. Which I have not practiced. Because I am a lazy excuse for a musicologist.
Anyway, Don Carlos was way good. Great performances all around. Unfortuately, I read in the program book (which cast £3, since you never get a program for free in this country even though the programs are still filled with diamond ads you cheap bastards) that in the orginal mounting of this production the role of Elisabeth de Valois taken by Laura Linney, and now I'm obsessed with how much better that production would have been, both because Laura Linney effortlessly communicates that mixture of imperiousness and woundedness that characterizes Elisabeth, and also because an American accent would have nicely communicated her cultural difference as the free-spirited Frenchwoman in the oppressive Spanish court.
The other thing about seeing Don Carlos for me (and for my companion at the performance, the musicologically-inclined Spaniard), was, of course, the distance between the play and the opera. These went far beyond the standard "there are more characters and subplots in the play" observation, although one plot detail, that the Grand Inquisitor had tortured the Queen's page, filled the nagging plot hole—how does Philip know where to find Carlos and Elisabeth in the last scene? I was more interested in the lack of a big public spectacle scene in the play. Even though such a scene is a conventional requirement, and even though the presence of those dumb Flemish ambassadors never really makes sense, that one big public scene serves to really "open up" the whole drama, providing a hint of the social world outside the Escorial that is only referred to in the play, which dwells entirely inside oppressive hallways and chambers.
The scene between Phillipe and Posa which ended the first half of the evening was fascinating for being basically point-for-point exactly the same in the opera, with all the twisting, flip-flopping power dynamic (that one moment where Phillipe, out of nowhere, says "what do you know of my son" was exactly as chilling when spoken). The big exception is the very last line "but beware of my inquisitor," the final flip-flop, which if I were staging the play I would just insert. There is a similar of uncanny correspondance situation late in the play, when Eboli confesses her misdeeds to the Queen, who first forgives everything, until Eboli discloses the king's infidelity, at which point the Queen kicks her out of the palace. Again the drama proceeds in the order I was familiar with. But in the opera, of course, as soon as Eboli is kicked out, she launches into "O don fatale," in which she curses her own beauty, which has brought her nothing but misery. In the play, she is kicked out... and the scene ends. Verdi and his librettists... they really knew what they were doing, y'know?
Anyway, it was good. And, I think, relevant in the way I expected it to be, especially when compared to the second play of the day. Yes, after seeing no West End theatRE for four months, I see two plays in one day. H—, whom I haven't seen in weeks, had suggested we do "something," a concert or performance or movie, when we arranged to meet up. When we actually did meet up, he surprised me with ticket to Festen, a play based on that actually-pretty-good-but-tainted-by-its association-with-other-Dogme-movies film, Celebration. It was good, and quite convincingly theatrical, but after Don Carlos, the whole thing seemed so... small. It was a small play. Lots of yelling, lots of rolling and the floor and running around, but no big ideas. No philosophy.
I'm not explaining this well. Festen was a good play. It also felt emotionally "true." I guess there what I'm reacting to was the lack of what we might call "the social," or perhaps "the polis." As big as the emotions in Festen got, they could ever only be as big as the oikos. Does that make sense? I guess if I actually followed this line of reasoning, I'd end up sounding like Tom Wolfe arguing for a retour à Zola. Well, I don't know...
Anyway, today I'm having brunch with the housemates, maybe watching rugby(?!). and running an errand in Camden market. And then, hopefully, practicing the Cambridge colloquium. Which I have not practiced. Because I am a lazy excuse for a musicologist.
posted by Grrg at 11:36 PM
2 Comments:
Eboli just LEAVES? Nonsense.
"Ti maledico, o mia belta!": gayest line in all of opera?
G
curses. I just left a really long followup comment and the internet ate it.
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