Today in Rome for the FOC kickoff meeting
I actually hope this a turn in my professional life
domenica 10 ottobre 2010
The Wizard of Oz
Reading The Wizard of Oz to Marghe
She is enthusiast of it
and embracing her before sleeping is a joy
See the site
http://www.loc.gov/exhibits/oz/
She is enthusiast of it
and embracing her before sleeping is a joy
See the site
http://www.loc.gov/exhibits/oz/
venerdì 20 agosto 2010
sabato 19 giugno 2010
Bob Dylan's Never Ending Tour in Parma
He played these songs
Rainy Day Women # 12 & 35
It Ain't Me, Babe
Stuck Inside Of Mobile With The Memphis Blues Again
Just Like A Woman
Beyond Here Lies Nothin'
Tangled Up In Blue
Honest With Me
Love Sick
Cold Irons Bound
I Feel A Change Comin' On
Highway 61 Revisited
Spirit On The Water
Thunder On The Mountain
Ballad Of A Thin Man
Like A Rolling Stone
All Along The Watchtower
Saramago's last words
Pensar, pensar
José Saramago
Acho que na sociedade actual nos falta filosofia. Filosofia como espaço, lugar, método de refexão, que pode não ter um objectivo determinado, como a ciência, que avança para satisfazer objectivos. Falta-nos reflexão, pensar, precisamos do trabalho de pensar, e parece-me que, sem ideias, nao vamos a parte nenhuma.
José Saramago
Acho que na sociedade actual nos falta filosofia. Filosofia como espaço, lugar, método de refexão, que pode não ter um objectivo determinado, como a ciência, que avança para satisfazer objectivos. Falta-nos reflexão, pensar, precisamos do trabalho de pensar, e parece-me que, sem ideias, nao vamos a parte nenhuma.
venerdì 18 giugno 2010
domenica 6 giugno 2010
Oliver Twist
I'm reading "Oliver Twist; or, The Parish Boy's Progress" to Margherita.
Something for myself
Symbolism of Oliver Twist
Dickens makes considerable use of symbolism. The many symbols Oliver faces are primarily good versus evil, with evil continually trying to corrupt and exploit good, but good winning out in the end. The "merry old gentleman" Fagin, for example, has satanic characteristics: he is a veteran corrupter of young boys who presides over his own corner of the criminal world; he makes his first appearance standing over a fire holding a toasting-fork; and he refuses to pray on the night before his execution. The London slums, too, have a suffocating, infernal aspect; the dark deeds and dark passions are concretely characterised by dim rooms, and pitch-black nights, while the governing mood of terror and brutality may be identified with uncommonly cold weather. In contrast, the countryside where the Maylies take Oliver is a pastoral heaven.
Food is another important symbol; Oliver's odyssey begins with a simple request for more gruel, and Mr. Bumble's shocked exclamation, represents he may be after more than just gruel. Chapter 8—which contains the last mention of food in the form of Fagin's dinner—marks the first time Oliver eats his share and represents the transformation in his life that occurs after he joins Fagin's gang.
The novel is also shot through with a related motif, obesity, which calls attention to the stark injustice of Oliver's world. When the half-starved child dares to ask for more, the men who punish him are fat. It is interesting to observe the large number of characters who are overweight.
Toward the end of the novel, the gaze of knowing eyes becomes a potent symbol. For years, Fagin avoids daylight, crowds, and open spaces, concealing himself in a dark lair most of the time: when his luck runs out at last, he squirms in the "living light" of too many eyes as he stands in the dock, awaiting sentence. After Sikes kills Nancy, he flees into the countryside but is unable to escape the memory of her dead eyes. Charley Bates turns his back on crime when he sees the murderous cruelty of the man who has been held up to him as a model.
Nancy’s decision to meet Brownlow and Rose on London Bridge reveals the symbolic aspect of this bridge in Oliver Twist. Bridges exist to link two places that would otherwise be separated by an uncrossable void. The meeting on London Bridge represents the collision of two worlds unlikely ever to come into contact—the idyllic world of Brownlow and Rose, and the atmosphere of degradation in which Nancy lives. On the bridge, Nancy is given the chance to cross over to the better way of life that the others represent, but she rejects that opportunity, and by the time the three have all left the bridge, that possibility has vanished forever.
When Rose gives Nancy her handkerchief, and when Nancy holds it up as she dies, Nancy has gone over to the "good" side against the thieves. Her position on the ground is as if she is in prayer, this showing her godly or good position.
domenica 30 maggio 2010
venerdì 28 maggio 2010
I ragazzi della via Pal
The book has earned the status of the most famous Hungarian novel in the world. It has been translated into many languages and in several countries is a mandatory or recommended reading in schools. Ernő Nemecsek is now ranked in those schools among the eternal heroes of youth literature, such as Oliver Twist or Tom Sawyer.[citation needed]
Erich Kästner took up the theme of two groups of boys conducting a "war" and using all the terminology of militarism and nationalism in "The Flying Classroom", published just before the Nazi takeover of Germany. Kästner was, however, less harsh with the character resembling Nemecsek, who in Kästner's version suffers no more than a broken leg.
In Israel the book, in Hebrew translation, was highly popular in the 1940s and 1950s, and recently a new translation was published. The Israeli left-wing columnist Haim Bar'am, of the Kol Ha'ir weekly in Jerusalem, wrote: "The highest praise which I can bestow on a pure-hearted, idealistic person is to compare him or her to Nemecsek. I don't often do that, only when I feel that somebody truly deserves the ultimate compliment."
lunedì 24 maggio 2010
Triste, solitario y final
I listened the reading of Triste, solitario y final by Osvaldo Soriano
A very strange book,
a mixture of cool detective story, pulp,, movie oriented, plot
with well known actors who play a part in search of a sad reason to exclude Oliver Hardy from the film industry
As usual, the end does not explain why
but whispers the hope for a future explanation
Osvaldo Soriano
Osvaldo Soriano
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
Soriano became a staff writer at La Opinión right from the start in 1971 when editor Jacobo Timerman founded the newspaper. La Opinión was permeated with progressive politics and soon there was an attempt to squash the left-wing influence with-in the paper. After six months of not having any of his articles published, Soriano began writing a story in which a character named Osvaldo Soriano reconstructs the life of English actor Stan Laurel.
The work became his first novel, Triste, solitario y final (English: Sad, lonely and final), a melancholic parody set in Los Angeles with the famed fictional Philip Marlowe detective as his joint investigator. It was some months after the publication of his novel that he visited the American city, and actually stood by the grave of Stan Laurel, leaving there a copy of his book.
Shortly after the Proceso de Reorganización Nacional coup d'etat in Argentina in 1976, he moved to Brussels first (where he met his wife Catherine), and then to Paris, where he lived in exile until 1984. While in France he befriended Julio Cortázar with whom he founded the short-lived experience of the monthly magazine Sin censura. After the fall of the military junta he returned to Buenos Aires and the publication of his books were met with large success, not only in South America but also in Italy and several other countries where his works begun to be translated and published.
In his books, Soriano succeeded in mixing his experiences as a democratic activist and as a strong critic of the violence wielded by reactionary governments with extraordinary humour. A lover of both football/soccer and cinematography, he often honored both in his work. Soriano was a known San Lorenzo fan.
After his death in 1997, he was buried in the La Chacarita Cemetery in Buenos Aires. His work has since been translated into at least fifteen different languages, and has inspired film directors and producers on fiction and documentary works based on his novels and life-experience.
Bibliography
Triste, solitario y final (1973)
No habra más penas ni olvido (1979, in Argentina 1983)
Cuarteles de invierno (1981, in Argentina 1983)
Artistas, locos y criminales (1983)
Funny Dirty Little War (1986), translation of No habra más penas ni olvido by Nick Caistor
Rebeldes, soñadores y fugitivos (1987)
A sus plantas rendido un león (1988)
Winter Quarters (1989), translation of Cuarteles de invierno by Nick Caistor
Una sombra ya pronto serás (1990)
El ojo de la patria (1992)
Cuentos de los años felices (1993)
Shadows (1993), translation of Una sombra ya pronto serás by Alfred MacAdam
La hora sin sombra (1995)
Fútbol (1998, a compilation of football (soccer) short stories
Soriano: un retrato, Editorial Norma, 2000. By Eduardo Montes-Bradley
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
Soriano became a staff writer at La Opinión right from the start in 1971 when editor Jacobo Timerman founded the newspaper. La Opinión was permeated with progressive politics and soon there was an attempt to squash the left-wing influence with-in the paper. After six months of not having any of his articles published, Soriano began writing a story in which a character named Osvaldo Soriano reconstructs the life of English actor Stan Laurel.
The work became his first novel, Triste, solitario y final (English: Sad, lonely and final), a melancholic parody set in Los Angeles with the famed fictional Philip Marlowe detective as his joint investigator. It was some months after the publication of his novel that he visited the American city, and actually stood by the grave of Stan Laurel, leaving there a copy of his book.
Shortly after the Proceso de Reorganización Nacional coup d'etat in Argentina in 1976, he moved to Brussels first (where he met his wife Catherine), and then to Paris, where he lived in exile until 1984. While in France he befriended Julio Cortázar with whom he founded the short-lived experience of the monthly magazine Sin censura. After the fall of the military junta he returned to Buenos Aires and the publication of his books were met with large success, not only in South America but also in Italy and several other countries where his works begun to be translated and published.
In his books, Soriano succeeded in mixing his experiences as a democratic activist and as a strong critic of the violence wielded by reactionary governments with extraordinary humour. A lover of both football/soccer and cinematography, he often honored both in his work. Soriano was a known San Lorenzo fan.
After his death in 1997, he was buried in the La Chacarita Cemetery in Buenos Aires. His work has since been translated into at least fifteen different languages, and has inspired film directors and producers on fiction and documentary works based on his novels and life-experience.
Bibliography
Triste, solitario y final (1973)
No habra más penas ni olvido (1979, in Argentina 1983)
Cuarteles de invierno (1981, in Argentina 1983)
Artistas, locos y criminales (1983)
Funny Dirty Little War (1986), translation of No habra más penas ni olvido by Nick Caistor
Rebeldes, soñadores y fugitivos (1987)
A sus plantas rendido un león (1988)
Winter Quarters (1989), translation of Cuarteles de invierno by Nick Caistor
Una sombra ya pronto serás (1990)
El ojo de la patria (1992)
Cuentos de los años felices (1993)
Shadows (1993), translation of Una sombra ya pronto serás by Alfred MacAdam
La hora sin sombra (1995)
Fútbol (1998, a compilation of football (soccer) short stories
Soriano: un retrato, Editorial Norma, 2000. By Eduardo Montes-Bradley
domenica 16 maggio 2010
To Catch a Thief in Genova
Hitchcock created some shots for his To Catch a Thief (1955) at the Hotel Bristol in Genoa
From the early days of the 20th century, this magnificent Art Nouveau building in the heart of Genoa has cradled the history of the "Superba" and its most illustrious names. The ballroom was the venue for the great revelries of the nobility and, during the Second World War, the Germans took it over as their headquarters, building a secret passage right down to the port. Alfred Hitchcock came here to shoot scenes for his To Catch a Thief, and the stars of the Dolce Vita all stopped off here. Beautifully restored, its treasures include original furniture and fittings of inestimable value
From the early days of the 20th century, this magnificent Art Nouveau building in the heart of Genoa has cradled the history of the "Superba" and its most illustrious names. The ballroom was the venue for the great revelries of the nobility and, during the Second World War, the Germans took it over as their headquarters, building a secret passage right down to the port. Alfred Hitchcock came here to shoot scenes for his To Catch a Thief, and the stars of the Dolce Vita all stopped off here. Beautifully restored, its treasures include original furniture and fittings of inestimable value
martedì 11 maggio 2010
Isole Mai Trovate - Exhibition in Genova - 2010 (2)
The exhibition is a collection of one shot each author presents to show his/her idea of art. Vision is a shocking neon blinding our eyes in a large space, placed at the end of the path. Here we enlight the art
A sort of family queuing towards a funnel. They are expected to disappear soon in the hole
Gilbert & George collect pictures of their London places. Inside one of their usual pictures in couple. It's a signature. Impossible not to recognize. Just like a logo
Nails in the picture. A series of photos physically damaged
domenica 9 maggio 2010
How to change your life in five minutes a day
How to change your life in five minutes a day. Go outside
The first week of May, the gardening bibles intone, is when those cascades of grape-like petals on the hitherto bare, twisted branches of wisteria turn overnight into a chorus of violet-blue flowers. And this year, for once, nature has played by the rules: the wisteria blossom has magically arrived with all the punctuality of Mussolini-era trains. Right now, houses and gardens are clothed in it, and there is something about the spectacle of stone walls, fences, gable ends or even whole (ideally, thatched), cottages cloaked in these exotic, ostentatious, outsized and very indiscreet blooms that pleases the eye, lifts the spirit and draws attention away – briefly – from worries about hung parliaments, double-dip recessions, crises in the eurozone and bitter economic medicine ahead.
Of course, we know, even as we gaze at it, that the wisteria is just a distraction. Neither the most magnificent specimen in full bloom (the one at Fuller's Brewery in Chiswick, west London, is said to be the oldest in the country), nor this climber's allegedly unique ability to send its scent downwards to perfume the streetscape rather than allow it to rise up on the breeze as is the way with lesser plants, is going to pay those bigger tax bills or decide who ends up in No 10, and for how long.
Or is it? Perhaps not literally, but there may, the experts say, be more concrete benefits to the spectacle of clouds of wisteria blossom. "Over the millennia," says Dr David Holmes, a senior psychologist at Manchester Metropolitan University who has done research work with the Royal Horticultural Society, "humankind has learnt to recognise and react to signs that it is coming out of the hardship of winter into spring. One of the most simple is seeing the green breaking through the white of ice and snow, or flowers appearing on bare branches. These visual signals are now hard-wired into our psyches at a profound and instinctive level. So we are preprogrammed to respond positively to the sight of wisteria blossom."
The blooms appear because the weather is warming and the days lengthening, and those factors, in their turn, spark a hormonal change in us all. "The brain's chemistry alters," says Dr Holmes, "notably in banishing what used to be called 'winter blues', but is now more accurately labelled seasonal affective disorder or SAD. A hormone is released called melatonin which wakes us up from what you could see as akin to a period of hibernation and lifts our mood."
But the benefits of spotting an eye-catching wisteria, whether it be on a Notting Hill mansion or a council house in Kirkcaldy, may also improve our mental and physical health, according to a study published last week by a team from Essex University, headed by Professor Jules Pretty, in the American Chemical Society's journal Environmental Science & Technology. "We all feel," says Pretty, an environmental scientist, "that spring is a wonderful time for nature, but what we have been trying to do is measure that feeling accurately and therefore lift it out of the realms of quackery."
His paper, A Dose of Nature, finds, in a sample of some 1,250 people, across a range of age groups, that both mood and self-esteem improve significantly in quantifiable ways from contact with nature, especially if that contact includes "green exercise" – i.e. walking, gardening, cycling and countryside sports. "And self-esteem and mood," he says, "are strong indicators of good mental health, and also, in the long-term, of good physical health."
The study shows, for example, that being in a green environment is better than being in an urban one in terms of a measurable positive effect on blood pressure, hormones and stress levels. Intriguingly, it also concludes that the biggest beneficial boost from exposure to nature is gained within the initial five minutes of each encounter with the great outdoors. While it continues to reap a harvest thereafter, the crop of positives diminishes. So, it will be the first few steps of a walk through a spring garden that changes your mood most, rather than clocking up the first mile.
I decided to put the theory to the test with a trip to Hampstead Heath on election morning. Thankfully, there hadn't been any of the reported queues or confrontations at my local polling station, but election day is always stressful for parents of school-age children because, despite the major parties trumpeting their family-friendly credentials, they don't hesitate to close schools to make way for ballot boxes. What politicians like to call "hard-working families" are thus given the additional challenge of balancing employers' demands with young children that day.
It would be an understatement to say that, by the time I reached the heath, having left at home a truculent teenager determined to do his own thing but rather vague as to what and whom that might involve, I was a bit scratchy. I had in tow two fractious children, plus a dog in season, and a mobile phone ringing non-stop. At least there were parking places, but then I discovered I had no change for the meter, had left the dog lead behind on the kitchen table, and had brought the wrong footwear, this being a morning for dusting down sandals in preference to the Wellingtons and thick socks that had been in residence in the car boot for the winter.
Finally, we set off under a blue sky. The path from the car park was lined by walls of red, purple and white rhododendrons. To one side, in a clearing, there was an ancient beech, its leaves just starting on their annual journey from translucent pink to burnished copper. Elsewhere the foliage had the fresh colour of a kiwi's inside rather than the dirty mushy-pea shade of summer.
Was I imagining it, or did the air taste fresher? Was the children's bickering merging seamlessly with the birdsong? And did the dog's overreaching herself to sniff a doberman's backside suddenly seem like just another part of nature's rich tapestry? Perhaps. Certainly the perma-frown on my brow was relaxing and the demands for a vanilla cone at ten o'clock no longer seemed so outrageous. What I needed to reach a conclusive verdict was a fix of wisteria, but half-an-hour's intensive search failed to produce a result, so reluctantly I abandoned the experiment in favour of the ice cream parlour.
According to Pretty, the scientific evidence is a bit thin to prove health benefits are maximised by getting up close and personal with wisteria in the crucial first five minutes of an encounter with nature. "I am not in a position to pronounce definitively," he admits, "on whether wisteria or a carpet of bluebells or – my own favourite – the peppery smell of the oil seed rape in the fields round my home in Suffolk are any more or less effective than each other, though our research did show that if there was a splash of blue present amid the green, particularly in the form of water, then you derive extra benefits. So wisteria may count as your portion of blue."
That feels like stretching the evidence, like wisteria stretched along a wire by gardeners keen to maximise their crop. Science, it seems, can tell only part of the story. Religion has long celebrated the link between nature, landscape and the numinous, most obviously in the creation myths of the different faiths which tell of earth being fashioned by a divine hand. So Celtic monks, in the fifth and sixth centuries gravitated towards islands and exposed stretches of coastline, places such as Iona and Lindisfarne, in part because their geography allowed them a panoramic view of God's creation. These were "thin places", where the boundaries between this world and the next were transcended. Today, the environmental movement stresses each generation's obligations to good stewardship of nature for the sake of the planet's future.
However important we think we are, however all-consuming our needs and worries, nature has the power to dwarf them, not least because of the lifespan of trees and plants – the wisteria at Fuller's Brewery, for example, is still thriving after nearly 200 years.
David Holmes has looked at why we are more attracted to some plants over others. Our choices, he found, mirror our characters. So what does a weakness for wisteria reveal? "That we aspire to the exotic, to the lush," he reports. "And that often our aspirations go beyond our realities." In other contexts that could spell disaster but, in a May garden, that heady promise of wisteria is pure balm.
Peter Stanford, The Indipendent, Sunday, 9 May 2010
martedì 4 maggio 2010
Oltretorrente
Reading what happened during the fascist period in Parma
Why this is not only local history
but something everyone should know
The book is written as a memory told by an old Ardito who experienced the Barricate under Picelli. Easy to read and interesting the story I did not know.
Why this is not only local history
but something everyone should know
The book is written as a memory told by an old Ardito who experienced the Barricate under Picelli. Easy to read and interesting the story I did not know.
lunedì 3 maggio 2010
Werther 3
«Werther? E' un poeta»
Elena Formica
Francese, francesissima. Eppure la prima assoluta non venne data a Parigi. Così gira strano il mondo, a volte. Ma non senza un perché. Opera «inconfondibile e geniale» - come scrisse Arruga - il «Werther» di Massenet venne rappresentato per la prima volta a Vienna il 16 febbraio 1892. Fu cantato in traduzione tedesca ed ebbe successo. Sia chiaro: Massenet e compagnia (cioè i librettisti Blau, Milliet e Hartmann) avrebbero immaginato un gran debutto parigino, ma Léon Carvalho mandò all’aria il progetto: questo «Werther» è troppo triste - pensò il direttore dell’Opéra Comique - quindi via dal cartellone. L’anno dopo, l’opera trionfò anche lì. Se Parigi all’inizio disse no, Vienna disse sì. E non tanto perché Massenet si era ispirato a «Die Leiden des jungen Werther» di Goethe, capolavoro ovunque esportato della letteratura tedesca, quanto per il fatto che la Vienna di Francesco Giuseppe, sotto il drappo imperiale così inquieta e borghese, era inconsciamente pronta ad accogliere questa musica, questo soggetto.
La capitale austriaca, paradigma irregolare di una borghesia trainante e malata (erano gli anni di Freud e di Klimt, dei loro affini, seguaci e clienti), aveva bisogno di un «Werther» alla Massenet: un eroe «da salotto» ma irriducibile ed estremo, affetto dalla psicosi di un tempo florido quanto macabro che si avviava alla Secessione estetizzando i drammi, i dubbi e le conquiste di un’era al bivio fra l’estasi e l’abisso. Massenet offriva a questo pubblico evoluto - ma angosciato - la possibilità di specchiarsi in un Werther attuale, raffinato e morboso. Un tipo che comunque non piaceva affatto a George Bernard Shaw, il quale lo accusava di inettitudine, di inconsistenza, di essere inutile e dannoso come la gente che non ha voglia di lavorare. Il drammaturgo irlandese, a prescindere dall’opera di Massenet, metteva il dito nella piaga: non è che questo giovane Werther, suicida perché l’amata Charlotte non sarà mai sua, è solo uno smidollato, un pavido, un immaturo? «Io non sento in Werther quella snervatezza che spesso gli viene attribuita anche a causa di certe interpretazioni», risponde secco il tenore Francesco Meli, svettante Adorno nell’ultimo Simon Boccanegra al Regio e giovedì al debutto nel «Werther» di Massenet per la direzione di Michel Plasson (oggi alle 15.30 la prova generale, ndr). «Werther - spiega l’artista - soffre di un’oggettiva difficoltà a relazionarsi con gli altri e vive come reale un proprio mondo interiore che non è in grado di condividere con chi gli sta accanto. Fin dall’inizio Werther esalta quella Natura sempre giovane, casta e pura che non gli appartiene e che neppure può esistere come tale. Werther è un poeta, non è l’eroe che sfida la morte nei campi di battaglia: ma questo poeta, se è travolto dalla passione, diventa un leone. Ecco allora che l’ansia di Werther sembra placarsi quando Charlotte gli sta accanto, mentre il fuoco divampa quando la ritrova già sposata con Albert: l’orchestra si accende e Werther, il suo canto e la sua musica, si infiammano in chiave fortemente romantica». « Werther - conclude Meli - espone in scena tutto ciò che pensa: è un personaggio molto meditativo, introspettivo, ed è innegabile che l’interpretazione di alcuni cantanti abbia alimentato la falsa idea che la psicologia di Werther sia quella di un debole, di un personaggio piuttosto effeminato a cui contrapporre la figura di Albert, uomo solido e virile. Ma Werther ha un suo fascino reale, l’eterno fascino del poeta. E io ho l’impressione che nel III atto di quest’opera ci sia la stessa urgenza, la stessa disperata passione del IV atto della Carmen di Bizet. Werther è un uomo distrutto, ma un uomo assolutamente vero».
Elena Formica
Francese, francesissima. Eppure la prima assoluta non venne data a Parigi. Così gira strano il mondo, a volte. Ma non senza un perché. Opera «inconfondibile e geniale» - come scrisse Arruga - il «Werther» di Massenet venne rappresentato per la prima volta a Vienna il 16 febbraio 1892. Fu cantato in traduzione tedesca ed ebbe successo. Sia chiaro: Massenet e compagnia (cioè i librettisti Blau, Milliet e Hartmann) avrebbero immaginato un gran debutto parigino, ma Léon Carvalho mandò all’aria il progetto: questo «Werther» è troppo triste - pensò il direttore dell’Opéra Comique - quindi via dal cartellone. L’anno dopo, l’opera trionfò anche lì. Se Parigi all’inizio disse no, Vienna disse sì. E non tanto perché Massenet si era ispirato a «Die Leiden des jungen Werther» di Goethe, capolavoro ovunque esportato della letteratura tedesca, quanto per il fatto che la Vienna di Francesco Giuseppe, sotto il drappo imperiale così inquieta e borghese, era inconsciamente pronta ad accogliere questa musica, questo soggetto.
La capitale austriaca, paradigma irregolare di una borghesia trainante e malata (erano gli anni di Freud e di Klimt, dei loro affini, seguaci e clienti), aveva bisogno di un «Werther» alla Massenet: un eroe «da salotto» ma irriducibile ed estremo, affetto dalla psicosi di un tempo florido quanto macabro che si avviava alla Secessione estetizzando i drammi, i dubbi e le conquiste di un’era al bivio fra l’estasi e l’abisso. Massenet offriva a questo pubblico evoluto - ma angosciato - la possibilità di specchiarsi in un Werther attuale, raffinato e morboso. Un tipo che comunque non piaceva affatto a George Bernard Shaw, il quale lo accusava di inettitudine, di inconsistenza, di essere inutile e dannoso come la gente che non ha voglia di lavorare. Il drammaturgo irlandese, a prescindere dall’opera di Massenet, metteva il dito nella piaga: non è che questo giovane Werther, suicida perché l’amata Charlotte non sarà mai sua, è solo uno smidollato, un pavido, un immaturo? «Io non sento in Werther quella snervatezza che spesso gli viene attribuita anche a causa di certe interpretazioni», risponde secco il tenore Francesco Meli, svettante Adorno nell’ultimo Simon Boccanegra al Regio e giovedì al debutto nel «Werther» di Massenet per la direzione di Michel Plasson (oggi alle 15.30 la prova generale, ndr). «Werther - spiega l’artista - soffre di un’oggettiva difficoltà a relazionarsi con gli altri e vive come reale un proprio mondo interiore che non è in grado di condividere con chi gli sta accanto. Fin dall’inizio Werther esalta quella Natura sempre giovane, casta e pura che non gli appartiene e che neppure può esistere come tale. Werther è un poeta, non è l’eroe che sfida la morte nei campi di battaglia: ma questo poeta, se è travolto dalla passione, diventa un leone. Ecco allora che l’ansia di Werther sembra placarsi quando Charlotte gli sta accanto, mentre il fuoco divampa quando la ritrova già sposata con Albert: l’orchestra si accende e Werther, il suo canto e la sua musica, si infiammano in chiave fortemente romantica». « Werther - conclude Meli - espone in scena tutto ciò che pensa: è un personaggio molto meditativo, introspettivo, ed è innegabile che l’interpretazione di alcuni cantanti abbia alimentato la falsa idea che la psicologia di Werther sia quella di un debole, di un personaggio piuttosto effeminato a cui contrapporre la figura di Albert, uomo solido e virile. Ma Werther ha un suo fascino reale, l’eterno fascino del poeta. E io ho l’impressione che nel III atto di quest’opera ci sia la stessa urgenza, la stessa disperata passione del IV atto della Carmen di Bizet. Werther è un uomo distrutto, ma un uomo assolutamente vero».
Werther 2
Teatro Regio di Parma
Un “Werther” in psicoanalisi
“I dolori del giovane Werther” di Goethe è un romanzo epistolare imperniato esclusivamente sui sentimenti. La sua pubblicazione, alla fine del Settecento, provocò un vero e proprio uragano in Europa perché interpretava lo spirito del tempo meglio di quanto scritto sino ad allora. Innescò anche numerose imitazioni come “Le ultime lettere di Jacopo Ortis” di Ugo Foscolo. Lo sviluppo drammatico è quasi esclusivamente nelle crescente solitudine ed “ennui de vivre” del protagonista giovane aristocratico 23enne della Westfalia, innamorato della ventenne Charlotte , promessa sposa al suo migliore amico Albert (25 anni) poiché ciò è stato richiesto alla giovane dalla madre morente. Sempre più solo, Werther giunge al gesto estremo: suicidarsi con le pistole dategli dallo stesso Albert, consapevole della situazione. Goethe sviluppò in modo magistrale la dissonanza crescente tra la prestanza fisica, l’amore per la natura e i momenti di gioia del protagonista, da un lato, e la sua sempre più straziante disperazione. Nel romanzo, Charlotte non ha un vero e proprio sviluppo drammatico-psicologico: ama Werther ma deve sposare un altro perché così dicono le consuetudini del tempo e la parola data alla madre.
Pochi ricordano che il romanzo attirò quasi da subito autori di teatro in musica: già nel 1792 andava in scena un’opera di Kreutzer. Furono molto i musicisti italiani che trassero opere dal lavoro: Vincenza Pucitta (Venezia, 1802), Niccolò Benvenuti (Pisa , 1811), Roberto Gentili (Roma 1862). Non mancarono gli spagnoli , Eduardo Ximenes (Velancia , 1879). E naturalmente i tedeschi. Pochi di questi lavori sono oggi ricordati. L’unico sempre sulle scene è quello di Massenet. Ci volle una cooperativa di librettisti (Eduard Blau, Paul Millier, Geroges Hartmann) per permettere a Jules Massenet di farne un “dramme lyrique”, inizialmente rifiutato dai teatri francese, ma di successo in tutto il mondo dopo il trionfo a Vienna nel 1892. Più importante del libretto, peraltro fedele alla vicenda, è la scrittura orchestrale e vocale di Massenet ,specialmente nelle due arie di Werther sul tema del nesso tra l’uomo e la natura: in ambedue i casi, la natura è qualcosa di oggettivo (e di oggettivamente bello ed attraente) in cui il giovane proietta la propria tormentata vita interiore.
Nonostante si tratti di dramma in musica, molto francese e chiaramente agganciato all’inizio del Romanticismo, “Werther” ha ancora grande successo in Italia. Nel 2007, ci furono ben tre differenti allestimenti. Uno a Roma (regia di Alberto Fassini ripresa da Joseph Francioni Lee), molto oleografico in cui si giustapponeva la solitudine di Werther (sino al passo estremo) a un ambiente bigotto descritto nei minimi particolari con scene grandiose e tradizionali. La direzione di Alain Lombard era lirica. Giuseppe Filianoti era un Werther fervido ed ardente. Accanto a lui Beatrice Uria Manzon , bella e passionale. Un secondo a Napoli, offriva un Werther stilizzato e sensuale, in cui i due protagonisti erano in scena già nella sinfonia. La regia di Decker e le scene di Gussman non erano descrittive ma allusive. L’accento poggiava sugli stati d’animo. A differenza di Filianoti (un bari-tenore dal repertorio già vastissimo), José Bros è specializzato nei ruoli “belcantistici”: il suo era un Werther struggente e dalla vocalità spericolata ma mai volgare. Non fu facile essere sexy (come voleva Decker) per Sonia Ganassi, la cui Charlotte giocava interamente sull’abilità vocale. Un terzo allestimento, innovativo e inconsueto, ci fu a Savona e Rovigo. Nel 2009, un “Werther” all’acquerello (con Filianoti nel ruolo del protagonista) si è visto al teatro Cilea di Reggio Calabria.
Sino al 2 maggio è in scena al Teatro Regio di Parma l’edizione approntata tre anni fa per Savona e Rovigo. Nel tempo è cresciuta ed è diventata più interessante di quanto non lo fosse nella primavera 2007. Il regista Marco Carniti (le scene sono di Alessandro Chi) trasferisce la vicenda dalla Weimar dell’inizio del XIX secolo a un’Europa vagamente nordica dell’inizio del XX. I bambini vestono alla marinara. Gli abiti delle signore riflettono la moda dell’epoca. Soprattutto si sente odore di Ibsen e di Strinberg o di quel Giacosa che, allora, era la versione nostrana dell’accostarsi del teatro alla psicoanalisi (si pensi a “Tristi Amori”). Sin dal corteo funebre che accompagna l’ouverture, si avverte una forte impronta psicoanalitica più che romantica: Charlotte acquista un ruolo centrale. La promessa alla madre morente (il cui carro funebre attraversa il palcoscenico durante l’ouverture e il cui scialle è sempre in scena) gradualmente sconvolge la sua mente e non solo quella di Werther. Lo dimostra il disordine crescente nella sua stanza. Nonché nello studio del protagonista che si spara tra cataste di libri. Sonia Ganassi, veterana del ruolo, dà bene questo taglio psicoanalitico al personaggio. Rispetto alla versione napoletana di tre anni fa, ha perso peso, ha costumi che meglio le si adattano ed è diventata complessivamente più attraente. Francesco Meli, dal canto suo, regge una parte molto ancorata al registro di centro, ma non priva di impervi acuti. Sfoggia un fraseggio elegante e un “legato” delicato e , soprattutto, affronta con disinvolture le “mezze-voci” richieste dalla partitura spesso subito dopo momenti “spinti” Ci si deve chiedere se dopo avere interpretato Idomeneo, Gabriele Adorno (in “Simon Boccanegra” circa un mese fa sempre a Parma) e Werther, potrà mai tornare ai ruoli “di agilità” rossiniani che hanno lanciato la sua carriera. Deliziosa Serena Gamberoni (Sophie); dà al personaggio una solida consistenza psicologica, togliendola dagli schemi consueti di farne una pupattola alla Pollyanna. Efficace Giorgio Caoduro (Albert). Accurata la concertazione di Michel Plasson. Ottimo il francese dei due protagonisti , buono quello degli altri.
Hans Sachs, 23 apr 2010 13:57
domenica 2 maggio 2010
Strauss by Levi
I read "Richard Strauss" written by Levi many years ago
A brief description of his musical production, with a particular accent to poems and opera, analysed in three steps: orgiastic operas (Salome and Elektra), the mid age period (Rosenkavalier and Die Frau ohne Shatten) and the final era (Intermezzo and Capriccio)
A brief description of his musical production, with a particular accent to poems and opera, analysed in three steps: orgiastic operas (Salome and Elektra), the mid age period (Rosenkavalier and Die Frau ohne Shatten) and the final era (Intermezzo and Capriccio)
Werther
Today I went to the Regio for Werther
Maddalena sings off the stage
Beautiful voices for tenor and soprano
Sugar sound but noisy brass
the stage is essential, modern design, but with some interesting choices such as the presence of Werther at the end of the third act separated all the others simulating to receive the weapons
I found Linda there, so I can sit since her frind does not come to the theatre.
Maddalena sings in the beginning and at the end of the opera
Always "Noel" for the children, while outside the drama of Werther drives him to death
At the end, I go to the artists' exit, where Maddalena asks Michel Plasson to sign the booklet of the old recordings of Wether he conducted in 1979 with Kraus and the London Philharmonic Orchestra
Here the actual locandina
WERTHER
Drame lyrique in quattro atti su libretto di Edouard Blau,
Paul Milliet e Georges Hartmann, da Goethe
Musica di JULES MASSENET
Heugel/Leduc, Parigi - Editore per l’Italia Casa Musicale Sonzogno di Piero Ostali, Milano
Personaggi Interpreti
Werther FRANCESCO MELI
Il Borgomastro MICHEL TREMPONT
Charlotte SONIA GANASSI
Albert GIORGIO CAODURO
Schmidt NICOLA PAMIO
Johann OMAR MONTANARI
Sophie SERENA GAMBERONI
Kätchen AZUSA KUBO
Brühlmann SEUNG HWA PAEK
I bambini Fritz, Max, Hans, Karl, Gretel, Clara.
Un contadino ed un servo che non parlano.
Abitanti di Wetzlar, invitati, ragazzi, ecc.
Maestro concertatore e direttore
MICHEL PLASSON
Regia
MARCO CARNITI
Scene
ALESSANDRO CHITI
Costumi
GIUSI GIUSTINO
ORCHESTRA DEL TEATRO REGIO DI PARMA
CORO DI VOCI BIANCHE DEL TEATRO REGIO DI PARMA
Maestro del coro di voci bianche Sebastiano Rolli
Charlotte, Sonia Ganassi
Werther FRANCESCO MELI
Maestro concertatore e direttore
MICHEL PLASSON
Kant and Beauty 5
Judgments of beauty involve reference to the idea of necessity, in the following sense: in taking my judgment of beauty to be universally valid, I take it, not that everyone who perceives the object will share my pleasure in it and (relatedly) agree with my judgment, but that everyone ought to do so. I take it, then, that my pleasure stands in a “necessary” relation to the object which elicits it, where the necessity here can be described as normative. But, as in the case of universal validity, the necessity is not based on concepts or rules.
Emmanuel Kant, Critique of Aesthetic Judgment, Fourth Moment (§18-22)
Emmanuel Kant, Critique of Aesthetic Judgment, Fourth Moment (§18-22)
Kant and Beauty 4
Unlike judgments of the good, judgments of the beautiful do not presuppose an end or purpose [Zweck] which the object is taken to satisfy. Because this representation of purposiveness does not involve the ascription of an end, the purposiveness is represented “merely formal purposiveness” or “the form of purposiveness.” that is perceived both in the object itself and in the activity of imagination and understanding in their engagement with the object.
Emmanuel Kant, Critique of Aesthetic Judgment, Third Moment (§§10-17)
Emmanuel Kant, Critique of Aesthetic Judgment, Third Moment (§§10-17)
Kant and Beauty 3
Judgments of beauty have, or make a claim to, “universality” or “universal validity.” That is, in making a judgment of beauty about an object, one takes it that everyone else who perceives the object ought also to judge it to be beautiful, and, relatedly, to share one's pleasure in it. But the universality is not “based on concepts.” That is, one's claim to agreement does not rest on the subsumption of the object under a concept. Relatedly, judgments of beauty cannot, despite their universal validity, be proved: there are no rules by which someone can be compelled to judge that something is beautiful. The fact that judgments of beauty are universally valid constitutes a further feature (in addition to the disinterestedness of the pleasure on which they are based) distinguishing them from judgments of agreeable. For in claiming simply that one likes something, one does not claim that everyone else ought to like it too. But the fact that their universal validity is not based on concepts distinguishes judgments of beauty from non-evaluative cognitive judgments and judgments of the good, both of which make a claim to universal validity that is based on concepts.
Emmanuel Kant, Critique of Aesthetic Judgment, Second Moment (§§2-9)
Emmanuel Kant, Critique of Aesthetic Judgment, Second Moment (§§2-9)
Kant and Beauty 2
What is a Judgment of Beauty?
Judgments of beauty are based on feeling, in particular feelings of pleasure. The pleasure, however, is of a distinctive kind: it is disinterested, which means that it does not depend on the subject's having a desire for the object, nor does it generate such a desire. The fact that judgments of beauty are based on feeling rather than “objective sensation” (e.g., the sensation of a thing's colour) distinguishes them from cognitive judgments based on perception (e.g., the judgment that a thing is green). But the disinterested character of the feeling distinguishes them from other judgments based on feeling. In particular, it distinguishes them from (i) judgments of the agreeable, which are the kind of judgment expressed by saying simply that one likes something or finds it pleasing (for example, food or drink), and (ii) judgments of the good, including judgments both about the moral goodness of something and about its goodness for particular non-moral ends.
Emmanuel Kant, Critique of Aesthetic Judgment, First Moment (§§1-5)
Judgments of beauty are based on feeling, in particular feelings of pleasure. The pleasure, however, is of a distinctive kind: it is disinterested, which means that it does not depend on the subject's having a desire for the object, nor does it generate such a desire. The fact that judgments of beauty are based on feeling rather than “objective sensation” (e.g., the sensation of a thing's colour) distinguishes them from cognitive judgments based on perception (e.g., the judgment that a thing is green). But the disinterested character of the feeling distinguishes them from other judgments based on feeling. In particular, it distinguishes them from (i) judgments of the agreeable, which are the kind of judgment expressed by saying simply that one likes something or finds it pleasing (for example, food or drink), and (ii) judgments of the good, including judgments both about the moral goodness of something and about its goodness for particular non-moral ends.
Emmanuel Kant, Critique of Aesthetic Judgment, First Moment (§§1-5)
Kant and Beauty 1
"Colui che si annoia nell’ascoltare una bella musica lascia intendere che la bellezza dello stile e l’incantesimo dell’amore non avrà su di lui che poca potenza."
(Emmanuel Kant)
(Emmanuel Kant)
giovedì 29 aprile 2010
Janáček The Cunning Little Vixen 3
March 22, 2010
The Cunning Little Vixen at Covent Garden
It seems extraordinary that this is the first time that Sir Charles Mackerras has conducted this opera at Covent Garden
Hilary Finch (Times)
A heart-rending sob and a wail rose up from the auditorium. Vixen Sharp-Ears had been shot dead — and for one little girl in the audience, it was all too much.
Janácek would have approved. His transformation of newspaper cartoons into a visionary opera of man’s place in the natural world makes The Cunning Little Vixen the eternally moving work that it is. In this revival of Bill Bryden’s 1990 Royal Opera production, with Charles Mackerras playing the heartstrings of the music for all they’re worth, there’s a high level of audience engagement. Good, too, to have a chance to hear the opera that Janácek wrote just after Kátya Kabanová, which is now playing in St Martin’s Lane.
Bryden’s production hovers somewhere between Kenneth Grahame and Frederick Ashton in Beatrix Potter mode. Virtuoso animal masks and costumes, a balletic Blue Dragonfly (Tom Sapsford), a lunar trapeze artist (Lyn Routledge) incarnating the free Spirit of the Vixen: all weave in and out of movement (Stuart Hopps) as deliciously detailed in its verisimilitude as Janácek’s own aural study of the language of birds, animals and insects.
It seems extraordinary that this is the first time that Mackerras has conducted this opera at Covent Garden. Such is his love for, and understanding of, the score that one can feel just a little short-changed at the end, when the orchestra’s crescendo of pantheistic transcendence isn’t quite captured in this production. William Dudley’s visual emphasis on the great wheel of life and the cogwheels of time comes slightly at the expense of a sense of wonder-filled renewal within the cycle of nature’s seasons.
This revival may not be as starrily cast as some — and the poor Fox (Emma Bell) had her appendix out on the eve of the first night. But Jette Parker Young Artists are always on hand and Elisabeth Meister made a brave, if as yet vocally undernourished, stab at the role of Fox Golden-Mane. Emma Matthews offers an impressive house debut as the Vixen herself: a feisty feminist, red in tooth and claw, yet with a touching vulnerability at the core of her bright, high soprano.
The Vixen’s longings (both despised and envied by the Dachshund, nicely lugubrious in the voice of the American countertenor Gerald Thompson) personify those of less successful specimens of mankind. Robin Leggate is a wonderfully observed Schoolmaster (and Mosquito); Jeremy White an angrily morose Priest (and Badger); and Christopher Maltman, though still small-scale, is personable and musically intelligent in his first Forester. A word, too, for the Forester’s Wife, the mezzo Madeleine Shaw, who is also an irresistibly censorious Owl.
The Cunning Little Vixen at Covent Garden
It seems extraordinary that this is the first time that Sir Charles Mackerras has conducted this opera at Covent Garden
Hilary Finch (Times)
A heart-rending sob and a wail rose up from the auditorium. Vixen Sharp-Ears had been shot dead — and for one little girl in the audience, it was all too much.
Janácek would have approved. His transformation of newspaper cartoons into a visionary opera of man’s place in the natural world makes The Cunning Little Vixen the eternally moving work that it is. In this revival of Bill Bryden’s 1990 Royal Opera production, with Charles Mackerras playing the heartstrings of the music for all they’re worth, there’s a high level of audience engagement. Good, too, to have a chance to hear the opera that Janácek wrote just after Kátya Kabanová, which is now playing in St Martin’s Lane.
Bryden’s production hovers somewhere between Kenneth Grahame and Frederick Ashton in Beatrix Potter mode. Virtuoso animal masks and costumes, a balletic Blue Dragonfly (Tom Sapsford), a lunar trapeze artist (Lyn Routledge) incarnating the free Spirit of the Vixen: all weave in and out of movement (Stuart Hopps) as deliciously detailed in its verisimilitude as Janácek’s own aural study of the language of birds, animals and insects.
It seems extraordinary that this is the first time that Mackerras has conducted this opera at Covent Garden. Such is his love for, and understanding of, the score that one can feel just a little short-changed at the end, when the orchestra’s crescendo of pantheistic transcendence isn’t quite captured in this production. William Dudley’s visual emphasis on the great wheel of life and the cogwheels of time comes slightly at the expense of a sense of wonder-filled renewal within the cycle of nature’s seasons.
This revival may not be as starrily cast as some — and the poor Fox (Emma Bell) had her appendix out on the eve of the first night. But Jette Parker Young Artists are always on hand and Elisabeth Meister made a brave, if as yet vocally undernourished, stab at the role of Fox Golden-Mane. Emma Matthews offers an impressive house debut as the Vixen herself: a feisty feminist, red in tooth and claw, yet with a touching vulnerability at the core of her bright, high soprano.
The Vixen’s longings (both despised and envied by the Dachshund, nicely lugubrious in the voice of the American countertenor Gerald Thompson) personify those of less successful specimens of mankind. Robin Leggate is a wonderfully observed Schoolmaster (and Mosquito); Jeremy White an angrily morose Priest (and Badger); and Christopher Maltman, though still small-scale, is personable and musically intelligent in his first Forester. A word, too, for the Forester’s Wife, the mezzo Madeleine Shaw, who is also an irresistibly censorious Owl.
Janáček The Cunning Little Vixen 2
21 Mar 2010
The Cunning Little Vixen, London
An enchanting evening at Covent Garden:
Leoš Janáček: The Cunning Little Vixen (sung in English)
Vixen Sharp-Ears: Emma Matthews: Gamekeeper: Christopher Maltman; Fox: Elisabeth Meister; Schoolmaster/Mosquito: Robin Leggate; Gamekeeper’s Wife/Owl: Madeleine Shaw; Priest/Badger: Jeremy White; Harašta: Matthew Rose; Innkeeper’s Wife: Elisabeth Sikora; Pásek: Alasdair Elliott; Pepík: Simona Mihai; Frantík: Elizabeth Cragg; Rooster/Jay: Deborah Peake-Jones; Dachshund: Gerald Thompson; Forester’s Wife: Madeleine Shaw; Cricket: Peter Shafran; Caterpillar: Talo Hanson (front), Korey Knight (back); Young Vixen: Eleanor Burke; Blue Dragonfly: Tom Sapsford; Spirit of the Vixen: Lyn Routledge; Chief Hen: Glenys Groves; Woodpecker: Amanda Floyd; Hare: Marnie Carr; Flies, Foxcubs, Other Children, Dancers. Director: Bill Bryden; Designs: William Dudley; Lighting: Paule Constable; Movement: Stuart Hopps. Royal Opera Chorus (chorus master: Renato Balsadonna); Orchestra of the Royal Opera House; Sir Charles Mackerras (conductor). Royal Opera House, Covent Garden, London, Friday 19 March 2010.
What with this and The Gambler, things seem to be looking up, following a dispiriting spell in the Christof Loy doldrums. Indeed, the theatrical and musical magic woven here could not stand further removed from the pretentious dreariness inflicted upon new productions of Lulu and Tristan und Isolde. Bill Bryden’s production of The Cunning Little Vixen was first staged in 1990 but, twenty years on, it is yet to look tired. For this, William Dudley’s designs deserve a great deal of credit. There is to action and staging a crucial sense of life, in all its complexity, never more ambiguous than when it is apparently straightforward. The life-cycle, human or animal — should the distinction even be made? — is the guiding force, in every sense, of Janáček’s drama, and so, appropriately enough, one sees a huge circle on stage, which provides a treadmill for walking as well as a frame in which the first act’s acrobatic ‘Spirit of the Vixen’ may swing. Here, form is wondrously imparted to the Vixen’s dream, both for the eye and the ear. Humour, arguably more immediate, if less idiomatic, when sung in English, was present too, for instance in the portrayal of the clannish farmyard hens, large and contented, unable to heed the Vixen’s siren-voice of feminist revolt. It is, however, the interplay between wondrous machinery and Nature that penetrates to the very heart of the opera. This both highlighted such relationships in the score and put me in mind of another Royal Opera production: David McVicar’s Magic Flute — never more magical than when heard under Sir Colin Davis (available on DVD). Lighting (Paule Johnson), colours, and scenery ensure that Nature is present, overflowing in her abundance, without being domesticated or prettified; for there is wildness aplenty in Janáček’s score, and this must be reflected in the action.
It must, of course, above all be expressed by the orchestra, and so it was here. The name of Sir Charles Mackerras is so indelibly associated with Janáček’s music that one might take for granted his excellence. However, I doubt that even the most jaded listener — note that one must listen, rather than passively consume — could have done so in this case. The angularities of Janáček’s score, so often ironed out by conductors not so intimately attuned to the idiom, were immediate and telling, but they were always integrated into a longer line, never aggressive, let alone exhibitionistic, for their own sake: the opposing temptation to smoothing out. Equally apparent, and again never merely for their own sake, were the ravishing beauties of the score’s extraordinary sound-world — extraordinary even by Janáček’s standards. One example would be that utterly characteristic high string sound, split into several parts, which one might be tempted to call Straussian, but which is in reality quite different, if anything more akin to the Schoenberg of Gurrelieder. (Janáček was greatly interested in the music of the Second Viennese School.) Building of climaxes was masterly, above all in the great, pantheistic conclusion, so redolent, or rather prophetic, of the Glagolitic Mass. Life goes on, yet is transformed, transfigured. Tension had sagged slightly, I thought, both on stage and in the musical performance, during the first half of the third act, but this conclusion certainly compensated. As Sir Charles’s aforementioned knighted colleague sounds so effortlessly right in Mozart, so does Mackerras in Janáček. How odd, then, that this was the first time he had conducted the work at Covent Garden, though not quite so odd as the fact that Bryden’s production has no predecessors in the house. (Having said that, The Cunning Little Vixen received its Paris premiere as recently as 2008, and then in a production borrowed from Lyons.)
If Mackerras and the orchestra, which throughout played superlatively, a match for any other ensemble, were the brightest stars in the firmament, then they were ably supported by much of the cast. Most impressive of all was Christopher Maltman, whose Forester grew in stature, as he should, as the work progressed. The final transfiguration was as much his as the natural world’s. Elisabeth Meister, a Jette Paker Young Artist, had originally been slated to sing the roles of the Rooster and the Jay, but had to replace Emma Bell at very short notice, the latter having been rushed to hospital for an emergency appendectomy. Meister proved a winning replacement, moving in her love for the Vixen: an anthropomorphic fantasy, maybe, but an irresistible one. Sadly, Emma Matthews brought no especial individuality to the title role, though she did nothing especially wrong either. Many of the smaller roles, however, were sharply etched, most memorably Matthew Rose’s poacher, Harašta, Robin Leggate’s lovelorn Schoolmaster, and Jeremy White, both as priest and badger. The children, drawn from various London schools, did not disappoint either.
Performance in English did not disconcert me as much as I had feared. There is loss, of course, in terms of the music’s relationship to the language’s speech-rhythms, but this registered less than it had during ENO’s Katya Kabanova earlier in the week. Perhaps it was a better translation; there was certainly more opportunity, often very well taken, for wit. Banking jokes may be easy, but sometimes we should be grateful for any weapon we have. One gripe though: why start at 8 p.m.? It made no especial difference to me, but a 7.30 start would have been of help to those who had to travel out of London, or who simply wished to dine a little earlier. Such practical reservations should not detract, however, from a triumphant return to form for the Royal Opera.
The Cunning Little Vixen will be broadcast by BBC Radio 3 on Saturday 15 May at 6 p.m.
from Opera Today
The Cunning Little Vixen, London
An enchanting evening at Covent Garden:
Leoš Janáček: The Cunning Little Vixen (sung in English)
Vixen Sharp-Ears: Emma Matthews: Gamekeeper: Christopher Maltman; Fox: Elisabeth Meister; Schoolmaster/Mosquito: Robin Leggate; Gamekeeper’s Wife/Owl: Madeleine Shaw; Priest/Badger: Jeremy White; Harašta: Matthew Rose; Innkeeper’s Wife: Elisabeth Sikora; Pásek: Alasdair Elliott; Pepík: Simona Mihai; Frantík: Elizabeth Cragg; Rooster/Jay: Deborah Peake-Jones; Dachshund: Gerald Thompson; Forester’s Wife: Madeleine Shaw; Cricket: Peter Shafran; Caterpillar: Talo Hanson (front), Korey Knight (back); Young Vixen: Eleanor Burke; Blue Dragonfly: Tom Sapsford; Spirit of the Vixen: Lyn Routledge; Chief Hen: Glenys Groves; Woodpecker: Amanda Floyd; Hare: Marnie Carr; Flies, Foxcubs, Other Children, Dancers. Director: Bill Bryden; Designs: William Dudley; Lighting: Paule Constable; Movement: Stuart Hopps. Royal Opera Chorus (chorus master: Renato Balsadonna); Orchestra of the Royal Opera House; Sir Charles Mackerras (conductor). Royal Opera House, Covent Garden, London, Friday 19 March 2010.
What with this and The Gambler, things seem to be looking up, following a dispiriting spell in the Christof Loy doldrums. Indeed, the theatrical and musical magic woven here could not stand further removed from the pretentious dreariness inflicted upon new productions of Lulu and Tristan und Isolde. Bill Bryden’s production of The Cunning Little Vixen was first staged in 1990 but, twenty years on, it is yet to look tired. For this, William Dudley’s designs deserve a great deal of credit. There is to action and staging a crucial sense of life, in all its complexity, never more ambiguous than when it is apparently straightforward. The life-cycle, human or animal — should the distinction even be made? — is the guiding force, in every sense, of Janáček’s drama, and so, appropriately enough, one sees a huge circle on stage, which provides a treadmill for walking as well as a frame in which the first act’s acrobatic ‘Spirit of the Vixen’ may swing. Here, form is wondrously imparted to the Vixen’s dream, both for the eye and the ear. Humour, arguably more immediate, if less idiomatic, when sung in English, was present too, for instance in the portrayal of the clannish farmyard hens, large and contented, unable to heed the Vixen’s siren-voice of feminist revolt. It is, however, the interplay between wondrous machinery and Nature that penetrates to the very heart of the opera. This both highlighted such relationships in the score and put me in mind of another Royal Opera production: David McVicar’s Magic Flute — never more magical than when heard under Sir Colin Davis (available on DVD). Lighting (Paule Johnson), colours, and scenery ensure that Nature is present, overflowing in her abundance, without being domesticated or prettified; for there is wildness aplenty in Janáček’s score, and this must be reflected in the action.
It must, of course, above all be expressed by the orchestra, and so it was here. The name of Sir Charles Mackerras is so indelibly associated with Janáček’s music that one might take for granted his excellence. However, I doubt that even the most jaded listener — note that one must listen, rather than passively consume — could have done so in this case. The angularities of Janáček’s score, so often ironed out by conductors not so intimately attuned to the idiom, were immediate and telling, but they were always integrated into a longer line, never aggressive, let alone exhibitionistic, for their own sake: the opposing temptation to smoothing out. Equally apparent, and again never merely for their own sake, were the ravishing beauties of the score’s extraordinary sound-world — extraordinary even by Janáček’s standards. One example would be that utterly characteristic high string sound, split into several parts, which one might be tempted to call Straussian, but which is in reality quite different, if anything more akin to the Schoenberg of Gurrelieder. (Janáček was greatly interested in the music of the Second Viennese School.) Building of climaxes was masterly, above all in the great, pantheistic conclusion, so redolent, or rather prophetic, of the Glagolitic Mass. Life goes on, yet is transformed, transfigured. Tension had sagged slightly, I thought, both on stage and in the musical performance, during the first half of the third act, but this conclusion certainly compensated. As Sir Charles’s aforementioned knighted colleague sounds so effortlessly right in Mozart, so does Mackerras in Janáček. How odd, then, that this was the first time he had conducted the work at Covent Garden, though not quite so odd as the fact that Bryden’s production has no predecessors in the house. (Having said that, The Cunning Little Vixen received its Paris premiere as recently as 2008, and then in a production borrowed from Lyons.)
If Mackerras and the orchestra, which throughout played superlatively, a match for any other ensemble, were the brightest stars in the firmament, then they were ably supported by much of the cast. Most impressive of all was Christopher Maltman, whose Forester grew in stature, as he should, as the work progressed. The final transfiguration was as much his as the natural world’s. Elisabeth Meister, a Jette Paker Young Artist, had originally been slated to sing the roles of the Rooster and the Jay, but had to replace Emma Bell at very short notice, the latter having been rushed to hospital for an emergency appendectomy. Meister proved a winning replacement, moving in her love for the Vixen: an anthropomorphic fantasy, maybe, but an irresistible one. Sadly, Emma Matthews brought no especial individuality to the title role, though she did nothing especially wrong either. Many of the smaller roles, however, were sharply etched, most memorably Matthew Rose’s poacher, Harašta, Robin Leggate’s lovelorn Schoolmaster, and Jeremy White, both as priest and badger. The children, drawn from various London schools, did not disappoint either.
Performance in English did not disconcert me as much as I had feared. There is loss, of course, in terms of the music’s relationship to the language’s speech-rhythms, but this registered less than it had during ENO’s Katya Kabanova earlier in the week. Perhaps it was a better translation; there was certainly more opportunity, often very well taken, for wit. Banking jokes may be easy, but sometimes we should be grateful for any weapon we have. One gripe though: why start at 8 p.m.? It made no especial difference to me, but a 7.30 start would have been of help to those who had to travel out of London, or who simply wished to dine a little earlier. Such practical reservations should not detract, however, from a triumphant return to form for the Royal Opera.
The Cunning Little Vixen will be broadcast by BBC Radio 3 on Saturday 15 May at 6 p.m.
from Opera Today
Janáček The Cunning Little Vixen 1
My first time at Covent Garden
for a beautiful version of the little vixen by Janacek
conducted by Charles Mackerras
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