The Sound of the Gong
As a simple enthusiast I was chosen to attend the opera and write a review aimed at the everyday opera-goer, such as me. Nevertheless, I decided to bring along two friends of a more informed opinion; a musicologist, and an opera singer.
by Amir Kahana and Beatriz Gamboa
Armed and raring to go, we arrived at the Deutsche Oper last Tuesday to watch the new production of Puccini’s last and unfinished work, Turandot.
Already on the way, the Musicologist seemed sceptic of the trend of modernisation of early 20th century operas, finding them shallow and with a deficiency in the deeper, originally planned, meaning. He complained incessantly and gave us a lecture until I cut him short by asking, “Should I not just be able to close my eyes and enjoy it despite the performance itself?” Then he went off on Media Theory and that’s when I stopped listening.
We left our coats at the garderobe, suspended our disbeliefs, and found our seats as we sat amidst excited spectators who awaited the powerful magic of this famous opera. The Opera Singer herself looked forward in particular to Liu’s aria Tu che di gel sei sinta when she kills herself out of love for Calaf, which she had sung a long time ago at the music academy. I was on the other hand waiting for what the Musicologist referred to as the “beloved pop single”, Nessun Dorma, which in his eyes should be omitted from the piece altogether.
The lights dimmed and the opera started.
Through the first and most of the second act the choir was positioned on stage acting as an audience, and facing the real audience. This idea of a play within a play, as the Musicologist explained, has a long tradition through theatre history, an idea which he found intriguing. The Opera Singer, always with a more passionate outlook, was disappointed at the way this technique undermined the seriousness of the plot; a tragic story, the doom at the beginning as the last suitor is killed for being unable to answer the three questions, was lost as the production rendered it a comedy. We all found the choir itself powerful and touching, although unfortunately sometimes this tended to cast a shadow over the orchestra.
Fidgeting in her seat, the Opera Singer made sure to always tell me what was going on in her opinionated mind; Liu was simply grand, at the end of her famous aria the Opera Singer stood up and yelled a loud “Bravo!” And Timur’s bass voice did not blow her away as she expected. Slightly more rational, and always with a watchful, critical eye, the Musicologist felt that Calaf’s manner was “easy and overused” and only added plain affects to the musical content. Turandot, we all agreed, projected her touching voice clearly and with confidence.
During the interval, a discussion began and my two expert friends tackled two particular points. First of all, the Musicologist wondered why it was that the director, when making a modern version of an opera piece set in China, had not transported the Orientalism of the piece onto the stage; indeed, the music remained orientalistic, but what happened on stage made barely any reference to the oriental issue, neither in a critical or adapted way. On the other hand, I leant towards the idea that the opera should not always be committed to making political statements for it is a place for the suspension of disbeliefs, a place which should permit us to turn to our inner worlds. This did not seem to work for the Opera Singer who found the production too removed from emotions, the cold meeting of father and son being a prime example of this. Perhaps this could explain why although the idea of a play within a play was attractive, it was not in this case entirely well executed, distancing the audience from the truly tragic love story of Turandot.
The last act lost the momentum which had built up during the second act, and Calaf’s Nessun Dorma lacked power. Before we went back to our seats we had wondered about how this popularised aria would be tackled, and the Opera Singer later told us she felt sympathy for Calaf’s nerves as he got on stage and off on the wrong foot from the very first note. From his part, the Musicologist sniggered at the bizarre projections of children. It was a bad beginning only to be followed by the macabre dangling of Liu from the ceiling once she has killed herself (where she remained for the rest of the opera), acting as a contrast or a reminder of the true love which she felt for Calaf, and later by Calaf and Turandot’s sudden, unexpected and out of context (and text) murder of their own fathers. Perhaps the Musicologist’s suggestion that they might as well have killed themselves after killing their fathers is not out of reach.
But let us not forget Liu’s brilliant and memorable performance, the powerful choir which made my hair stand on end, Turandot’s consistency, and Calaf’s charm. Unfortunately the stage direction left something to be desired meaning that the full operatic experience of leaving your coat and your disbeliefs behind before entering the hall, was lost. Until the next sound of a gong…
