A flute of our time

Simon McBurney directs Die Zauberflöte in New York (*****) [cinema]

Lawrence Brownlee (Tamino) and Met Orchestra principal flute Seth Morris © Karen Almond | Met Opera

Author : Johan Uytterschaut

Since Peter Sellars presented his three Mozart – Da Ponte operas in 1990, it is no longer anathema to bring opera (specifically Mozart) on the stage as a present day drama. These operas’ universally human themes make doing so a most interesting exercise; in fact practically an evident thing to do, as we witnessed recently in Ivo van Hove’s Don Giovanni. Other titles fit less easily in this paradigm. Of Verdi’s Aida, it is being said that it is “impossible to transpose in time” because of its all too specific time framing. Franz Marijnen proved a long time ago that it can be done.

To facilitate an orderly discussion, opera dramatists developed a useful instrument: a trivium, stating that a production that wants to be relevant nowadays has to consider three time references: 1) the time wherein the story originally plays, 2) the time of composition and, 3) the time of production. These three can be found to lie far apart in modern productions, as in Richard Wagner’s music drama’s, or, on the contrary, they may coincide, as is the case in some new operas. But in most cases, the three dimensions are more or less scattered. It is a remarkable fact that quite a few well meaning but poorly informed opera lovers fanatically stick to the first reference, losing sight of the fact that even then there is a certain tension between references 1 and 2. When Georg Frideric Handel writes an opera seria situated in ancient Rome, he writes music of his own time; not music from, say, Julius Caesar’s time. Well, whatever. What should we do then? Remove our own time from the equation and turn blindly to the time of the composition? Early music champions will be grateful and invite you to Drotningholm to experience “Stonehenge opera” (they won’t call it that, of course; they will present you with “period opera”. By now, you will have understood that that is a false argument).

Mozart’s opera least evidently taken on within this logic is Die Zauberflöte, for different reasons. There is, of course, the original story’s Egyptian symbolism, due to the Free Masons’ hermetic ritualism most directors dare not tinker with (you never know!). And there is the strictness of the rituals themselves, making the drama (unnecessarily) complex and wasting (to my humble opinion) some time, even. The fact that Tamino is ordered by the Queen of the Night to murder her rival is a dramatic coincidence: in Mozart’s last opera, La clemenza di Tito, the same thing occurs within the triangle Vitellia – Sextus – Titus, without any masonic context what soever.

Kathryn Lewek (Queen of the Night) and Erin Morley (Pamina) © Karen Almond | Met Opera

It is director Simon McBurney’s merit to have dealt with all that in a most clever way, by means of the said trivium. He has taken a closer look at the conditions of this opera’s first performances in 1791, and he has transposed those conditions to our time. He specifically borrowed the adventurous intent of the production in the Viennese theatre, which was equipped with a most progressive and high standard machinery, and translated that intent to whatever is (can be) surprising, challenging and entertaining nowadays. It is therefore no surprise that a video artist (Blake Habermann) was included in this production; that he is performing in real time, visible to everybody, beside the stage, is all the more surprising. It turns his act into an improvisation, thus enhancing the evening’s adventurous character. We’re not talking about pretty pictures or cheap effects. Habermann is a master in “following” the score musically with a simple bit of chalk on a black board, or the handling of Indonesian style shadow puppets. Maybe even more surprising is foley artist Ruth Sullivan’s contribution, also visible, at the other end of the stage. She provides every visible move that could be somewhat special with the right sound effect. It is amazing how she succeeds in creating the perfect suggestion with the simplest of means, from birds flying away, to the crackling of fire.

That, of course, doesn’t constitute a drama of its own. You also need a dramatic vision giving the actors, with their characters, a place within this new adventure. That is why Tamino and Pamina are turned into ordinary people, confronted with a situation. Sarastro’s priestly bunch of yes-men are changed by McBurney into a worthy gathering of civilised people, able to put a critical question or two. Papageno is not only Tamino’s side kick; here he moults into a magnificent clown taking possession of the stage at times. And this Queen of the Night is no fairy tale diva: she is a vengeful and bitter old hag in a wheelchair. But what a character!

Which brings us to the singers. Kathryn Lewek is a Queen without parallel. Most coloratura sopranos have, logically, rather “thin” voices, enabling them to cope with the astronomic top notes; in some cases charging their part with something more – see Diana Damrau. But real dramatic singing is mostly absent. Lewek, on the other hand, is a very rare example of the Stimmfach “dramatic coloratura”, with a mind blowing intensity in its colour. Add a absolute technical mastery to it, and you have a true diamond – worn down cliché, but in this case most apt. She received nothing less than an stormy ovation. Lawrence Brownlee’s Tamino and Erin Morley’s Pamina glistened with talent and vocal grandeur. Thomas Oliemans may not be the most convincing singer, but as Papageno he is a brilliant comic actor. Absolutely an added value to this production. And I could go on like this.

The positioning of the orchestra also witnessed McBurney’s “reconstruction”: the pit was heightened to a position where the musicians were visible, becoming part of the spectacle. No problem for the Met’s ensemble, and it added to the players’ involvement. Oddly, the same thing happened to Nathalie Stutzmann as a couple of weeks ago in Don Giovanni: some disturbing inequalities between singers and orchestra, especially in the beginning of the show. I’m not blaming anyone, and I don’t want to make a point of it, but it is something I’ve rarely heard in this house. All things considered however, the balance is overwhelmingly positive.

Erin Morley (Pamina) and Thomas Oliemans (Papageno) © Karen Almond | Met Opera

Conclusion: it will have become abundantly clear by now that this Magic Flute is going to be a time document, with a production that exposes some remarkably modern issues in a drama that (without the music) could be discarded as waggish. QED: a director worthy of the title can make any opera into a masterpiece. If, on top of that, he succeeds in seamlessly meeting our present time – so much in need of this kind of wisdom – as far as I’m concerned, he deserves a statue.