Opera and Film: Breaking the Waves--opera revisits a modern classic film
Great opera rarely stems from great plays, novels, or movies. It is difficult to take a classic, add some music (and dance) and not either trivialize it (Macbeth by Verdi) or drown it in worshipful solemnity (A Streetcar Named Desire by Andre Previn, Antony and Cleopatra by Samuel Barber). Except for Verdi's Otello and Falstaff, I cannot think of any great literary works adapted into great operas, which more often arise from pulp fiction. Richard Wagner knew this, and thus wrote his own libretti.
Therefore, it was with trepidation that I attended a new American opera in Washington Square this week, Beneath the Waves by Missy Mazzoli, with a libretto by Royce Vavrek. It is based closely on the fantastic (in all uses of the word) 1996 film by Dane Lars von Trier, who combines Ingmar Bergman's incisive (and often devastating) critiques of human behavior with an offbeat sense of whimsy and fantasy. The film version is on my list of top 10 films of the past 35 years (note how I cleverly exclude the 1970's), and is his best so far. Von Trier does not just direct, but writes his own scripts (as did Bergman, and Wagner, for that matter) in the European auteur tradition so, for better or worse, his films are truly his. Beneath the Waves tells the story of Bess, an innocent girl from Scotland transformed into a modern mix of Joan of Arc, Shirley Temple, and Marilyn Monroe (see her here). This stunning performance launched the career of British actress Emily Watson (Gosford Park, Hillary and Jackie) and was the first of several von Trier films that featured complex, memorable women--Björk in Dancer in the Dark (2000), Nicole Kidman in Dogville (2003) and Manderlay (2005), and Kirsten Dunst in Melancholia (2011). Bess, a simple, beautiful, buoyant, hyper-religious and possibly retarded young woman, falls in love with a randy North Sea oil platform worker (Stellan Skarsgård), marries him, and loves him with cult-like sexual and emotional intensity. Her love becomes a religion in itself, conflicting with the rigid protestant mores of her church in the isolated town (this reminded me of Bergman's depictions of scary, icy protestants in films like Winter Light). When her husband is paralyzed in an occupational accident, she devotes herself to his healing, including fulfilling his wish that she have sex with many random men then describe the sex acts to him as sort of a vicarious sexual relationship they can no longer have. She is then persecuted by the conservative community, killed in a violent act on a scary freighter in the bay, healing her mortally ill husband, then is buried "beneath the waves" against the wishes of the church fathers. What makes all this darkness so memorable is Bess' unvarying tone of radiant trust and joy, and the remarkable ending in which her death becomes a modern saintly miracle, replete with bells pealing from heaven. Thus the film is a modern allegory, or perhaps a fable, a fable because, even though there are no talking animals a la Aesop, the humans, especially Bess, are surreal, not really human. Lars von Trier makes all this work by filming it not in a Hollywood fantasy style like The Wizard of Oz or La La Land, but in the gritty style of realist films of the 1970s. He felt that anything more romanticized would make the film cloying and saccharine. He really got it right. I think the point is that love, or personal values are more transcendent and true than any organized religion.
I was optimistic about an opera based on this classic, since the film often feels "musical" in it's speech rhythms, crashing waves, wind, bells, and clanking oil drills. You get the feeling that von Trier, like Beethoven before his Ninth Symphony, was pushing against the limits of his medium and needed some singing to move forward. He did just that in his next film Dancer in the Dark, another tragedy which spontaneously breaks out into music-dance sequences at emotional climaxes. This opera succeeds partially. The second act, after the industrial accident, reached some nice climaxes, communicated Bess' religious fervor well, and, given the limitations of a moderate sized theater, reached a convincing climax when the heavens open and peal for Bess' watery entombment. The first half, which largely establishes Bess (Kiera Duffy) as a complex character, was less successful. It is hard to write a mostly one-character opera without brilliant compositional talent, and Ms. Mazzoli does not quite have that. Nor did the Bess of Ms. Duffy achieve the radiance of Emily Watson in the film. This is no crime; opera singers rarely have the looks or acting of the best stage or film actors--but this is where great operatic music creates the character (think Madama Butterfly or Brunnhilde). The singing style here was largely declamatory, underlayed by a 16 piece orchestra that often achieved nice atmospheric effects. The monotony of a complete lack of arias was helped by some use of stylistic Leitmotiven, for example percussive contrapuntal Stravinsky-like writing for the mens' chorus of rigid church elders, and more legato soaring phrases when Bess was her happiest self. The fine men's chorus from Trinity Church Wall Street played multiple parts: the church elders, minimally clad tricks for Bess' prostitution, and the voice of God when Bess talked directly to him/her. The other characters were very underwritten compared to Bess, which worked in the movie given Emily Watson and Lars von Trier's brilliance, but less so here. Ultimately, the opera fell short for the same reason many of the operas based on great works do--a too-slavish adherence to the original material. Neither Rossini nor Mozart/da Ponte had compunctions about messing around with Beaumarchais in The Barber of Seville and The Marriage of Figaro, and Verdi/Boito later cut and edited Shakespeare liberally. All this because opera is not the stage--it is bigger, and subtlety is less convincing here than are big moments and emotions. I think a more ambitious rethinking of Breaking the Waves might have been better. For example, the hospitalized, semi-clad, paralyzed husband lay strikingly visibly on stage throughout intermission and the second act (until he arises during the miracle of Bess' death), lit like an entombed Christ. In the film when he rises from bed in a matter of fact way it fits the gritty tone (miracles occur in the everyday world), but in the opera a more grandiose "resurrection" might have worked better...more theater. Without film's ability to create gritty fantasy, a different tone was needed from the opera. But ultimately, despite some successes, more inspired music was needed to sustain a 2 1/2 hour work. We still await a great modern opera to follow Messiaen's St. Francis of Assisi (1983)---now there was mystical religion as grand theater! Next week I will report on another recent opera. Stay tuned!
Therefore, it was with trepidation that I attended a new American opera in Washington Square this week, Beneath the Waves by Missy Mazzoli, with a libretto by Royce Vavrek. It is based closely on the fantastic (in all uses of the word) 1996 film by Dane Lars von Trier, who combines Ingmar Bergman's incisive (and often devastating) critiques of human behavior with an offbeat sense of whimsy and fantasy. The film version is on my list of top 10 films of the past 35 years (note how I cleverly exclude the 1970's), and is his best so far. Von Trier does not just direct, but writes his own scripts (as did Bergman, and Wagner, for that matter) in the European auteur tradition so, for better or worse, his films are truly his. Beneath the Waves tells the story of Bess, an innocent girl from Scotland transformed into a modern mix of Joan of Arc, Shirley Temple, and Marilyn Monroe (see her here). This stunning performance launched the career of British actress Emily Watson (Gosford Park, Hillary and Jackie) and was the first of several von Trier films that featured complex, memorable women--Björk in Dancer in the Dark (2000), Nicole Kidman in Dogville (2003) and Manderlay (2005), and Kirsten Dunst in Melancholia (2011). Bess, a simple, beautiful, buoyant, hyper-religious and possibly retarded young woman, falls in love with a randy North Sea oil platform worker (Stellan Skarsgård), marries him, and loves him with cult-like sexual and emotional intensity. Her love becomes a religion in itself, conflicting with the rigid protestant mores of her church in the isolated town (this reminded me of Bergman's depictions of scary, icy protestants in films like Winter Light). When her husband is paralyzed in an occupational accident, she devotes herself to his healing, including fulfilling his wish that she have sex with many random men then describe the sex acts to him as sort of a vicarious sexual relationship they can no longer have. She is then persecuted by the conservative community, killed in a violent act on a scary freighter in the bay, healing her mortally ill husband, then is buried "beneath the waves" against the wishes of the church fathers. What makes all this darkness so memorable is Bess' unvarying tone of radiant trust and joy, and the remarkable ending in which her death becomes a modern saintly miracle, replete with bells pealing from heaven. Thus the film is a modern allegory, or perhaps a fable, a fable because, even though there are no talking animals a la Aesop, the humans, especially Bess, are surreal, not really human. Lars von Trier makes all this work by filming it not in a Hollywood fantasy style like The Wizard of Oz or La La Land, but in the gritty style of realist films of the 1970s. He felt that anything more romanticized would make the film cloying and saccharine. He really got it right. I think the point is that love, or personal values are more transcendent and true than any organized religion.
I was optimistic about an opera based on this classic, since the film often feels "musical" in it's speech rhythms, crashing waves, wind, bells, and clanking oil drills. You get the feeling that von Trier, like Beethoven before his Ninth Symphony, was pushing against the limits of his medium and needed some singing to move forward. He did just that in his next film Dancer in the Dark, another tragedy which spontaneously breaks out into music-dance sequences at emotional climaxes. This opera succeeds partially. The second act, after the industrial accident, reached some nice climaxes, communicated Bess' religious fervor well, and, given the limitations of a moderate sized theater, reached a convincing climax when the heavens open and peal for Bess' watery entombment. The first half, which largely establishes Bess (Kiera Duffy) as a complex character, was less successful. It is hard to write a mostly one-character opera without brilliant compositional talent, and Ms. Mazzoli does not quite have that. Nor did the Bess of Ms. Duffy achieve the radiance of Emily Watson in the film. This is no crime; opera singers rarely have the looks or acting of the best stage or film actors--but this is where great operatic music creates the character (think Madama Butterfly or Brunnhilde). The singing style here was largely declamatory, underlayed by a 16 piece orchestra that often achieved nice atmospheric effects. The monotony of a complete lack of arias was helped by some use of stylistic Leitmotiven, for example percussive contrapuntal Stravinsky-like writing for the mens' chorus of rigid church elders, and more legato soaring phrases when Bess was her happiest self. The fine men's chorus from Trinity Church Wall Street played multiple parts: the church elders, minimally clad tricks for Bess' prostitution, and the voice of God when Bess talked directly to him/her. The other characters were very underwritten compared to Bess, which worked in the movie given Emily Watson and Lars von Trier's brilliance, but less so here. Ultimately, the opera fell short for the same reason many of the operas based on great works do--a too-slavish adherence to the original material. Neither Rossini nor Mozart/da Ponte had compunctions about messing around with Beaumarchais in The Barber of Seville and The Marriage of Figaro, and Verdi/Boito later cut and edited Shakespeare liberally. All this because opera is not the stage--it is bigger, and subtlety is less convincing here than are big moments and emotions. I think a more ambitious rethinking of Breaking the Waves might have been better. For example, the hospitalized, semi-clad, paralyzed husband lay strikingly visibly on stage throughout intermission and the second act (until he arises during the miracle of Bess' death), lit like an entombed Christ. In the film when he rises from bed in a matter of fact way it fits the gritty tone (miracles occur in the everyday world), but in the opera a more grandiose "resurrection" might have worked better...more theater. Without film's ability to create gritty fantasy, a different tone was needed from the opera. But ultimately, despite some successes, more inspired music was needed to sustain a 2 1/2 hour work. We still await a great modern opera to follow Messiaen's St. Francis of Assisi (1983)---now there was mystical religion as grand theater! Next week I will report on another recent opera. Stay tuned!
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