We were promised something different, and they delivered.
Against the Grain Theatre’s Messiah took a familiar piece and added something without disturbing the essential gold. Handel, Isaiah, Revelation (etc) are well served, in a piece entirely true to the name of the company.
Choreographer Jennifer Nichols
Choreographer Jennifer Nichols and director Joel Ivany take what is usually a static exercise for formally attired solists, chorus & orchestra, and make it seem fresh & new. Tonight was the first performance of what I’d like to see repeated every year if at all possible.
I don’t know whom to credit between Nichols & Ivany, although the soloists deserve my first tip of the hat for undertaking this, namely Jacqueline Woodley, Krisztina Szabó, Isaiah Bell and Geoffrey Sirett. It’s a truism that singers can’t move the way actors do because of the rigors of their discipline. I had an eye-opening experience a decade or so ago at a vocal workshop, when asked to sing while tumbling on a floor. Breath control—let alone solid support—are very hard to achieve when you’re also performing such activities as walking or dancing, let alone bending or contorting.
The degree of experiment in AtG Messiah needs to be framed against that double backdrop:
the departure from the norm (static singers in tuxes & black dresses)
the remarkable achievement of singers, especially the four soloists, undertaking a great deal of movement during solos that are already taxing without movement
I believe they could pack a much larger space, because there’s a hunger for this kind of nourishment. Nevermind whether purists would love every number, as this isn’t a piece aimed at purists (although I’d love to step outside with the purists and argue with them, as there’s justification for everything I saw, both artistically and spiritually). Toronto’s a funny town, as I’ve observed before. Robert Lepage can do no wrong in these parts, and perhaps now so too with AtG, whose following will grow with this bold piece.
With a genuine experiment one doesn’t know what one is getting into, what the outcome will be. Nothing could be more “against the grain” than that sense of wondering whether it will work, of seeing artists undertaking a project where they put themselves at risk. I sensed that there were a few drivers or influences at work that influenced the way the movement was composed. I suspect that in rehearsal some soloists were bolder or more ambitious in what they undertook, over-eager to bound around the stage (and perhaps show their enthusiasm for the director & choreographer) during numbers where some of that load could have been shouldered by the chorus. I wondered as I watched the experiment whether things unfolded in rehearsal as expected (ie choreographic choices for a particular soloist). Would Ivany and/or Nichols do anything differently were they to stage it again next Christmas (with the benefit of hindsight)?
Have i mentioned everyone? Ah yes, I should mention this small chorus, a very capable group of Toronto singers mostly working from memory, and also conscripted into the corps de ballet. There was so much to take in, from the dramaturgical choices, for instance in choral numbers sometimes given to the four soloists by Music Director Christopher Mokrzewski, the deployment of bodies around the stage by Ivany & Nichols, and the interpretations of those intrepid soloists. And the collaborative team that is AtG really seems to revolve around the teamwork between the two key players, namely Mokrzewski and Ivany, stretching the basic template in so many ways, but ultimately being rock solid. Nothing Ivany throws at Mokrzewski –including rebel elves stealing the baton out of his hand–ever phases him. The small orchestra filled the space wonderfully, using modern instruments with what i’d call a historically enlightened approach (hep rather than my usual “HIP”?), drawing on the best historically informed practices. Mokrzewski has been exposed to the best (both Harry Bicket at the COC and the assorted talents local & imported at Opera Atelier), developing his own approach. Whatever quirkiness was blocked onstage or in the auditorium, Maetro M followed without fail.
Soprano Jacqueline Woodley
All four soloists handled their physical challenges, although Nichols pushed each in different directions, finding a substantially unique movement vocabulary for each, perhaps channelling the music, or possibly the character of the singer. I had the impression that Ivany understood each of the voices as a kind of consistent character, or found a through-line for each one that probably governed the movement Nichols assigned to each. Soprano Woodley was largely celebratory, having so many of the happiest moments, where alto Szabó was pushed in a darker direction befitting her role delivering some of the darkest lines of the entire piece, particularly in “He Was Despised”. Yet later I was reminded of Fred & Ginger, watching Szabó and tenor Bell during “Oh Death”: and why shouldn’t they seem to be having fun with that happy piece?
Speaking of fun –spoiler alert! If you’re seeing AtG Messiah Sunday stop reading, come back tomorrow—the most joyful presence was surely bass Sirett. “The trumpet shall sound” was genuinely celebratory. “All we like sheep” was an unexpected show-stopper.
Director Joel Ivany
Where does AtG go from here? I think there’s no place that’s off limits, no text that’s inappropriate. Tonight was a fabulous first time –like their first Bohème in a bar—taking Messiah where it had never been before. I heard beer bottles falling over during Messiah solos, laughter and happy applause of a sort I don’t usually associate with this work. Yes we all stood for the Hallelujah Chorus (and what an odd town this is considering how well it was sung for a brief boisterous singalong).
I first encountered David Ferry as an actor, even though he’s also a director, a dramaturg and a great teacher with extensive experience in theatre, television, film and radio. In that production of Othello Ferry created the most astonishing Iago, a likeable friendly fellow whose latent seething anger propelled the entire tragedy.
Ferry has played in most of the country’s major houses including the Stratford Festival , the National Arts Centre , Centaur Theatre , the Royal Alexandra Theatre , Tarragon Theatre , Toronto Free Theatre , the Citadel Theatre , Vancouver Playhouse , Theatre New Brunswick and the Banff Centre for The Arts . He has also worked Off-Broadway and in Los Angeles.
An intense actor? Believe it. And Ferry has also served with Actors’ Equity as vice-president, and ACTRA as the national chair for the Performers section. He has taught at George Brown College and the National Theatre School, and has served as dramaturge on many new Canadian works. Recently he has edited playtexts for Playwrights Canada Press, including He Speaks, a collection of monologues for men, and a collection of plays by James Reaney.
In January Ferry will be Romeo in Talk is Free Theatre’s new production of The Last of Romeo and Juliet. In anticipation, I ask him ten questions: five about himself and five more about the upcoming project.
1-Are you more like your father or your mother?
A pretty balanced mix.
Humour and imagination wise, and emotively, more leaning toward my mother. Intellectually and discipline wise, my father. Both my parents were in creative endeavours (theatre) when I was growing up,and were both very supportive of my going to theatre school. My mother had a zany sense of English humour and was great with my friends. She used to phone the swimming pool where I worked summers as a lifeguard and play practical jokes on my fellow pool workers…doing things like booking private parties for Queen Elizabeth. My dad had a very Stoic kind of philosophy and was very even handed with me….made me question myself in a good way. He was in broadcasting and every summer as a child he would take me along to the St. John’s regatta where he would do boat race commentary love on air from his car with me there. He also introduced me to radio acting (I got my ACTRA card at 15) and gave me my early acting input.
Both my parents had lived through the war…met in London during the blitz, and that was hugely important in terms of the framework of the world I related to through their eyes. The parties they had with their friends were fabulous…jazz on the turntable. Pretty frocks and smart suits. Cigarettes and martinis and scotch on the rocks (Dewers and Johnny Walker…pre single malt fashion) real Mad Men aesthetic.
I grew up in a great neighbourhood in St. John’s with dozens of kids on the street and open doors. St. John’s is also probably the coolest city in Canada and very unique with a strong creative life. The school system was denominational and made for a very intriquing class structure. I came to creative discovery at a fantastic time of cultural nationalism there and elsewhere in Canada.
2- What is the best thing & worst thing about being an actor?
The ‘freedom’ of the creative life..in terms of no real ‘nine to five’, same boss world is certainly an attraction. The pure variety of experiences and worlds that it offers to explore.
Of course it is also an illusionary freedom in a sense. One is always within the decision making hands of someone else for the most part. The jobs are hard to come by and the money terrible.
In Canada there also tends to be a strong sense of actors being frivolous or elitist in the minds of other parts of society. We don’t have a real star system or powerful economic infrastructure with the incentive that success in other cultures can offer.
Many theatres are very lacking in the sense of taking chances (Talk is Free is an exception among small town theatre companies in this sense by the way.)
Emotionally the hardest thing is probably the best thing. To be good at acting, one has to constantly be willing to be vulnerable and curious. To take life and death chances in front of a room full of strangers (the audience.) This can be painful. But the rewards in terms of living an “examined life” are grand.
3- Who do you like to listen to or watch?
Blue
I have a lot of younger colleagues with young children right now. I love watching those children. They all seem so bright and alive and playful and joyous. And I love watching their parents going through the joys of first time parenting. As a man whose daughter is long an adult, I feel removed from the worries of early parenting…I know those kids will grow up just fine.
I loved my dog Blue for somewhat similar reasons when he was alive. Every morning he would greet with a sense of “wow, another great day to explore, let’s get going man!”
Andrew Burashko of Art of Time Ensemble
I love watching Peggy Baker dance. We are about the same age, and she really is extraordinary…her ability to keep dancing and getting better as she ages is an inspiration. I love listening to Andrew Burashko (Art of Time Ensemble) play the piano and to him when he speaks at his concerts…he is so smart and I dig his eclectic taste. I love John Pizzarelli and his guitar playing and vocalizing and his sense of humour. I think Chris Abraham (CROWS) is a very smart and inspiring theatre artist. As is Brendan Healy (Buddies in Bad Times.) I love watching their productions, even if I don’t always get them. I think Tom Rooney is a boss actor. As is Yanna Macintosh, Seana Mckenna, Karen Robinson, Tom McCamus and a slew of others. I love some of our young theatre entrepreneurs and artists…Mitchell Cushman, Jordan Tannahill, Claire Armstrong to name a few. Working with them is the hope of my future creativity.
I love watching musicians play. I love experiencing the work of so many of our visual artists. I find art galleries really inspirational.
I think Katie Mitchell’s book on directing “The Director’s Craft” is very right on.
I like reading plays.
I love watching quarterbacks in football games….they have to have such a view of the whole field and game and its second by second evolution of the play….it’s what good leading actors have to learn to do.
I am a good cook. Cooking is love. It is creativity. It is communication.
Guilty pleasure: I am hooked on some cooking shows and watch them while I am on the bike or elliptical machine at the gym.
Music is the key to so many creative impulses for me.
I like listening to financial gurus and stock pickers. They are like really entertaining tea leaf readers.
I love novels and poetry and non-fiction…especially when it’s a real physical object I am reading and not an electronic reader.
I love libraries/ especially older ones with the smell of wood polish and old books.
I love the sea. It always has ideas to wash ashore to my imagination. Speak “To be or not to be” from a rock where the Atlantic waves break. I dare you. There is nothing like it. Exhilarating.
Oh yeah…I love chick flicks. What would Xmas be without “Holiday”?
I love this film too.
4- What ability or skill do you wish you had, that you don’t have?
To play the saxophone like Sonny Rollins. To dance like Gene Kelly. To sing like Frank.
5- When you’re just relaxing and not working what is your favourite thing to do?
Cooking. Bicycling. Travelling.
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Five more about the upcoming show.
1-Please talk about the challenges in undertaking your role in The Last of Romeo and Juliet.
Learning and speaking the text well. So that it sounds natural and musical at the same time. Spontaneous and not “acty”. I am fascinated by the challenges (physical,mental, emotional, spiritual) of ageing in an ageist, sexist and consumerist society. Even (perhaps especially) in our theatre world, older artists are disposed of for the most part like so much used Kleenex. I see so many of my contemporaries simply disappear from the work place…and yet, they have so much to offer younger artists…especially those who are taking over the establishments that produce art. In a society where so many people are entering their sixties and seventies, it should behoove us to tell more stories that reflect the reality of that to the public…not just the youth market take on society.
So I feel a real responsibility in having a smart and sexy and passionate discussion (though this production) of elders and their reality regarding love, loneliness, abandonment, sickness and becoming invisible.
All the actors on stage with me have particular resonance in my evolution as an actor. Jennifer Phipps was in my first professional production while I was still in theatre school (Electra) and was so generous in sharing with us students the ‘stuff’ she knew, the sisterhood/brotherhood of actors. And several years ago we again shared the stage in a wacky production I starred in of Dostoyevsky’s The Gambler. Diana Leblanc (Lady Capulet), Clare Coulter (The Nurse) and I (Mercutio) acted in a great production of Romeo and Juliet starring Paul Gross 30 years ago. Alex Poch-Goldin and I have acted together several times and I directed his fine and bold play Life of Jude this past summer. Layne Coleman and I recently worked together on a new play which he was directing and we go very far back as colleagues. Luke Humphrey is the son of actors I have worked with on TV and the grandson of the fine CBC producer Jack Humphrey who produced and directed a cool movie I acted in. Its safe to say I first saw Luke when he was a babe in his father’s arms. Sandi Ross and I were both elected union presidents at ACTRA and lobbied in LA for our film industry together. And John Gilbert and I know each other going back 40 years to my first jobs as a Toronto based actor at Tarragon theatre. We are all part of the extended family we love being part of called The Theatre.
David Ferry as Puck in 1972 A Midsummer Nights’ Dream.
I have been Artistic Director at a Shakespeare Theatre (Resurgence in Newmarket) and directed a good many productions of Shakespeare as well as having acted in his plays many times including some of the greatest parts (Hamlet (twice), Puck (twice), Leontes (twice), Iago, Prospero, Mercutio among others) and I relish working on his plays. I was fortunate to have been in Michael Langham’s company at Stratford some years ago. He is the source (along with the writings of Northrop Frye and many other learned critics) of my professional love of the Bard’s work.
2-What do you love about The Last of Romeo and Juliet?
I love what Mitchell [director Mitchell Cushman] has done in terms of deconstruction of the Shakespeare while using the language of Shakespeare. I love his investigation of ageing, loneliness and memory as well as of ‘love among the ruins’. I love his use of other sources within Shakespeare’s writings to explore themes of madness and loss. I love the setting. I love how he has conceptualized his version to sit within a contemporary retirement home..using the age honoured tradition of a preface/part dumb play to set the scene.
It is the kind of play I wish my grandmother could have seen when she was in a retirement home.
3) Do you have a favourite moment in The Last of Romeo and Juliet?
Romeo’s first sight of Juliet.
His recovery from depression via love at first sight.
His moments at the beginning with the Friar when he is planning suicide.
His discovery of Juliet and his own death because he has lost her.
4) How do you feel about The Last of Romeo and Juliet as a citizen of the sandwich generation?
I am not really Sandwich generation. My daughter is 41. My parents both dead some time…and I never had to care for them.
I do however remember hitch-hiking to Toronto from Nfld when I was 16, long hair, looking for love and peace amongst the hippies in Yorkville. I visited my grandfather, who I only knew by phone calls at Christmas. I remember mid conversation he somehow lit the filter end of a cigarette and immediately lost where he was, who I was. It was scary. He had Parkinson’s and was developing a troubling dementia. My first intimation of a fate that could await me one day. I have based my take on Romeo in this iteration of the story in many ways on the inspiration that moment has offered me.
5) Is there anyone out there who you particularly admire, and who has influenced you?
Michael Langham. Click photo for Richard Ouzounian’s obituary from 2011
Michael Langham. James Reaney. Keith Turnbull. Douglas Campbell. Marshall Mason. Landford Wilson. Joe Dowling. Katie Mitchell. Deborah Warner. John Hirsch. Martha Henry. Seana McKenna. Leah Cherniak. Anne Bogart. Douglas Rain. Maureen Forrester. Twyla Tharp. Peggy Baker. Mark Rylance. Kyra Harper.
*******
Talk is Free Theatre presents The Last of Romeo & Juliet running January 9 to 18, 2014 at the Mady Centre for the Performing Arts in Barrie. Click picture below for more information.
One has to be careful with metaphors. We use them without safety nets or training wheels, which is to say, they’re a kind of figurative language that’s riskier than simile, those constructions where the relationships in the signification are spelled out clearly. But even in those there’s always a chance for miscommunication.
I am thinking simultaneously about two separate phenomena that overlap in some interesting ways.
In the last few blog posts I’ve been speaking about art & activism. I added some comments about criticism to the mix in the most recent one. And today was the Second Sunday of Advent. It’s the Sunday when we hear about John the Baptist in the lead-up to Christmas.
And so I’m pondering the relationship between these roles. I sometimes use the word “evangelist” without being very careful about what the word and the role truly means. Is a critic ever an evangelist, or an evangelist a critic?
The dual questions suggested themselves as I hearkened to Fred Dizon’s sermon today at Hillcrest, an inspired bit of speaking. While there may have been others chuckling, I was laughing the loudest as usual. Fred spoke to his own challenges and those of any established member of a church, as he unpacked some of the facts about John the Baptist.
I’ve encountered him as Jokanaan in Wilde’s play and Strauss’s opera. It’s surely no coincidence that Jean-Baptiste Day –June 24th—is a day of collective dissent in Québec (google “St Jean-Baptiste Day Riot” and see what comes up), when you look at the character of this voice in the wilderness.
John is a fascinating character, really. He’s a mess. He lived in the wilderness, bearded and scruffy, hardly the sort of figure one usually thinks of as a prototypical religious icon. But that’s because a central part of his mythology is rebellion. No he’s not the Christian trickster god, nor like the Loge / Loki figure from norse mythology. He’s human, and much more like that guy you went to school with who couldn’t or wouldn’t say the right things to his boss in order to fit in. But John is also divinely inspired, brave, and showing integrity in his messaging. He’s in the wilderness because he’s truly outside everything organized and institutional. I think Fred captured the disturbing essence of John: that he offers a critique of our institutions, and as such a reminder that none of us should ever get too comfortable, especially in our relationship to authority and material wealth. Compared to him we’ve all sold out.
Is the evangelist ever a critic? Yes John is the quintessential critic. But he’s not on the payroll of the NY Times or of any mainstream publications in the Middle East either. He doesn’t have a regular gig. Speaking as someone else coming out of left field, I would say that’s not all bad. When you’re contracted by a powerful organization you have less freedom. John could say anything he wanted, no matter how outrageous, because he didn’t have to worry about losing his job. John is known for announcing the coming of Jesus, which is to my mind the ideal of the critic. If someone has seen God or knows the pathway back to Eden I want to hear about it, wouldn’t you? And of course –on the more negative side—John stood up to Herod. He doesn’t sell out to keep his audience, oh no. He’s willing to lose his head over his beliefs, as of course he eventually does.
Antonin Artaud
And is the critic ever an evangelist? I think there are certainly examples. When I think of bold writers who ignored popularity in the pursuit of the truth Artaud is the first who comes to mind, although he only resembles John superficially. Whether pointing to beauty & truth –as though showing us Jesus—or warning of evil—the way John stood up to Herod & Herodias—the template’s there. The writer can pander to the vanity of a paying public, or challenge them, push them to work a little harder. Artaud rejected the easy and commercial pathway.
Fred’s sermon was wonderful in pointing to the pathway so many of us prefer at this time of year, the warm and fuzzy version of Advent leading to Christmas, without anything to jar the public out of their usual festival of materialism. John’s narrative is the honest subtext that’s often omitted because it’s simply too much work. John’s story is not politically correct, a nasty part of Christianity, like the admonition to the rich people who will never get to heaven. Can we say that to the people we nag for donations to the church? Let’s face it, John’s story is one of many uncomfortable truths that can get left out. And in the process people miss out on one of the parts of Christianity you can be proud of, or in other words, the parts that are difficult & challenging. A religion with a revolutionary project is tamed by the omission of anything too radical.
Whether we’re speaking of evangelism or criticism, whether we address faith or art (or politics?) I want to read the parts that make the story powerful & edgy.
I’m thinking about two competing narratives lately, as I alluded at the beginning of my review of Singing the Earth. Is transcendent activism possible? Nelson Mandela seems to say yes. Rob Ford would agree, although he sees himself as an activist fighting overspending at city hall. Claude Debussy –one of my heroes—was a snob, an elitist, but I forgive him. I love his music and understand his insecurities, a home-schooled child of a pardoned war criminal, nursing his secret shame.
We all have our secrets, right? The hero of The Great Gatsby, like his antagonist, has secrets.
Rob Ford, Tom Buchanan, Jay Gatsby, Claude Debussy, it’s much the same. Whether we’re speaking of the style or the content, snobs live and die by disparities & distance, keeping secrets and preserving illusions. Creatures of sophistication cannot reconcile their sense of privilege and entitlement with inclusiveness. Our upward mobility may depend upon our ability to keep certain things locked inside a closet. Our credibility may depend on how well we can make people believe that we are higher than others, an ascent that may require us to climb on top of others. A genuine snob? one who –like Tom–sees the others trying to climb, and resists. But sometimes it’s very hard to tell who belongs and who is just a pretender.
In the opera world things flip back and forth between two contrary impulses. Some want textual fidelity, both in the accurate reproduction of the music, and in the staging. Others see the work as a departure point, for the director’s theatre, for the exploration of the possible high notes in the s core.
I haven’t seen anyone attempt to compare the politics of opera production to what we see in cinematic adaptation, but Luhrmann is in his way against the current grain. Like Ken Russell, a director notorious for his adventurous departures from the original story a generation ago (and who died almost exactly two years ago), Luhrmann’s brand is associated with outrageousness. Hm, thinking of the radical subtext of this film, a fictional study of disparities of wealth and the injustice of the rich, is it a coincidence that in the critical world it appears that minds are closed & hearts hardened?
I can’t help but think that criticism is often a test of snobbery. You show your own sophistication by what you exclude, what you put down and criticize yourself. That word itself, suddenly strikes me as madness. If we make something modern, by modernizing, what do we do when we criticize? Do we make it better? Clearer? Critics show their sophistication by lining up good and bad works, because of course, criticism is as much about the critic as it is about the word being criticised. I talked about this a bit last year during one of the inevitable controversies (the COC Clemenza di Tito…deja vu. Nobody but me seemed to like it).
I am ready to love this film, but sad that so many are terrorized, denying their feelings with rationalizations. I am reminded of what was said about Ken Russell, as though Luhrmann or Russell were the filmic equivalent to tiramisu or bacon, an indulgence to be resisted or avoided. In some respects we are like the puritanical teetotallers afraid of taking a drink, which is particularly funny considering how bootlegged alcohol runs through Luhrmann’s film like a boozy leit-motiv. When you’re breaking the rules you can get a little– uh oh– drunk with power. Give me another drink, Baz. On balance I’d rather have Luhrmann’s drunken spree anyday.
Has there ever been a time of such disparities of wealth? The gap between rich & poor is currently huge, reminiscent of other times of impossible gaps between rich & poor. No wonder Baz Luhrmann comes to his adaptation of The Great Gatsby aiming to show us that –hey—it’s just like our own time. The music is sometimes clearly jazzy, but often more like a hip-hop version of an old tune, making the party scenes very fresh, and yes, sexy. The art direction brazenly breaks all the rules, unapologetically colourful. While the puritans will cover their eyes, it’s beautiful to see. Now of course you shouldn’t let a critic tell you what to like. But wait, i believe everyone did just that. You didn’t see the film, did you..!? I know i didn’t (until tonight, on the small screen alas).
I didn’t see a single review liking the film. Honestly I didn’t read much of any of those reviews, stopping once I saw another negative headline. I regret that i didn’t see it on a big screen because it’s seriously gorgeous. Why did i let the reviews dissuade me? Sigh…
Click for more of F Scott Fitzgerald
Luhrmann’s Gatsby is far better than the 1974 attempt with Robert Redford & Mia Farrow, an adaptation so respectful for F Scott Fitzgerald’s novel that you can hear the pages turning, and possibly the sound of the author rolling in his grave. There’s accuracy, sure, but no life, no sense of what’s really informing the novel. Gatsby is a romantic dreamer, a lot like Luhrmann himself. There’s something curiously apt about the failure of this film, the critics putting a bullet in the film as if they were like Tom, seeking to stop any upward mobility.
But Luhrmann knows he’s making a film. The opening boldly gives us a pretense for Nick Carraway’s narration and the frame of a novel, to set up the stunning last few minutes of the film. If you know the book you know it’s violent and messy and heart-rending, but Luhrmann manages it rather well, with far more sensitivity than one would have expected after the silliness of Moulin Rouge. Did any of those critics stick around until the end? Had they read the book? But then again, it’s very common to resist adaptations of books.
Tobey Maguire is perfect in roles such as Nick Carraway, awkwardly distant. Leonardo di Caprio? I wonder how he manages to find projects that will always have people simultaneously complimenting him on his work while shaking their heads. He has the Midas Touch in reverse, it seems. No this isn’t the break-through to win the Oscar, but I admire his performance. Isla Fisher as Myrtle? Yes she has a solid shot at an Academy Award. And Joel Edgerton as Tom Buchanan is a complete surprise, making the role much more likeable than I ever expected; no wonder Daisy goes off with him at the end.
Don’t let the critics stop you from seeing what Luhrmann did with Gatsby.
Today is a day of contrasts. The morning paper brought more revelations about Toronto’s Mayor, while this afternoon’s social media story was the passing of Nelson Mandela. While Mandela seems to embody the possibilities for heroic activism nothing suggests that his time has passed –not even his death at a ripe age—like the spectacle of Toronto politics. I wonder what kind of stories we will tell, and w(h)ither media in the aftermath?
I posed a much humbler and more provincial question earlier this week, in the wake of the Canadian Opera Company’s announcement –and the ensuing hue and cry from some in our community—of a new commission from Rufus Wainwright, to premiere in the fall of 2018. What is the great Canadian opera, I asked? There might be several candidates.
click for more information
Yet tonight after seeing Singing the Earth /Nuyam†-i† Kulhulmx [using a character approximating the one in the programme, and sorry if it looks weird], a work by Anna Höstman and Dylan Robinson, from Continuum Contemporary Music, and sung by mezzo-soprano Marion Newman I realize how pointless the question is. The great Canadian opera may as well be the great Canadian typewriter or the great Canadian raptor. Because of course opera never feels more like a dinosaur than when one sees a bold work unafraid to go way beyond its usual limits. I felt something like that seeing Lepage’s Needles & Opium, but this is not a case of bold mise-en-scène, but original dramaturgy, a fascinating assembly of materials. The word “drama” is really too weak to capture what we experienced.
If I am driven to define the work it’s only in hope of describing or understanding, both what I experienced and the possibilities it opens, far beyond typewriters or raptors. When you’ve seen something so new that it’s unknown–such as a unicorn—you have to resort to the known: horse + horn.
The Old in Singing the Earth? its preoccupation with cultures and story-telling. While I invoke opera because there is singing in the work, StE is an installation, a curated museum display combining historical impressions and a purely artistic discourse of visuals, texts & music. Höstman & Robinson combine texts and images, singing & instrumental music, to delve into various aspects of Bella Coola British Columbia. I’ve wondered before whether there’s a possibility of bringing the sensibility of documentary film to the stage (I proposed something a couple of years ago to a director who more or less thought I was nuts, but then again I had no clue, no idea how to execute the concept, although after tonight I begin to know how). I’ve seen films that tread the middle-ground between documentary and fiction. The Nasty Girl comes to mind, for example, but this is unlike anything I’ve seen before. There is a wonderful self-assurance to the work in its happy eclecticism, comfortably undefined. My whole obsession with putting a genre label on this piece is arguably a violation of its spirit –please forgive me–which is not terribly concerned with being easily intelligible. I love the fact that this work defies categorization, even as it presents a series of simple & elegant images.
I can’t help thinking that the events of the day –the fervent hope for transcendence in our history, and the possibility of activism—led me and indeed the entire audience to pay heed to this work. I can’t recall the last time I was among such an attentive bunch, sitting so still without coughs or fidgeting, as though we need this today, now. The urgent concern in this work is perhaps small compared to Mandela’s mission, yet there is nonetheless an activist heart beating inside this work. I was of course hugely influenced by the film shown beforehand –Banshi Hanuse’s Cry Rock—concerned with the vanishing indigenous oral culture of Bella Coola, as apt as though it were the program for a symphonic poem.
Partway through I found myself in the middle of extraordinary moments, hauntingly beautiful and completely new. I was thinking of the old, of history and who we are in Canada and in the world. While we’re talking about the great Canadian opera, this work is the most lucid piece of anthropology I’ve ever encountered in a live presentation, a moment inside our multi-cultural web. We were never fully in one culture, but rather inside a kind of simultaneity of several voices and discourses bouncing back and forth. If art is ever tasked with answering the question “who are we” –possibly an unfair question, but still, the kind of justification that one wants to pull out, when thanking, say, the Canada Council for their support—this is money well spent by our national funding body, the kind of thing you simply can’t do for commercial purposes.
As expected conductor Gregory Oh brought a wonderfully calm hand to the tiller, keeping everything steady. Newman’s voice was wonderfully authentic to my ear, in using an approach that was very clearly enunciated without hewing too closely to a “classical” sound. Sometimes she was wonderfully blatant, other times whisper-soft. At the very last notes of the work I couldn’t help hearing an echo that may have been deliberate, of Mahler’s “Song of the Earth” which come to think of it is like the mirror image of what this piece is named.
On a night when I prefer to let Mandela rather than the Mayor set the tone, StE is a work of hope, a direction for the future, and a beautiful pathway to our past.
The concert was titled “The Unknown Chamber Music of Nino Rota”. How could I resist, being already a fan of Rota’s film compositions? This is the man who gave us the iconic Godfather music. My favourite is his score for Amarcord, one of my favourite films.
But it wasn’t at all as I expected.
The first half of the concert was ostensibly what brought the audience, namely the chance to hear Rota’s chamber music:
• “Intermezzo” (1945) performed by Theresa Rudolph (viola) & Mary Kenedi (piano)
• “Sonata” in D Major (1945) performed by Goran Gojevic (clarinet) & Mary Kenedi, (piano)
• “Trio” (1973) performed by Amy Laing (cello), Goran Gojevic (clarinet) & Mary Kenedi, (piano)
I feel with the recent conversations about the COC’s commission of a composer known less for cutting edge composition (indeed by conservatory standards, he’s a non-starter) than tunefulness and sensitivity, I must observe that if you come to Rota as a musicologist you’ll miss everything. A musicologist might observe that none of these pieces is adventurous or ground-breaking compositions, as though newness & invention are all that matter. In 1945 Bartok passed away, after writing his “Concerto for Orchestra”, an all-encompassing project that seemed to hold his illness at bay, putting it temporarily into remission.
Here’s a quote from Federico Fellini concerning Nino Rota:
“He was someone who had a rare quality belonging to the world of intuition. Just like children, simple men, sensitive people, innocent people, he would suddenly say dazzling things. As soon as he arrived, stress disappeared, everything turned into a festive atmosphere; the movie entered a joyful, serene, fantastic period, a new life.”
And so with these charming compositions.
Rudolph’s viola in the “Intermezzo” started the concert with soul, a strong opening statement of passionate melody. I suppose it was partly the acoustics in the Glenn Gould Studio, but for a moment I did a double-take as though Rudolph had put a cello up on her shoulder: because her sound was so full & unaccountably gorgeous. Rota’s composition was a simple & direct appeal to the emotions.
Gojevic has a marvellously clean sound, embodying the clarinet’s voice as the orchestra’s natural comedian, clearly articulating every witty phrase. Laing’s cello was a contrast, offering a counter-balance, as though Rota meant for the cello to be a passionate soul rebutting the wacky clarinet.
And yet, pleasant as Rota is, I was lulled mostly by the sweet sounds.
Pianist Mary Kenedi
The second half was something else again, possibly due to allegiances. Pianist Mary Kenedi? Like me she’s Hungarian. In fact a very long time ago she was my first piano teacher. I hope that dual confession won’t invalidate anything I’m about to say.
Within sixty seconds in the second half, I had been taken to a new place, as though spirited away with the help of a transcription for piano from Kodaly’s Hary Janos. .
What was different? Where the first half was a series of collaborative pieces –each one anchored by Kenedi— this time we were hearing solos. This time we were hearing the music of Kenedi’s Motherland. No I can’t be objective –as a fellow Magyar—but Kenedi has a special authenticity to her playing, having studied in Hungary. This music speaks directly from within her.
Kennedi’s Kodaly reminded me of a cross between Gershwin & Stravinsky, whether for the bi-tonal passages, the occasional use of notes we’d hear in the blues, or for insistent dance rhythms in the left hand. I’m embarrassed that I don’t know the “Dances of Marosszek” that followed, this time music written expressly for piano rather than transcribed. HERE’s an example to give you an idea of what marvellous music this is (sorry there’s no clip of Kenedi playing this)
The next segment – 15 Hungarian Peasant Songs by Bartok—was rather powerful. I watched a young boy (perhaps eight or nine years old?) who’d come with his mom (I would assume), who sat directly in front of me, and had been sitting with an ipad before the concert. But during the Bartok? his hand pulsed in front of his face, almost as though he was having a wii fight with an invisible opponent who came into focus with the help of Bartok & Kenedi’s precise playing. I was also bouncing in my seat, captivated by the infectious rhythm.
Kenedi is known as a champion of her music –Hungarian music—just as so many others in this city show off their ethnicity as though it were a calling card. Not so long ago I wrote about Beatriz Boizán and Cuban piano music, Michele Bogdanowicz singing Chopin transcribed for the voice, just to mention the two most recent examples.
And Kenedi also champions new music written by Canadians. After a half-concert devoted to Rota and a strong display of Hungarian music, she came to the final two pieces on the program.
The first of these –and possibly the most impressive piece on the entire program—was Jack Behrens’ 1979 “Hommage a Chopin”, a conceptual item juxtaposing the left hand of Chopin’s “Berceuse” and passages from several other compositions in the right hand, including at least two in D-flat (such as the theme from the “rain-drop” prelude), but several that were jarringly not in that key. Kenedi closed with a more conventionally virtuosic piece by Marjan Mozetich.
It’s such a funky headline, almost an oxymoron. The book of Canadian operas is a slim volume indeed, but the list of great Canadian operas? Hm, are there any? Even one?
I have two names bouncing in my head right now. Not “Rufus” or “Wainwright” but “Louis Riel” & “Hadrian” (or if you prefer Louis Riel and Hadrian).
Louis Riel is there because it’s the best Canadian opera I’ve seen so far. I’ve been watching and re-watching a DVD the past few weeks, since it was loaned to me by a friend. At some point I’ll review the DVD. But I couldn’t help remembering that in that centennial opera season of 1967 (66-67 or 67-68? although I believe it was indeed winter of early ’67) when I saw The Luck of Ginger Coffey, the Canadian Opera Company had hedged their bets. Their Centennial year celebration had a contingency plan, because there were two operas rather than one created for the occasion.
Rufus Wainwright captivated the Gala crowd at the Four Seasons Centre (photo by Michael Cooper)
Hadrian is the name bouncing all over social media because of the COC announcement of plans to premiere a new opera by Rufus Wainwright & Daniel MacIvor, on opening night of the 2018-19 season, almost five years from now.
There’s been some shock expressed. I suppose if opera is understood to be the province of classical composers, it’s simply mind-boggling to imagine someone like Rufus Wainwright composing an opera. But this will be his second. I understand that some people were decidedly underwhelmed by his first. No he’s not Wagner or Verdi, but they wrote several operas before they found their stride.
Now of course part of the problem with such a conversation is that to discuss the subject, one needs to have seen enough to make an educated commentary. While I have not seen nor heard Wainwright’s first opera, I have seen Riel, an opera that is extremely conventional for its decade. If this were a discussion of painting –as I continue to ponder the Great Upheaval show at the AGO—one would notice that anyone with a grasp of , say the previous 50 years in the medium, might be resisting anything new & interesting. Conversations such as this one are inherently political, because the terms of the discourse keep changing. To anyone who is engaged in pedagogy or scholarship, the language required simply to understand how it was done before serves as a kind of gate-keeper, pushing those away who refuse to speak the right way. Wainwright is by definition an interloper because he doesn’t speak the right lingo. This doesn’t disqualify him. I am simply explaining why he is automatically challenged.
A few days ago I posted a link to one of my reviews –the one on Lepage’s Needles & Opium—to the CUNY listserv, eliciting a response from someone who refused to entertain a comparison between the director’s work in this recent instance with his Ring cycle, because they’re apples and oranges. When people want to define a medium so precisely, we’re in trouble. We’re in trouble because the art form has narrow boundaries that can’t be transgressed. If opera worked that way the USA would be using it to stop illegal immigrants.
Anything really new can’t be judged by the old paradigm, indeed, it may make little or no sense by the old system. I’m not saying Wainwright will give us something as revolutionary as that other composer with the initials RW; but judging RW (pick your composer) by the previous paradigm is neither fair nor particularly sensible, unless of course your goal is political. I recall a review I read back in 1981–a great long one—trashing Philip Glass’s Satyagraha. The music was being excoriated for failing to do what music used to do. It’s true, nothing happens in the old sense during this long opera; but why sit watching it expecting symphonic development? Or to look at an abstract painting, wondering if the painter paints this way because s/he can’t paint the other way, as though representational painting were the only way. Isn’t it funny?
In the meantime, smaller companies are creating all sorts of things, some of which are called opera. I don’t care what you call Needles & Opium, or the upcoming Singing the Earth (which I’ll review this week), or any number of other works. It doesn’t matter how firmly one regulates the relationships between words, music, mise-en-scène, or other elements. Theatre is alive with experimentation, some of which may turn up in an opera house. I’m very eager to see Savitri & Samturn up in an opera house, although this work of Ken Gass & John Mills-Cockell likely will first see the light of day in an intermediate venue (aka a place not owned or controlled by a big opera house). There’s so much money at stake in the running of a huge company such as the COC (or the Metropolitan Opera in NYC) that they’re the last place to expect a commission of a new work. Alexander Neef is to be congratulated for making the attempt.
We have awhile to wait. Maybe there will be no premiere in 2018. But I will keep an open mind, hoping to have a good experience at the opera.
“Press releases and announcements” are presented verbatim without comment.
ActYourAge
proudly presents
The 4th Annual
AYA
Holiday Show
Waiting for CABARET
An evening of music, comedy, & stories performed by talented & well-seasoned performers… a fund-raiser for the Performing Arts Lodge & the Actor’s Fund.
Monday December 9, 2013
Cocktails 6:00 pm
Buffet Dinner:6:30 pm
Show: 7:30 pm
Tickets:$15.00
(Tickets available at the door)
Location: ACTRA Toronto, 625 Church St – 2nd Floor
I used to think I was normal. But when you see the same pattern over and over in several films you start to wonder. Every comedy seems to be using the same template.
I saw it in Bridesmaids. I saw it in Young Adult. We were watching people going through some sort of crisis, messed up, unable to function. In Silver Linings Playbook there were profoundly troubled adults of both genders. I realize now that this was a plot-line that had been used for both males and females. The Hangover series take us to roughly the same places.
Friday I watched Girl Most Likely, Kristen Wiig playing an over-the-top neurotic, as we wonder whether she’ll get her life together by the end of the roughly 90 minute film. Tonight it was Frances Ha. Where Girl Most Likely features recognizable actors such as Matt Dillon and Annette Bening, Frances Ha is populated with unknowns. Girl Most Likely and Frances Ha have in common that their plots seem destined for a downward spiral, until each protagonist finds redemption in the most unexpected ways. The title belies the fact that Girl Most Likely follows an unlikely trajectory. Frances Ha sometimes resembles a documentary, with its film noir look and painfully genuine dialogue.
The boundaries of “comedy” continue to expand, as our ideas of what the genre can include multiply. Surely we felt that something good was eventually going to happen to these characters even though they go to some very dark places along the way.
Both films speak to me because they concern the travails of artists (although they could just as well be humanities/ arts grads) in a world that seems more interested in people according to fiscal rather than human assets. By coincidence this was the week of the COC’s Ensemble Gala, a time to recall just how difficult it is to make it in the opera business. A very few will continue to make a living singing, while others become teachers or at least stagger on with the help of a dayjob. There’s a special poignancy to such films because of course many of us in the audience had our own moment when we decided we had to opt for a day-job to pay our rent, and couldn’t cut it any longer 100% from the avails of our creative work.
Even the much darker Blue Jasmine follows largely the same plot –that is, a protagonist’s journey into mental disorder—without the same easy ending.
And as I look at my own sense of who I am, calibrating “normal” according to what I see around me, I have to wonder. Am I the odd one, when Rob Ford’s excesses –his drugs, his alcohol and his stories—appear to be normal behaviour? I could measure the nature of “normal” more easily had I seen those films in a theatre, rather than at home. Do people laugh with recognition & identification at the wacky behaviour in these movies, or is it merely derision?
I loved the moments in each film –thinking especially of Girl Most Likely and Frances Ha – where I couldn’t see a pathway to redemption. The curious thing with each of these films is that the old pattern –of a plotline logically connecting character growth—is now a liability. I don’t think we foresee a happy ending so much as take it on faith; and then the story very generously hands us something gentler than what we would have expected. I suspect it’s a lot like what people are living through nowadays in their 20s and 30s. Life is crap, and then when you’ve compromised –taken a day-job or maybe stopped aiming so high—things improve after all. This kind of arbitrary plot-line is more real precisely because it’s not something you can extrapolate from what came before.
I’ll have to watch them both again, when I know how they’re going to end.
Joel Ivany’s career seems to be taking off. His work with Against the Grain Theatre here in Toronto is impressive enough, but in addition he directed the recent World premiere of Gavin Bryars chamber opera Marilyn Forever with the Aventa Ensemble in Victoria, directing a new production of Les Contes D’Hoffmann with Edmonton Opera, and revived Minnesota Opera’s Nabucco. That’s on top of writing a new contemporary libretto and directing a new adaptation of Le Nozze di Figaro, aka Figaro’s Wedding for Against the Grain Theatre.
Upcoming projects include directing new productions of The Rape of Lucretia at Western University, Korngold’s The Silent Serenade at the Royal Conservatory of Music, his American debut of Verdi’s Macbeth at Minnesota Opera and Albert Herring at The University of Toronto. With AtG he will direct Debussy’s opera, Pelléas et Mélisande in the new year, but first a staged/choregraphed version of Handel’s Messiah.
In anticipation of AtG’s Messiah I ask Ivany ten questions: five about himself and five more about this new creation with AtG.
1-Are you more like your father or your mother?
Director Joel Ivany
I like to feel I’m equal parts of them both, a moiety (having just directed Britten’s Lucretia). The last few years of directing opera has required a Type A mentality and personality, which is a gift from my mother. Without her organization, I wouldn’t be able to do the things I do. Her creativity has also been a huge blessing. I’m able to push the organization aside when I need to, and see through the artistic lens, which is what makes what I do different from someone else.
I’m more like my father when things go poorly. Instead of getting angry or upset, I feel I’m able to let things go and see the best in a situation. I’ve also inherited his humble spirit. I am very thankful for what I have, and I realize that to be able to make a career and support my family through the arts is a gift. Not everyone is as lucky as I feel.
Also, my beard is definitely from my father. I’ve only known him with one and I’ve decided to carry on the tradition. I can’t bother shaving every day.
Both of my parents work for the Salvation Army and are ordained ministers. At one point I was preparing to be a youth minister. I had worked at summer Salvation Army youth camps in both Canada and the USA for over 10 years. I was reading through Bible commentaries and learning about the history of the Salvation Army. I was a skilled tuba player (in the Salvation Army, you’re handed a brass instrument after diapers) and sang in the choir. It all shifted during a yearlong residency in London, UK while I was watching Chicago in the West End. I just decided that I wanted to tell stories, in a theatrical way. That is what I found exciting and what I wanted to pour my passion into. I came back early to Toronto, and began making connections. A very talented and creative stage director, Brent Krysa, led me to U of T’s Opera School, where I met my first mentor, Michael Albano. The rest snowballed from there!
2) What is the best thing or worst thing about being artistic director of a company such as Against the Grain?
The absolute best thing is collaborating with peers I trust, respect and admire. I will take an idea, or Toph will bring one up and then we get down to work. To see the reaction from that idea, watching it grow and having others carry it further than I thought possible is incredibly rewarding.
The last note sung or played from any AtG performance is the best feeling I’ve ever had.
Music Director Christopher Mokrzewski (click for more)
The worst thing about AtG (though not really a bad thing) is that with each success, the demands, expectations and pressures build. Each production has grown in budget, presentation and acclaim. It was extremely difficult at the beginning as I was avalanched with fundraising, promotion, booking, scheduling, designing, website building and directing. All I wanted to do was direct. Thankfully, people saw and understood that vision. During the first year, the company grew with the help of several people, namely Carrie Klassen, Miriam Khalil and Jennifer McGillivray alongside the indefatigable Caitlin Coull and my bestie, Topher Mokrzewski. Nancy Hitzig and Cecily Carver came on board the following year and took us to incredible new heights. We’re finally ready to leap even further ahead with the help of Lucia Cesaroni, who has come on board to take charge of donor and patron relations, and Nina Draganic, who is helping us out as an artistic advisor.
There are so many incredible little details that are very important to me. People trust us with their investment. I want to make sure that we are returning that investment by truly inspiring people.
3) Who do you like to listen to or watch?
Any show with good writing and complex characters. I love Friday Night Lights, House of Cards, Breaking Bad and The Walking Dead.
Robert Wilson and Philip Glass have always transfixed me. I sat mesmerized through Einstein on the Beach when it stopped in Toronto. It was simply different and awe inducing.
I love watching sports. Hockey, basketball, baseball, football. I can do it all, it’s just finding the time that’s hard. Topher and I have an NFL pool (which I am currently ahead).
4) What ability or skill do you wish you had, that you don’t have?
I always wanted to dunk a basketball. Never happened.
I wish I could compose. What a beautiful gift composers have. There is nothing greater than a good story paired with incredible music. It would be a dream come true to write music to one of the stories I have floating in my head.
5) When you’re just relaxing and not working what is your favourite thing to do?
I spend most of my time outside of work with my family and friends. I love my family. Parents on both sides, cousins, nephews and nieces and siblings.
In this business, I find friendships come and go in waves. At times they are immediate and fruitful and then they hibernate for a season or two as gigs carry us away. I’ve enjoyed the last few years seeing friends marry (Toph and Cait’s wedding was a major highlight) and others who are now having babies.
I also love working out. Running, cycling, any sport really. Just over 10 years ago I cycled across Canada, from Vancouver to Halifax and it was one of the most inspiring trips I’ve ever made. I would recommend everyone to see our beautiful country this way.
I also enjoy reading. It’s a gift and I’m finding the time to do it rarer and rarer these days.
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Five more concerning AtG’s Messiah
1-Please talk about the challenges in creating your adaptation of Handel’s Messiah in the growing tradition of Against the Grain, a company with a history of great originality.
The joy I find from directing opera is in telling a story, and the story always comes from the text. The challenge with something like Handel’s Messiah is that there is not a concrete narrative. The text is from the Bible, both Old and New Testaments. Messiah was written as a theatrical work, however through time it has evolved into performance on the concert stage.
I’m sort of a Messiah neophyte. I’ve only been to one Messiah and it was the sing-a-long at Massey Hall many years ago. I’ve sung one of the bass numbers and have played an arrangement of the “Hallelujah Chorus” in Salvation Army Brass Bands. I don’t come with any preconceived notions other than knowing that Messiah is normally done at Christmas and with soloists in front of the orchestra with binders and gowns/tuxes.
An AtG point of pride comes from finding unique performance venues in Toronto, and we’ve been dying to do something at The Opera House for a long time. This project seemed like the right fit. By pulling it out of the concert hall, I hope people will be more willing to accept this work done untraditionally.
One challenge will be the balance of musical integrity versus the movement. We’re asking our chorus to memorize the score. Our chorus is made up of 14 people who could all be soloists themselves. This presents a challenge of blending, to make 14 voices sound as one. And to ask them to memorize the music and add movement…well, I’m proud of them already.
Choreographer Jennifer Nichols (click for more info)
The movement is going to be unique. Our choreographer, Jennifer Nichols and I are splitting the numbers in half. Jenn has an extensive background in dance. She’s in the ballet corps at Opera Atelier and runs The Extension Room (a studio known for its innovative fitness classes that take inspiration from classical ballet).
The core idea of this piece for us is freedom. Removing constraints. Getting to the heart of the music, and recognizing the reason why Handel put these notes together and why it has moved people for hundreds and hundreds of years.
Jenn and I don’t know how this will work as we mesh both our visions, as it then requires coordination with Maestro Toph and an absolutely top-tier orchestra. It’s scary and exciting – but that’s what the arts should be!
2-What do you love about Against the Grain Theatre?
I love to see how it has slowly been taking shape. It has been a continuous uphill journey and I love seeing people excited about us and about the works that we’re presenting.
Everyone we work with has put in immense amounts of time. We respect the traditions of theatre and the history of how it has been presented both traditionally and currently. That is true of our designers, our performers and our core team. Though we are small, we dream big.
I also love how people love to work with us. I think that’s a testament to the team that we have. I am so incredibly proud of the people who choose to perform with us, because it’s not for the money (though we do pay everyone who works with us, and all of our mainstage roles are offered through Equity contracts). It’s for the love of what we do!
I also love to envision where it can go. We have a plan and I’m more excited than ever to get there. It won’t be for another 3 or 4 years, but that’s exciting to know that we’ll keep growing until then.
I think we’re comfortable in our place. We know what we aren’t. We know what we can’t do. That makes it easy to work with a company like the Canadian Opera Company. We can’t do what they do, but we can work with them because we’re both after the same thing. To build community through the kind of music and storytelling that can truly change people.
I also love that we can explore different artforms. We are not constricted to opera; we can explore dance, theatre and opera. When the bourbon comes out, Fancy Figaro Toph and I come up with all kinds of crazy ideas.
3-Do you have a favourite moment in AtG’s Messiah?
The opening of AtG’s Messiah will be incredible for me. Instrumentally, the most we’ve done at AtG is piano and string quartet. This time, Maestro Tophski will be conducting an 18-piece ensemble! This is a HUGE undertaking and accomplishment. This will be Topher’s first Messiah and we’re overjoyed that he will conduct it with AtG. That is one of the reasons why we are here. To pass down these great works for the first time. It all starts somewhere. For Toph, this is his. That is exciting.
As the overture flows into Comfort Ye, the Tenor soloist will have a choice. Will he continue the way he’s performed the Messiah before, or will he venture out and try something new? We will witness that choice and from there, it will be a series of inspired singing and choices from all four soloists. I can’t wait.
I’ve been listening to this music since last spring, and there is something incredibly pure and perfect about the score. Handel just knew how to write great music.
4-How do you feel about the relevance of Messiah as a modern-day citizen?
I grew up in the church. In many ways, the church and the world of opera are one and the same; our main audience is shrinking; we are desperate to find ways to make it relevant and attractive to young people; we are closing buildings because they are too expensive to keep up and/or no one is attending.
Audiences are incredibly intellectual. They can smell BS a mile away whether it’s on our stages or from the pulpit. I know that authenticity is something that we all crave. We want truth and we want realness. That is the core of Handel’s Messiah. It is a piece about freedom, hope and sacrifice.
Whether one believes the text to be truth or fiction, one cannot deny its poetic beauty. I feel that this piece is calling for a visual authenticity.
Some may prefer traditional presentations to ours, but I’m confident that everyone will undoubtedly see the uniqueness of AtG’s Messiah.
5-Is there a teacher or an influence you’d care to name that you especially admire?
Paul Curran is someone who gave me an opportunity. He is a stage director I admire, and he always took the time to treat me well. I was able to intern with him at Washington National Opera and then at the Norwegian National Opera in Oslo. I am indebted to him for showing how to respect, challenge and stay committed to storytelling.
Thaddeus Strassberger is another peer whom I admire a great deal. I met Thaddeus through Paul Curran. Thad is a gifted stage director and designer directing opera all over the world. I’ve been fortunate to work with him on a few major projects. His heart is huge and I admire him for his work but more importantly for his generosity and humour.
Through Paul Curran (again…see a pattern?) I also was fortunate to work with Robert Carsen in Oslo. I am indebted to Robert for connecting me with all of his shows here at the Canadian Opera Company. His work is amazing and I have consistently been blown away by Robert’s commitment to the project at hand and his focus on every detail.
I keep these colleagues and mentors at the forefront of my mind with each project I tackle. Would Paul like this? Would Thad find this interesting? What would Robert say about this look?
The person I admire the most is my wife, soprano Miriam Khalil. She is my sounding board for everything that I do. Many AtG ideas have come through her and she is my muse. Her creativity is boundless and I know that AtG wouldn’t be where it is without her inspiration. I know I wouldn’t achieve half the success I’ve been fortunate to have without her encouragement and support.
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AtG’s Messiah will be presented December 14th and 15th at The Opera House (the other one)735 Queen St. E.
(Click image for further information)
barczablog 