For such a brief title, the opera Canoe invites me to go on at length. It’s not that it is a difficult work, for it was very accessible to the audience at Trinity St. Paul’s. But I want to properly appreciate what I’ve seen and heard. I’m not sure I understand it although I was very moved. I believe it deserves to be presented again, not least because of its depth and richness. I hope there will be some sort of recording.
Opera is a medium that straddles boundaries, a hybrid of words and music with spectacle. How appropriate that Canoe is a product of teams working together across different disciplines, an Unsettled Score production in collaboration with Native Earth Performing Arts, The Toronto Consort and Theatre Passe Muraille.
Dr. Spy Dénommé-Welch | Librettist/Storyteller (photo by by Lady Luck photography)
Co-composed by Dr Spy-Denomme-Welch and Catherine Magowan, we are sometimes in the realm of myth, larger than life events that can’t really be shown in a realistic dramaturgy, but only through the combination of words, music and spectacle.
Creation
A great flood.
The program note from Dr Spy-Denomme-Welch, the librettist / storyteller explains the origins of the work.
It’s taken thirteen years to bring this opera to the stage, a long time to carry a work of art. When I first conceived of this opera back in 2009-2010, I imagined telling the story about the creation of the first birch canoe. From there the voices of Tree Spirit, Debaajimod, Gladys and Constance emerged, and so too the complicated and messy worlds they inhabit (both human and non-human). It’s these elements that make the story of CANOE so compelling and heart wrenching. I wanted to give the work a sense of minimalism, wonder, magic, and imagination while combining new and old forms of artmaking to help tell difficult, relatable human stories, and allow space for the Land to be heard. Ultimately, the story is shaped by a sequence of actions propelled by each of the characters at different points of the opera, all of which collectively activates their transformation.
In these ambitions I feel the team have succeeded admirably, as far as giving the work “a sense of minimalism, wonder, magic, and imagination while combining new and old forms of artmaking to help tell difficult, relatable human stories, and allow space for the Land to be heard.”
A huge story is told in an intimate space at Trinity St. Paul’s. We see mythic events comparable to the Ring Cycle (creation and a flood), yet without the pretension of Wagner, without the weight, without going on for hours and hours. This was playful even while being serious. My perspective may be off, as a person of European Judeo-Christian background, who is comfortable in a church sanctuary that might be a trigger for some, especially in combination with a story touching upon the residential schools.
There’s so much I could say, I want to proceed carefully. I slept on it Saturday and Sunday nights, awake in the night pondering a few things that I don’t fully understand, images that resonate for me in very personal ways. Self harm is terrifying. If I’m off, I hope I can be forgiven as I’m attempting to unpack the wonders of the experience, to share what I felt. I’m a privileged person, so as I was thinking about Residential Schools, the ways in which people become damaged by what they endured, I’m trying to understand but may miss some layers of what’s in this piece. This opera touches upon such things, presented for an audience that included persons like myself, meaning settlers who are trying to understand.
The presentation began with the assurance of support from a social worker if the material was too hard to bear. I recall something similar (that is, the presence of support persons) when I saw Going Home Star, the Royal Winnipeg Ballet piece about residential schools. It’s funny that we don’t offer that for other works. I know people who have issues during the annual noise-fest of the Air Show triggered by the sound of jets, reminding them of war. I know someone who can’t handle war movies because of what they’ve lived through. Perhaps this kind of support should be normalized, and we should re-think our approach to our entertainments, that may be traumatic for some people.
The Idiom of this work is a fascinating mix, at times mythic, at other times presenting average incidents of daily life such as card-playing, eating or dishwashing.
Debaajimod (or Debaaj), played by Michelle Lafferty, is a powerful presence vocally and physically on the stage. They are the one who seems to know what is going to happen or to explain what has happened to everyone else, and sing with an appropriate authority and conviction.
Tree Spirit, portrayed by Conlin Delbaere-Sawchuk, is the title role in a sense as the birch becomes a canoe. That doesn’t mean he ceases to be alive, even if we might think of a canoe (or for that matter, a tree) as an object rather than something that is in some sense alive. The part includes a fair bit of dance, expressive movement.
Tree Spirit (Conlin Delbaere-Sawchuk) and Debaajimod (Michelle Lafferty) photo: Kaytee Dalton
Gladys and Constance are twin sisters although we also come to know them as brother spirits of the elements both at the beginning (creation) and the apotheosis of the end, when (as the program says) “they are destined to travel the galaxy in their canoe, gathering Star People who have been scattered to bring them back to the Eastern Doorway”. Yet we see them playing cards, eating, arguing, living their lives in a remote forest location.
Gladys (Nicole Joy-Fraser) and Constance (Kristine Dandavino), photo: Kaytee Dalton
Gladys (Nicole Joy-Fraser) and Constance (Kristine Dandavino) are very different even if they are twins. The first thing we see is a disagreement, as Gladys cuts down the tree, while Constance expresses regret for this action. Gladys has scars on the arm, reminders of time at residential schools, self-harm. Constance prayed for Gladys, seemingly more loyal to the parents and grand-parents, their stories and heritage, which Gladys mocks as fairytales. But Gladys seems to be in pain.
Throughout the music serves the story-telling and a sophisticated characterization, setting up a vivid contrast between Gladys and Constance that’s sometimes ironic, sometimes very painful to observe. I tossed and turned thinking about this in the night. It’s not surprising that the music has these layers (as though Gladys has distance from the past, singing in a different style) when one recalls that the composition of this work has been underway for over a decade, as its style has been changed, as the creators report in the program. It’s breath-taking in its simplicity, very accomplished writing. At times I thought Nicole approached Gladys almost as a cabaret performer, seeming to resist the operatic illusion by playing with the vocal production, sometimes sounding operatic, sometimes jazzy or like a pop singer. Dandavino in contrast had a more serious operatic sound, even when singing with the utmost softness, coming at the story from the other side. They truly were brilliantly matched in their scenes.
There are unique Canoe textures, such as the very modern usage of the word “whatever”, or swear words, yet alongside these old music instruments to suggest period performance. At times we’re hearing instruments making a very antique sound, the theorbo, the harpsichord, the recorder and strings. Yet at other times the theorbo resembles a modern guitar. Sometimes we were in a mythic place, sometimes we seemed to watch everyday life. Music direction was by Catherine Magowan.
Catherine Magowan, Music Director and co-composer (photo by Lady Luck photography)
This is the second consecutive show I’ve seen with a tree alive on the stage, although this is perhaps the opposite of what we saw in Crow’s Theatre’s Master Plan, where the tree is the ironic observer and commentator on the events.
Writing in Opera and Drama Richard Wagner observed that while opera had been intended to employ musical means to create a dramatic form, instead it tended to employ dramatic means to create a musical form. The best operas I know touch upon something verging on spirituality in their dense combination of elements that signify so much more than the sum of their parts, a quality I felt more than once watching Canoe for the first time, and which I am certain would resound much more profoundly in seeing the work again. The best works are those we need to see over and over again, deepening our understanding of them. That’s what I would hope for with Canoe.
I hope to see this opera produced again somewhere, and will keep my eyes open for any possible recording, video or audio, so that I can revisit the magic I experienced this past weekend.
I first encountered Alexander Cappellazzo in the title role of L’Amant anonyme by Joseph Bologne for Voicebox- Opera in Concert back in March of this year, when he sang “a passage in the first scene that contains an obscene number of high notes, that he executed bravely and accurately, managing to keep things light and comical rather than scary, as they would have been for those of us who can’t sing that high“.
So yes I was obviously impressed. But he’s much more than just a tenor soloist.
Alexander Cappellazzo
Alex isn’t just a singer but also the founder of Apocryphonia and the Diapente Renaissance Vocal Quintet, two Toronto-based groups dedicated to showcasing underperformed repertoire. In May I saw a very original concert from Apocryphonia, employing a highly original approach, where each audience member participated in a random process to assemble the order of pieces on the program, as you can see in this photo.
Wacky? but also very illuminating. We had a new way of seeing the music and concerts.
The jar in the foreground only had a few pieces left when I took this picture. Notice how the program is being assembled on the page.
Apocryphonia are back Sept 30- Oct 1. with their first concert this fall. I was curious about both of Alex’s ensembles, so I determined to follow up with some questions.
Barczablog:Are you more like your father or your mother?
Alexander Cappellazzo: With how I grew up there ended up being many more influences on my character than just my mother and father.
I lived with my grandmother, and we did a lot of stuff together: I have fond memories for instance of going to Rouge Park to look at the swans with her, or going to the Pacific Mall to pick up almond buns and drinking sugarcane juice. She had a huge influence on my upbringing, and imparted to me a sort of moral awareness and sense of justice I think still guides me. My father has a sense of curiosity and a willingness to discover new things that I admire. My mother is one of the kindest people I know, everywhere she goes she is well loved; I try to be like her in that respect. One of my aunts used to have season tickets to the TSO and I would go with her to see the orchestra growing up, and I would see Mirvish production musicals with my mother; so I was exposed to a decent amount of live music and performance growing up too!
A picture of Alex’s mother, aunt and a friend from the 1980s.
My mother, uncle, and my father were in the Toronto punk scene back in the 80’s, and my step-father was part of the Montreal scene. Besides my uncle, you wouldn’t know it if you saw them now that they were part of the scene, but there are some documentaries and books where there’s video or images of them. Hearing stories about the local and worldwide punk scene growing up certainly shaped my perspective towards production. At the last Apocryphonia concert a friend of mine came up to me and said “I’ve heard of DIY Punk, but this is the first DIY Classical concert I’ve seen.”, and that is one of the greatest compliments towards making art I’ve received.
Barczablog:What is the best or worst thing about what you do?
Alexander Cappellazzo: Simply put, the best thing is that I get to make music! What a joy it is to sing, and even more so when it brings you and others pleasure, inspiration, or whatever motivation it does at that time. I know it’s a simple answer, but this has to be at the core of it all or else why do this sort of work? You gotta love it.
Producing concerts is on equal footing with performing in them in terms of enjoyment; it offers so much freedom and creativity. There’s so much repertoire out there that I love, music I’ve heard that I want to share with others; that I never know if it’ll get any airtime. I don’t have to wait around for someone else to decide to do it. I trust that someone out there is going to like the music I like, and will want to see it.
As for the worst thing, I have to be calculated while writing this; I don’t want to end up writing a rabid polemic on the state of the industry, or come across as whiny or ungrateful! There’s a funny part in Ilf and Petrov’s book The Twelve Chairs – a book that was almost a Shostakovich operetta, but sadly he passed before it was finished; an absolute tragedy… – where a small town event takes an entire day because every speaker ends up making the same rant about the ‘international political situation’; sometimes I fear I can get like that if I don’t rein myself in, or write draft outlines of what I’ll say.
One such struggle for me is the extroversion required for social media and promotion. Social media culture isn’t for me; I don’t think we need to know everything about everyone at all times, and there’s this pressure to be omnipresent on those platforms. On top of that, I run an ad blocker online because I hate the feeling of people trying to sell me something.
The sort of self-commodification that comes with performing and producing isn’t something I totally mesh with. I’ve had to think of that sort of stuff differently in order to not feel gross doing it. It is necessary though, because it’s quite egotistical to think that you can just hole up, do nothing, say nothing, and people will come to you.
Barczablog:Who do you like to listen to or watch?
Alexander Cappellazzo: My wife and I watch a lot of films. We have a subscription to the Criterion Channel, which for 10$ a month we have access to a whole bunch of great movies from around the world, plus commentaries and interviews. Since January we’ve watched around 68+ films, usually around dinner. Some recent stand-out films we saw include ‘High and Low’ by Akira Kurosawa and its commentary, the black-and-white edit of ‘Johnny Mnemonic’ with Keanu Reeves, and Roger Corman’s Edgar Allen Poe movies starring Vincent Price (he’s so cool!).
I’m also a fan of giallo films, especially their soundtracks. Those 1970s Italian genre films have this amazing sense of style that isn’t afraid of being absolutely absurd at times. In the winter, I have a pair of leather gloves I call my ‘giallo gloves’, and pretend my eyes are a camera and grab various walls, fences and doorknobs mysteriously for fun. It amuses me. I want to produce a giallo-themed show one day, that’s one of my dreams.
We also watch video essays on Youtube and Nebula. There’s a lot of really interesting, smart and entertaining people making videos on so many subjects out there! Some of my favourites include Jacob Geller, J. J. McCullough, Philosophy Tube, Religion for Breakfast, and City Beautiful.
As for listening, I highly, HIGHLY recommend the Youtube channel, My Analog Journal. DJ Zag Erlat runs that channel, and he or his guests play vinyl sets of different genres from all over the world. During the lockdown I’d listen to him livestream tri-weekly music sets; I discovered a lot of great music that way. I also watch/listen to classical music score videos on Youtube, which is how I find a lot of new rep.
A few of my all time favourite groups/musicians include: Peter Gabriel-era Genesis, Kraftwerk, 50 Cent, the Igor Nazaruk Quartet, Milton Nascimento, Gesaffelstein, and The Weeknd.
Barczablog:What ability or skill do you wish you had, that you don’t have?
Alexander Cappellazzo: At this point I truly wish I took math class more seriously. I have a great appreciation for Pure Mathematics as well as programming/coding, but I haven’t really committed the more advanced mathematical concepts to memory. I’m really thankful that calculators and ChatGPT are able to help me offset my lack of math/programming expertise, especially regarding Google Sheets! Long, long ago I wanted to become a chemist, mostly because I wanted to learn how to transmute elements into gold, but my mind always drifted when it came to formulae, so I picked something else to want to be.
Barczablog:When you’re just relaxing and not working, what is your favourite thing to do?
Alexander Cappellazzo: My wife and I try to make good use of our weekends by going on trail hikes and 25km-or-so walks around the city. Where I am in Scarborough I’m close to Highland Creek/Cedarbrae Park, which is one of the best parks in Toronto. The salmon spawn there every fall, we’ve got at least 10 or more very-friendly deer (don’t approach them however!), and it connects to the Waterfront Trail along Lake Ontario. We’ve been doing bits and pieces of the Bruce Trail too; Short Hills Provincial Park in St. Catharines is so far my favourite of it, and on the other side of the Niagara Falls border there’s the Schoellkopf Power Station trail that goes through the ruins of an old hydroelectric plant. I love seeing ruined buildings or signs of previous structures during nature walks, it’s an interesting combination.
At home, my medium of choice is torn between film and video games. I’ve already spoken about the films I love, so I’ll go on to the latter subject. I enjoy classic 6th and 7th generation games like the original Silent Hill Trilogy, Hideo Kojima’s Metal Gear Solid, Suda 51’s Killer7, the Fallout Series and Miyazaki’s Dark Souls games. Less substance narrative-wise, but still a favourite of mine currently is Isonzo, a WW1-themed shooter set in the Italian Front. It’s got a wonderful attention to historical detail in its maps and outfits, and a Puccini-esque inspired soundtrack. The last game I played worth talking about was called Paradise Killer, a sort of cosmic horror, vaporwave, dystopian murder mystery; a very unique premise!
I always tend to wait a while before buying new games. Last year I promised myself I’d buy Elden Ring after I finished writing my grant proposals, but I have yet to purchase it…
Barczablog:What was your first experience of music ?
Alexander Cappellazzo: I will tell three stories relating three first experiences; I’m like a one-person Rashomon over here.
1 – I can’t pinpoint the specific year, but I do know the first piece of classical music that inspired me to become a fan. I used to play trumpet in elementary school band class, and as I was practicing pieces in the book I became enamoured with a specific melody: Tchaikovsky’s ‘Slavonic March’. I half-remember going to HMV with my mother or grandmother and trying to find it on CD. That one piece and that melody is what sparked my love for orchestral music. I eventually branched out towards Prokofiev, Rameau, Purcell, and Beethoven; the last two by way of Wendy Carlos’ amazing soundtrack to ‘A Clockwork Orange’
(Fun Fact: I was apparently named after Alex Delarge!).
2 – When I was very, very young, I used to dance a lot to Oasis’ album, ‘What’s the Story Morning Glory’. I seemed to gravitate to Britpop/neo-mod bands and the Beatles – especially the Beatles. Sadly I couldn’t ride a Vespa at that time.
1960s/70s Progressive Rock bands like Genesis, Emerson Lake and Palmer, and King Crimson really were part of my early musical awakening. The songs told stories, they had different timbres and movements, some songs were over 20 minutes long! It could be beautiful, it could be angular and harsh; it knew how to move you.
3 – My grandmother was a soprano in the church choir, and every Sunday we’d drive over together and I’d sit in my pew and try to figure out how hymns worked. I used to talk with the organist a lot too after services. I loved the sound of the organ, how it filled a space and all the colours it made. I did eventually join the choir with my grandma; she had a quiet speaking voice, but one of the loudest singing voices. We used to listen to a cassette tape of Les Miserables in the car, which was her favourite musical.
If you understand the above three tales, you understand everything about what I like about music.
Barczablog:Who is your favorite composer?
Alexander Cappellazzo: I cannot name just one, that is impossible.
Here is the definitive Cappellazzo tier list of classical composers:
S Tier:
Charles Ives, Alberto Ginastera, Ralph Vaughan Williams,
These three are the cornerstones of my musical personality.
Barczablog:as you can hear in this example
A+ Tier:
Leo Ornstein, Olivier Messiaen, Alfred Schnittke, Samuel Coleridge-Taylor
No matter what, I’ll always come back to these guys.
A Tier:
Henry Purcell, Arno Babajanian, Michel Lambert, Murad Kazhlaev, J. S. Bach
All of them are very great composers, with specific pieces that move me considerably.
Barczablog: Another example
Barczablog: I dream of the day that opera is as Canadian as our theatre or our ballet, where you see companies run by Canadians and mostly performed by Canadians. Can you imagine Canadian opera companies performed with Canadian personnel?
Alexander Cappellazzo: Short Answer: Yes.
Long Answer:
The talent exists, we can see that easily enough by how many amazing Canadian musicians and creative-types we have here and abroad. In my opinion the challenges regarding opera in Canada are much different than opera in Europe or the US. It is a very large country, and many of our cities are not that large in comparison. I wish to see many things happen in the Canadian Opera field, but some of the more urgent ideas is the need to create, support and invest in smaller to mid-sized opera companies, especially ones outside of major urban centres. What is needed is a wider base of the pyramid so to speak.
We have quality, but now we need quantity. This serves two purposes that would aid Canada’s arts sector: paying arts workers; thus retaining talent, and creating more opportunities to grow new audiences; thus growing demand.
I am optimistic about this, the field feels like it is more unified than before. It’s a start and I hope it yields some great results.
Barczablog:How did you get the idea for Apocryphonia? please explain the concept.
Alexander Cappellazzo: Apocryphonia is something that has taken almost a decade to become a reality, and the catalyst can be traced to my fleeting mortality and inherent curiosity.
I’ve always gravitated to non-canon/non-standard repertoire since I started listening to classical music, and I always loved exploring new things rather than sticking with what was already in front of me. I would spend hours at McGill in the library looking for interesting new repertoire to program for recitals; I still do. Both my singing teacher and my vocal coach saw my curiosity, encouraged it, and suggested that I pursue it post-graduation.
I remember during my undergrad reading a professional singer’s bio saying they performed the same role over 300 times or so; that depressed me quite a lot. I didn’t want that future, but it felt unavoidable with how classical music/opera is programmed.
I began to realize that I had two choices: wait around for someone else to program the music I like to perform/hear, or do it myself and trust that others would be interested too. I was really frightened during the lockdown years, and realized how fleeting life is. Any fear of starting something new and unfamiliar was superseded by the fear of passing away before I ever started.
I always wanted to form my own company but I didn’t know how to start. I bit the bullet by writing a grant for a Ralph Vaughan Williams concert for his 150th Anniversary; at that time the only event for RVW150 scheduled in Canada. How could someone like Vaughan Williams, who is not unpopular by any standards, be this underprogrammed? How could there be so much great music out there and yet it hardly sees the light of day?
Surely there must be a conspiracy…
The idea of secretive, hidden music, kept out of reach by concert halls and opera houses, floated in my head until on a neighbourhood walk the word ‘apocrypha’ came to mind.
Apocrypha: secret writings hidden outside of the canon.
I was dealing with Musical Apocrypha…
Apocryphons! (-phone being the Greek for sound, naturally.)
This is the origin of Apocryphonia, the name.
I’ve always enjoyed some healthy esotericism, and this was my way to combine that love with my love of rare and underperformed music. I want to show people how arbitrary the canon is; I want to show people how much great music is actually out there, hidden from view because of decades of Classical Music’s equivalent of binge watching ‘The Office’ on Netflix for the 25th time. It’s not that I don’t like the canon, it’s only that I was blessed with not being attached to the myth of the canon or notions of its ‘genius’ at a young and formative age.
The goal is to keep programming interesting concerts of rare and underperformed classical music. I enjoy playing around with the form of concerts too; randomizing the performance like in my past May concert… Barczablog: You see the description and photo at the beginning of the interview, when I spoke of this. …or shifting movements around of pieces to create a new story as will be the case for the upcoming concert.
There’s historical precedent to playing around with concert forms, but that tends to get glossed over by those that write musical history.
On top of that, I want to create an atmosphere for audiences that is not elite and exclusionary; I want to build a true grassroots community of music lovers through Apocryphonia. I tell people when I’m out putting posters up that I’d rather have five audience members pay $10 than one person pay $50. Toronto is an expensive place to live, and I don’t want people to have to choose between groceries/rent or culture! We’ve had audience members that loved the shows who only could come because we eliminated the financial barriers and welcomed them in without judgement.
In Apocryphonia’s current form, I design all the posters, secure the venues, unite the performers, create the contracts, the schedules, write the grants, create the ad campaigns, post the social media, and so on and so on. I’ve learnt a lot because of this and it’s tough, but the more you do it the better you get. I’m lucky to have a network of people I trust to confide in or go to for advice also.
The plan this year is to expand, find a partner(s) and incorporate to non-profit status. In three years the goal is to be established enough to produce concerts involving orchestra and/or choir.
Barczablog:Tell us about the upcoming Apocryphonia programs
Alexander Cappellazzo: Saturday, September 30th – Cosmopolitan Music Hall (Richmond Hill) & Sunday, October 1st – Heliconian Hall (Toronto) is GinasterAmirov: Argentinian and Azerbaijani Opera & Piano Masterworks. This is going to be a great one; it’s a double-bill of music by Alberto Ginastera and Fikret Amirov. The first half is centered around Los Horas de una Estancia, a song cycle by Ginastera about a day on an estancia ranch, using his Piano Sonata No.1 to further evoke estancia goings-on, and the second half is an abridged performance of Amirov’s opera Sevil interspersed with the Canadian premiere of his Romantic Sonata.
You’ll find that despite both composers never meeting each other, there’s a certain kindredness to how they approach harmonies and rhythms, and how their national culture inspires their compositional styles. On top of that, there’s a big feminist angle to the show; the opera Sevil being very much a story about a woman challenging patriarchal structures and gaining freedom and agency, and Ginastera’s works either using women’s poetry (that of novelist and poet, Silvina Ocampo) or being premiered by women performers (as is the case for both pieces).
Joining me is the wonderful soprano Thera Barclay, and the amazing Narmina Afandiyeva at the piano.
Thera Barclay – Soprano
Narmina Afandiyeva – Piano
After that, Sunday evening, November 12th at Heliconian Hall is Apocryphonia/Diapente’s Rossi of Mantua, the Songs of Salamone; which delves into the music and life of Jewish-Italian Renaissance composer Salamone Rossi (and friends). Rossi was known for several musical innovations involving trio sonatas and monodies, and also wrote numerous Hebrew-language motets and Italian madrigals. Tickets aren’t on sale yet, but save the date!
Early December, stay tuned… I was originally going to be producing my first Apocryphonia opera, but we hit a snag with funding so that got postponed (I expect to produce it for Fall 2024 now). One must always be flexible, and I tend to have fallbacks in case of stuff like this happening. In its stead I’m working on an absolutely gruesome classical cabaret of horror-themed classical music.
Tuesday, December 19th is The Diapente Book of Carols, which is bound to be full of Renaissance holiday cheer. We’ve got an assortment of well known and lesser known stuff in store for you with that one.
Barczablog:Talk about Diapente Renaissance Vocal Quintet
Alexander Cappellazzo: Peter Koniers and I formed the Diapente Renaissance Vocal Quintet last year right when I moved back here from Montreal. I was part of a madrigal quartet in Montreal, Toni Precari, and it was some of the most fun I had singing. Before moving back home to Scarborough in 2021 I contacted Peter, who is also a fellow McGill alumni, and we started assembling the team:
Jane Fingler – Soprano, Jonathan Stuchbery (also a McGill friend!) – Tenor and Lute, & Martin Gomes – Bass.
L-R Peter Koniers–Countertenor, Jonathan Stuchbery–Tenor & Lute, Jane Fingler–Soprano, Alexander Cappellazzo-Tenor, Martin Gomes-Bass
At that time the Omicron variant struck so there wasn’t much else we could do but hunker down and plan for the future; but eventually we all met up, sang some stuff together, and really vibed with each other. We’ve been singing together ever since!
Montreal has such a strong culture for small early music groups forming, but it feels like Toronto isn’t like that yet. I think we’re the only early music vocal quintet currently active in Toronto, which is odd in my opinion for such a big city. We’ve got some superb larger early music groups though like Tafelmusik, Opera Atelier & Toronto Consort though! I hope more smaller groups form in the future, then maybe we could all collab, or start a Toronto early music festival, or something…
Currently, we take turns programming the concerts for the season. The Rossi concert is my idea, and Jane Fingler is working on a Barbara Strozzi/Maddalena Casulana concert for May 2024. Besides that, we’ve got some concerts lined up around the Golden Horseshoe in conjunction with various organizations this year; it’s exciting to see that people are as enthusiastic as we are about this kind of music.
We go out there, tell stories and have a fun time; audiences can tell when you really love what you’re doing and it fuels their enjoyment.
Barczablog:Please tell me what you understand by the term “historically informed performance”, and its relevance to your creative life.
Alexander Cappellazzo: The more you know, the more options you have. Historically Informed Performance in my opinion is the practice of searching through primary sources what those options are for how to perform. With how it stands currently, this phenomenon tends to primarily extend to ‘Baroque and before’ performance practice. One reads a treatise that states how things were done at the time and they do that that way. It creates an amazing effect that you hear things as if they were done at that time.
I’m cheeky however, because technically speaking you can emulate early-1900s styles of early music interpretation and claim that it is ‘historically informed’ by early 20th century aesthetic practices. That is where this concept becomes very liberating because you can start thinking laterally about these treatises. For instance: there are contradictory primary sources out there, or anytime someone writes down what they think performers ‘should’ be doing you can extrapolate that at that time they might not have been doing it that way!
You also start seeing what aspects are being selectively left out of modern ‘historically informed performances’, especially with regards to audiences and spaces.
I didn’t really like early music in University, but I grew to really love it when I learned how much creativity it allowed for performance; a lot of that is due to historical views on improvisation and ornamentation. Take alternative historical tuning into the mix, and all of a sudden you get music that sounds like nothing else!
I highly suggest Le Poème Harmonique’s album Cœur, airs de cour français de la fin du XVIe siècle for some great French early music. If you want something less accurate, but full of passion and love for early music, check out Sting’s (yes, that Sting) John Dowland album, Songs from the Labyrinth.
Barczablog:How do you reconcile your love of cultural artifacts and performance practices from long ago with modern life?
Alexander Cappellazzo: I think in some way the love of the old, of history and antiquity, acts as a buffer to some of the worst things modern life has to offer. There is something fun in how inefficient the past is; it’s almost rebellious in our current ultra-efficient present.
The basement room where I do most of my work is styled like a Victorian lounge; with deep green walls, brocade curtains and spattered curios on shelves wherever they can fit. I like it because it feels a little removed from the now; I enjoy a certain removedness and distance. The more you open yourself up to the past, the more you can see through present obfuscations as well. Do people want to see the same thing, or something different?
I listen to a lot of old recordings of singers, and they tend to have more edge to them when they perform. I want to take the good stuff from the past and leave the bad stuff behind when I engage with the past. Just because something artistic has ‘advanced’ doesn’t mean that the only option is to either forget about it or preserve it in time. You can play with old toys and new toys! You might even come up with something altogether brand new that way.
Barczablog:Are you also singing or performing with anyone else?
Alexander Cappellazzo: This October I’ll be Frederic in Toronto Operetta Theatre’s Pirates of Penzance, which I am extremely excited for. It’s my first Gilbert & Sullivan operetta, and I absolutely love this kind of stuff.
In November I’ll be in Montreal performing for the second time Maria Jiminez’s Oratorio pour Marguerite Bourgeoys, which premiered last May. On top of that I sing with the Jubilate Singers, who have a concert on November 25th. Two days later, November 27th, I’ll be in the Brott Festival’s Messiah doing solo and the chorus singing.
Every Sunday you can catch me at Metropolitan United Church, where I just started as their new Tenor Section Lead. So far it’s been a blast!
Barczablog:Do you have any influences / teachers you’d care to name.
Alexander Cappellazzo: Of course! I owe a lot to a lot of people, but here are a few:
My teachers, a lineage including Lena Wills, Peter Barnes, Stefano Algieri (whom I spent the most time with and owe much to), and most recently Brett Polegato.
My coaches at McGill: Dana Nigrim, Olivier Godin, and Louise Pelletier. Thanks for putting up with me throwing a bunch of random scores that weren’t Mozart and Schubert at you each week!
Patrick Hansen and Stephen Hargreaves who run McGill’s opera program and weren’t afraid to push the boundaries of what opera/classical music can be.
Dr. Ralph Vaughan Williams, a man I never met but feel such a connection to with how we view music, community, and the world.
Apocryphonia begins its season September 30th at Cosmopolitan Music Hall in Richmond Hill and then October 1st at Heliconian Hall in Toronto. Click here for tickets.
Crow’s Theatre opened The Master Plan tonight, the world premiere of Michael Healey’s adaptation of Josh O’Kane’s book Sideways: the city Google couldn’t buy. Directed by Chris Abraham featuring a powerful ensemble cast this is the most fun I’ve had in a theatre in a long time.
The video design is very memorable, with Amelia Scott credited as video designer, although it may also be partly Joshua Quinlan for the set that displays the video. In sum I was reminded of the use of video in Robert Lepage’s 887 and in the Shaw Festival’s Shadow of a Doubt directed by Peter Hinton, lending a curious sort of authenticity to the proceedings as though we were simultaneously watching something live and something being televised. There were often so many places to look not just because we were in the round but also with the video display capturing additional nuances, lending a gravitas to everything.
l-r: Philippa Domville, Ben Carlson, Mike Shara, Christopher Allen, Tara Nicodemo, video screens visible at the top (photo: Dahlia Katz)
It’s a different show I believe if you sit in the first two rows, rather than the last two. I sat in that furthest back row, still relatively close to the proceedings, given it’s only the fourth row: but bemused by the video display and watching the entire audience responding, screaming with laughter, reacting to everything before us. In the first row I think it becomes much funnier, much lighter, because if has a different balance. I may have to go back to try that, sitting up front.
The show is telling a story that’s universal even if it’s about recent events. If you want to read some different versions of events try googling “quayside waterfront sidewalk toronto” to get a few versions. Or read O’Kane’s book, which is available from Crow’s. I’ve been reading a library version but think I might buy a copy now that I’ve seen this compelling play.
It comes at a time when I’m reading every tweet from Jennifer Keesmaat (@jen_keesmaat Former Chief Planner of Toronto) dissecting Doug Ford’s scandalous deal-making, enjoying the lessons I’m getting in social science from my friend Bill Denning, while watching democracy unravel on either side of the border. Take your pick, do you prefer CNN or MSNBC to observe the GOP pissing on Lincoln’s tomb, or the blatant disregard of the rules at Queen’s Park. I recall how in 2016 began what seemed like a golden age for comedy, as Saturday Night Live became arbiter of the truth, while the stuff you’d get on the news was impossible to fathom. Perhaps that’s how to approach Healey’s adaptation, with the knowledge that horror can be funny. And this is horrifying stuff, so desperately awful in its unfolding, such a perfect portrait of Toronto as to make you laugh with recognition.
There’s a poignant speech about NIMBY-ism that might work as Toronto’s eulogy if we were dead. But we’re stumbling on, still here but messed up.
It’s a lovely illustration of the life cycle for projects. We see the poetic energy at the beginning, when everything is beautiful. And we see things shift towards audits and security questions, creativity forgotten in the shadow of people covering their butts, losing their shirts, and just plain tired.
Abraham has the cast performing heroics for two and a half hours of witty sparring across the space. Everyone has a main character plus other roles they take on.
Mike Shara is Dan Doctoroff, the ugly American we meet in O’Kane’s book, but wow he’s been fleshed out, persuasive and believable.
Dan Doctoroff (Mike Shara) in the foreground, with (l-r) Tara Nicodemo, Ben Carlson, Philippa Domville and Christopher Allen. (photo: Dahlia Katz)
Christopher Allen is the likeable side of Google, in the role of Cam Malagaam: a character we discover is actually an amalgam (ha!) of 30 characters, the one to deliver the haunting NIMBY epilogue.
Ben Carlson is Will Fleissig, reminding me of some of the bureaucrats I’ve known in my time at the university, people who skillfully talk out of two sides of their mouth. I know people just like this.
Philippa Domville is heroic as Meg Davis. She plays her parts with a cane and a cast on her leg, although you assume it’s the way the part was written. She’s one of the most sympathetic people up there, although everyone takes a turn.
Peter Fernandes plays a tree (which makes sense given the sustainability objectives of the urban project in the show), and also takes a turn as the book’s author, as we see for a moment how the story was captured when O’Kane was a reporter for the Globe and Mail.
Peter Fernandes as Tree, Ben Carlson in background (photo: Dahlia Katz)
Yanna McIntosh plays several roles including Helen Burstyn and John Tory. Tara Nicodemo plays several roles including Kristina Verner.
As I was reading the book I was reminded of the film Oppenheimer, another adaptation of non-fiction, as I wondered how it could be done. But this time the creators took passionate positions, unlike Christopher Nolan’s equivocal film. I love the editorializing I see in this show. When Doctoroff calls out our Canadian collegiality, our refusal to be decisive: it has the painful ring of truth. The inability to make this project happen seems to re-enact the same sort of predicament we find ourselves in over and over, whether with transit woes or housing in Toronto, let alone our slow response to the calls for action of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission. While there’s comedy it’s a powerful portrait of our society, and for the most part it’s accurate, like it or not.
Crow’s Theatre have already extended the run until October 8th due to the demand for tickets. And no wonder, it’s a brilliant show.
It’s a pleasure and privilege to watch a film at tiff followed by a talkback, where directors and performers respond to our questions.
Writer and director Chloe Robichaud
A woman in front of me asked writer & director Chloé Robichaud the question I would have asked, and she asked much more cleanly than I would ever have said it.
“Why did you use those pieces of music?”
We had just seen her film Days of Happiness aka Les Jours heureux. I wasn’t sure about the title, btw, which hits me as kind of generic, without any hint of the wonders to be found in it.
Hmmm. But I loved this film.
Here’s part of Norm Wilner’s synopsis from tiff’s website. Beyond this I will do my best to avoid spoilers that might give away the story.
Charismatic, gifted Emma (Sophie Desmarais, who starred in Robichaud’s breakout, Sarah Prefers to Run, TIFF ’13) is on track to become a major player on the Quebec classical music scene. Audiences are enraptured by her work, but her career is very closely managed by her controlling father, Patrick (Sylvain Marcel), who’s also her agent. After years of acquiescing to his demands, Emma is finally in a position to re-evaluate both their professional and personal relationships — and that’s when cellist and single mother Naëlle (Nour Belkhiria) enters her life, offering her the chance to experience an entirely different type of family dynamic.
But let me get back to Robichaud and that talkback question. She remarked that the pieces were like characters in the film. I would go even further, to suggest that they represent an alternate text. It’s as though there’s a double film, two stories one on top of the other.
1-We have these personages –Emma, Patrick, Naëlle and other family members and colleagues– going through the emotions of their interconnections.
2-And we have the pieces Emma conducts.
That makes a curious sort of sense if you think of artists who balance their personal and creative lives, events and persons moving as if in two separate dimensions that sometimes occlude one another, sometimes separate and distinct. I was struck by how much this reminds me of real life, where you go about your business, making breakfast, changing diapers, taking a child to school, and then, zipping away to another realm for a show or a concert. And sometimes the music will be in your head, because naturally, you’re not a machine, you’re a living being with those feelings inside you, from those pieces of music that constitute their own drama.
Robichaud even signals this to us, putting three titles onto the film:
Mai Mozart
Juillet Schönberg
Septembre Mahler
The titles signal the passage of time and the music that goes with it.
Emma (Sophie Desmarais) is facing the dramas of her life with family and colleagues, and then when she undertakes each concert, also facing the drama of that piece. When she is immersed in the music we’re watching her conducting the Orchestre Métropolitan, whose music director Yannick Nézet-Séguin participated in the film’s preparation.
I aim always to be spoiler free, so let’s say that I will speak of the musical text rather than the plot. Emma goes from the G-minor symphony of Mozart, her style still somewhat overly controlled and in her head, as she’s told by colleagues, to excerpts from the Pelleas und Melisande symphonic poem by Arnold Schönberg, and later to the 5th symphony of Gustav Mahler.
The film’s plotline involving Emma’s family relationships seems perfectly matched to what we’re hearing in the film’s music, as Emma faces passionate conflicts and disorder in her life as she confronts the challenges of the Schönberg, before finding her way to Mahler. While it’s not really as dissonant as the script would have us understand it (a stunning early piece from Schönberg before he invented truly atonal composition), the passages we hear emphasized are still of a passionate late romantic style, very apt for strong feelings.
This is perhaps the normal way music works in a film, as an invisible commentary, although Robichaud is offering something more ambitious, as the arc of the musical plot (of three composers) parallels Emma’s arc.
And it’s unique in using music that is almost entirely source music, even as it functions in the usual ways. We see the OM playing the Mozart, the Schönberg or the Mahler while Emma conducts it, although as we see her subsequently walking away from those scenes, the music plays on: as if inside her head, the way we’d see in a non-diegetic musical score. It’s powerful and makes sense at least as a continuation of what we’ve been experiencing.
There is a fourth composition presented to us in the final credits, when Emma is again conducting, that might suggest a happy ending, even if I’m not giving you any details. Emma and the OM are rehearsing Amy Beach’s Gaelic Symphony, which could be read as a political statement by the film-maker, given that it’s one of the first major symphonies by a woman composer.
We were given a laughter-inducing disclaimer stating that while it’s an IMAX theatre, this was not a film shot with the IMAX process. No matter, I love the big fat sound whether or not we also get the big fat IMAX camera lens. Full disclosure, I’d even watch Adam Sandler conduct an orchestra if it meant I get to hear music as beautifully played as this.
I didn’t see the credit, but if as suspected this is Yannick’s work with his OM, no wonder they sounded so superb. He is arguably the most successful Canadian conductor, and hopefully will be doing great things for years to come.
The question I recall hearing with Tár was whether Kate Blanchett really looked like a conductor, whether her body language suggested a real conductor. It’s a funny question when we recall that every conductor is first and foremost a performer, both for us in the audience and even for their orchestra. When Gustavo Gimeno arrived at the Toronto Symphony I watched his deportment, his arms and his eye contact with the ensemble, watching how the players responded. When Yannick first stepped in front of the OM or the Metropolitan Opera Orchestra, yes he was there to conduct, but it was a performance. He was standing before all those musicians, winning them with his body language and his manner. While in hindsight perhaps I might be expected to judge Sophie Desmarais, evaluating the actor’s conducting, how she held a baton or a pencil (as I suddenly recall so many people cutting up Tom Hulce’s deportment in Amadeus, from a historical era btw when there weren’t any conductors…. But nevermind, classical music can be a catty community), I was swept up in the experience. I was watching the musicians respond to her, listening to the music coming at me, hesitant briefly with the Mozart as I asked myself whether her beat was something the players could follow, and then drawn into the performance of the music. It’s all a series of performances of course. It was compelling, especially in the tight cinematography of Ariel Méthot , right on top of the players and Emma as their conductor. Her face sometimes filled the big screen.
Days of Happiness does offer us some fascinating family dynamics. Music seems to encourage a special kind of tension between people, possibly because the prospect of performance messes up the clarity of communication. The extra layers don’t necessarily lead to happiness.
Oh yes, there’s that word. It’s not obvious, this story. There’s work to be done, opening up to this. There’s a great deal that’s unsaid in this film, and it’s a brilliant layer, considering the added text of the music. Emma and her father Patrick (Sylvain Marcel), have some phenomenal exchanges, where it’s as much what’s unsaid as what’s said. The funny thing is, I know when I watch it again, I won’t necessarily have clarity, but I will have the enjoyment of watching the interaction, the unfolding of the relationships and the complementary storytelling of the music. That’s what I was after before and expect to enjoy next time.
The talkback included a question or two about Tár. I heard a voice sounding skeptical when one looks at the similarities, right down to the same piece of music (Mahler’s 5th symphony) at the core of both films. Speaking softly to defend herself, Chloé spoke of the 7 years it took to write the film plus 2 years preparation.
And after all, Schönberg didn’t know about Debussy’s opera when he composed Pelleas und Melisande.
The frequency with which we’re seeing women conducting seems to be an exciting development if you ever go to the symphony or opera, where you’d encounter Barbara Hannigan or Keri-Lynn Wilson or Gemma New or Speranza Scapucci, let alone Marin Alsop (who famously critiqued Tár).
Last time it was Wharton’s The Shadow of a Doubt. “Shadow” is another word for spirit, right in the title.
This past weekend Erika and I went to see Blithe Spirit at the Festival Theatre.
My mind boggles at the cleverness of Noel Coward, his manifest awareness that some of us see spiritualists as fraudulent while others hang on their every word. Although that divide impacts the different ways producers approach the story (in productions like this one, or in film adaptations) the play supports either approach.
After watching the show on the weekend at Shaw, Erika and I watched two very different film versions:
There’s the 1945 version produced by Noel Coward, directed by David Lean, and starring Rex Harrison, Constance Cummings, Kay Hammond and Margaret Rutherford, and featuring a wonderful score by Richard Addinsell.
There’s also a 2020 version directed by Edward Hall, starring Dan Stevens, Isla Fisher, Leslie Mann and Judi Dench.
One of the mind-boggling aspects of Coward’s work is how cleverly the text straddles the faith divide, playing equally well for those who think seances are bunk, and those who lap it up. Speaking as someone who is open to the experience (and I can point you to a rather lengthy discussion of my beliefs in my interview with a psychic) , I was struck by how subtly the subject is treated in the text, provided one doesn’t undermine it by mocking it.
Rutherford’s portrayal of Madame Arcati is rather dignified and considering some of the things we’ve seen in her career this is understated. While the lines of skepticism are in the play, they bounce off her full-steam ahead confidence. Dench is asked to make a cynical presentation who is then taken aback by her own unexpected success.
I was delighted to observe the divergence between the play and the two films, having forgotten the key difference at the end of the play, namely the obvious plot twist we get in the films that hasn’t happened, at least not yet. Rex Harrison ends up dead in a car accident, between his leading ladies as we fade to black. For Leslie Mann and Isla Fisher in the 2020 version it’s an actual murder, although the distinction is pretty small.
I love the 1945 version, a flawless piece of film, compared to the 2020 travesty, which features all sorts of embellishments that only show the insecurities of the team. Why turn Charles the writer into Charles the plagiarist, unaware of his theft because his deceased wife Elvira wrote all his novels? This is a new version of the story with nasty karma, in spite of the insertion of a sentimental moment when Madam Arcati reunites with her deceased husband. Dench can’t rescue the work. Nor can Fisher (whom you might recall from Wedding Crashers) nor Leslie Mann (Judd Apatow’s muse and wife). Elvira’s violence is over the top this time, and for some reason the producers decided to let Charles consummate his relationship with his dead wife, that they would somehow have sexual relations. Why do that? I don’t know but it’s one of several creepy things about this adaptation, suggesting a lack of faith in the original. I love the older one and will watch it yet again. I’ll avoid the new one.
Meanwhile, there’s that live show at the Shaw Festival, considerably longer (at three hours and five minutes with an intermission) than either film (roughly 95 minutes) because so much of the original exposition is cut out in the films. The version we saw flew by all the same, immensely enjoyable in the Festival Theatre.
Damien Atkins carries a huge load, a large number of lines as Charles the writer having a séance ostensibly to learn the tricks of the trade by watching Madame Arcati at work, not expecting real results. And he’s got the somewhat thankless task of playing straight man to his dead wife Elvira (the ghost), ironically delivered by Julia Course. Ruth the wife who eventually also becomes a ghost was Donna Soares, herself also playing even straighter while others get the big laughs. We were at a seniors matinee, with some cast changes, namely Jenny Wright as Madame Arcati the medium, and Kate Hennig as Dr Bradman’s wife.
There are so many ways this show can be played. Director Mike Payette offers us something uproarious and energetic throughout, although towards the end it’s wonderful that he lets it get a little scary.
Or to quote Bert Lahr’s lion, “i do believe in spooks I do I do I do…”
There is a kind of magic in live theatre that you don’t get on film, whether we’re speaking of metaphysics or singing voices. When it’s done in the same room as your own viscera, you’re moved in a different way than when it’s a series of special effects. It seems like a real magic trick.
I’m not sure I understand the design, very much the opposite to the all black Shadow of a Doubt we were debating (responses to my review). I suppose it’s fun and stimulating to the eye? There may be some purpose to the colour scheme, that makes the men –especially Charles—seem foppish. The ghostly apparitions though were splendidly accomplished, so I’m not complaining. I was hypnotized, even if there were times that the lines were being delivered a mile a minute. But that makes sense when the show exceeds three hours in length, a fabulous display of energy and passionate commitment.
Jenny Wright was having a good time playing up Madame Arcati’s silliness, a comical turn that sustained us for much of our afternoon, alongside the ironic delivery of Julia Course’s Elvira.
I find that the Shaw Festival never lets me down, especially with a period comedy of manners such as this one. It’s like a glimpse of another time.
Ryan Hofman’s social media post said “Today…I hope I changed the game going forward.“
It may be so.
“Toronto Vocal Showcase 1.0” was the title, and Ryan was the producer. Sixteen singers auditioned this afternoon for an audience largely made up of artistic professionals who would employ their voices, supported from the piano by the eager fingers of Ivan Jovanovic, in the welcoming spaces of Hope United Church on Danforth Avenue. I was a fortunate guest listening in.
photo left to right: Andrew Ager, Co-Artistic Director-New Opera Lyra (Ottawa), Jennifer Tung, Musical Director-Toronto City Opera, Graham Cozzubo, Director of Artistic Planning-Soundstreams, Ivan Jovanovic, Musical Director-Toronto City Opera, Gordon Gerrard, Musical/Artistic Director-Regina Symphony Orchestra/City Opera Vancouver, Dr.Elaine Choi, Artistic Director-Pax Christi Chorale, Melanie Dubois, Artistic Producer-Tapestry Opera, Ryan Hofman,Larry Beckwith,Artistic Producer-Confluence Concerts, Renée Salewski-Freelance Director/Producer,Stuart Graham, FORO S: Professional Artist Incubator: Toronto-Mexico-City,Andrew Adridge, Executive Director-Toronto Consort, Rafael Luz, Musical Director-North York Concert Orchestra
Ryan is the smiling bespectacled fellow wearing a vest in the middle, while Ivan is the tall bearded fellow in a blue shirt third or fourth from the left. Ryan’s Facebook caption mentions @torontoconsort @tapestryopera @soundstreams @paxchristichorale @jencctung @stuartgraham.ca @grahamcozzubbo @gordon.gerrard @drewadridge @torontocityopera @new_opera_lyra @now_4_now @maestroluz @northyorkconcertorchestra @confluconcerts Missing from the photo: Michael Mori from Tapestry Opera, Emma Fowler from Soundstreams (Programs Manager).
Of the 16 who sang for us, most were sopranos (7) and tenors (4), while there were also two baritones, a bass-baritone and two mezzo-sopranos. Does that correspond in some respect to expectations, that there is a great demand for sopranos and tenors? Or perhaps it’s simply the optics, that when anyone speaks of an opera diva they mean a soprano.
Sopranos: Holly Chaplin, Amelia Daigle, Ania Hejnar, Lynn Isnar, Laura Neilson, Angela Gjurichanin, Christina Bell Mezzo-sopranos: Alexandra Beley, Alessia Vitali Tenors: Andrew Derynck. Matt Chittick, David Walsh, Tonatiuh Abrego Baritones: Cesar Bello, Alexander Hajek Bass-baritone: Dylan Wright
I wonder how that works out for the mezzo-sopranos the baritones and the basses. There are roles for every vocal category in the canonical operas, and hopefully also in the new works being composed and produced. We didn’t hear any really deep voices neither male nor female. I wonder if they’re in demand.
Among the arias four each were composed by Mozart and Verdi, three from Handel (Messiah in each case), and two each from Puccini, Gounod, Massenet, Richard Strauss, Mendelssohn, Wagner and Carlisle Floyd.
We heard tremendous performances today in Hope United’s vibrant acoustic, a brilliant smorgasbord of Canadian talent. I hope singers and producers find one another, and we get to hear their partnerships onstage in the years to come.
No one left the IMAX theatre for the three intense hours of Christopher Nolan’s Oppenheimer.
Nightmare images that night reminded of my childhood, portents of the end of the world as I tossed and turned.
Kai Bird and Martin J Sherwin, the two authors of the Pulitzer Prize winning book American Prometheus collaborated with Christopher Nolan on the screenplay, which should guarantee accuracy.
Is that all we need for a great film? There’s something crucial missing for me.
I can’t help putting Nolan’s Oppenheimer alongside the other two great works in my head pertaining to J Robert Oppenheimer. One is Doctor Atomic (2006), the opera with libretto by Peter Sellars and music by John Adams. The other is Roland Joffé’s Fat Man and Little Boy (1989), a film co-written by Joffé and Bruce Robinson with music by Ennio Morricone.
I strive always to be positive, so maybe if I speak of what I love from Adams/Sellars and Morricone/Joffé/Robinson, perhaps I will understand why I’m unhappy with what Nolan/Bird/Sherwin have done with academy award winning composer Ludwig Göransson, whose work I loved just a few weeks ago in Black Panther. As I re-play samples of his music via youtube I am both impressed yet left cold, as that’s perhaps my predominant emotion. There needs to be something more in a three-hour film. I think there’s something literal-minded and sterile in Oppenheimer. Yes we know the atomic bomb is lethal, that the H-bomb that much worse. Oppenheimer has a lot more to him than what we see in this film, and I point to Adams and Morricone, who managed to make more human portraits of Oppenheimer than what we get in the new film. Yes it’s big and loud and supposedly authentic, yet that’s not really the only criterion for a biography.
I’m reminded of the two version of Otello, one by Rossini, one by Verdi. Neither of them presents all of Shakespeare’s story and each one distorts elements of the plot: but in the interest of moving us, making us cry, making us care. That’s what I miss in Nolan’s film, and I will illustrate by looking at Adams and Morricone.
We know that Oppenheimer called the test site “Trinity” via a John Donne sonnet.
Batter my heart, three-person’d God, for you As yet but knock, breathe, shine, and seek to mend; That I may rise and stand, o’erthrow me, and bend Your force to break, blow, burn, and make me new. I, like an usurp’d town to another due, Labor to admit you, but oh, to no end; Reason, your viceroy in me, me should defend, But is captiv’d, and proves weak or untrue. Yet dearly I love you, and would be lov’d fain, But am betroth’d unto your enemy; Divorce me, untie or break that knot again, Take me to you, imprison me, for I, Except you enthrall me, never shall be free, Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.
The best thing Sellars and Adams do is to make this sonnet into an aria sung by Oppenheimer at the end of the first act of the opera. Here’s Gerald Finley singing the aria. Sellars takes the words that might seem most pertinent to an atomic bomb namely “break blow burn” and repeats them for extra emphasis.
There’s nothing in the entire 3 hour movie as powerful as this.
I’m intrigued lately with melodrama, a form that keeps reasserting itself in various places such as the Shaw Festival production of The Shadow of a Doubt that I saw recently. If we accept that the essence of melodrama is music with words, and a lack of agency for the principals, we can’t help noticing how melodrama persists in our culture in new guises. The aria Finley sings is passion without agency, not so very different from the despairing tone of the Miserere in Il Trovatore from the middle of the 19th century.
Ennio Morricone is one of my favorite composers of film music. He often creates set pieces within a film that lend themselves to concert excerpts, not unlike the way arias get excerpted from opera. Morricone’s music from The Mission, another collaboration with Joffé, also has several such set-pieces. Morricone’s music for The Untouchables (1987) has a few recurring themes that director Brian de Palma employs for brilliant effect. There’s a heart-rending melody we hear when Sean Connery’s character Jim Malone is dying that recurs later when Eliot Ness (Kevin Kostner) gives Malone’s lucky medallion to the new guy (Andy Garcia) who will carry on, a stunning moment. There is also a theme of triumph heard in the courtroom when justice is done, that we hear again as the film ends.
But let me keep the focus on Oppenheimer by looking at a film I regularly see under-rated, even dismissed, Joffé’s Fat Man & Little Boy. I’ve watched it three times this year, and will probably watch it again this week after writing this. No it is not as accurate as Nolan’s film, but then again I enjoy Verdi’s Otello more than most productions of the Shakespeare play even if it departs from the original text. I think fidelity is over-rated. I’d like to offer a quick comparison on a few fronts, just to suggest why I’d prefer the 1989 film to the 2023 one.
General Leslie Groves is the powerful figure behind the creation of the atomic bomb, portrayed by Matt Damon in the current film and Paul Newman in Joffé’s film. Damon is closer in size, given that Groves was actually 6’3” and over 230 pounds. But Joffé and Robinson suggest that Groves is really in control, subtly manipulating Oppenheimer with his secret love-life and political affiliations, verging on blackmail. The recent film may be accurate but we don’t get the same sense of Groves as the power behind the project, indeed Damon’s portrayal is kind of light-weight compared to the nasty fervor Paul Newman gives us. This profile of Groves from the Atomic Heritage Foundation suggests that Newman’s portrayal was if anything too gentle, and that his importance is under-estimated.
Jean Tatlock is the other woman in Oppenheimer’s life, a lover with whom he met even after the beginning of the Manhattan Project. There’s a quote I saw on IMDB that suggests how wrong the new film is. J. Robert Oppenheimer : Why limit yourself to one dogma? Jean Tatlock : You’re a physicist. You pick and choose rules? Or do you use the discipline to channel your energies into progress? J. Robert Oppenheimer : I like a little wiggle room. You always tow the party line? Jean Tatlock : I like my wiggle room, too.
I read the phrase “party line” in terms of Tatlock’s politics, her association with the communist party. It’s a very 21st century reading, that seems deaf to the realities of the 1930s, when one might have sympathy for the cause of the Spanish Civil War or a trade union without actually being a card-carrying member of the communist party. Yes in the 1950s we have a full-out red scare and black-listing of people in the entertainment community like Zero Mostel or Dalton Trumbo. In the new film it’s hard to see that there’s anything between Tatlock and Oppenheimer, even if he does have sex with her. It’s rather clinical in its presentation of her suicide. I don’t think I like this version of Robert Oppenheimer, he’s not very nice.
On the other hand, there’s the way Morricone, Joffé and Robinson approach Jean Tatlock who becomes a symbol in the film, and for me seems far closer to the likely reality of how she figured in Oppenheimer’s life. Portrayed by the luminous Natasha Richardson, she is a beautiful reminder of an earlier chapter in Oppenheimer’s life, and this time yes he’s smitten, and no wonder. He may have moved on to Kitty (Bonnie Bedelia in this film, Emily Blunt in the newer film), but Tatlock has a special place in his heart. I think Joffé would say that the Oppenheimer who knew her earlier was more idealistic, that he has now sold out in a sense through his relationship to the project. When he gets the letter that she has died we hear her theme.
She has killed herself and it feels as though part of Oppenheimer dies too. No it may not be accurate, although it’s emotional music with a powerful impact. I’d rather have the romantic music of Morricone trying to suggest a deeper meaning, and a conflicted Oppenheimer than the creepy cold approach of the new film, that’s never fully alive in the first place.
Bodelia’s Kitty and Newman’s Groves see eye to eye in their pragmatic understanding of Oppenheimer. She’s drinking heavily, he’s rolling his eyes, yet each gets what they want.
It’s a rather powerful moment whether or not it’s in any way verifiable. But this is what I love in this film, that we’re seeing real human interactions that make sense. We will later see the triumphant reception in America when the war ends, and watch how Leslie Groves (Newman) quietly sees Oppenheimer sucking up the acclaim for his success, loving his celebrity.
Robinson & Joffé create a fictional character who might be the star of the film, my favorite character. Michael Merriman is portrayed by John Cusack, a scientist who also plays baseball and goes riding with Oppenheimer. He has a bad habit of rushing to rescue people without considering his own safety, which works okay the first time we see it (and gets him the attention of a nurse played by Laura Dern), but will lead to his death, when an accident during a test with a radioactive isotope gives him a fatal overdose of radiation.
No we won’t see what happens in Japan when the bombs are dropped, but we do see what happens to Michael, giving the film some balance and extra commentary on the project. Michael has been writing a diary that is a premise for his narrating chunks of the film. But our narrator is going to die.
I realize in hindsight (meaning something that hit me in the night) that although I’ve titled this “Three Oppenheimers” I only spoke of one, namely Gerald Finley. I said nothing about either Cillian Murphy (our 2023 Oppy) or Dwight Schultz (from the 1989 film). I recognize that the picture immediately above, showing the cover of Fat Man & Little Boy tells you something about that treatment of the story: that Paul Newman as General Groves was really the star, which works for me. Cillian Murphy may have given a brilliant performance of the lines he was given but I found him to be a cipher, an enactment of a mathematical concept, which is another way of saying, I really don’t get who he is in this film. Perhaps that’s true to the Pulitzer Prize-winning book, which seems to work very hard at being accurate (at least so far in my reading). I will have to watch Oppenheimer again, and perhaps that will alter my opinions. I’ll be seeing the Joffé film again in the next couple of days, perhaps Wednesday.
I think I prefer melodrama in my films. I love the Star Wars films, the Lord of the Rings films, Tim Burton’s Batman films, the best science fiction such as 2001 or Blade Runner, all of which employ music for the most brilliant moments. I’m sad to see that this seems to be increasingly rare. While there’s powerful music in the Christopher Nolan Batman films (that I like), the music isn’t melodramatic but more subtly supportive of the film. It means that when you hear excerpts of the score later , for instance in a concert, you’re not moved the same way. Similarly Göransson’s music for Oppenheimer is as subtle as the film.
Watching boats from the Inn at Lock Seven? Our friends Jim and Louise gave us the idea.
You must have heard that ships are able to travel inland as far as Chicago or Minnesota.
But how do they get past Niagara Falls? The Welland Canal. Google tells me that over 3000 ships pass through the canal each year. It’s closed for the winter, roughly from December to March, when they do necessary maintenance. In the remaining nine months of the year, that’s 3000 ships in 270 days or on average over ten per day.
It’s a thin ribbon of blue on the map, more or less parallel to the Niagara River, ten or more kilometers west, given that the canal is fairly straight north-south, while the river meanders a bit.
That’s what’s so cool about a place like The Inn at Lock Seven.
It’s rather transparent in its purpose, a series of rooms close to the canal giving us a terrific view of the vessels passing nearby on the water.
Every room has a great view, looking directly upon the canal.
We saw the Bluebill, a 200 meter-long container vessel famous for having knocked out a railway bridge in Panama in 2020. And no wonder, when you see what the huge ship looks like up close.
At first it was high in the water, the bridge structure like a big apartment building. (not shown in the picture, because it was over 150 meters away).
There’s not much visible. If the pictures look inept it’s because I was in a state of shock, overwhelmed by the massive ship. I couldn’t get all of it into the picture..
Then –doing what they do in canals—it slowly sank lower as they adjusted water levels for the next lock, the massive thing concealed.
As it finally moved on you could hear its engine throb.
It’s shocking to see something so big up close that moves.
There were several ships, including one named the Beatrix, with the company name “Wagenborg” emblazoned on the side, ownership via Sweden. While the Bluebill went from right to left, or in other words, northwards towards Lake Ontario (and I saw online it had come from Thunder Bay earlier in the week, destined for Montreal the next day), the Beatrix went left to right or in other words, southwards towards Lake Erie.
I can’t imagine the complexities of handling the traffic, the bridges over the canal that sometimes open for big ships, the water pumped into or out of the locks, to enable so many ships to travel through, except to remember that our supply chain logistics sometimes depend on the workers manning these facilities. I’m grateful.
I saw that there are apps and websites offering information for nerds who want to drill down on each vessel, to know where they’re going, what they might carry, who owns them and lots more besides.
In the meantime while in Thorold I drove to a show at the Shaw Festival, reviewing The Shadow of a Doubt by Edith Wharton, roughly twenty minutes drive. While I love Niagara-on-the-Lake, the place Erika and I went on our honeymoon and several holidays besides, it has become expensive both for accommodation and the various shops and restaurants one requires to survive. While the Inn isn’t spectacular by any means, it’s reasonably priced, with its Spartan furnishings the tv, and wifi serving this nerd quite well, and the little refrigerator holding the food we brought along for our short stay.
Thorold offers some lovely alternatives. We had dinner at Karma Kameleon Gastropub. I had the “Nashville Hot Chicken Sandwich“, meaning spicy and delightfully slippery as I dared to pick it up, while Erika had the lobster grilled cheese sandwich, plus local brews (mine by Muskoka) and coffee after. There were some cool desserts I was too full to attempt. We saw a couple of other intriguing places to check out next time: in September.
There’s a mystery underlying Edith Wharton’s play The Shadow of a Doubt. The text was just rediscovered by scholars in 2016, after sitting unproduced. There was almost a production in 1903 but it was cancelled.
And now the Shaw Festival have produced the mystery drama, directed by Peter Hinton, a sharply drawn and authentic image of the early 20th century as seen in sets and costumes by Gillian Gallow. Truths lurk beneath a veneer of polite conversation between adults who rarely tell the truth. At times it’s as funny as a Feydeau farce or an Oscar Wilde manners comedy, full of wit and horny adults chasing one another around the stage.
Except that’s all against a backdrop of transgression, dark suspicions of sin that are not clarified until the very last moments of the piece, keeping you on the edge of your seat.
When Hinton wants us to recognize the gravity of a moment we’re presented with multiple points of view thanks to live video designed by video artist Haui. It’s as though we’re watching a live performance plus a documentary film at the same time, undercutting what’s being said, problematizing simple actions and statements. I remember seeing something like this in Robert Lepage’s auto-biographical 887, the video irresistibly changing the tone. Same here. It’s as though the video works like a push on the sustain pedal on a piano, to let the moment echo, washing into our ears and suggesting we rethink the moment.
Live video artist Haui
At times there might be ghosts on stage, the secondary images of those we think we see, suggesting that perhaps we should not be so certain about what is before our eyes. Haui creates ambiguity in the concrete bodies performing the live performance, or in other words shadows of doubt.
In the photo below for instance one might wonder whose image is projected.
Katherine Gauthier (Kate), Patrick Galligan (Lord Osterleigh), Claire Jullien and André Morin (John), photo: David Cooper
I wonder why we didn’t see this play sooner, why didn’t Wharton’s play come to light before now? It’s curious how the mystery surrounding the work in some ways parallels the questions raised by the work itself. There are many possible reasons, such as money or an actor no longer available: and we’re not likely to ever know the real reason with certainty.
Yet I’m inclined to think it’s something else as well.
This piece is far ahead of its time. There are some intriguing echoes of what we saw in Scorsese’s film of Wharton’s novel The Age of Innocence, where a woman resists the gossipy forces of a conservative society, her own authentic woman. Ellen Olenska (Michelle Pfeiffer) is unafraid of the strict conventions of New York society, drawing the attention of Newland Archer (Daniel Day-Lewis) , yet choosing to resist Newland, who stays with his wife May (Winona Ryder) until May’s death. Both Ellen and May are underestimated, perhaps like Wharton herself.
The woman defying convention in Shadow of a Doubt is saintly in her integrity, so much so that I wonder if Wharton had second thoughts about the credibility of her heroine. Kate Derwent (Katherine Gauthier), has not merely married above her class but is the bravest personage onstage. I won’t give it away except to say that I was moved to tears more than once and especially at the end. There is something of melodrama here, in the perfection of this heroine beset by the doubts raised by adversaries, whom she resists against all odds.
Please don’t think I’m seeking to cast aspersions on Wharton or her play by speaking of melodrama, a much maligned form still alive in cinema, whether acknowledged or not (and I’d say more about the musical component if I knew whom to credit, although I suspect it’s Peter Hinton). Wharton breaks the usual conventions by giving her heroine sufficient agency to defy her family when she sticks to her guns. As in the Scorsese film, the women are strong and under-estimated, each of them a source of truth.
We’re in that world of sharply barbed conversation, words that are often untrue, except when a woman such as Kate speaks. Kate was nurse to Agnes, daughter of Lord Osterleigh (Patrick Galligan). Agnes suffered a terrible accident and died. The details of that accident come out bit by bit through the play, one of the ways in which we become embroiled in the title of the play, recalling that one usually says something is beyond a shadow of a doubt: but not this time.
Lord Osterleigh gives us more and more subtexts, as he explains to Lady Uske (Tara Rosling) how he accepted and even promoted his daughter’s chosen husband, namely John Derwent (André Morin). Lady Uske is another truth-telling rebel albeit on a smaller-scale, married but honest. I found her so irresistibly outspoken as to seem to speak for the playwright herself.
Tara Rosling (Lady Uske) and Patrick Galligan (Lord Osterleigh), photo: David Cooper
Osterleigh complains to her that his son in law isn’t sufficiently ambitious, that he has married Kate a year after Agnes’s passing, and that Osterleigh fears that Agnes is forgotten. It’s not a fair statement though, as we see Kate encourage her step-daughter to honour the memory of her mother. What more could she do?
We’re in the comfortable world of rich people until the startling arrival of Dr Carruthers (Damien Atkins), who raises questions about the past, while softly blowing the lid off the play by reminding us of the real world. I wonder how much of this portrayal is in the script and how much might be aided by Hinton and a 21st century perspective, turning a figure who might have been played as villainous in 1903, but comes across as a figure evoking sympathy at least in the pathos of his entrance. Yet as the play unfolds he is but one possible candidate for the title “villain”, if we want to think in the old-fashioned terms of melodrama.
Director Peter Hinton
While some aspects of Wharton’s dramaturgy are very 19th century, such as her use of the devices of the well-made play, particularly the use of a letter to impact the plot, I’m inspired by her willingness to mix the snide remarks of superficial rich people with a sharp critique of that class.
Katherine Gauthier (Kate) photo: David Cooper
I wonder if she or others thought this was perhaps too bold, too edgy to be produced in 1903. But it’s perfect for 2023, that’s all I know. For me the excellence of Edith Wharton’s play is beyond a shadow of a doubt.
There’s so much more I could say yet I’m afraid of giving it away. There’s magic in the unfolding of this story, continuing at the Royal George Theatre until October 15th. My chief doubt is that you would have any regrets about seeing it.
Toronto Summer Music’s theme is the same as the title for last night’s concert, namely “metamorphosis”. I’m writing about it Saturday on the closing weekend of the festival.
I’ve been pondering that word over and over in response to the concerts I attended, last night being my fifth. I’m thinking that maybe metamorphosis is a good word to describe both the process of music and the making of musicians, the dual missions of TSM. Their Academy overlaps their performances, the artists’ teaching a natural extension of their virtuosity. It was delightful to stand in the lobby chatting with Carl Lyons (another TSM regular) about the institutional aspect of TSM, the way that one feels one is in the presence of a school and its mission, even as we walk the halls of those other schools where TSM takes place, namely Koerner Hall at the Royal Conservatory of Music and Walter Hall in the University of Toronto’s Faculty of Music.
Every concert has had its surprises, the unexpected moments and last night was no exception.
There was the laughter before we began the Brahms piano trio, when violinist Andrew Wan fidgeted, unready to start and showing his dissatisfaction with his piano bench, dashing into the wings to find a replacement. Then pianist Michelle Cann gave us the punchline when she quipped that benches really should be for pianists only. Were the ones giggling and applauding (like me) also pianists? That was at a moment when the audience were already eating out of the performers’ hands, having already been thrilled by the first part of the remarkable program:
Poulenc: Sextet for Piano and Wind Quintet, FP 100 R. Strauss: Metamorphosen, (arr. Rudolph Leopold) (intermission) Brahms: Piano Trio No. 1 in B Major, Op. 8
I was drawn to attend this concert by Richard Strauss’s famous piece for 23 solo strings, not realizing that instead of ten violins, five violas, five cellos, and three double basses, we’d encounter the work in a purer form, with seven players, namely pairs of violins, violas, cellos, plus a single double bass. Surveying the score via youtube it seems that this arrangement doesn’t actually omit anything, as there appear to be seven lines. Perhaps I’m missing something, but this arrangement seems to be a perfect paraphrase except for the matter of size.
Second last page of the score as shown in a youtube performance. The Eroica quote begins where you see the notation “IN MEMORIAM!”
Aha, how ironic to think that we heard a version of Metamorphosen that was itself changed, undergoing another metamorphosis. Even in its original form it’s a long series of changes, twists and turns, as though we watch a loom weaving strands into a tapestry before our eyes.
How interesting to ponder whether this was truer to the essence of the piece, a kind of ideal as we might imagine inside the composer’s head. The title telling us that this is a study for 23 solo strings has always suggested to me that there are 23 voices. But what if you take Strauss’s work and really force each part to play a solo line: which is exactly what we heard. That’s what Rudolf Leopold’s arrangement does.
I hope I have identified the players correctly. The one tiny thing TSM doesn’t do is clearly identify who is playing what in the program, which is likely more of an issue for a blogger than a listener. Still I want to be sure I’m giving credit to the right personnel: violins Aaron Schwebel & Sheila Jaffé, violas Keith Hamm & Rémi Pelletier, cellos Leana Rutt & Emmanuelle Beaulieu Bergeron, and Michael Chiarello, bass.
It’s exposed. It’s still as densely constructed, but now we see every line and its answers unfolding before us not unlike the way the score lays a piece bare. In the intimacy of Walter Hall the wow factor is even more pronounced. I found myself unable to breathe at times, spellbound.
When that haunting bass line from the Eroica lifts its wounded head to peer out of the bunker where it has been hiding, it’s especially poignant that it be a single player. I thought Leopold changed Strauss’s piece, given that in the score we see that the bass plus both cello lines are all undertaking Beethoven’s melody. Maybe I’m wrong (as I was a bit dazzled and frazzled by what I was feeling and seeing and hearing) but I don’t think the first notes were played by three of the seven players before us, but only by one namely the double bass. Ha, maybe I’m wrong. I’ve now found and listened to a youtube performance of the septet version, and as I listen, I can’t tell for sure whether that’s a solo string bass or not (although it sounds so soft that I believe it’s just one rather than three). In theory I could have answered this question by the evidence of my eyes: except I didn’t realize what I was to look for until long after the moment had passed. Oh well. It’s still magic.
Having the piece in such a concentrated form was a powerful experience that I’m glad I was able to experience. Wow thank you TSM, for a fitting climax to a festival of “metamorphosis”.
The other two pieces on the program were notable for the comments by their perfectionist composers quoted in the program note, of wanting to transform, revise and change each work. Metamorphosis rears its head at every step of the process of composition, lurking in the back of the composer’s mind even after a work seems to be done.
We began with Poulenc’s Sextet, a mercurial work bursting with energy, sometimes taking tranquil breaks from its own relentless work ethic, before bursting forth again. The six were Stéphane Lemelin piano, Sarah Jeffrey oboe,Dakota Martin flute, Eric Abramovitz clarinet, Samuel Banks bassoon and Gabriel Radford horn. I resist clichés yet can’t fight the association of these instruments with comedy and entertainment, making the lightness of this frenetic composition an almost perfect balance with the gravitas we found moments later in Strauss’s elegiac piece.
The closing Brahms trio after intermission seemed perfectly designed to pick up the threads of what we’d heard thus far, sometimes playful, sometimes passionately emotive. The trio of pianist Michelle Cann violinist Andrew Wan and Desmond Hoebig cello took us on a heartfelt journey full of melody, thoughtful ensemble playing punctuated by bold statements from the piano.
Pianist Michelle Cann
I’m grateful that my last TSM concert of the season should offer such a thoughtful meditation on metamorphosis. Artistic Director Jonathan Crow seems to be taking the festival to greater heights with every season.
barczablog 