Author: Jackson Tucker-Meyer

A Transformative Evening: Strauss’s Ariadne auf Naxos at the Lydia Mendelssohn

Jackson Tucker-Meyer

Director Kay Castaldo sees Ariadne auf Naxos, the 1916 opera composed by Richard Strauss with a libretto by Hugo Hofmannsthal, as a work about transformation. It isn’t an unreasonable assumption. The German word for transformation, verwandlung, appears throughout the libretto in a number of different contexts, and in the opera itself we see a stage production transformed from a classical tragedy to a slapstick comedy and back again, and we see beings both human and mythical changed by love. In a similar way, the singers and musicians who perform in this show transformed the Lydia Mendelssohn stage into a place where art and love triumph over greed and sadness, where a great harmonic progression says more than words ever could, and where beautiful music plays until the curtain comes down.
*
The plot of Ariadne auf Naxos is about a theatrical gala. On the schedule for the evening is a serious opera about the myth of Ariadne on the island of Naxos. However, after the opera will be a performance by a troupe of comedians, led by their glamorous starlet Zerbinetta. The general opinion backstage is that the comedy show will be a sure-fire crowd-pleaser—not like that boring opera. The Composer of the opera is distraught at the thought of his great work of art being upstaged by a frivolous burlesque, and he is downright horrified by the revelation that, due to time constraints, both opera and comedians will be forced to perform at the same time. But the show must go on, and in the second act, that’s exactly what happens. We see the grand tragic heroine Ariadne bemoan her lost love while trying to ignore the clowns, while the clowns in turn try to cheer her up and please the audience. Somehow, the opera characters and the comedians manage to coexist sort of peacefully, and the show ends as Ariadne blissfully finds a new love, while the Composer gains a lovely muse in Zerbinetta.
*
Castaldo’s directing style was different for both acts—one wonders if she made a conscious decision to “transform” her style. For the backstage act, the stage action was verisimilar, like a stage play with singing. For the operatic act, the stage action became borderline-choreographic, undoubtedly helped by choreographer Ron de Jesus. The comedians bopped around genially to the beat of their peppy music, while Ariadne and Theseus moved with grace and contemplation, as though the air around them was a fragile substance.
*
Castaldo’s proclivity for having bits of silent action happen while other characters are singing has a twofold effect. On one hand, it helps to articulate the contrasts between the characters in the show, as when the Composer sings about the beauty of art while a stagehand flirts with Zerbinetta in the background, or when Ariadne sings about the depths of her grief while the comedians take tumbles and pratfalls behind her; on the other hand, it was often in danger of distracting from the focus of the scene. However, when the stage business worked well, it could be genuinely funny and thrilling, like when the quartet of clowns fought off spectres of death using flashlights (an eccentric image that nonetheless makes perfect sense, or something close to it, when one sees it happen onstage). Her directorial touch showed particular deftness in defining the relationship between Ariadne and Bacchus; they appeared as both statuesque deities and as two imperfect people, people frightened and confused by life, and, yes, transformed by their love for each other. It seemed a bit trickier for her to articulate the relationship between the Composer and Zerbinetta in a meaningful way, but to be fair, their love blossoms over the course of a few bars, whereas Ariadne and Bacchus have the entire final quarter of the opera to fall in love.
*
Gary Decker’s scenic design is unsentimental, grounding the lofty ideals of the Composer in stark reality. The first act takes place in a slate-gray backstage area. The second act gives the opera an über-stark design as well: Ariadne’s island is represented by a black disk, and both Ariadne and her fellow nymphs make ingeniously dramatic use of a prop that is essentially a long black sheet, but is much more beautiful than that. One’s imagination transforms the sparse space into something greater. I won’t deny that I thought the choice to make the background of both acts the color of sheet-metal was a bit off-putting, but I do believe there was a reasonable dramatic intention behind it. I was still thankful for the color that was added by both the lighting (designed by Rob Murphy, also minimal yet evocative), and the shazammy costumes that the comedians wore (designed by Christianne Meyers). Another member of the design team I would be remiss not to mention would be wig and makeup designer Dawn Rivard; although most of her work was too imperceptible for me to take specific notice of, I did enjoy the dreadlock-wigs she crafted for the nymphs of Naxos.
*

Thursday-Saturday Cast Review
Martin Walsh, head of the Residential College’s drama department, gave a perfectly pompous performance in the speaking role of the Major-Domo. Castaldo chose to christen the first act “The Battlefield of Money & Art,” and Walsh’s Major-Domo is unmistakably on the side of Money. Isaac Droscha gave the Music-Teacher a noble baritone voice and a nuanced portrayal of a harried, intelligent man desperately trying to please both artists and businesspeople. Justin Berkowitz gave a mercilessly snarky performance as the Choreographer; his slender voice often sounded callous but never sounded unlovely, a nifty feat. Katherine Calcamuggio, as the Composer, had a voice that soared to the heights of artistic inspiration and sank into the depths of despair with expressive agility. Yes, the ostensibly male Composer is played by a woman, in the long-standing operatic tradition of having males portrayed with female voices. I was never really convinced that Calcamuggio was a dude, in spite of her wearing a David-Byrne-esque broad-shouldered padded suit, but that’s a small nitpick that has nothing whatsoever to do with her beautiful voice.
*
Nicholas Davis, Jordan Harris, Ben Brady and Jonas Hacker were adorable and genial as the quartet of clowns, they harmonized terrifically, and they all appeared to be genuinely having a ton of fun onstage. The trio of nymphs, Meghan McLoughlin, Amanda Cantu and Olivia Betzen seamlessly combined a splendid vocal blend with graceful movements and just a bit of sass. Jesse Donner exuded an unpretentious naïve bewilderment as the young god, Bacchus. Listening to his voice, you’d never guess the difficulty inherent in singing that role (Strauss was not known for writing tenor parts that would be considered singable by normal humans). Leann Schuering was beautifully animated as Zerbinetta—she consciously acted every single note she sang, finding some sort of meaning in each coloratura run written in the score. The staging of her showstopper aria was astounding. She lectured Ariadne on the benefits of finding a new boyfriend, tried vainly to befriend her, and fell into an alternately regretful and unapologetic reminiscence of all her past lovers. It almost served to distract from the fact that she was singing some of the most nastily difficult music ever written for the human voice, and singing it pretty perfectly. Kimwana Doner projected quiet nobility as Ariadne but also had some understated moments of comedy in her reactions to the troupe of comedians. Her vocal tone was simply golden.
*
Friday-Sunday Cast Review

Jesus Murillo as the Music-Teacher crafted a portrait of a man who was desperately frustrated with the state of affairs backstage and projected a sense of paternal pride in his pupil the Composer; his warm yet authoritative bass-baritone was well suited to this interpretation. Nicholas Nesterak’s portrayal of the Choreographer seemed more pragmatic and less snide, with a characterful voice and a physical comedian’s flair for gesture. Elizabeth Galafa was a force of nature as the Composer, throwing pages of music this way and that, wildly gesticulating and beseeching the gods of music to grant her strength; it was impossible to take one’s eyes off her.

*

The clowns in this cast (Austin Hoeltzel, Michael Martin, Glenn Healy and Jacob Wright) seemed less like professional performers and more like goofy slackers, and their stage business seemed to have more of an improvisational character to it. With the nymphs, there was a stronger contrast between their voice types, from the shiny soprano of Mary Claire Sullivan, the smoky mezzo of Stephanie Schoenhofer and the brilliant soubrette of Paige Lucas, and there seemed to be more genuine pity for Ariadne in their performances. The Zerbinetta of this performance, Jilliane Tucker, played up the coquettish side of the character, and had a voice that could go from slight to powerful depending on what was required of her vocally. Tshepo Moagi emitted a transfixing energy and an unbelievably robust voice as Bacchus; he was completely believable in the role of the Young God. Antonina Chekhovskaya’s presence as Ariadne was less queenlike and more like a princess; her Ariadne seemed less totally composed, less sure of herself (in an affecting way, not in an awkward way). Her voice, on the other hand, seemed wise beyond her years, full of power and darkness.

*
Strauss’s music remained magical. It was played charmingly and beautifully in equal measure (not very musical terms, but I’m not much of a musician…) by an ensemble that consisted of too many wonderfully talented musicians to name here. Conductor Kamal Khan exerted a powerful amount of control over this protean piece, even though his on-podium demeanor did seem to suggest a prodigious intake of Red Bull, and it was occasionally difficult to hear the singers over the orchestra. Admittedly, both of those observations may be due to the fact that I was sitting in the first row for this performance; I could have literally taken one step and walked into the orchestra pit from where I was sitting, and I was two seats away from being seated directly behind Khan.
*
Musically, Ariadne auf Naxos is an event that simply should not be missed. The immediately discernable vigor of the music and the tangible “joie de performance” that the performers radiate also makes it, to my mind, a great show for audience members who are new to opera (side note: you don’t have to wear tails or a ballgown to go to an opera, I went in jeans and a tee and no one looked twice). If you go to this show, it will undoubtedly transform your evening. (zing!)
*
Remaining performance dates for Ariadne auf Naxos are:
Friday the 29th, 8 PM
Saturday the 30th, 8 PM
Sunday the 31st, 4 PM

Comedy + Tragedy x Awesomeness = ARIADNE AUF NAXOS!!!!!

Jackson Tucker-Meyer

Very, very soon, the University of Michigan School of Music, Theatre and Dance will be presenting Richard Strauss’s opera Ariadne auf Naxos! This opera, one of Strauss’s last big hits as an opera composer, is a wild juxtaposition of grandiose tragedy and rollicking comedy.

*

The plot concerns an evening of entertainment being held at the house of the richest man in Vienna. There is going to be a performance of a tragic opera, based on the myth of Ariadne on the island of Naxos, followed by a performance by a troupe of comedians, called Zerbinetta and Her Four Lovers. The Composer of the opera, already distraught by the idea of his majestic work of art being immediately followed by frivolous buffoonery, is even more horrified when the Major-Domo of the event orders that, due to time constraints, the opera and the comedians will have to perform simultaneously.

*

In the first section of the opera, the music evokes the franticness of backstage life, with interjections from everybody from the prima donna star singers to the stagehands. There’s also a sublime duet between the Composer and the comedienne starlet Zerbinetta, where the Composer explains why he finds the story of Ariadne so beautiful, and Zerbinetta sings about the loneliness of life as an actor. In the second half, the opera-within-the-opera, there are long stretches of lovely, contemplative melody, courtesy of Ariadne, who is in a perpetual state of grief due to having been abandoned by her lover, Theseus. Meanwhile, the clowns sing peppy, carnivalesque tunes as they try to cheer Ariadne up and convince her to move on. In the end, Ariadne’s sad story ends well when she meets a charming young demigod by the name of Bacchus, and they celebrate their newfound love by singing a duet, and everybody is happy (especially the audience, who gets to hear all this wonderful music).

Ariadne auf Naxos (und Bacchus in Wasser). Lovely poster
Ariadne auf Naxos (und Bacchus in Wasser). Lovely poster

Throughout the show, musical juxtapositions contrast the earnest high-mindedness of people like the Composer and Ariadne with the earthy skepticality of Zerbinetta and her troupe of comedians. If I’m making this show sound really pretentious, let me assure you right now that it definitely is not—this is one of the most fun operas ever written, in my opinion. In addition, I personally think that Strauss’s compositional style, while somewhat controversial in its day, is quite accessible for modern listeners—it’s full of lush, vibrant colors and unusual, occasionally dissonant, yet beautiful melodies. What’s more, it zips along at a quick pace, only slowing down when there is a melody really worth savoring. I can hardly wait to see (and review) this show!

Ariadne auf Naxos will be playing at the Lydia Mendelssohn theatre at the following times:
Thursday, March 28th at 7:30 PM
Friday, March 29th at 8 PM
Saturday, March 30th at 8 PM
Sunday, March 31st at 4:30 PM

Richard Strauss looking chic
Richard Strauss looking chic

REVIEW: Minimalist Magic: A Midsummer Night’s Dream at the Power Center

Jackson Tucker-Meyer

Malcolm Tulip’s new production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream has taken the familiar play out of the woods and into the desert. In seeking to remove the play from its familiar fantasyland trappings while still retaining an air of mysticality and changeability, the director looked to the famous Burning Man festival instead, where people can create magical environs and fabulous new personae for themselves, and then disappear without a trace. The stage was filled not by shady trees and drooping vines but by a vast wooden semicircle, replete with ramps, climbing walls and trapdoors, and a very tall pole in the middle of the stage. This set, designed by Vincent Mountain, did not convey mystery but rather served to infuse the stage action with a sense of wild fun as actors clambered and leaped about—less forest, more jungle gym. Changes in lighting conveyed changes in scene and setting with almost subliminal deftness—kudos to lighting designer Rob Murphy. I personally have never been to Burning Man, so I cannot say how closely the proceedings on-stage resembled the actual event, but the emphasis in this production is really less on the setting and more on the individual characters.

The fairies in this show are very different from the usual cute, mischievous pixies we are accustomed to seeing in Midsummer. These fairies are, essentially, a very Burning-Man-esque combination of earthiness and weirdness. The servant fairies (Mustardseed, Peaseblossom, et al.), clad in simple black ensembles of jeans and sleeveless shirts, look for all the world like theatre techies; they make magic happen, but they’re very no-nonsense and workmanlike about it. The main fairies, Oberon, Titania, and Puck, are a somewhat stranger breed; the best way to describe their visual appearance would be if a trio of punk rockers decided to play dress-up with a combination of their parent’s clothes and Christmas-tree lights. Caitlin Chou as Oberon projected that character’s imperious majesty, using an Indiana-Jones-grade bullwhip as a symbol of power like Prospero and his staff, while Tyler Dean played Titania with an almost campy sense of regality and dignity. Oh, forgot to mention—the gender roles for many of the major characters have been switched around. This device, obvious yet imperceptible at the same time, is never confusing, highlighting the play’s themes of alterable identity. Indeed, the act of making some roles both male and female serves to emphasize the universality of these beloved characters.

The most startling characterization comes in the form of Robin Goodfellow, a.k.a. Puck: played by Derek Tran, Oberon’s right-hand sprite becomes a borderline malicious character, taking a frightening kind of delight in messing with mortals and fairies alike, not much caring what effect his actions have. Such a conceptualization is not entirely new; the fairy fun in Midsummer has always seemed rather random and bizarre, powerful creatures with ethics highly alien to human rules doing as they please with little regard to who gets caught in the crossfire. It’s just that they’ve never seemed so dangerous before. The strange otherness of these beings is underlined by the creepy sound designs of Conor Barry and Simon Alexander-Adams.

The impulsiveness of the young lovers came through with wonderful clarity in this production. Hermia and Lysander’s flight into the woods to elope, Helena’s crazy lovesick pursuit of Demetrius, and all the other painful and hilarious difficulties these characters endure resonated with the immediacy of youth. Even the magical complications that ensue once both of the men are bewitched to fall in love with Helena seemed to be less the result of fairy potions and more simple teenage caprice. Hermia and Lysander, played by Kevin Collins and Jacqueline Toboni respectively, were perfect at portraying the characters as the rebellious teenagers they are, fleeing the oppressive rules of King Theseus and Hermia’s father Egeus (the king and the father were played as stodgy sleazeballs by Drew Ariana and Emily Hanley, respectively, while Ariel Sobel gave an understatedly funny performance as a dazedly apathetic trophy-wife Queen Hippolyta). Jon Manganello’s Demetrius seemed a much more well-to-do lad than Lysander, smartly dressed, charismatic, and determined in his pursuit of Hermia, while Quinn Scillian gave a hilarious performance of Helena as a severely neurotic girl next door. Much credit must also go to Christianne Myers’ costume designs for helping to outline these characterizations before the characters even speak a word.

Madeline Sharton, Allison Brown, William Filkowski, Elizabeth Raynes, Danielle Cohn and Joseph Dunn are endearingly goony as the lowlife actors, the Rude Mechanicals. The Mechanicals in this production came off less like vainly oblivious wannabe-thespians and more like simple working folk who don’t really know what they’re doing, but want to make a good job of it anyways. Brown in particular made the absolute most of the role of Bottom—arguably Shakespeare’s most virtuosic comic creation—combining slaphappy brashness in the character’s “human” scenes, Looney-Tune wackiness in the sequence where the character is transformed into an ass, and unashamed outrageousness in the final performance-within-a-performance, which must be seen to be believed.

Although the unconventional set and hodgepodge of costumes can seem confusing at first, it quickly becomes apparent that this is an interpretation highly faithful to the spirit of this strange and wonderful work. Very soon, the thrill of watching such brilliant scenes, so rich in poetic truth and comic delight, being performed by such intelligent and insightful actors, becomes palpable. This is quite simply one of the strongest ensemble performances I have ever seen on the stage of the Power Center. Without a doubt, a must-see.

A Midsummer Night’s Dream is playing at the Power Center December 8 at 8 P.M. and December 9 at 2 P.M.

REVIEW: Sprites and Satire at the Mendelssohn: UMGASS’s Iolanthe

Jackson Tucker-Meyer 1 Comment

In the director’s note for Robyn Tierney’s UMGASS production of Gilbert and Sullivan’s Iolanthe, she says “I could have manifested my own creative expression into the delivery of the show, but I believe Gilbert and Sullivan had enough creative expression of their own; mine would only complicate things…I would present Iolanthe in a more traditional environment, one that captures the original brilliance and wit of our two theatrical heroes.” It’s a long-running debate in the world of repertory-based music-theatre: should the director preserve “traditional” practices and try to produce the piece as it would have been on the night it premiered, or should they go in an uncommon direction to try and bring out an aspect of the work that has hitherto gone unnoticed by past interpreters? Directors who pursue either approach run the risk of losing sight of the paying public and alienating audiences. The traditionalist can present a performance that is pedantically attentive to the practices of a bygone age, and thus of interest only to historians. The nontraditionalist can craft an interpretation so radically different that the meaning of the piece is lost, and confuses both newcomers and audience members familiar with the piece. It takes a director with a strong sense of the heart of a particular theatrical work to bring any production to life, “traditional” or not.

Thankfully, Tierney understands Iolanthe very well. She brings out the edgy irony of the piece with aplomb, while not neglecting the slightly mystical unearthliness. This production of Iolanthe is the best kind of Gilbert and Sullivan production, one that has all of the charm and none of the quaintness, decidedly Victorian in atmosphere but with the slightest pinch of 21st-century irreverence.

A good supplement to Tierney’s traditionalist cause is the fact that Iolanthe is a Gilbert and Sullivan work that has aged reasonably well. The trademark Gilbertian social satire is simultaneously biting and absurd (although rather less subtle than in, say, The Mikado), with a plot concerning a painfully idiotic House of Peers having their political powers taken away by a crew of vengeful fairies. The jibes about the folly of having politicians vote based on which party they belong to, rather than what they personally believe, seem particularly pertinent in today’s political climate.

The cast, as per usual with UMGASS, gave thoroughly intelligent and charming portrayals of their characters. The two ensembles in particular brought everything that was needed. Each member of the House of Peers, plus the Lord Chancellor (Don Regan), brought a definite and different brand of buffoonery to each individual part, from Jon Roselle’s obsequious Lord Tolloller to Don Regan’s alternatingly intellectual and befuddled Lord Chancellor. The fairies were exceedingly animated and characterful as well, graceful and sardonic in equal measure. The contrast between the sassy sprites and the blustering bluebloods was terrific to watch. Amanda O’Toole brought a noble bearing and a truly glorious contralto voice to the role of the Fairy Queen. Joshua Glassman combined a gleefully goofy demeanor and a sterling tenor voice in his portrayal of Strephon. Alexandria Strother, as Phyllis, delivered her dialogue with a strikingly naturalistic bent and her lyrics with a pristine soprano tone. Tina Pandya’s choreography was exceedingly well-suited to the music and lyrics: very merry, somewhat silly and occasionally even witty, not something easy to pull off with dance. Not to be discounted are the lovely costumes by Marilyn Gouin and Tam Prentice, which clearly defined the personalities and stations of the various characters with economy and beauty. Also to be commended are the lovely sets designed by Cynthia Lempert and Laura Strowe, evoking the Arcadian environs of the fairies in the first act and creating a picturesque nighttime view of the London skyline in the second.

One minor quibble I had concerned the delivery of some of the lines. Gilbert’s deliberately arch and verbose style, while effective in its time at lampooning the artificial stage conceits that Gilbert so despised, needs a little something extra to come off properly today. The words, while extremely eloquent and clever, ought to be “sold” a little in order to come off properly; this is especially true in the long and intricate passages of dialogue delineating the paradoxes and puzzles of logic that were Gilbert’s forte. It’s a delicate balance, for if the lines or lyrics are too heavily exaggerated, then the wit is lost; however, if they are said too plainly, the import of the words is easy to miss. There should be just the slightest splash of Technicolor in the delivery, just a little something extra to make the words truly register. For the most part, the cast did very well at keeping this balance. Two cast members in particular achieved this clarity through very different methods: Glassman delivered his lines with a delightful silliness that somehow felt perfectly natural, stopping just short of too much; Regan spoke his lines with pinpoint diction and a terrific sense of timing, pausing ever so slightly in his monologues to give the jokes just enough time to set in before moving on. Still, there were a few occasions where some lines that ought to have won gleeful guffaws ended up getting a bit lost, receiving only a smattering of chuckles. But this was only the first night—now that the cast has played to a full audience, hopefully they will be able to easily find their oratorical bearings.

If you are looking to introduce yourself to the operettas of Gilbert and Sullivan, Iolanthe might be one of the best ones to see first. It has all the hallmarks of the Gilbert and Sullivan style in full effect: intricate absurdity wedded with music of beautiful sprightliness (ably conducted by music director Matthew Balmer and performed by the orchestra, which has too many members to name here). If that sounds at all appealing to you, Iolanthe will more than likely be well worth your time.

Iolanthe is running December 7-8 at 8:00 P.M. and December 8-9 at 2:00 P.M. at the Lydia Mendelssohn Theatre. Tickets are available at www.umgass.org