Last weekend, I had two operatic experiences that were poles apart from each other . . . and that jarring juxtaposition was a perfect way to underscore just how extraordinarily broad the expressive scope of opera really is. One was one of the sweetest, most tender operas ever composed- the other was one of the most savage and bleak. One was a community-based performance right here in Racine in a lovely but unassuming space. The other was a high-tech HD simulcast from the Metropolitan Opera, the greatest (and largest) opera company in the world. And I loved them both in pretty much equal measure!
The sweet opera came first. Friday night, I made my way to the Great Hall at Racine’s DeKoven Center to see the Belle Ensemble’s production of Gian Carlo Menotti’s beloved Amahl and the Night Visitors, an opera that is near and dear to my heart – and near and dear to many many other people as well. This is an opera I first encountered as a youngster when my family would make a point of watching it on television, year after year. (It was presented as part of the fabled Hallmark Hall of Fame series. I sure wish that today’s Hallmark channel would stop inundating us with an unending progression of “Farmhouse Christmas” or “Christmas on the Gridiron” type movies. There is more genuine heart packed into the 55 minutes of this one-act opera than in thirty of those movies combined.) Those telecasts of Amahl (done without commercial interruption) left a deep impression on my young heart and mind. It’s a story crafted by Menotti himself- in which a poor woman and her crippled son are visited by the three magi while on their way to Bethlehem … and in an act of complete selflessness, Amahl is miraculously healed.
Eventually, I had the privilege of singing in the opera on several occasions (over the course of more than a quarter century) as Melchior, one of the Three Kings who are the ‘night visitors’ referenced in the title. I also played piano for another production – and have also been in the audience on several occasions over the years. It is an opera that means a lot to me, which also means that I am incredibly fussy about how it is done. It is so beautiful and moving exactly as Menotti wrote it, which means that I don’t want people messing around with the story …. and the music is exquisitely crafted but not all that easy, and whenever I am in the audience I find myself with a nervous knot in my stomach, hoping that the musicians are sufficiently skilled and prepared to deliver the full beauty of this score.
My hopes were high for the Belle Ensemble production, in part because of the person who was shepherding the production, Nick Barootian, the founder and artistic director of the Belle Ensemble. Almost twenty years ago, when he was still in college, I remembered recommending Nick for the role of the Page in a local production of the opera – and I remember how Nick fell in love with the work on that memorable occasion. Friday night, I got to hear him conduct the opera – and it was a gorgeously rendered performance by singers and instrumentalists alike. It had nuance and grace as well as forthright clarity and substance … just the balance of elements that this opera requires and warrants. The solo singers did a terrific job, with Lucas Alumbreros offering up a spunky Amahl, Erin Sura a warm-hearted, deeply-felt and gorgeously sung Mother, and Ryan White, Cameron Smith and Aaron Bolden as three beautifully balanced kings. And in the midst of the chorus it was so nice to see four Carthage students – Katrina Seabright, Morgan Flynn, Dave Stoffle, and Kurt Sesko – who jumped at the chance to be part of this production. The set was spare – the space was cramped – but then again, the singers who originated this opera on Christmas Eve 1951 had to do so on a small soundstage. And that’s how it should be; this opera was meant to be performed and experienced in an intimate setting. That’s part of what allows this opera to penetrate the deepest reaches of the heart. As I walked out of there Friday night (through the pouring rain,) I was so grateful to have been there. Congrats to the cast, orchestra, conductor Nick Barootian, and stage director Edson Melendez.
What a difference a day makes! The next afternoon, I fought my way through heavy snowfall and high winds to attend the HD simulcast of Alban Berg’s Wozzeck at our local movie theater. Oddly enough, this opera is a far more modern-sounding score than Amahl, even though Wozzeck premiered 25 years earlier. But the issue with Wozzeck isn’t so much the harsh dissonance of its largely atonal score, but rather the relentless bleakness and bitterness of the story. The play from which the opera is derived was loosely based on a violent murder that occurred in a small German community in the early 19th century when a disturbed former soldier murdered the widow with whom he had been living. The trial which ensued resulted in the first ever defense ‘by reason of insanity’ ever offered up in a German trial. But it was to no avail, and the murdered (whose last name was Woyzeck) was publicly executed in front of a crowd of thousands.
The title character in Berg’s opera is a lowly army private who suffers a host of indignities at the hands of his ‘superiors’ – in this case, a military captain who seems to delight in humiliating Wozzeck … as well as a doctor who does a variety of cruel experiments on Wozzeck, who submits to them because he needs the money. But the ultimate indignity for Wozzeck is when he realizes that his wife Marie, who is so desperate for some pleasure in her life, has been unfaithful to him. Wozzeck is eventually driven to murder Marie by stabbing her to death. A few minutes later, he returns to the scene to hide the murder weapon in a nearby pond- but when he wades into the pond to retrieve the knife and take it into deeper water, he drowns. In a final scene of almost unbearable heartbreak, some area children are playing nearby when another child runs up with the news that the body of Marie has been found. Marie and Wozzeck’s little boy does not seem to comprehend the news and continues playing with his little hobby horse. That final scene is something I heard for the very first time in the 20th Century music class at Luther that was taught by Maurice Monhardt. I think for a lot of us, hearing the end of Wozzeck was the moment when we first realized for the first time that music was not just meant to create comforting and pleasant beauty …. but also to convey the worst kind of pain. And certainly this performance from the Met delivered the goods, thanks especially to the searing performances of Peter Mattei as Wozzeck and Elza van der Heever as Marie – to the stunning playing of the Met Orchestra under the direction of Yannick Nezet-Seguin (I can’t imagine how hard it would be to play a score like this, or to conduct it) – and to William Kentridge’s fascinating production. This was actually the very first time I was able to experience this groundbreaking opera start to finish, and it is something I will not soon forget. (And just for the record, Mr. Berg and I are not related.)
When I walked into the movie theater on Saturday, I half-expected to be the only person there …. but was very gratified to see how many of the senior citizens who had attended my lecture the day before were brave enough to give this harsh, dark opera a try. And every person I managed to talk to afterwards felt much as I did- that we had witnessed the unique power of a real masterpiece. On the other hand, at least one of the people there (a retired Carthage colleague) said that while they loved it, they would almost certainly never want to see it again …. in much the same way that someone might visit a place like Dachau and cherish the experience while never wanting to repeat it. I know what they’re saying. Wozzeck is a wrenching, harrowing journey that I think most of us can only bear very sparingly. But Amahl? That is an opera that offers up comfort and encouragement and inspiration- and sweetness – something all of us are seeking right now, and which sends me returning to it again and again.
Wozzeck and Amahl and the Night Visitors. It’s almost inconceivable to mention them in the same breath- or for them to be thought of as part of the same world.
And I am so very grateful for both of them.