MURASAKI'S MOON

John Noh, Kristen Choi, and Martin Bakari

At a time when opera companies are struggling to survive, it is thrilling to watch On Site Opera thrive. In spite of high ticket prices, their productions are always sold out. It would appear that the originality of their concept and the deftness of their execution would account for their success. Snagging a ticket almost guarantees a rare and unusual experience.

In collaboration with MetLiveArts and American Lyric Theater, their latest production, Murasaki's Moon, served to heighten the interest of theater goers in the adjacent exhibit at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, an exhibit which the performance brought to vivid life in the hands of Artistic Director Eric Einhorn. 

The work is based upon The Tale of Genji, an 11th c. epic novel written by the noblewoman Lady Murasaki, perhaps the world's first novel. It is filled with characters beyond counting and illustrated lifestyles and customs of the Heian court. It was written by a woman for women in an archaic language used by women, a phonetic language. It was only in the 20th c. that the work was translated into modern Japanese.

English translations followed and the work has had a major effect on all of the arts of Japan, from 12 c. scrolls and screens to contemporary manga series and TV dramas. There was an opera written in 2000 but we were unable to learn anything about it.

The subject of the novel was Genji, the emperor's son whose mother was a lowly born, but favored, concubine. He led a wild romantic life, filled with illicit liaisons and several marriages. The production we saw, with libretto by Deborah Brevoort, did not attempt to tell any episodes from the story, but rather to focus on Lady Murasaki's relationship with her creation Genji, who served as muse.

So many contemporary issues were touched upon that there was no question of relevance. Take for example the issue of the loneliness of the writer. (Just ask us!) Lady Murasaki has a modest position at court, illustrated by her almost colorless three-layer kimono. She desperately wants a friend, but she is different from the other women at court and is the object of envy and rejection. She writes and Genji keeps her company. Many writers of fiction will tell you that they create characters and the characters write the story!

Although we have come a long way here in NYC, there are plenty of places around the USA where creative women are looked at with unkind eyes because they don't follow the wife/motherhood program. We could certainly identify with Lady Murasaki, the "misfit".

In the story we watched, she is angry at Genji for his philandering. He is untrue to her and disappears for periods of time, perhaps representing periods in which writers cannot summon their muse and go silent. On the other hand, putting on our psychological hat, it would seem that Genji is Lady Murasaki's animus, what Carl Jung called the inner representation of a woman's male characteristics. (And yes, men are purported to have an anima, representing their female qualities).

Murasaki makes several pointed observations about women gazing at their images in the mirror and making efforts to be more beautiful. Could anything be more relevant? In any case, we cannot stop thinking about the many layers of the story. 

The music added greatly to the story. Composer Michi Wiancko composed some beautiful instrumental music that combined Japanese instruments (Taiko drums and shakuhashi played by Kaoru Watanabe, percussion played by Satoshi Takeishi, and koto played by Yoko Reikano Kimura) with Western music performed by the Aizuri String Quartet. All was conducted by Geoffrey McDonald who integrated the two seamlessly.

The vocal line was another story altogether. Like so much contemporary music, the vocal line was jagged and not at all melodic. Combined with a libretto that often rhymed but did not scan at all, we found little to enjoy, in spite of admirably convincing performances by Kristen Choi as Lady Murasaki, Martin Bakari as the ultimately repentant Genji, and John Noh as a Buddhist priest who himself became interested in Murasaki's writing, a scene we particularly enjoyed. There was one magical musical moment--a duet with gorgeous harmonies that told us that Ms. Wiancko could do better. We would have loved to hear more Japanese-inflected vocal lines. We would have loved to have heard it in Japanese!

Effective costuming was provided by Beth Goldenberg. Genji's bright blue costume and the Buddhist Priest's yellow robes were in high contrast with Murasaki's pale costume. The work was performed in the Astor Court of the Metropolitan Museum of Art. It was staged in a long narrow playing area with audience members seated along each side. 

We would like to add a few words about the titles. The three singers had such excellent diction that titles were unnecessary but we were interested in the technology that was used. Audience members were able to download the On Site Opera app on their phones where titles were available and perfectly matched to the singing. This appears to be the way of the future. We tried it to see if it was distracting and it was not.

The dramatic performances aroused our curiosity and we spent some time in the nearby exhibit, particularly enchanted by the court games that were played, utilizing scenes from the novel. Scenes from the novel also decorated so many artifacts. It was obvious how influential this novel was on a millenia of Japanese culture.

We were too lost in thought to consider any way of getting home other than walking through the park, accompanied by a full moon! We thought of it as Lady Murasaki's moon and felt a strong connection. Isn't that what art is all about?

(c) meche kroop

CZECH-MATE

Karen Vuong and Julia Bullock-photo by Nan Melville

We haven't shed tears at the opera since Violetta died, but we had tears streaming down our face at the conclusion of the Juilliard Opera's production of The Cunning Little Vixen.  It is difficult to believe that Leoš Janáček wrote his own libretto based on a child's comic strip.  As if a child could comprehend those deep philosophical ideas!  The 1926 work deals with man's relationship to the natural world and shows a deeply compassionate but unsentimental view of the cycles of birth and death.  There were also some anti-capitalist overtones to absorb.

Much credit for the emotional impact (as well as the aural delight) goes to the superior work of the singers of the Juilliard Opera who fulfilled the direction of Emma Griffin and to that of the musicians of the Juilliard Orchestra under the baton of Anne Manson.  The ensemble work was impressive yet each unique character stood out on his/her own merit.  Soprano Julia Bullock did everything right in her portrayal of the feisty vixen who outwits her captor in search of freedom, finds a mate, starts a family and meets her sad end (as people also sometimes do) due to an overweening sense of invulnerability.

Soprano Karen Vuong turned in a superior performance in the portrayal of the vixen's mate.  The foxy pair have a shotgun wedding when the vixen discovers she is pregnant and the neighbors are gossiping.  Bass-baritone Aubrey Allicock made a fine Forester who captures the vixen and treats her like a pet until her inborn qualities lead her to destroy his hens;  then he must tie her up like his dog (a fine Laura Mixter) and she must escape to the freedom of the forest.  Mezzo Lacey Jo Benter portrayed his wife who is somewhat intolerant of his bringing home strays.

Baritone John Brancy turned in another deeply felt and beautifully sung performance as Harašta the poacher who shoots the vixen (thus, the tears) because he wants a fur muff for his bride, the gypsy Terynka.

There is some comic relief in this production in the form of a gaggle of hens presided over by a rooster, played by a very funny Raquel González in male drag.  Soprano Mary Feminear was the "lead hen", and a fine "lead hen" she was. The hens all wore blond wigs and short nighties while the rooster wore suspenders.  We couldn't help thinking of a pimp with his group of "ladies of the evening".  Oh, the risks of anthropomorphization!

Tenor Martin Bakari played the drunken schoolmaster who also wanted to marry the gypsy Terynka; his drinking buddy the priest was played by sturdy bass Önay Köse who also played the badger whose home the vixen appropriated.  Elliott Hines, a bass-baritone, was the innkeeper with mezzo Rachael Wilson as his wife.  There was not a single vocal misfire in the cast.

Surprising was how effectively the cast performed Jeanne Slater's choreography; we were sure the dancers came from Juilliard's Dance Department and later learned that everyone came from the Vocal Arts Department.  If you think that watching dancers cavorting onstage in street clothes pretending to be woodland critters would be preposterous, guess again; the movement was entirely convincing.  And if you were wondering why woodland critters would be wearing street clothes, you would have to ask the director.   To us, the point being made was how much alike are humans and animals.  We humans are animals; we are not them but we are OF them.  Respect for their well-being is called for.  They live, they hunger, they mate, they thrive, they suffer, they die, just as we do.

This concept was further emphasized by Laura Jellinek's set which had nothing of the woodlands about it.  The humans and the animals all use the same brass bed, table and chairs; it was as if two worlds were sharing the same space.  The costumes by Jessica Trejos were witty and reinforced the same concept.

With all this visual and philosophical cud to chew, we still had the music in mind throughout; it held our ear with its Moravian folk melodies and interesting harmonic structure.  Although we would have preferred to hear it sung in Czech, we were quite pleased with the translation by Yveta Synek Graff and Robert T. Jones; the right syllables seemed to fall on the right beats of the music.  The jarring problems of most translations were completely avoided.

Major kudos to the Juilliard Opera and Orchestra for bringing this work to vivid life!