THE LITTLE (MERMAID) MENTAL PATIENT

Benjamin R. Sokol, Fernando Silva-Gorbea, Sara Stevens, Qing Liu, and Su Hyeon Park

Some topnotch singing, acting, and orchestral luminosity delighted our ears last night at Manhattan School of Music Graduate Opera Theatre's production of Antonin Dvořák's Rusalka. We unfortunately had to deal with an ill-advised example of regietheater devised by Director John de los Santos, whose direction we usually enjoy. According to the Director's Notes which we generally read after viewing the production, Mr. de los Santos was inspired by the fact that the building occupied by Manhattan School of Music was once an asylum for the mentally ill.

Regular readers will recall that we strongly prefer a work that speaks for itself, allowing us to draw our own analogies, which we did and may choose to share  later on. The director's concept was to transform the water spite Rusalka into a mental patient around the turn of the 20th century, just about the time that Jaroslav Kvapil wrote his libretto, adapted from a fairy tale by Hans Christian Andersen (and others)  which was, in turn, devised from a few Slavic folk legends about women water sprites who lured men to their death by tickling (!) or drowning.

In this production, Michael Ruiz-del-Vizo's double decker set design had an institutional appearance whilst Ashley Soliman's costume design had some of the characters in period costume with the inmates in drab identical shapeless garb. We deliberately called them inmates because the attendants treated them like prisoners, which, in a sense they were. (Dear Reader, do read about the Kennedy sister who was similarly imprisoned at the behest of her father Joseph.)

The stage was filled with efficient nurses in crisp nursing attire and guards with numbered arm bands, against whom the inmates struggled. Inmates were chained together cruelly by ropes and led around. It seemed more political than medical, with the exception of a kindly doctor who stood in for the opera's Vodnik, a water goblin that the water sprites call their father, except here he is their well meaning doctor. In this role, Benjamin R. Sokol used his resonant lower register and kindly demeanor to good advantage, singing with fine tone and sympathetic inflection.

As Rusalka, super soprano Sara Stevens (see what we did there?) threw herself into the role and gave the director exactly what he wanted and, through her superlative singing, gave us what we wanted--a vocally impeccable performance. The coloration was admirable and she floated her high notes when appropriate and opened up her voice when that was dramatically called for. The deservedly famous aria "Song to the Moon" expressed a longing so deep that it brought tears to our eyes. If someone told us that Rusalka was chosen as a vehicle to show off her artistry we would believe them!

In this odd version of the story, The Prince, whilst singing about spotting a white doe while out hunting, seems to be someone who stops by the asylum to read to the patients. Fernando Silva-Gorbea employed a pleasing tenor instrument with enough tenderness that we felt sad when he was stabbed to death by Rusalka However, we were wondering how a dagger would have been left lying around in an insane asylum--just one of a number of inconsistencies caused by shoehorning the story into a Procrustean bed.

The witch Ježibaba was here some kind of matron/surgeon in strange steam-punk dress who seemed to be operating on Rusalka's brain, since the latter emerges from behind a screen with a bandage on her head that was so disfiguring that we were surprised that The Prince fell in love with her. Of course, the entire thing must have been the hallucination of a paranoid schizophrenic, although a lot of women in these asylums were consigned there for dubious reasons. Qing Liu gave a fine performance in the role, employing a threatening demeanor and steely vocal coloration.

There was even some comic relief during the interaction between the Gamekeeper (Kevin Mann) and the frightened kitchen helper (Jordan Lee Gilbert) whose conversation served to advance the story about the Prince's affection wavering between Rusalka and The Foreign Princess, given an appropriate haughtiness by Su Hyeon Park.

Every voice we heard was of the highest equality, including the trio of Woodsprites (mental patients) comprising Xinran Du, Raine Filbert, and Yiqian Heng. Although Rusalka's "Song to the Moon" is the deservedly famous number, the trio in Act II would make as fine a concert piece as we have ever heard. 

Although Czech is not one of our languages, its plethora of consonants did not seem to hinder any of the singers and we were thrilled that the opera was sung in Czech since the composer's music is so well married to the text. Kudos to the large chorus and their chorus Master Jackson McKinnon.

Maestro Kelly Kuo led the Manhattan School of Music Orchestra through Dvořák's melodic and colorful score with excellent Slavic style. The weird storytelling was so distracting that at times we just closed our eyes and listened to the way the master composer told the story. Let us credit also the fine dramatic lighting of Ron Collins.

If we hadn't been force fed the director's concept, we might have been free to associate on our own, which is what storytelling should do. We imagined a small town girl who fell for a big city guy who was visiting her town and flirted with her because she was pretty and innocent. She followed him to the big city but couldn't match the sophistication and verbal expressiveness of his circle. She watched him getting infatuated with one of his own kind and returned home in despair, only to learn that she no longer fit in there and was ostracized. Now we certainly wouldn't foist that on other people but we sure enjoyed our own musings which, in our opinion, is what opera should do--give us something on stage that we can relate to on our own terms, from our own experiences.

In spite of the conflict between the dialogue and the visuals and switching back and forth between the folktale and the director's conceit, we were glad we went because of the overwhelmingly excellence of the musical values.

© meche kroop

WHEREFORE ART THOU?

 Curtain call at Manhattan School of Music's Romeo et Juliette

Love stories are timeless, as is said; and so are antagonistic families. Nonetheless, Gounod's beloved opera Roméo et Juliette seems to us to be very specific to Renaissance Italy or what, in Gounod's time, would become the nation of Italy. (At the time in which Shakespeare set his play, upon which Jules Barbier and Michel Carré based their libretto, Verona was a city-state ruled by the Scaligero family, for which the famed opera house La Scala was named.)  

The peculiar staging of the opera at Manhattan School of Music appeared to be an ante-bellum ball in the American South and seemed to be a bad directorial decision.  Fortunately, nothing was altered musically or text wise, leaving us free to ignore the costumes and focus on some truly superb voices.

In terms of capturing the emotion of the story, we have been most deeply affected by Kenneth MacMillan's ballet for American Ballet Theater which utilizes a highly dramatic score by Sergei Prokofiev. We have seen 40-year-old ballerinas convince us that they were 14 years old and still playing with dolls. Not so effective were the play and prior opera productions we have attended. It is believed that only mature actors can fulfill the two starring roles and only mature opera singers can fulfill the vocal requirement.

For that reason, we were thrilled to see comely young graduate students (from Manhattan School of Music) with finely tuned voices bring the opera to convincing life before our very eyes. 

For example, Sofia Gotch sang the role of Juliette with brightness and clarity, exhibiting excellent French diction. In her Act I aria "Je veux vivre" she showed us a spunky young woman, full of life and ready for adventure, making her ultimate demise even more tragic. Gounod made many demands on the soprano portraying Juliette, and she definitely rose to the occasion. She also showed herself to be a fine scene partner in her tender duets with Romeo scattered throughout the opera, each one outdoing the prior one

Her Roméo was sung by tenor Wonjin Choi, whose fine instrument revealed itself immediately in  "Ange adorable" and even more in "Ah! Lêve-toi Soleil!". His infatuation started strong and only got stronger. The performances of the leads were stellar, leaving absolutely nothing for us to criticize.

Other roles were similarly well cast and well performed. Two mezzo-sopranos made a fine impression. Xiaowei Fang seemed to relish her part as Gertrude, fussing over Juliette, and filling out a couple of lovely quartets, which, we might add, were well balanced. As the page Stephano, Yiqian Heng made a strong impression with "Que fais-tu, blanche tourterelle?", taunting the Capulet family with a provocative aria, likening Juliet to a dove in a flock of vultures.

Benjamin R. Sokol made a fine Frère Laurent, portraying the friendly friar with an admirable combination of gravity and levity. Blake Stevenson admirably fulfilled the role of the pugnacious Mercutio and impressed us with his dueling skills--as did Fernando Silva-Gorbea as the unpleasant and menacing Tybalt. Props to Fight Director Chris Dumont.

Donghoon Kang made Capulet a gracious host but a demanding father. Making a brief appearance as Le Duke was Daniel Navarrete-Estassi, appearing quite authoritative as he commutes Roméo's death sentence to banishment. The unfortunate suitor Paris was enacted by Graham Rui Guan. Grégorio was portrayed by Juan Angel Johnston-Chavez and Justin Hong took the role of Benvolio.

Just as excellent as the singing was the orchestra conducted by Maestro Pierre Vallett. The simple set by James Rotondo was dark and simple with lots of doors and windows serving multiple purposes. Evocative lighting was by Marika Kent. Stephanie Sutherland's choreography gave the large and effective chorus plenty to do and provided dances appropriate to the weird 19th century. setting. 

And this brings us back to the peculiar direction by Katherine M. Carter.  As is our habit, we looked for the Director's Notes after the performance, hoping to learn some justification for moving this Renaissance story to, judging by the costumes, the early 19th century. We had to keep trying to block Gone with the Wind from our mind to focus on the singing.

We also wondered why, with a perfectly good upper level, the balcony scene was staged at ground level. Another nitpicky observation was that during the several emotionally intense duets, Roméo and Juliette were positioned so that they did not appear to be facing each other. This is generally accomplished by placing them at a 90 degree angle to one another, thus creating the illusion of actually facing each other.  

And while we are nitpicking, Juliette's face should not be smiling when she is told she is being married off.  Her face changed to misery when Paris' name was mentioned. But clearly she should be expressing misery at the idea of being married to anyone. The way it was played made it seem as if she had something personal against Paris. One of the features of sitting on the front row is being aware of small details like that.

Nitpicking aside, we commend the entire cast, and especially the members of the chorus, for creating an absorbing performance that was dramatically and musically compelling.

© meche kroop