Okay, Week One of the Festival of the Sound for this year is now history, and I'm exhausted! Going to three concerts a day for several days in a row is exhilarating but also tiring -- and somewhere along the line, someone gave me a nasty cold which took out much of the remaining zip and go.
But never mind. It was a spectacular week from start to finish. Altogether we got three Beethoven sonatas and two major chamber works from pianist Martin Roscoe, and I am just as baffled as before about why an artist of this calibre has never appeared in Canada before! That said, I hope he comes back soon and often. His Waldstein and Tempest sonatas fully lived up to the previously reported Pathetique, and if the Dvorak Piano Quintet # 2 was somewhat heavier and more emphatic than the Brahms Piano Quartet already described, that lies as much with the high-energy playing of the Afiara Quartet as with the pianist!
Another fascinating concert featured harpist Lori Gemmell and storyteller Tom Allen in two works inspired by Greek myth. Allen's humourous recitations set the scene beautifully. Gemmell's playing was lovely and lyrical when traditional harp style was expected, in Marjan Mozetich's Songs of Nymphs. When it came to Murray Schafer's The Crown of Ariadne, she turned into a one-woman band (literally) as she used multiple unconventional ways of getting sound out of her harp as well as a half dozen added percussion instruments. This score gives a new meaning to the word "virtuoso"!
Another evening brought a rare performance of Sibelius' late quartet, Voces intimae. I confess I found this one a bit of a tough nut to crack at first hearing, but I'm sure it will repay repeated listening.
I think one of my major highlights of the week came Friday afternoon, when Luba Dubinsky and the Cecilia Quartet gave a powerful performance of the Shostakovich Piano Quintet. The dark shadows in this piece were unmistakable, but so was the raucous irony of the middle scherzo movement. Dubinsky has played this piece for half a century, and even performed it once for Shostakovich himself, so I'd say the authenticity of the playing could be taken for granted.
It's too bad I won't be back at the Festival till the closing weekend. Some day maybe I'll manage to take in the whole thing (or at least get close to it).
Sunday 29 July 2012
Thursday 26 July 2012
A Footnote to Yesterday's Rant
Last night the Festival of the Sound gave us the Canadian debut of the distinguished British pianist Martin Roscoe. He chose to play Beethoven's Pathetique Sonata, another warhorse that often gets abused by the lesser creation who try to play it.
Like me. I'm the first one to admit that I would have no business trying to play this one in public, with my piano skills (?) in their present state of disrepair and neglect. But I've worked my way through the score enough to know what all the notes are that ought to be there.
Martin Roscoe nailed every single one, as far as I could tell. He played fast, yes, but at a speed where the music remained perfectly under his control and entirely musical. Phrase shaping, dynamics, and touch were impeccable. Like Wilhelm Kempff, he used a very discreet application of the sustain pedal, instead of massive leaning on the pedal to cover the faults. The singing tone of the major key episodes in the finale acted as a lovely contrast to the energy that surrounds them.
This was Beethoven playing of the true first order.
And as if that wasn't enough, the second half brought him back with three members of the wonderful New Zealand Quartet for a performance of the Piano Quartet in A, Op. 26, by Brahms. I don't expect ever to hear a more perfectly beautiful, powerful, musical rendering of this masterpiece anywhere this side of heaven. And that says it all.
Like me. I'm the first one to admit that I would have no business trying to play this one in public, with my piano skills (?) in their present state of disrepair and neglect. But I've worked my way through the score enough to know what all the notes are that ought to be there.
Martin Roscoe nailed every single one, as far as I could tell. He played fast, yes, but at a speed where the music remained perfectly under his control and entirely musical. Phrase shaping, dynamics, and touch were impeccable. Like Wilhelm Kempff, he used a very discreet application of the sustain pedal, instead of massive leaning on the pedal to cover the faults. The singing tone of the major key episodes in the finale acted as a lovely contrast to the energy that surrounds them.
This was Beethoven playing of the true first order.
And as if that wasn't enough, the second half brought him back with three members of the wonderful New Zealand Quartet for a performance of the Piano Quartet in A, Op. 26, by Brahms. I don't expect ever to hear a more perfectly beautiful, powerful, musical rendering of this masterpiece anywhere this side of heaven. And that says it all.
Wednesday 25 July 2012
World Music and Classical Piano, Back to Back
Amazing contrasts in programming at the Festival of the Sound today. At noon, a concert of three works where the musical traditions of China and India intersected with the traditional instruments of European chamber music -- a string quartet, a piano, and a double bass.
The Chinese work used the quartet to make sounds reminiscent of traditional Chinese music and instruments, very effectively. The next two works came from a young composer-in-residence, Dinuk Wijeratne, originally from Sri Lanka, who has lived and worked in a whole range of different countries with very different cultural traditions. His home tradition was represented by the Indian tabla, the tuned drums (to describe them very loosely) which are at the heart of a special and complicated musical tradition unique to them. Wijeratne's special achievement was to combine this complex hierarchy of sounds with the European instruments into works which planted a foot in both worlds simultaneously. If there's any better definition of the term "world music", I can't imagine what it might be.
The concluding work was a Canadian piece, Raven and the First Men, by Timothy Corlis. This was played with the accompaniment of children's paintings inspired by the music, as part of the now-annual tradition of Painted Sound concerts.
The afternoon at 2:30 was a full-length recital by Jamie Parker. Great selection of classical "night music", which meant a lengthy sequence of slow, mainly quiet music of great subtlety. Chopin, Schumann and Brahms, Debussy, Linda Smith, Bartok and Schubert -- Parker played all with sensitivity, tonal finesse, and created great variety out of seeming sameness.
And then, the let-down (it's rant time). Parker chose to finish with Beethoven's complete Moonlight Sonata. And the finale was simply too damn fast. I know that's the speed the score suggests. Maybe it would work better on a fortepiano, although I have my doubts. All I know is that each mad uprushing arpeggio in this movement ends with two emphatic chords, and in only two of them could I actually hear two chords. The other times I only heard one. I was seated a bare twenty feet from the piano so I could hardly have missed those second chords if they had sounded. And most of the arpeggios were unintelligible. If Beethoven really wanted nothing but a blur of sound, why didn't he just write a series of glissandi? He might as well have done, for all the good his careful scoring of arpeggios did here.
I'm not blaming Jamie Parker particularly -- it's a disease of our times, this insane need to "play it exactly the way the composer wrote it, never mind if it's musically feasible or not." Almost every pianist I have ever heard perform this sonata live has succumbed to this temptation to compete in the "Anything-You-Can-Play-I-Can-Play-Faster" Sweepstakes.
But now, go back and listen to a recording by one of my favourite pianists: Wilhelm Kempff. In his classic DGG cycle of the complete sonatas, this finale sounds intensely hectic just as it ought to sound. But compare the tempi with almost any of numerous live performances, and you will find that Kempff is just a little slower -- maybe on the order of a 5% difference. And it works. You can hear clearly every note of every arpeggio, each of those hammered double chords comes through loud and clear, nothing disappears in a roaring sea of blurry noise.
Please, pianists of the world, remember this advice:
"Never do your damnedest, if your next-to-damnedest will be better."
I forget who said that, but Wilhelm Kempff obviously knew it -- which is why I'd rather listen to his recording than any live performance of this sonata I have ever heard (and that includes, among others, Anton Kuerti and Maurizio Pollini).
The Chinese work used the quartet to make sounds reminiscent of traditional Chinese music and instruments, very effectively. The next two works came from a young composer-in-residence, Dinuk Wijeratne, originally from Sri Lanka, who has lived and worked in a whole range of different countries with very different cultural traditions. His home tradition was represented by the Indian tabla, the tuned drums (to describe them very loosely) which are at the heart of a special and complicated musical tradition unique to them. Wijeratne's special achievement was to combine this complex hierarchy of sounds with the European instruments into works which planted a foot in both worlds simultaneously. If there's any better definition of the term "world music", I can't imagine what it might be.
The concluding work was a Canadian piece, Raven and the First Men, by Timothy Corlis. This was played with the accompaniment of children's paintings inspired by the music, as part of the now-annual tradition of Painted Sound concerts.
The afternoon at 2:30 was a full-length recital by Jamie Parker. Great selection of classical "night music", which meant a lengthy sequence of slow, mainly quiet music of great subtlety. Chopin, Schumann and Brahms, Debussy, Linda Smith, Bartok and Schubert -- Parker played all with sensitivity, tonal finesse, and created great variety out of seeming sameness.
And then, the let-down (it's rant time). Parker chose to finish with Beethoven's complete Moonlight Sonata. And the finale was simply too damn fast. I know that's the speed the score suggests. Maybe it would work better on a fortepiano, although I have my doubts. All I know is that each mad uprushing arpeggio in this movement ends with two emphatic chords, and in only two of them could I actually hear two chords. The other times I only heard one. I was seated a bare twenty feet from the piano so I could hardly have missed those second chords if they had sounded. And most of the arpeggios were unintelligible. If Beethoven really wanted nothing but a blur of sound, why didn't he just write a series of glissandi? He might as well have done, for all the good his careful scoring of arpeggios did here.
I'm not blaming Jamie Parker particularly -- it's a disease of our times, this insane need to "play it exactly the way the composer wrote it, never mind if it's musically feasible or not." Almost every pianist I have ever heard perform this sonata live has succumbed to this temptation to compete in the "Anything-You-Can-Play-I-Can-Play-Faster" Sweepstakes.
But now, go back and listen to a recording by one of my favourite pianists: Wilhelm Kempff. In his classic DGG cycle of the complete sonatas, this finale sounds intensely hectic just as it ought to sound. But compare the tempi with almost any of numerous live performances, and you will find that Kempff is just a little slower -- maybe on the order of a 5% difference. And it works. You can hear clearly every note of every arpeggio, each of those hammered double chords comes through loud and clear, nothing disappears in a roaring sea of blurry noise.
Please, pianists of the world, remember this advice:
"Never do your damnedest, if your next-to-damnedest will be better."
I forget who said that, but Wilhelm Kempff obviously knew it -- which is why I'd rather listen to his recording than any live performance of this sonata I have ever heard (and that includes, among others, Anton Kuerti and Maurizio Pollini).
Thursday 19 July 2012
Choral Spectacular
Ever since my sister pulled me to Parry Sound for the first time in 1994, the Festival of the Sound has been a regular feature of my summer. I've watched it grow from 2 concerts a day to 3 and occasionally even 4, and spread out until it now covers almost 4 weeks. The most spectacular change of all was the shift, 9 years ago, from an overheated, stuffy high school gym with stacking chairs on the floor to a concert hall which is truly world class in both creature comforts and acoustics!
For those not familiar, the Festival of the Sound focuses on classical chamber music, and does it very well indeed. But there are also excursions into jazz, Broadway show tunes, Celtic music, orchestral music and choral music.
This year's Gala Opening was a choral concert, featuring the Trinity College Choir of Cambridge (England, not Ontario!). Put 34 enthusiastic and skilful young singers into the hall of the Charles W. Stockey Centre and you get results which had everyone in a state of breathless excitement in the lobby afterwards!
We were asked ahead of time not to applaud between numbers as the program would proceed throughout without breaks and without intermission. That turned out to be an understatement. The choir came on stage, lined up, and sang their first three numbers without a break -- and without a conductor! None of these pieces were simple, and the third of the sequence was a fiendishly complex piece with fierce stabbing cross-rhythms. I suspect I wasn't the only person who wondered how they could pull something like this off!
After that, the choir's director, Stephen Layton, came forward and led the ensemble through the rest of the program. The very next piece, with frequent stops and starts built into the music, basically forced the issue for them, I think. After that, the concert consisted of an alternation of works by older composers (Bach, Purcell, Schütz, and Mendelssohn) with modern works, many by composers from the Baltic countries. Of the entire performance, only the Bach was accompanied (on a small chamber organ) until the penultimate number.
A most memorable piece was Sven-David Sandström's "recomposition" of Purcell's anthem Hear My Prayer. Starting with unadulterated Purcell, Sandström gradually added broken up phrases and bits of the original into a kaleidoscopic musical fresco. This musical elaboration continued until the 34 voices built up what my sister Kathie aptly called "a wall of sound that made my hair stand on end." The effect was overwhelming and almost shattering.
The choir had been specifically asked to perform Parry Sound-born composer Eleanor Daley's Paradise: A Song of Georgian Bay. This was commissioned by the Festival for the opening of the new hall 9 years ago. The choir performed it as their second-last number, accompanied by piano, and made a lovely job of this repeat performance.
The overpowering volume of sound from Sandström and the gently flowing sounds of Daley were equally well served by the splendid acoustics of the Stockey Centre. The auditorium's high-pitched steep roof has the same acoustic effect as a tall English cathedral or church, but with a softer, warmer edge as the interior is dressed with wood. Without the amplifying effect of that unique roof it would have needed a much bigger choir of 60 or more to create the same physical impact on the audience.
After that concert, it's not hard to see why so many musical artists of all kinds love to be invited back to the Festival of the Sound!
For those not familiar, the Festival of the Sound focuses on classical chamber music, and does it very well indeed. But there are also excursions into jazz, Broadway show tunes, Celtic music, orchestral music and choral music.
This year's Gala Opening was a choral concert, featuring the Trinity College Choir of Cambridge (England, not Ontario!). Put 34 enthusiastic and skilful young singers into the hall of the Charles W. Stockey Centre and you get results which had everyone in a state of breathless excitement in the lobby afterwards!
We were asked ahead of time not to applaud between numbers as the program would proceed throughout without breaks and without intermission. That turned out to be an understatement. The choir came on stage, lined up, and sang their first three numbers without a break -- and without a conductor! None of these pieces were simple, and the third of the sequence was a fiendishly complex piece with fierce stabbing cross-rhythms. I suspect I wasn't the only person who wondered how they could pull something like this off!
After that, the choir's director, Stephen Layton, came forward and led the ensemble through the rest of the program. The very next piece, with frequent stops and starts built into the music, basically forced the issue for them, I think. After that, the concert consisted of an alternation of works by older composers (Bach, Purcell, Schütz, and Mendelssohn) with modern works, many by composers from the Baltic countries. Of the entire performance, only the Bach was accompanied (on a small chamber organ) until the penultimate number.
A most memorable piece was Sven-David Sandström's "recomposition" of Purcell's anthem Hear My Prayer. Starting with unadulterated Purcell, Sandström gradually added broken up phrases and bits of the original into a kaleidoscopic musical fresco. This musical elaboration continued until the 34 voices built up what my sister Kathie aptly called "a wall of sound that made my hair stand on end." The effect was overwhelming and almost shattering.
The choir had been specifically asked to perform Parry Sound-born composer Eleanor Daley's Paradise: A Song of Georgian Bay. This was commissioned by the Festival for the opening of the new hall 9 years ago. The choir performed it as their second-last number, accompanied by piano, and made a lovely job of this repeat performance.
The overpowering volume of sound from Sandström and the gently flowing sounds of Daley were equally well served by the splendid acoustics of the Stockey Centre. The auditorium's high-pitched steep roof has the same acoustic effect as a tall English cathedral or church, but with a softer, warmer edge as the interior is dressed with wood. Without the amplifying effect of that unique roof it would have needed a much bigger choir of 60 or more to create the same physical impact on the audience.
After that concert, it's not hard to see why so many musical artists of all kinds love to be invited back to the Festival of the Sound!
Sunday 15 July 2012
A Respectable Henry V
The Stratford Festival has a powerful show in their brand-new production of Henry V. Of all the Shakespearean history plays, this is perhaps the easiest one for a modern audience to grasp, as it requires relatively little knowledge of history to understand.
For all that, though, it is (like all the histories) tremendously wordy, and here we have a production which -- with only slight lapses and one major weakness -- made the verbose text travel clearly out to the audience with meaning, intention, and emotion in full measure.
I was pleasantly surprised to see Des McAnuff stage a show that wasn't full to overflowing with technological whimwhams and foobaz. And the devices that McAnuff did use (the "horses", for instance) all fitted clearly into the period atmosphere. Last year's Twelfth Night disappointed me precisely because the elaborate stage technology kept stealing the show from the actors.
This Henry was a different matter altogether. The set of leaning timber baulks around a huge drawbridge was both massive and visually intriguing, dark and sombre in mood and yet easy to light clearly. This production stayed firmly grounded in its historical period, with no efforts to make onstage and out-of-synch editorial comments about the universality of war, and that was all to the good. The presence of onstage trumpeters playing long straight trumpets, which produce a different, more open sound than a normal coiled trumpet, added strongly to the martial and royal elements of the action, as did the gigantic banners which covered the set in certain key scenes.
Now, to the performers. Instead of assigning the narratives identified as "Chorus" to one actor, as is often done, McAnuff chose to use his entire company in complex choric recitation for the opening speech ("O, for a Muse of Fire...."), with smaller bodies from the company carrying the remainder of the bridging narrations.
The play proper features a large number of relatively small roles grouped around a very few major parts. Among my favourites were the reliable veteran Stephen Russell as the Earl of Westmorland, the equally reliable veteran James Blendick as the Archbishop of Canterbury, Sophia Walker as the Boy (one of Falstaff's companions), and Deborah Hay in the small but memorable role of Alice, lady-in-waiting to Princess Catherine of France.
Among the larger parts, Ben Carlson was predictably excellent as Captain Fluellen, another of Shakespeare's delightful Welsh caricatures, Juan Chioran both steady and majestic as Montjoy, the French ambassador, and Tom Rooney both memorably comic and darkly tragic, as Ensign Pistol.
Which brings us to Henry. And there, as Hamlet says, is the rub. Aaron Krohn looks the part, but has a light-toned voice with too little variety in his delivery. And this is a very complex role indeed, a boy becoming a man, a soldier becoming a general, a gambler becoming a king and a king who is taking some very daring gambles. Krohn pulled it off adequately, but no more than that. He was (for my money) sadly miscast, and the scenes where he lingered long on stage often dragged.
Now, some people would say that this means the show fails. I disagree. Henry V is about the king, but there's much more to it than just the king himself. It's very much an ensemble piece, and as an ensemble this cast was very strong. The scene changes all moved with the speed and precision that we expect from Stratford, the scenic effects supported the show, and the right scenes all moved us deeply and indeed disturbingly. It's right that this play should make the audience uncomfortable in places as much as it makes them laugh in others, and so indeed it does. Were it not for the casting of Aaron Krohn, I would rate this production as excellent. It's still very good, as good a Henry as I have ever seen, but not a truly top-flight presentation of this difficult and complicated play.
For all that, though, it is (like all the histories) tremendously wordy, and here we have a production which -- with only slight lapses and one major weakness -- made the verbose text travel clearly out to the audience with meaning, intention, and emotion in full measure.
I was pleasantly surprised to see Des McAnuff stage a show that wasn't full to overflowing with technological whimwhams and foobaz. And the devices that McAnuff did use (the "horses", for instance) all fitted clearly into the period atmosphere. Last year's Twelfth Night disappointed me precisely because the elaborate stage technology kept stealing the show from the actors.
This Henry was a different matter altogether. The set of leaning timber baulks around a huge drawbridge was both massive and visually intriguing, dark and sombre in mood and yet easy to light clearly. This production stayed firmly grounded in its historical period, with no efforts to make onstage and out-of-synch editorial comments about the universality of war, and that was all to the good. The presence of onstage trumpeters playing long straight trumpets, which produce a different, more open sound than a normal coiled trumpet, added strongly to the martial and royal elements of the action, as did the gigantic banners which covered the set in certain key scenes.
Now, to the performers. Instead of assigning the narratives identified as "Chorus" to one actor, as is often done, McAnuff chose to use his entire company in complex choric recitation for the opening speech ("O, for a Muse of Fire...."), with smaller bodies from the company carrying the remainder of the bridging narrations.
The play proper features a large number of relatively small roles grouped around a very few major parts. Among my favourites were the reliable veteran Stephen Russell as the Earl of Westmorland, the equally reliable veteran James Blendick as the Archbishop of Canterbury, Sophia Walker as the Boy (one of Falstaff's companions), and Deborah Hay in the small but memorable role of Alice, lady-in-waiting to Princess Catherine of France.
Among the larger parts, Ben Carlson was predictably excellent as Captain Fluellen, another of Shakespeare's delightful Welsh caricatures, Juan Chioran both steady and majestic as Montjoy, the French ambassador, and Tom Rooney both memorably comic and darkly tragic, as Ensign Pistol.
Which brings us to Henry. And there, as Hamlet says, is the rub. Aaron Krohn looks the part, but has a light-toned voice with too little variety in his delivery. And this is a very complex role indeed, a boy becoming a man, a soldier becoming a general, a gambler becoming a king and a king who is taking some very daring gambles. Krohn pulled it off adequately, but no more than that. He was (for my money) sadly miscast, and the scenes where he lingered long on stage often dragged.
Now, some people would say that this means the show fails. I disagree. Henry V is about the king, but there's much more to it than just the king himself. It's very much an ensemble piece, and as an ensemble this cast was very strong. The scene changes all moved with the speed and precision that we expect from Stratford, the scenic effects supported the show, and the right scenes all moved us deeply and indeed disturbingly. It's right that this play should make the audience uncomfortable in places as much as it makes them laugh in others, and so indeed it does. Were it not for the casting of Aaron Krohn, I would rate this production as excellent. It's still very good, as good a Henry as I have ever seen, but not a truly top-flight presentation of this difficult and complicated play.
Thursday 12 July 2012
Bravo, Cymbeline!
Stratford Festival's production of Shakespeare's rare late "romance play" must truly be called the crown on a very remarkable season.
First production I've ever seen of Cymbeline, and from the moment the play began I had no trouble following all the criss-crossing plot lines of the various characters and their tangled destinies. That's a big compliment to the director and company right there, as this complex web of stories could easily deteriorate into the confusions so typical of a soap opera.
The staging takes full advantage of the long rectangular arena of the Tom Patterson Theatre, with entrances and exits at both ends on ground level, down the stairs at the rear, and even above the stage level on a lift.
This production has one of the strongest casts I've seen at Stratford for years, with even the smaller roles played by first-rank actors. Centring the play is the powerful, emotional Innogen (Imogen) of Cara Ricketts. She always commands the stage as soon as she appears, and makes you care for her very deeply indeed. No less significant is the servant Pisanio. As played by Brian Tree, he becomes a key element in the story and one of its focal points. Innogen's banished husband, Posthumus, is given an equally strong performance by Graham Abbey.
Around these three appear a whole range of strong performances by Geraint Wyn Davies, here proving his tragic mettle as the king Cymbeline. Yanna McIntosh gives off powerful negative vibes and rouses cold shivers as the smilingly vengeful Queen. Mike Shara makes the most of both the comedy and the rage in her cloddish son, Cloten. Equally memorable are John Vickery as the banished courtier Belarius, and Nigel Bennett as the Roman commander Caius Lucius.
If there's a relative weakness here (only relative), it's the casting of Tom McCamus as the villainous wannabe seducer, Iachimo. Maybe the weakness is more a matter of the the way the part is written, but nothing in his performance made me want to feel sorry for him at the end. He got what he deserved.
One final note: as the concealed sons of the King, E. B. Smith and Ian Lake seemed a bit unreal and unbelievable, until they reached their funeral hymn which they speak over the "dead" body of the man who (unknown to them) is actually their sister in disguise. Their faces gaunt with grief, they brought tears to my eyes with these lines:
Fear no more the heat o' the sun,
Nor the furious winter's rages; Thou thy worldly task hast done, Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages: Golden lads and girls all must, As chimney-sweepers, come to dust.
Kudos to all involved, and especially to director Antoni Cimolino. This production certainly bodes well for the future of Stratford as he assumes the office of Artistic Director this fall.
First production I've ever seen of Cymbeline, and from the moment the play began I had no trouble following all the criss-crossing plot lines of the various characters and their tangled destinies. That's a big compliment to the director and company right there, as this complex web of stories could easily deteriorate into the confusions so typical of a soap opera.
The staging takes full advantage of the long rectangular arena of the Tom Patterson Theatre, with entrances and exits at both ends on ground level, down the stairs at the rear, and even above the stage level on a lift.
This production has one of the strongest casts I've seen at Stratford for years, with even the smaller roles played by first-rank actors. Centring the play is the powerful, emotional Innogen (Imogen) of Cara Ricketts. She always commands the stage as soon as she appears, and makes you care for her very deeply indeed. No less significant is the servant Pisanio. As played by Brian Tree, he becomes a key element in the story and one of its focal points. Innogen's banished husband, Posthumus, is given an equally strong performance by Graham Abbey.
Around these three appear a whole range of strong performances by Geraint Wyn Davies, here proving his tragic mettle as the king Cymbeline. Yanna McIntosh gives off powerful negative vibes and rouses cold shivers as the smilingly vengeful Queen. Mike Shara makes the most of both the comedy and the rage in her cloddish son, Cloten. Equally memorable are John Vickery as the banished courtier Belarius, and Nigel Bennett as the Roman commander Caius Lucius.
If there's a relative weakness here (only relative), it's the casting of Tom McCamus as the villainous wannabe seducer, Iachimo. Maybe the weakness is more a matter of the the way the part is written, but nothing in his performance made me want to feel sorry for him at the end. He got what he deserved.
One final note: as the concealed sons of the King, E. B. Smith and Ian Lake seemed a bit unreal and unbelievable, until they reached their funeral hymn which they speak over the "dead" body of the man who (unknown to them) is actually their sister in disguise. Their faces gaunt with grief, they brought tears to my eyes with these lines:
Fear no more the heat o' the sun,
Kudos to all involved, and especially to director Antoni Cimolino. This production certainly bodes well for the future of Stratford as he assumes the office of Artistic Director this fall.
Sunday 1 July 2012
Daily Double for Canada Day, Part 2
Okay, here's part 2. Last Sunday afternoon, it was the Bolshoi Ballet of Moscow at the Cineplex with a full-length production of Raymonda, the last of the great classical ballets originally staged by Marius Petipa (famous for his collaboration with Tchaikovsky on Sleeping Beauty and Nutcracker).
This live-performance simulcast featured splendid dancing, choreography, and staging, along with some very intriguing backstage shots during intermissions of the sets being taken down and put up as the dancers warmed up. From all these viewpoints it was a terrific afternoon.
But....
(you just knew there had to be a "But...." coming, didn't you?)
Since I am familiar with, and dearly love, Glazunov's music for Raymonda, I have to go off on a little personal rant here. Far too many choreographers in the "good old days" considered it their privilege to mess around with the music, changing the order of the pieces, cutting sections, adding sections from other works (maybe even from other composers) and all of these things happened here.
Why?
Glazunov was a disciple of Tchaikovsky and learned everything there was to learn from the master about constructing an effective ballet score which is danceable, musically intriguing, and perfectly organized. Just as in the great Tchaikovsky ballets, there's a clear through line of key sequences and varying tempo and metre which gives the music unending interest and involvement for the audience.
By the time the choreographers got through with it, the key sequence was butchered, several of Glazunov's ripest inspirations had vanished, and the whole had deteriorated into a choppy mess.
Did they do it so that the composer's strengths wouldn't detract from the dance? Or were they just so full of themselves that they considered the music only fit to be a carpet for them to walk on?
I notice that modern choreographers are much more respectful. For instance, Maurice Bejart in Song of a Wayfarer used Mahler's song cycle complete and unaltered. Even more noteworthy, Kenneth Macmillan in Song of the Earth gave the same respectful treatment to Das Lied von der Erde -- thank goodness! Nor did James Kudelka chop up and rearrange Beethoven's Sixth Symphony in his Pastorale, and so forth.
Whenever they mess around with the music, it causes me to cringe every time -- and detracts from my enjoyment of the whole. The curse of approaching the art of the ballet as a music lover who is already familiar with the score.
But this won't stop me from checking out the Bolshoi on the big screen again -- particularly next year, when they are celebrating the 100th anniversary of the Rite of Spring with a brand-new production choreographed specially for the company by the amazing Christopher Wheeldon -- a must-see if ever there was one! And I'm betting that he won't try to cut the score!
This live-performance simulcast featured splendid dancing, choreography, and staging, along with some very intriguing backstage shots during intermissions of the sets being taken down and put up as the dancers warmed up. From all these viewpoints it was a terrific afternoon.
But....
(you just knew there had to be a "But...." coming, didn't you?)
Since I am familiar with, and dearly love, Glazunov's music for Raymonda, I have to go off on a little personal rant here. Far too many choreographers in the "good old days" considered it their privilege to mess around with the music, changing the order of the pieces, cutting sections, adding sections from other works (maybe even from other composers) and all of these things happened here.
Why?
Glazunov was a disciple of Tchaikovsky and learned everything there was to learn from the master about constructing an effective ballet score which is danceable, musically intriguing, and perfectly organized. Just as in the great Tchaikovsky ballets, there's a clear through line of key sequences and varying tempo and metre which gives the music unending interest and involvement for the audience.
By the time the choreographers got through with it, the key sequence was butchered, several of Glazunov's ripest inspirations had vanished, and the whole had deteriorated into a choppy mess.
Did they do it so that the composer's strengths wouldn't detract from the dance? Or were they just so full of themselves that they considered the music only fit to be a carpet for them to walk on?
I notice that modern choreographers are much more respectful. For instance, Maurice Bejart in Song of a Wayfarer used Mahler's song cycle complete and unaltered. Even more noteworthy, Kenneth Macmillan in Song of the Earth gave the same respectful treatment to Das Lied von der Erde -- thank goodness! Nor did James Kudelka chop up and rearrange Beethoven's Sixth Symphony in his Pastorale, and so forth.
Whenever they mess around with the music, it causes me to cringe every time -- and detracts from my enjoyment of the whole. The curse of approaching the art of the ballet as a music lover who is already familiar with the score.
But this won't stop me from checking out the Bolshoi on the big screen again -- particularly next year, when they are celebrating the 100th anniversary of the Rite of Spring with a brand-new production choreographed specially for the company by the amazing Christopher Wheeldon -- a must-see if ever there was one! And I'm betting that he won't try to cut the score!
Daily Double for Canada Day Part 1
Okay, so it's not really a DAILY double! And yes, I am falling shamefully behind in my duties to the blogosphere. Anyway, here goes.
Last Saturday (a whole week ago! -- bad, bad bad!!!) I was at Stratford for my fourth show of the season. Hard to believe I've racked up that many already! This was a Festival Theatre staging of Much Ado About Nothing, which is one of my favourite Shakespeare plays. It's either the second or third staging I've seen since meeting the play in 1994 through Kenneth Branagh's landmark film.
That film came into mind as a landmark because it exemplified a noteworthy change in Shakespeare performance. Before that film came out, it seemed to me that many Shakespeare performers declaimed the text so quickly that the play seemed like a race to the finish line, the words tumbling all over each other at top speed, and this made it hard sometimes to follow what was happening. In the movie, Branagh favoured a slower, more nuanced, more naturalistic style, which greatly clarified the occasional obscurities of the Bard's language. He also showed that at times it was possible to edit the text without doing great harm to the forward flow of the story -- indeed, at times, the cuts improved the flow.
This style has become more prominent of recent years in stage productions too, and this performance was no exception. I was looking forward to it, because it is directed by one of the great directors of our day, Christopher Newton, for so many years the Artistic Director of the Shaw Festival. And the production fulfilled my expectations in all ways -- except one.
The strengths: an elegant, curving staircase sweeps across the upstage area, providing a very flexible acting space, especially with the wide landings near the bottom and at the top. The action still flows freely around this, but also over it and up and down. And because the staircase faces towards the audience, it's a much more useful acting space than the back-angled steps of the original balcony on the stage. Costumes were perfectly attuned to the elegant environment. This was meant to be Brazil in the late 1800s, but there was nothing to my eye that looked particularly of that time and place. Maybe this is another way of saying that high-society Brazil was essentially a copy of Europe. The feeling of "tropics" was certainly there in the plants, but that could also have been Mediterranean, as the script states (Sicily).
The cast included some of the strongest players of the current Festival company, and all were in fine form: Deborah Hay and Ben Carlson striking sparks off each other as Beatrice and Benedick, Juan Chioran strong and firm as the Prince, and James Blendick splendidly emotive as Leonato. Gareth Potter as Don John was a surprise -- not the actor I would have predicted for that kind of role, but the underplayed menace he brought to the part worked beautifully.
The one disappointment was Richard Binsley in the key comic role of Dogberry. His performance seemed to be lifted straight out of the bad old days of express-train Shakespeare, and half his words were lost in the rushing blur of sound. A pity, because the humour of Dogberry is purely verbal humour, the ridiculous malapropisms creating all the laughs -- and he didn't get nearly as many as this character ought to draw.
But aside from that flaw, this was definitely a production to treasure for its many other excellences.
Last Saturday (a whole week ago! -- bad, bad bad!!!) I was at Stratford for my fourth show of the season. Hard to believe I've racked up that many already! This was a Festival Theatre staging of Much Ado About Nothing, which is one of my favourite Shakespeare plays. It's either the second or third staging I've seen since meeting the play in 1994 through Kenneth Branagh's landmark film.
That film came into mind as a landmark because it exemplified a noteworthy change in Shakespeare performance. Before that film came out, it seemed to me that many Shakespeare performers declaimed the text so quickly that the play seemed like a race to the finish line, the words tumbling all over each other at top speed, and this made it hard sometimes to follow what was happening. In the movie, Branagh favoured a slower, more nuanced, more naturalistic style, which greatly clarified the occasional obscurities of the Bard's language. He also showed that at times it was possible to edit the text without doing great harm to the forward flow of the story -- indeed, at times, the cuts improved the flow.
This style has become more prominent of recent years in stage productions too, and this performance was no exception. I was looking forward to it, because it is directed by one of the great directors of our day, Christopher Newton, for so many years the Artistic Director of the Shaw Festival. And the production fulfilled my expectations in all ways -- except one.
The strengths: an elegant, curving staircase sweeps across the upstage area, providing a very flexible acting space, especially with the wide landings near the bottom and at the top. The action still flows freely around this, but also over it and up and down. And because the staircase faces towards the audience, it's a much more useful acting space than the back-angled steps of the original balcony on the stage. Costumes were perfectly attuned to the elegant environment. This was meant to be Brazil in the late 1800s, but there was nothing to my eye that looked particularly of that time and place. Maybe this is another way of saying that high-society Brazil was essentially a copy of Europe. The feeling of "tropics" was certainly there in the plants, but that could also have been Mediterranean, as the script states (Sicily).
The cast included some of the strongest players of the current Festival company, and all were in fine form: Deborah Hay and Ben Carlson striking sparks off each other as Beatrice and Benedick, Juan Chioran strong and firm as the Prince, and James Blendick splendidly emotive as Leonato. Gareth Potter as Don John was a surprise -- not the actor I would have predicted for that kind of role, but the underplayed menace he brought to the part worked beautifully.
The one disappointment was Richard Binsley in the key comic role of Dogberry. His performance seemed to be lifted straight out of the bad old days of express-train Shakespeare, and half his words were lost in the rushing blur of sound. A pity, because the humour of Dogberry is purely verbal humour, the ridiculous malapropisms creating all the laughs -- and he didn't get nearly as many as this character ought to draw.
But aside from that flaw, this was definitely a production to treasure for its many other excellences.
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