Out of Context

I rehearsed scenes today for a program that the Young Artists do to wrap up the summer. All of the staff directors get a little chunk of scenes to direct in a madcap amount of time and then they are placed on a spare stage as a veritable smorgasbord of operatic morsels. The program we're doing this summer contains scenes from the operas we're doing this season, scenes from the operas Glimmerglass is doing next season, and a few things thrown into the mix for good measure.

The interesting thing about scenes programs is that each scene is presented as its own little mini-narrative. Very rarely is there a through-line between scenes and if there is it's generally contrived at best. Like monologues in an audition process, scenes can be presented in two ways. The first is to do it very true-to-form, taking for granted that the audience knows the opera from which the scene has emerged and will understand what's come before and what will come after. The second way is to come into the scene understanding the opera and characters in full but seeing the scene itself as its own little whole. In other words, giving the scene its own distinct beginning, middle and end so that it easily stands on its own regardless of backstory or looming foreshadow.

I much prefer the latter version of scene work because I think it allows me and the singers more creative freedom as we try to figure out these character's motivations in their own private scene hell (appropriate because I'm working only on chunks of Orpheus operas). For example, the scene I'm doing with my Gluck/Berlioz covers is a duet between Orpheus and Eurydice immediately before he looks at her and she drops dead a second time. The duet begins with him urging her to follow him and ends with her screaming one last murderous epitaph in his direction. We are given no set-up or backstory. If we didn't already know the story we would have no idea that they were clamoring out of the Underworld and that he couldn't look at her. We are also not graced with a typical ending to anything Orpheus-related. For all intents and purposes, Eurydice leaves and Orpheus never gets the chance to turn around and kill her.

So I've used this in our retelling of this scene from the opera. I've kept the staging nearly the same but given them intent to play from. When you look at the text of this duet, this could be any horrid middle-of-the-night argument between lovers. He's woken her up from a deep sleep in some sort of distress, she wants to know what the problem is, he refuses to tell her, she blows her top and eventually leaves. We can all see and understand these motivations and in that my two singers can create a complete story out of a truncated tidbit of a larger work.

I actually kind of like the exercise of pulling these pieces out of their construct. It forces you to see the timelessness of the words and the full story inside each beat of the opera.

My second duet is a love duet between Orpheus and Eurydice from Haydn's "L'Anima Del Filosofo." This piece is being performed this season but in a concert version so there are no preconceived notions of staging. I had a lot of trouble with this piece when I first began to look at it because, while it is a lovely duet, it's ten minutes of "I love you, you're my treasure, oh darling we shall never be separated," and I started my work on this at a complete loss as to how to make it interesting as a stand-alone.

The answer, as is so often the case, was in the question (I hope). I've pulled the piece apart for these two singers and given it meaning beyond its operatic storyline. We've messed with time a little, played with the notion of love beyond death, and given a physicality to the music that portrays a story far beyond the lyrics (apropos to but not dependent on the Orpheus myth as well). We worked for two hours today on this 10-minute piece and I think we've got something juicy enough to play. It was wonderful to allow two singers to discover work and worth inside a piece that, generally, is all about two people simply staring into each other's eyes.

For all of my frustrations and sometimes hatred towards the freelance gypsy lifestyle that I lead, I love my job.

Don't get me wrong...I'm terrified of my job. I throw myself into huge nervous frenzies about getting my point across, crossing over into the land of the trite and presenting something that is truly, truly worth seeing, but I think that's okay. It's part of adoring the art form that means I always want to do it justice with my contribution.

It's accepting that My output won't always be aces that proves to be the most difficult thing. It's all learning: the triumphs and the failures. You have to learn to love both.

Don't Look Back

Since mentioning it in my blog, a couple people have asked me about the Orpheus myth. I have to say, it surprises me a little. I've known about Orpheus as long as I can remember. New York City Ballet's symbol was Orpheus' lyre for a long time, and I loved pictures of various dancers in the strange bulbous costumes, telling the story of the tragic musician.

So, for those of you who aren't familiar with it, following is my rendition of the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice.

Orpheus was the son of a mortal and the muse, Calliope. He was a gifted musician who was given a lyre by the god, Apollo, and he enchanted people with his incredible singing and playing. He rode with the Argonauts as a musician so that his soothing music would calm the sirens while they were at sea. He was that good..

Orpheus fell in love with a woman named Eurydice. On the day of the their marriage, she was walking with her bridemaids and was bit on the foot by a viper, killing her instantly. Orpheus was grief-stricken and felt like he couldn't go on without her. He pleaded with the gods of the Underworld to let him into hell so that he could bring back his wife.

By playing his lyre and singing beautifully, the Furies let him past the gates of hell and he implored to Pluto to let Eurydice live. Pluto, like everyone else, was enchanted by Orpheus' exceptional musicianship and agreed to let him have Eurydice again - on one condition. He must walk in front of Eurydice as they climb the path out of hell and MUST NOT look at her until they are back on earth or she will again fall dead, never to be returned.

Orpheus agreed and he and Eurydice began their path back to earth. About half way along the path, Orpheus doubted his faith, scared that Eurydice, who was painfully quiet, was no longer behind him. He turned to make sure she was there and the moment he laid eyes on her, she fell dead before him, never to return to earth.

Terrifying.

Now, Gluck's version (of which we are doing the Berlioz version, rewritten in the 1800's for a French audience), has a happy ending, which is common in the age which it was written (the Age of Enlightenment). In this version, written through a Christian lens, the god of love sees Orpheus weeping after he kills Eurydice a second time, and the god is so touched that he brings Eurydice back to life for Orpheus, feeling that he'd suffered enough.

Personally, I like the sad ending. It packs more of a moral punch and gives us more to think about in the midst of our shock and weeping.

And that's the end of my story for now.

Passages

Rehearsals started today for the Gluck/Berlioz "Orphee" in Richfield Springs, New York. I've had incredible housing luck here this year. I am exactly two blocks away from the rehearsal hall. So, while many people have to drive upwards of half an hour to get to staging rehearsals, I left my house at 9:25 to get there by 9:30.

We're rehearsing in a school that is still in session. We're sequestered to a gym in the back of the behemoth of a building. It's a little echo-y, a little stuffy and has some noisy fans and loud, jarring tones that sound through the p.a. system every 40 or so minutes to announce the end of a period, but it's a sunny room with plenty of room for all of us as well as a few set pieces and a giant table of props, so I'm not complaining.

This is a small show in comparison to most that I've worked on. We have three principal characters and one soloist plus two dancers and 22 chorus members. The run time is not even two hours and the set is relatively simple in its changes and footprint. Despite, it's got some tough ideas rolling around inside of it and we began exploring those today.

Lillian, the director, was talking today about the fact that the Orpheus myth is about how we deal with death (untimely death especially) and the ideas of resurrection and redemption, as well as a play between the ideas that art conquers all (even death) and art is futile. These aren't little ideas, especially that realization of our mortality. Yesterday she gave a terrific speech to the cast and crew about the big ideas behind this show. When we got to the Gates of Hades, she described the feeling behind the Furies as "that moment at 4 in the morning when you wake up in terror because you realize you're going to die." She asked, rhetorically, if anyone had ever woken up with that realization and felt the terror that goes along with it. You could see faces in the crowd that knew; I recognized them as my own.

It's those moments when I wake up in the night, fearful of my fate, when I understand why people embrace religion. It's that moment of waking up, sweaty and shaking, out of a nightmare when you understand how the Orpheus myth has persisted for so long. Wouldn't we all like to be able to pull lost loved ones out of the abyss just by performing beautifully. The sadness is that we all have at least one flaw that makes us human enough to disallow passage to wherever souls end up...terrifying thoughts.

Death scares the hell out of me. Not all the time, mind you. I spend my days trying to continually make my life worth living. To me it's the only way to make it all okay. This doesn't stop me from lying awake sometimes and wondering where it all goes. How all of the hard work, sweat, laughter, sex, crying, triumph, chatter and tension could just disappear into the ether at the whims of the universe.

I have a feeling that an entire summer of being surrounded by retellings of the Orpheus myth, the ultimate story of death, mourning and afterlife, is going to keep this issue in the open. What a strange three months this will be.