Renee Fleming as the Countess bowing before the audience after the opera was over: we see a wide portion of the whole set from on high
Dear friends and readers,
Before too much time goes by, I want to praise and recommend going to see the Met’s production of Richard Strauss’s Capriccio. The Admiral, Izzy & I saw it in HD movie form this past Saturday, and I had this feeling of being transported quietly, of feeling touched in a tranformative distanced way that made me feel life could be so valuable if people would only live it according to its true pleasures — poetry, song, kind and/or courteous manners, good food, self-respecting dress.
The opera (as people who mention it usually quickly remark) was written during World War Two and is written as a kind of antidote to the horrors and terrors and cruelties of that conflagration, not so much to shut it out or pretend it’s not happening, but to carve a place, an interlude of refuge to remember and return to in our minds or memories. I never realized it’s set in 1770s. An overt allusion shapes it: Talleyrand said of the time before the French revolution, “Only those who lived before the revolution knew how sweet life could be.” He meant of course rich people which then and now means the privileged and lucky. In this opera we are asked to forget that such wealth and leisure and lack of insecurity was dependent on keeping a huge proportion of the population in servitude cheaply (and this cruel kind of arrangement is one the Republican reactionary party of the US is trying to return the US to), and I surmise one reason the opera is often not done in 1770s costume but in a generalized early 20th century one (say 1920s) is to make the viewer forget this immediate context and somehow abstract the experience into an ideal realm where no one is hurt from what we see.
I’d say its key is that it was made so intensely pleasurable I just didn’t want it to stop — and I felt the audience about me felt the same. When at the close, the production design and director teased the audience by step-by-step ending it, each time putting out more lights in the room, and then not yet ending it, one could feel the audience hold its breath, and hear laughter as each time we did not yet end. The opera began to “click” as this mood of rich quiet gratifications around the time the ballet pair came in, and we had the comedy of the thwarted absurdities of the classic ballerina. Then we had vexed quarreling between the poet (Olivier sung by Russell Braun) and composer (Flamand sung by Joseph Kaiser) over whose art was more important (and which man therefore more worthy the countess), which brought in the impresario (La Roche sung by Peter Rose) to sing the second best and longest aria of the opera, a justification of theater itself.
We see the principals circled round La Roche
The quarrel was a kind of pastoral version of Net debates I’ve experienced. You could call the opera an 18th century conversation piece (a favorite kind of genre painting of the era).
Fleming’s last aria was the crown of the piece — what was so unusual was the mood was cheerful, an upbeat genial hopeful melancholy (!). The role at the close is a reprise of her countess on Der Rosencavalier made political — the gossamer quality of her dress may be called symbolic.
Fleming in the shimmering silver dress that seemed to float on air: her rich typology made the opera even woman-centered — we have no less than 4 (countess, count’s sister, ballerina, diva)
This cheer was central to the opera too — it was filled with visual jokes. When the hired ballerina and her male danced came into the room to dance for the assembled group, the ballerina was thwarted in comical ways and we watched her from the perspective of the people in the room: Clairon (Sarah Connolly), the sister of the count (Morton Frank Larson) looked especially taken aback at the wild configurations of the ballerina’s legs as they neared Clairon’s body space. After the two Italian singers burlesqued their behavior while singing exquisitely, they sat down to eat cake and drink wine provided by the countess. The diva’s eating mounds of cake was made funny — such a human and natural failing, so sensual and sticky. When these privileged people left (for Paris — apparently they are in a country house), the male servants came in and comically discuss what we’ve just heard debated, with self-reflexive ironies like, What next, they’ll put servants in operas? Then the prompter came on in visibly frazzled dress and state, claiming to be the invisible spirit of it all, the genius loci hidden away under the floor, enabling everyone else to carry on. It made me smile.
On facebook where I put a brief message about the opera, a friend commented
Wasn’t it great! I went by myself (husband is grading papers) and the woman next to me, who was very chatty before the start, fell asleep and was snoring a tiny bit. This didn’t really bother me. I thought the whole thing was the most delightful confection. I hadn’t expected to be so moved by the whole thing.
I agreed:
The story went sort of slow and not much happened. I think a man on the other side of Isobel slept for a bit. It’s not just because I’m so into Austen that I thought of Austen’s Emma. Emma may be said to be Austen’s attempt to write a story about people were nothing much happens, a more rigorous form of realism. Well, the comparisons of usual opera as outlined by La Roche with their impossible unreal gods and goddesses, continual miraculous doings, heroic and tragic deeds, all well beyond the norms of verisimilitude with what we were watching make the same point as Austen’s: here are the real emotions these extravaganzas Write Large and lose sight of partly. The Emma project thus becomes an antidote to the war at the time, a spot of “civilization” (narrowly defined in upper class European terms) before any of the world’s most famous recent revolutions (French, Russian) occurred.
This evocation of a Canaletto in ruins found on one Met site suggests the Met was indeed referring to the revolution with the theme I suggest:
She (my friend) compared it to a Moliere comedy, The Misanthrope, and also the film The Red Shoes about a ballerina torn between love and ballet:
I thought of a Moliere comedy, because Madeleine with her suitors reminded me of Celimene in Misanthrope. And the brother-sister pair, too. But in Moliere the suitors would have been poor artists–here they were good (though vain and not very good husband material), and she really has an opportunity. I also kept thinking about the movie The Red Shoes, in which a woman is caught between two men, one of whom believes ballet is the highest art and the other that music (especially his own music) is the most important art. Apparently the director of Red Shoes wanted to direct a movie of Strauss’s life a few years after Strauss died, so maybe they were influenced by the opera, though in their work something does happen.
I objected but also agreed and generalized out to the theme as often presented in the 18th century:
I probably wouldn’t think of Moliere because I see him as so anti-feminist, savage satire against bluestockings (bad-mouthing word but appropriate here to Moliere’s plays). Strauss’s opera celebrates the countess and is fond of the other three women: Clairon, the ballerina, and the Italian opera singer. But I see your point. In the 18th century the emblem of Hercules between Vice and Virtue (comedy and tragedy in a Reynolds painting of Garrick):
Reynolds, Garrick between Tragedy (Virtue) and Comedy (Vice)was a frequent underlying archetype; it probably goes back to the Renaissance. I think there is something like this in Sidney’s Arcadia, certainly Spenser’s Faerie Queene — Una v Duessa. I wished I could remember Tom Stoppard’s Arcadia play (also about the arts) more.
She conceded the anti-feminism of Moliere’s perspective:
Of course, you are right; poor Celimene never had a chance.
I don’t know why people who write of this opera persist in calling it a curiosity or feeling uncomfortable about it, since most operas are implicitly deeply conservative in their presentation of numinous and upper class figures, traditional myths, and irrational feelings as what must rule the world. It’s just honester, done with startling clarity and self-awareness and the intelligence that shines through is another part of its comfort. It can make a viewer hopeful that the world could be better since such moments and experiences can and (for a couple of hours on stage) have been.
Maestro now taking final bows with prompter, dancers, male servants seen too
Small pleasures for the 18th century lover were all the references to 18th century theater and art: the best and radical operas are Gluck’s (this is pre-Mozart with his revolutionary Marrriage of Figaro and Masonic Magic Flute), the reference to the group putting on a Voltaire play (Tancred).
Ellen
Ellen And Jim Have A Blog, Two 
Hi, Ellen–we also really enjoyed the Met production of Capriccio. It was an interesting “update” with just a few changes in the libretto–for example, when the Count and Clairon are ready to leave for Paris, the Count’s servant tells him (in the original) that the coach is ready, with four horses, and Clairon says she would have expected six horses–in this production, the servant says the sport coupe is ready, and she says she would have expected at least a limousine. Perfect for the 1930s. Of course, they couldn’t change the references to Gluck, so that was the one obvious anachronism in the production, but not really a problem.
There is a beautiful DVD available–a San Francisco Opera production with Kiri te Kanawa as Madeleine. It is designed true to the period and her gowns are simply spectacular, as is the whole setting, and the Italian Singers are even funnier, as they are costumed in baroque opera style, with elaborate gestures. If you can borrow or rent it (from Netflix?), it would reward you, I am sure, if only because of the elegance of the late 18th century production style.
As a coincidence, I have been teaching a course for retired folks called “The Sister Arts” (mainly focused on poetry, painting, and music) and the finale of the course, last week, was watching that same DVD. The students loved it and several went on Saturday to see the Met production, so that was a fine conclusion to the discussions we had about poetry and music, especially.
So thanks for your thoughts on the Met production and Strauss’s opera. All best, Tom Dillingham
Hi again, Ellen–I forgot to mention that Clairon is not the Count’s sister. The Count and Madeleine, the Countess, are brother and sister. Clairon is a famous actress who has been the mistress of the poet (hence their snappish exchanges) but is now becoming the mistress of the Count. That is why he is taking her back to Paris. There are several interesting “pairings” in the libretto, with the sibling relations of the Count and Countess, the professional relations of La Roche, the producer/director and Clairon, the partnerships of the two ballet dancers and the two Italian singers, and then the feuding pair, Flamand and Olivier, representing the artistic interests of the poet and the musician/composer. And those combinations shift or are strained at various points–as you observed, the ballerina is frustrated in her efforts to seduce the Count by being pushed back into her performance, and the Italian singers are upset because they have not been paid, and so on. It is really a very clever libretto, written by the famous conductor, Clemens Krauss, though based on a much earlier short play. I agree with you, certainly, that the mood of mixed melancholy and pleasure (at artistic beauty, especially) is a pleasant experience, and the brief interlude where the servants express their very different perspectives is a clever nod to “reality.” All best, Tom
Dear Tom,
Thank you for both your replies. My husband, Jim, who has read the libretto says that not only would the piece be improved were it set in its target era, but it should end on the countess holding up a mirror to herself. I’d say they go against the script because that image is nowadays associated so closely with vanity and frivolity and they want strong positive vibes for the countess.
Also for the correction. I see I didn’t understand or I mistook some of what was going on. Even with sur- or subtitles, I frequently still somehow don’t pick up on details of what’s said or happening the way I can a play. The music distracts me; it’s often loud and/or the voices are not to my ears clear. I’ve not got a good ear.
I noticed I got less “hits” for this than previous operas or some of my recent blogs. Capriccio is undervalued — as are the lovely caprices of life which can solace us :).
Ellen
Hi, Ellen–
The mirror is important–I think that we are supposed to believe that when Fleming is facing us, with her hand up, that she is looking into a mirror (the audience is the “mirror”) as there is a reference in the lines she sings to a mirror image, but I don’t think that particular bit works at all, and most people would just naturally think she is “musing” about how delightful she is to others and to herself. That is the one aspect of that performance that I really don’t like–Fleming appears so self-absorbed in the final scene that it is way beyond vanity–it is almost perverse. But she sings it beautifully.
I think you are right that the opera is not all that well known. Many of my opera friends had never encountered it at all before the opening night gala last year, when they had Fleming perform just the final scene. The audience here at the movie theater was slightly smaller than usual, though very enthusiastic when it was over, but I think a lot of people decided to wait for this coming Saturday and the familiar Verdi warhorse (which should be very good, as well). All best, Tom”
In reply to Tom,
Fleming is probably projecting what must be her natural reaction to her super-high status at this point as a diva who can command whole operas back into the repertory. She is a wonderful hostess of some of these HD operas — which shows a lot of self-control 🙂
We did have a man sitting next to us while we watched who we began to talk to. (The audiences in these movie-theaters are more friendly and a lot less pretentious and pompous than the people in the physical Met or many theaters. People bring their own food — against explicit prohibitions.) He said that another near-by theater had been sold out but my daughter told me that this other theater is small.
Jim and I have bought for three operas from Europe in the month of June. They will be screened by HD in a movie-house in Georgetown. Last year we saw a Don Giovanni that was superb, and I wrote a longer blog about it:
https://ellenandjim.wordpress.com/2010/04/18/claus-guths-don-giovanni-taking-refuge-in-the-pastoral/
E.M.
Dear all,
A kind friend from facebook sent me a DVD of the 1993 San Francisco production of Capriccio where it was done in the 18th century dress intended.
Here’s one piece on UTube:
Information is available only through the commercial form of an ad:
http://www.amazon.com/Richard-Strauss-Capriccio-Runnicles-Francisco/sim/B00009PY2C/2
FWIW: Jim thought the 18th century setting more appropriate than the modern one and did like the closing use of the mirror. Jim said Simon Keelyside and Tatiana Troyanos sang superbly well. Not that Kiri Ti Kanawa didn’t but he thought (and I agreed) that Fleming acted the role much more subtly and with more naturalistic human emotion. I have to admit for myself I found the recent one in modern costume more entertaining, more psychologically effective because the singers really acted out the roles much more. Simply they were funnier (the ballerina, the diva eating all that cake) and the staging of the production wittier (self-reflexive in that close for example). One person I thought got closer to the recent production was the man who sang the prompter. I wondered if putting the singers in modern clothes frees them to feel more real. I know recent costume dramas combine modern motifs for clothes with historically accurate costumes partly to attract a modern younger audience but also to enable the actors to feel they are simply dressed, rather than in masquerade. It brought home how much productions have changed in the last 15 years or so.
At least to me, somehow putting it in the 18th century made it seem more a period piece and much less relevant to today, a kind of curiosity as it’s often called. By putting the actors in early 20th century dress (1920s) it turned the opera into a comment on the 20th century horrors and our modern lack of value for civilization and art through the metaphor of the 18th century Talleyrand vision of the ancien regime.
Ellen
Ellen–there is a Youtube video of the end of a Paris production with Fleming which will, I think, please you quite a bit. Modern costumes but with full skirts evoking the 18th c. and palatial setting–but the very end and the use of the mirror is just remarkable. I don’t know enough German not to need subtitles, and the French subtitles suggest to me a subtly different drama than the Met’s English ones did–or maybe I am just getting to know the scene better.
opss-forgot the video url. http://youtu.be/GKDkFUJR15o There are 2 videos of the scene but the shorter one has sound and visual out of synch.
Thank you very much, Judy. I’ll tell Jim. We got the DVD at noon, and we were watching the production by 8 in the evening :). When Jim was an undergraduate, he took a course in 18th century literature — to share my interest he said.
I’m told the seat surtitles at the Met come in 4 languages so presumably you could follow along Capriccio in the German.
As we know, language is a world in itself and changes the meaning even when it’s not ostensibly mean to.
Have I said we’ve tickets to see 3 HD operas from Europe in DC in June. I’ll probably write about them too — it’s called sharing our lives with one another :).
Ellen
“Hello, Ellen–I am delighted that the dvd reached you in good shape and that you have enjoyed it. I agree with your reservations about the acting in the San Francisco version–it is more “traditional” in many ways–in good ways, visually at least, and with a good approximation of Strauss’s own instructions–but in less good ways, that old-fashioned “stand and deliver” style of operatic performance, which was the responsibility of the director. You can see that even the very young Simon Keenlyside, who is a great singing actor–managed to out-perform most of the more experienced singers, simply because he is such a good actor and a great singer, as well. His Hamlet was superb and I have seen him in several other roles, always excellent. He is also a wonderful recitalist, performing Schubert and Schumann to perfection.
Kiri Te Kanawa has a beautiful voice, but she was never an effective actress–very pleasant to watch, but seldom able to project a sense of the character. Fleming’s Countess was much more engaged in the action and effective until all the self-love she projected in the final scene. Musically, however, I don’t think that performance can be bettered. Troyanos is also quite wonderful, I agree. Very sadly, she died soon after that performance.
All best wishes,
Tom”
The Paris production mentioned in the 8:57 comment above is on youtube in its entirety! So I’ve spent the afternoon wallowing in it. It’s the Robert Carsen 2004 production (in the Garnier). It is set in 1942 (a Nazi officer accompanies Clairon to the chateau, though, of course, she leaves without him; his cap sits ominously on the center table throughout the second scene). Some of the eighteenth century references are cut: La Roche no longer meets “old Goldoni” — Goldoni would have to have been very old by then; there are fewer references to Gluck. There are many nice things about it. The sextet is played on stage rather than from the pit. The casting is luxurious: Robert Tear plays M. Taupe! The second scene quarrel is played as Champagne-fueled, the Count keeps topping up everyone’s glass. And the final scene is set as an opera within the opera — the opera that Olivier and Flamand have written. The second entr’acte becomes its overture. At its end the scene dissolves, the scenery is lifted, the fake boxes that Olivier, Flamand, La Roche, the Count and Countess have been sitting in, watching the performance, move across the stage, an assistant brings Miss Fleming a bottle of water and as everyone leaves, we see the ballerina at her barre in front of the mirror. She holds a pose, leg high, at each of the chords as the lights go down.
From RJ:
“I’ve been meaning to reply to your remarks about Capriccio, which I had tickets to see but didn’t use (I did donate them to the opera, for what that’s worth) because I lacked the intestinal fortitude for a 2½ sit. I have adored the opera since I was a freshman in college, when I had to figure out what it was about without help from the libretto, which had been misplaced by the library. I saw the Met’s production when it was new, in 1998 — a seat in a box was my 50th birthday present from a friend. I am not the world’s keenest fan of Renée Fleming singing Strauss, for all that it has become her signature. (She’s very good at it, I concede.)”
Dear RJ,
The 1993 taught me once again how much opera has changed in the last 2 decades, and how much acting, genuine directing and a host of theatrical skills and original designs expected.
Jim watched the opera a third time, again with Renee Fleming in the lead role, a Paris production last year — we were alerted to it by a friend on Facebook. He just loved that one, thought it more subtle, using the 18th century as a metaphor more directly though set in 1944. It included the mirror in the last scene.
E.M.