courtesan. n. a prostitute, especially one with wealthy or upper class clients (Oxford Concise Dictionary). n. a woman of the town [courtisane. Fr.] Shakespeare (Johnson’s Dictionary)
Also: from traviare. v. to be lost, wandering, travail, travel, astray (Concise Cambridge Italian Dictionary)
Nightmare parody as dreamt, seen, experienced by Alfredo
Dear friends and readers,
I’ve been writing altogether too frequently about prostitutes lately: from trafficking to The Rise of the English Actress, from arguments about how or whether to help prostitutes to suspect individuals and another night in the life of Roman Polanski, it seems hard to leave the topic.
And now Willy Dekker’s La Traviata at the Met directed with HD camera transmission in mind, featuring Natalie Dessay and Matthew Polenzani (to whom much of the power of the experience is owed), is undoubtedly the most memorable, striking, & contemporary production of an opera I’ve seen since Claus Guth’s Don Giovanni at Salzburg. To speak metaphorically, it seemed at first the La Traviata characters has gotten lost in some minimalist Samuel Beckett play: instead of a tree, we had a clock, instead of a dirt road, a highly uncomfortable couch, instead of a horizon, a bending wall with a overlooking roof.
Dessay in her white slip by the clock, her rich flowered robe fallen and forgotten
But then as I saw this crowd of greedy men grabbing at our heroine, assailing her, tossing her about on stone couches, making her their puppet, I was reminded of Jane Campion’s take on Henry James’s Portrait of a Lady. Isabel Archer was destroyed by this hard devouring and (paradoxically) scornful adulation too.
Dessay thrust above the horde, arms thrusting champagne bottles outward
What is it with Salzburg — as that’s where the Dekker & Guth premiered — what electric current from a core of contemporary brilliance is running through this place? The production has been making the rounds of opera houses since 2005, and everyone apparently “knows” the script is based on partly autobiographical novel by Dumas, La Dame aux Camelias, which has been filmed and retold many times, and this version provides the capable singer with an opportunity to deliver the most moving of performances (see, e.g., The NYTimes and Minnesota Radio).
I just loved the set. Very demanding. You are just out there singing with no distractions beyond what is meaningful.
And I was swept away by Verdi’s music. It rocks, you sway within from it. Exhilarating, mysterious (as a song in this one tells us), thrilling. The music of this part of his oeuvre makes your body move, it’s irresistible the rhythms and harmonies. Two others just the same: Rigoletto. La Forza del Destino.
So what can I add beyond what I’ve already said: If the purpose was to make an unsentimental Traviata, to wrest this cliche from false tears, Dekker and Company managed it by hitting truer emotions. Bold and simple through and through: black-on-white for everyone but Dessay against an often royal blue background:
The nerve was to bring out the underlying realities of the original Dumas by transgressive parody. The traditional ballet became a muscular man naked to the waist, putting on Dessay’s red dress, and cavorting about the stage with all the men, making gross sexual gestures (see above). Where Alfredo once left the stage, now he was there to be teased, bullied, mocked, banged about:
— or was this a nightmare? The last act was just inspired. I was near or in tears, holding them back, stunned with emotion (though often not for the specific situation in front of me but rather the emotions themselves which I’ve felt in other situations). Our heroine was no longer emoting from a bed but walking about dazed, now grief-stricken, mad with depresson, then lit with sudden crazed hope (which hope alerted even the dim Alfredo that she was not going to last), all activity, trying this, demanding that (to go to church, to go out, to be forgiven, with plans for the future), letter in hand:
Polenzani as Alfredo sang exquisitely beautifully and his acting almost as good as Robert Alagna (Don Jose in the Met HD Carmen). He was more subtle than Dessay:
And his voice was stronger and more moving: his arias were like prayers to joy. Jim said that technically Dessay wasn’t up to it: her voice rasped at the end, the middle register was lacking. Well, if so, it made her singing all the more effective at the close, her destruction more believable.
For me the only failure was Dmitri Hvorostovsky as the father; I felt he was stiff, wooden, not acting at all. Jim suggested that he was impassive because he was directed to do that by Willy: he was supposed to be the relentless male, refusing to engage in what was in front of him.
Well, I’ve read the story and the father is supposed to be intensely emotional too — he wants to go to bed with her (maybe he does). But do see the comments below where people felt otherwise and liked Dmitri’s singing and stance, and I agree that making this male a stone figure reinforces the idea of a sweeping dismissal of this woman as a human being who counts. No all that counts is the “pure” daughter for whose advantageous marriage (monetarily, for prestige) Violetta is to be cast away. (Castaway was a Victorian term for prostitute).
A fine production to end a season which included a similarly (humane, sensitive) transformed Faustus (Marina Poplavskaya has played Violetta in other stagings of this production).
Deborah Voight was again our “hostess” (replete with commercials I have to admit) and told the movie-house audience that we could go over to facebook and offer our views or go to Twitter #metfaves & register our favorites for this year. I looked at my blogs & discovered after all I’ve written separate blogs on the HD operas from the Met only 13 times over 3 years (plus 1). It seems more because I write about HD operas from Europe which we’ve seen in movie-houses in DC, and operas we’ve seen at Glimmerglass & Castleton (see operas). So I can’t remember (separate out) what I saw so very accurately even this year but this is what I tweeted (with the 129 characters enlarged a bit for coherence): Luca Pisaroni as Caliban & Leporello. Marina Poplavskaya as Marguerite and Dessayas Violetta and Renee Fleming as Rodelina. Favorite productions: Traviata, Faustus, Enchanted Island, Don Giovanni. Then I came back and added another: Joyce Didonato as Sycorax, Danielle de Niese as Ariel. As will be seen after all I’m not gone on the Wagners, nor those with Nebtrebko. I too (like many people today) find myself drawn to baritones & deeper-voiced males than the tenors and yet except for Simon Keelyside I don’t remember their names. I did like Andreas Scholl, but I had to look up his name and remember him basically as the man who sang Rodelina as the countertenor who partnered my favorite diva Renee Fleming.
I did feel I had participated in a long opera season, including a development of habits (bringing my New York Style Cream Soda, my books), recognitions as when the same people sitting in the same areas of the auditorium over the year. Very satisfying.
We’ve picked out 9 of the 12 for next year that we must see. At $20 a seat, a ten minute drive at most away, it can’t be beat.
Ellen
Ellen And Jim Have A Blog, Two 
Jill: “I saw it too. Dessay was fabulous. Something I like about her is she hasn’t messed with herself. So often you see gifted singers (like Karita Mattila) who have worked so hard to remain young looking and whose face is literally dead from all the Botox. Dessay is a great acting soprano, and her face is so expressive because she hasn’t tried to eliminate the wrinkles. She also hasn’t tried to pump up her breasts with silicone. She has worked on what really matters; her acting and her singing. I was surprised by Dmitri, who i usually adore. He looked ill to me. His eyes were swollen almost shut. His voice was off too; not out of tune, but not his usual silky baritone.
Polenzani was wonderful. I saw him once long ago in Cleveland in L’incoronazione di Poppea as Nero in Monteverdi’s last opera. Wonderful then; Polenzani sang Nero as a countertenor.”
Jim put down Dmitri not acting to his “being a Russian baritone,” but you feel that in fact he was not up to it. I agree so wholeheartedly on Dessay. I love that she has arms, they have wrinkles. I’ve no doubt she watches her weight (as they say) but hers is a natural body. Yes fabulous. She could not have done it better. I wish she hadn’t apologized for losing that note – I realize people like Jim will say (as he did) she sung ii “technically badly” but he followed up with “she sang it greatly magnificently at the same time.” It seemed the production had returned to Dumas’s La Dame aux Camellias.
Jill: “I don’t know if you and Jim saw Dmitri in Don Carlo but he was fabulous; absolutely as his best. Many have agreed that his Italian is poor. His acting and singing (I have to admit it) were poor today, but I’ve seen him acting wonderfully many times. He didn’t even look like himself.
I looked at my blog and saw we did see a Don Carlos — with Alagno in the lead part. If Dmitri was in it I was unaware of it. I see you commented on this then too: https://ellenandjim.wordpress.com/2010/12/12/verdis-don-carlos-at-the-met-reactionary-cruelties-exposed/
Jill: “Rodrigo’s death scene: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7f9OhEzO-vw
I like the second aria the best. Interesting fact: Dimi got his start at the Singer of the World competition in Wales in 1989, which he won. The runner up? Bryn Terfel, this year’s Wotan in the Ring Cycle at the Met. Want to see a young Dimi? (Bryn, too) http://www.bbc.co.uk/wales/cardiffsinger/sites/1989/
That same Verdi aria, too.
I do love Rene Pape too; he was a wonderful Boris in Boris Godunov and Mephistopheles in Faust. Now that was an experience; Rene and Dimi on the stage at the same time!”
Oh my goodness — how different Dmitri looks when young. I listened to the aria and sent it to Jim and he remembered it. Yes it does seem as if we had two of the three central people not up to par today — no one will drop out when it’s a case of broadcasting across the earth đ Still moving and acting fine as Dmitri did I felt he was still concerned never to drop the manliness bit, nothing vulnerable like Alagna or Polenzani and he did stand there and sing too. Jim suggested that the impassivity today could also be that he was directed to do that by Willy. If so, it was wrong. The father is supposed to be intensely emotional too. Like father, like son. Nowadays these baritones are often preferred to the tenors as romantic alluring types too. I do find Keenlyside irresisitible. We have decided for at least 9 of next year’s 12 and clearly Keenlyside as Prospero is one of them.
Judy S: “I in fact liked Dimitri H as Germont. He was not tender and generous or anxious; he was pompous and perhaps somewhat confused by the challenge Violetta poses to his ideas about women. His daughter is the pure, chaste angel; but Violetta is the angel of mercy and wants to be his daughter. And he just keeps hammering at her, not belieiving she, the whore, could be fragile. To my mind, it strengthened the central tragedy. And he sings so well.”
Hi Judy! glad you can join in. Maybe Willy saw it in your light. To me he was wooden and expressionless. Everyone else so supple – the hitting of the son came as a startle. Jim suggested that long bold dance of the man dressed as Dessay and parodying of her occurs just at the place ballets in some productions of Traviata come in. It reminds me of the use of the ballet in Enchanted Island to provide a space for the chorus to dance a nightmare.
Jill: “Part of it (Dimi’s stiffness) may be due to the fact that he’s been dissed for being hammy. Personally, I like him hammy.
One of the things I liked about my first link to Dimi singing Verdi is the cameo of the conductor, Valery Gergiev, looking much better groomed and with more hair than now
Rene Pape was a wonderful Leporello. Leading roles usually go to tenors; baritones and basses are usually the bad guys.”
Judy S: “I do agree, Ellen, about the production. Without the distractions of period costume, decor, etc., the drama became very raw and immediate. The romp in the chintz was perhaps a little silly but in general the story and music emerged so intelligently and intelligibly.”
I’ve an austere taste and don’t like “overproduced” operas. To me Aida and Turandot fall into this type naturally. Sometimes I’ve really preferred an opera done on chairs to a stage dramatization.
Izzy has written a fine concise blog of these two operas about “fallen” women. They were aired just about back-to-back (so to speak) on consecutive Saturdays, clearly inviting a comparison:
http://msisobel.wordpress.com/2012/04/15/met-opera-broadcasts-manon-la-traviata/
Ellen
Poison Ivy quotes a letter from Marie Duplessis (the original of the heroine of Dumas’s novel) to Franz Liszt:
Jill: I love operas that make me cry.
Me: Yes. They are the best. I also love French women’s life-writing.
Jill: Music in general lies very close to my emotions. I remember Julia’s choir director telling me about the first concert he ever went to, at the age of seven. He said it was so beautiful, he began to cry, and at that young age knew he wanted to make music his life’s work.
Me: Isobel would have loved to do that. She discovered in graduate school the musicology discipline has been taken over by de-constructionists and agenda-ridden theoreticians.
Jill: It’s what Julia first wanted to do. If that’s the case, I’m glad she didn’t. I had some romantic idea of Charles Burney.
Me: Oh no. Izzy found herself asked to write papers to demonstrate the theories of the lead professor in the department and his flunky. Had she stayed she might have been able to write on Handel (which is who she wanted to study) but she would have had to write it in the mode of these jargon-ridden stretches. The Charles Burney approach or history went out around the time it went out in English. All these humanities follow a similar trajectory.
[…] All this was mightily deflected – and it was a feat — by Jay Hunter’s remarkable performance. He played the whole thing as the most innocent (witless one critic described the character) of eager boys. Total sweetness — and if he hated his father (Mime, the ugly dwarf), well then the father was a false one, deserved to be hated and had hated him, indeed stole him from his mother (Sieglinde), acted out silently at the opening of the opera. His continual self-deprecation and stance of wonder at all he was seeing almost did the trick — helped along how quick and rare any action was, swift. Blood was red light running across planks going up and down. Hunter kept up this persona in his interview with Renee Fleming. I’ve read again and again in film studies how a single actor at the center of a story who is allowed to dominate it can make a huge difference. I saw that in Natalie Dessay’s Traviata. […]
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[…] Annio and Servillia can stay the same: the thus-far chaste young heterosexuals, with the source of Annio’s love for Sesto not yet aparently to Annio (though maybe Sesto could understand). But Tito must turn up in drag. Then we would know why Sesto yearns for him too, and why Vitellia cannot attract him, hard as she has apparently tried. I’m not sure there is anything one can do about the content of his arias, they are so hopelessly jejeune but the acting could be of a man mocking himself as he is torn with his need to be ethical while he confronts these women who have (to him rightly) inexplicably tried to murder him. Jim suggested the director, Calixto Bieito is up to it; he of a Carmen which is admittedly far too fussy, what’s wanted is something more in Claus Guth’s vein or Willy Dekker’s HD Traviato. […]
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