Un Ballo in Maschera: Nell'ombre si matura

The recklessness of frivolity: David Alden's dark Ballo (Act I)

Although the visuals of David Alden's new Ballo in Maschera for the Met may be more impressive than its concept, I'm still prepared to count it as a laudable effort, and a welcome addition to the Met's generally conservative repertory of productions. I found some details questionable (e.g. dubiously consensual sex in the background of Ulrica's scene,) and some excessively literal in their symbolism (e.g. the king walking over an abyss in Act II, the three principals standing at the points of a triangle in Act III) but the concept, structured around the feckless king and emphasizing chiaroscuro contrasts, was functional, and notable for its attention to Verdi's score. Alden embraced the melodrama of plot and music, another characteristic shared with the films of the '30s and '40s which formed the production's aesthetic, but I found this often emotionally gripping, especially in the courtiers' mockery of Ulrica. As many of you may have gathered, Gentle Readers, I'd far rather see an idea executed with mixed success (or even a mixed bag of ideas) than a non-attempt at providing a meaningful staging.

In Alden's production, it is the recklessness of Gustavo (his hamartia) which drives the action. The pleasure-loving and self-dramatizing monarch flirts with the contempt of the conspirators, openly mocks the insight and the power of Ulrica (clearly he's never read the classical dramatists), dismisses his friend's advice and undervalues his courage, and isn't even particularly interested in understanding Amelia. The frivolous page, Oscar, is established as a sort of alter ego to the king: he is an Icarus figure in the staged prelude and at the masked ball, expressing his monarch's emotional states throughout. Alden emphasizes Gustavo's flaws, but does not neglect his genuine generosity, which is praised by all in the denouement. The moods and morals of the evening having been expressed in shades of grey, I was surprised by the light-flooded triumphalism of the finale, but like many an old Hollywood ending, this one leaves the future uncertain. Incidentally, the sinister splendors of the final scene (think Litvak's Mayerling) should show the Met audience that spectacle doesn't have to come coated in glitter or burdened by brocade.

Sta in voi salvarlo

Monday night was my third experience of Tosca in Luc Bondy's much-discussed production.  It still strikes me as far from coherent, but last night it did offer some interesting ideas.  These ideas didn't so much present a complete or compelling picture as float among costumes of 1800, film noir lighting, and Ikea furniture, but there they were.  The lighting and staging both seemed even more Tosca-via-Raymond-Chandler than I remembered.  An elderly gentleman sitting behind me, who had seen Tebaldi and Milanov, among others, in the role, plaintively remarked: "Well, it does focus one's attention on the singing, which I suppose is the point.  But... I think a good production should say something."  Well said, sir.  One curious aspect was that all three of the principals seemed to have acquired something of Tosca's tendency for self-dramatization.  Cavaradossi seemed the least aware of this, so maybe the overtly histrionic delivery was the fault of blocking.  The theatrical Scarpia of Falk Struckmann, however, was deliciously, ironically self-aware; of this more later.  My chief problem with the production remains that its visual and dramatic language is neither coherent, nor clearly propelled, as far as I can see, by ideas (other than general cynicism.)  Hence the title of this post: what the production communicates is left largely up to the singers.