Consider, for example, the nexus of sheep-herding, hopeless relationships, accidental sex, and the banal reality of rural life in America. Conduct your inquiry among an astute, well-dressed, and somewhat gay crowd in one the world's great centers of arts and entertainment. And narrate the whole scene for opera (I shit you not) in what I can only call the American vernacular, with lines like, "He got hit in the head by a tire!", "Two beers and a shot!", and "Goddamit!" sung in tremulous exchanges between the bass and baritone leads.
The world premiere of Brokeback Mountain, the opera, opened last month at the Teatro Real in Madrid. It's the latest iteration of Annie Proulx's book, which was later adapted to the screen. She also wrote the libretto for this latest performance, and consulted on the production. Amy Jo and I were there in the balconies during the first run, as were critics from just about everywhere. The folks at NPR gave it a measured review, applauding the audacity of the thing without actually saying that it was, well, good. And so have gone most of the reviews, with no one going on a limb, but everyone acknowledging the hard work involved and the boldness of the effort. 
For me, it was hard to get past the crazy juxtaposition of all the components, there in the ornate and gilded opera house. I tried to empathize with the alto disappointment of the cuckolded wife as she made plans to go shopping in Billings over the weekend (yes, the opera is set in Wyoming, as is Proulx's book and the movie). I imagined keeping a doomed relationship alive way beyond its natural course. I squinted and squirmed and imagined that this whole drama could play out in the cow towns of Wyoming. But in the end I found it hard to do all that imagining through the lens of opera.
There is certainly a plausible story there, as anyone who has read Proulx's book will tell you. The haphazard circumstances of the relationship, the soul-wrecking secrecy of the thing, the longing and wondering of "What if?" -- all provide plenty of opportunity to identify with and gain compassion for the characters. I just found it impossible to sink in and feel the story given the silliness of the whole presentation.
Parts of the production are very, very good. The pace and timing of the single act is impeccable, and I was disappointed to see the final curtain drop. The sets are simple, clever, and stunning, with the photo backdrops shot in Wyoming providing a calming context for the scenes up in the sheep pasture, and the rolling stage employed to a surprisingly emotional effect. But the musical score? Well, maybe I don't know much about these things, but I couldn't tell how it related to the scenes onstage at all. Perhaps that would difficult given the non-lofty discussions that make up the script. I was plenty honored to be there in the house that night with a hundred professional musicians playing their hearts out down there in the pit, and I watch mesmerized as they created the whole complex soundscape. But in the end, I could not connect the music to the script, nor could I connect any of the disparate parts to one another in this crazy love story. I saw the thing and am glad I did, but I cannot say that I understood it or can share a cohesive mental picture. I saw just a representation of a slice of the lives of two hapless guys from small-town America as they got themselves into a whole heap of trouble.
The audience offered the troupe a long round of seated applause. Amy Jo and I stayed put for a long time, way up in the steep balconies, admiring the stunning architecture and the colorful social scene around us. Down in the lobby, men in suits and scarves escorted their elegant fur-clad women, young folks in casual garb grouped up to make plans to go out, and stylish gay men traveled hand-in-hand out the door and across the great plaza that fronts the Teatro Real. We bundled up against the weather and made our way across town with the thinning throng, losing a few of our fellow opera-goers at each tavern and restaurant along the way. I peered into the foggy windows of each place, and saw a few couples I recognized from the lobby. I felt a little envious when I caught one pair nuzzling in what seemed, at my brief glance, to be a familial and friendly way. I turned the scene over in my mind as we made our way down the paseo, and realized that I hadn't seen for sure whether the lovers were a hetero couple or two men. And then the thought filtered in, before I had any conscious awareness of it.
-- Chris
No comments:
Post a Comment