Opera Gala and Bombay's Boheme.

In February 2017, the NCPA presented a season of operatic performances, including two concerts and a production called "La Boheme Revisited". I attended the first Gala...which was mediocre; and the opening night of the opera proper...which was "ingenious" in the wrong way!
Both reviews were commissioned by Seen and Heard International and were combined into one. They can be found here:
http://seenandheard-international.com/2017/02/new-reviews-of-opera-in-mumbai-a-gala-and-la-boheme-revisited/
(Also apparently available via a link on http://theoperacritic.com/ which can be accessed only by a paid subscription).
Readers are welcome to draw their own conclusions from the reviews...and leave comments!

Who’s Scared of Opera?

Published in "Mumbai Mirror" 6 February 2017

The high notes, the foreign languages and clans of obsessed aficionados have endowed opera with a mystique, tinged with fear, in the minds of many. Which is unwarranted because opera is, quite simply, music-drama; the precursor of the Broadway musical. And today, with so much opera available on video, subtitled in English, there is even less reason to be intimidated by it.

What makes opera different? The style of singing. In musicals, singers are (usually) supported by electronic amplification to fill the theatre; in opera, the singer relies on his/her own body, fueled by immense reserves of breath, to provide the necessary power and resonance to ride over a 100-piece orchestra and fill a 2000-seat opera-house! An operatic voice may thus, at first, sound artificial but can be very thrilling, especially on those high notes and in music which demands great vocal agility in executing tricky runs and leaps, much like the taan-s of an Indian classical vocalist.

Indeed, older operas made great demands on a singer’s vocal technique; and were somewhat stylised and predictable in their musical language. Plots were initially drawn from Classical literature and mythology, eventually giving way to more contemporary sources and melodic invention. Novels and plays by authors as diverse as Beaumarchais, Sir Walter Scott, Schiller, Dumas and Shakespeare were shaped into singing-texts; the characters became flesh-and-blood, the music more “natural” and free-flowing.

Mozart was perhaps the first composer to attempt the above; but the 19^th Century saw the resurgence of florid style, which came to be called bel canto (literally “beautiful singing”) and in which the performer reigned supreme. These operas served as showcases for the human voice; and singers often took liberties with the music to interpolate ever more dazzling displays of vocal virtuosity. Foremost among the composers in this genre were Bellini, Donizetti and Rossini.

Then came the Italian maestro Giuseppe Verdi, whose operas with their emphasis on melody and humanity changed the course of opera forever. He is probably the most influential operatic composer, along with his German contemporary, Richard Wagner, whose later works are said to be the foundation of modern music; and whose mantle was carried forward into the 20^th century by his compatriot, Richard Strauss.

Italian opera soon embraced an entirely Romantic idiom. Here passions were palpable, inflected with poetry. The orchestral palette became full-blooded and highly expressive of emotions; the vocal style commensurately full-throttle, “beautiful singing” for its own sake being replaced by an all-encompassing, musico-dramatic rendition of the words and notes. The plots were earthy, the people generally drawn from everyday life; and this was called Verismo (or realism). Foremost among its practitioners was Giacomo Puccini, who became (like Verdi before him) the most representative Italian operatic composer of his time.

And in all this, the French weren’t far behind. They had a rich tradition of opera through the centuries, culminating in the works of Jules Massenet and Georges Bizet. His “Carmen” is perhaps the most popular opera of all, even though it was a flop when it premièred.

Any exploration of opera should probably begin with “Carmen”. This is because it is actually (in today’s parlance) musical-theatre, the music being interspersed with spoken dialogue. The opera has been adapted countless times into dance, film and drama; and various milieus, including a Mumbai nightclub. Its title-character is well-known: a free-spirited gypsy who believes “Love is a rebellious bird”. The setting is Spain (with a bullfight happening offstage during the final scene) and the music is visceral yet melodious. The ideal way to get to know the opera is through the stunning film by Francesco Rosi, shot on location but faithful to the music, with an amazingly vivid performance by the soprano Julia Migenes-Johnson who literally lives the title-role (and sings quite well too!) partnered by a young Plácido Domingo.

Next would be “La Bohème” by Puccini. Set in fin-de-siècle Paris, in a Bohemian society of struggling writers, artists and musicians, this love-story is poignant and true; and the music is sheer, unabashed lyricism. The performance of choice would be from the Metropolitan Opera, in the production by Franco Zeffirelli, recorded in 1982. Teresa Stratas and José Carreras are perfectly cast as the lovers; and the staging is immensely atmospheric, virtually recreating the Latin Quarter of Paris. An excellent alternative would be the production from the Sydney Opera House, directed by Baz Luhrmann, which updates the action to post-war Paris and is extremely moving.

Continuing in the Parisian locale, we come to Verdi’s “La Traviata” based on Alexandre Dumas Jr’s novel “La Dame aux Camélias”. This was also an initial flop, because it was considered too unconventional in its contemporary (for its time) setting and its heroine Violetta, the “fallen woman” of the title, who is a high-class courtesan. The opera is reborn in the truly brilliant modern staging by Willy Decker at the Salzburg Festival, stripping the drama down to its raw essentials, most chillingly. Anna Netrebko is utterly riveting and vital as Violetta, both physically and vocally; so is Rolando Villazón as her lover.

Then there is Rossini’s “Il Barbiere di Siviglia” (The Barber of Seville) a comic opera in the bel canto tradition. Apart from having some of the most charming, lilting music ever written (with plenty of opportunities for gifted singers to strut their vocal stuff) it can also be extremely funny…if done right. Which is certainly the case in the production by Bartlett Sher at the Metropolitan Opera, with incredible singing by Joyce DiDonato and Juan Diego Flórez; and Peter Mattei’s engaging performance in the title-role of Figaro. This is (as yet) only available for streaming from metopera.org; but an excellent alternative would be the lovely film by Jean-Pierre Ponnelle, starring Hermann Prey as Figaro.

Having started with the operas listed above, there is always the possibility of exploring more by the same or other composers. Whichever you choose, if you love music and the theatre, you are in for a treat…and one that is pleasantly addictive.

So take the plunge…and enjoy!

Sweeney Todd

This is the text (with some edits) of a lecture given at the American Center in Bombay many years ago, prior to the video-screening of a stage production of "Sweeney Todd".
Music and lyrics by Stephen Sondheim, directed by Harold Prince, starring Angela Lansbury and George Hearn.

“Attend the tale of Sweeney Todd!

His skin was pale and his eye was odd;

He shaved the faces of gentlemen

Who never thereafter were heard of again.

He trod a path that few have trod,

Did Sweeney Todd,

The Demon Barber of Fleet Street.

He kept a shop in London town

Of fancy clients and good renown;

And what if none of their souls were saved,

They went to their Maker impeccably shaved

By Sweeney,

By Sweeney Todd:

The Demon Barber of Fleet Street.”

What a charming introduction! You can hardly wait to meet the man, I’m sure! And you do soon enough, for he joins in with the Chorus and principal cast members in this opening number of the musical, addressing the audience, Brechtian-style.

Who exactly is Sweeney Todd? Man or myth? Actually, a little of both. He made his first appearance in a short story entitled “The String of Pearls” written by one Thomas Prest; and serialised in a cheap newspaper, a “penny dreadful” as they were called, in London in 1846. Mr. Prest used to search the news for his story ideas; and it’s possible he drew inspiration from recent gruesome happenings --- most notably of a barber near Fleet Street who cut a customer’s throat in a jealous rage, believing the latter to be having an adulterous relationship with his wife; next, a Scotsman called Sawney Bean, who was probably one of the most successful serial-killers of all time, being known to have murdered around 160 passers-by and then eaten the corpses, in collaboration with his family; and, most significantly, the chronicles of Joseph Fouche, the Minister of Police in Paris around 1800, who wrote of a barber who killed his customers and supplied their bodies to a neighbouring pastry-cook, to be served-up as pies. Similarly, Todd’s accomplice is Mrs. Lovett, who runs an eatery and cooks his victims.

The story had many subsequent avatars. In earlier versions, Mrs. Lovett was a reluctant or oblivious accessory; and one of Todd’s early victims --- in fact, in George Dibdin Pitt’s melodrama “The Fiend of Fleet Street” (which had a long and successful run) she herself was disposed of, halfway through the play.

It was the British playwright Christopher Bond who lifted this story from the realms of gruesome Grand Guignol and sensationalist melodrama; and gave the characters psychological resonance and motivation, in his play “Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street” which opened in 1973 at the Theatre Royal, Stratford East. This was seen by Stephen Sondheim, who commissioned Hugh Wheeler to adapt the script into a “book” for a musical.

In melodrama, characters are seen as either black or white. Bond made his ogre human, a man wronged by the system; sent away on a trumped-up charge to an overseas prison-colony, by a lecherous judge who coveted his wife. He returns after years, only to find she was raped by the Judge and then took poison; and his daughter in the clutches of the same Judge who now wants to marry her. When his plans for revenge fail, his mind snaps and he vows to vent his anger on the entire human race, which allows such cruelty to exist.

Luckily for him, his landlady, the pie-shop owner Mrs. Lovett whose business is failing, is only too willing to dispose of the victims expeditiously --- and profitably! She is cheerfully amoral, a cannibalistic capitalist who is actually quite lovable because she is so utterly honest --- until her own duplicity comes to light. She is also shown to have an amorous interest in Todd --- unrequited, because he is still obsessed with his wife.

And then there are the “good” characters --- Todd’s daughter Johanna, prisoner of the Judge and the archetypal damsel-in-distress; the sailor, appropriately named Anthony Hope, who saves Sweeney from shipwreck, brings him home to London and then falls in love with his captive daughter; and Tobias, Mrs. Lovett’s simple-minded helper who dotes on “Mum” and is determined to protect her from “demons” such as Sweeney.

Then there is the Beggar Woman --- a mad hag, whore and scavenger, who mysteriously appears at key moments in the plot, indicating she has a greater significance than she implies. That significance is made evident in the play’s denouement, where she becomes the embodiment of innocence defiled.

And then, there is London itself, accurately portrayed as it was in 1846, a city of crime and grime; of filthy sewers, polluted air and corrupt morals; its lawgivers as lawless as its law-breakers; the perfect Dickensian setting for this macabre tale.

Harold Prince, the director of the original production, would certainly agree. He has described his conception as “the incursion of the Industrial Age; and its influence on souls, poetry and people”. The curtain rises on a huge iron foundry, with a cloth hanging in front, depicting the British Beehive or social structure with the King at the top, the Parliament, Judiciary, Church and so on, going downwards to the lowest common denominator. An organist plays; two workmen enter and tear-down the hanging to the sound of a shrill factory-whistle, exposing a rusty world of girders, gears and overbridges. The back wall eventually rises to reveal a screen with a sketch of London at the time, Thames and all.

This was a bone of contention between Prince and Sondheim, who apparently preferred his work to be seen as a more intimate exploration of one man’s misbegotten obsession, rather than assume epic proportions. However, I think this union of universal and personal has produced a very credible love-child that defies classification; and very happily exists at whichever level you choose to look at it.

And speaking of children, seldom has a marriage of music and lyrics been so productive, because the progenitor in this case was one --- Stephen Sondheim. In writing what is perhaps his most ambitious and complex score, Sondheim matched it to coruscating, uncompromising lyrics; pithy and witty, defiant and disturbing. Music and word, music and character, music and mood, all combine to create a magnificent melange. The parts of this musical live and breathe as one; even though some of the combinations are certainly unorthodox: for example, a gang-rape to a courtly dance; the famous duet about cannibalism, crackling with black humour, to the rhythm of a Viennese waltz; graphic throat-cuttings to music of poignant lyricism. And yet, when lyricism occurs, it is ALWAYS underscored by uneasy harmony or murky underpinning, that reflects (and promotes) a feeling of something not quite right. And this feeling remains with the listener, in spite of the dips into comic patter-singing, operatic floridity and music-hall kitsch.

 

Musicians and music-lovers will marvel at the inventiveness and sheer intelligence of the writing (especially in the complex and densely-layered ensembles); would certainly recognise the influence of several 20^th Century composers; and follow the many leitmotifs floating about, subtly elucidating the drama; and ultimately revealing clues about what is hidden and what’s about to happen --- for this is, according to its creator, “a musical thriller”. The two most significant among these motifs are Sweeney’s long-lost wife’s theme; and the Dies Irae, the traditional liturgical chant from the Latin Requiem, depicting the Day of Judgement, which appears in the Prologue as the Chorus sings, “Swing your razor wide, Sweeney!” and then re-appears at appropriate moments, turning Sweeney the barber with his razor held high, into the Grim Reaper with his unwavering scythe.

Finally, and above all, there is the sound of the factory whistle that begins the play. It recurs repeatedly and frighteningly --- and becomes a shriek of terror and anguish, a war-cry and also a symbol of oppressive authority; a fitting signature to a piece that states:

“The history of the world, my sweet,

Is who gets eaten and who gets to eat…

Its man devouring man, my dear,

And who are we to deny it in here?”

My review of "The Met: Live in HD" screening of Verdi's opera "Il Trovatore" was commissioned by Seen and Heard International and is available on their website here:
http://seenandheard-international.com/2015/10/not-a-trovatore-for-the-ages/
I am probably one of the (very) few critics who did NOT gush over its star, Anna Netrebko, and the rest of the cast and production. What can I say? I am not easily impressed and prefer to tell it like I see it!


The Met: Live in HD – Verdi, Il Trovatore: Soloists, Chorus and Orchestra of the Metropolitan Opera, New York / Marco Armiliato (conductor). Pre-recorded performance-screening, Godrej Dance Academy Theatre, National Centre for the Performing Arts, Mumbai, India. 15.10.2015. (JSM)


Cast:
Ferrando: Štefan Kocán
Ines: Maria Zifchak
Leonora: Anna Netrebko
Count di Luna: Dmitri Hvorostovsky
Manrico: Yonghoon Lee
Azucena: Dolora Zajick
A Gypsy: Edward Albert
A Messenger: David Lowe
Ruiz: Raúl Melo

Production:
Director: Sir David McVicar
Set Designer: Charles Edwards
Costume Designer: Brigitte Reiffenstuel
Lighting Designer: Jennifer Tipton
Choreographer: Leah Hausman
Live in HD host: Susan Graham
Live in HD director: Gary Halvarson

The legendary tenor Enrico Caruso once said that all one needs for a great performance of Verdi’s “Il Trovatore” are the four greatest singers in the world (to which I would add a fifth, the bass). For this opera is an unabashed celebration of the art, providing its principals with many glorious set-pieces in which to strut their stuff, for which a solid vocal technique and innate musicality are both de rigeur.

In this, the opera was a step backward for Verdi, not only to the bel canto style of composition prevalent in early 19th century but going back as far as Mozart in some of its more lyrical arias. At the same time, it maintains a musical language that is unmistakably Verdian and points forward to future works in the composer’s canon.

If this performance of the work from the Met is an attempt to take Mr. Caruso at his word, the current state-of-the-art in the operatic world leaves a lot to be desired. None of the individual performances by the principal singers are what this critic would describe as “great” though each one is, in greater or lesser part, “good”.

The first voice heard is Štefan Kocán as Ferrando…and it augurs well. He sings the opening scena with commanding vocal presence and sonorous tone; but falls a little short of the music’s florid requirements. He is joined by the Met’s chorus, singing their intricate music with verve and precision. Here and elsewhere their contribution is the undeniable result of excellent training.

The next scene brings forth the person everyone is arguably waiting for: superstar Anna Netrebko as Leonora. One wishes reality would be an accurate reflection of hype…and one is disappointed. Ms Netrebko’s voice has become heavier in timbre and heftier in size; and the price is paid in fluidity and agility. The cantabile phrases of Tacea la notte placida do not soar as they should; the coloratura in the subsequent cabaletta is imprecise and lacking a proper trill. The role’s low tessitura seems to trouble her, though she is supremely confident above the stave.

Later in the performance, however, she warms into the role nicely, offering some lovely lyric singing in the marriage-scene with Manrico; and a surprisingly fluent D’amor sull’ali rosee WITH a decent trill and mellifluous legato, although the coloratura in Tu vedrai is approximately managed and uncertain in pitch. High points in her performance are undoubtedly the powerful Miserere and her impassioned duet with the Count, in both of which she (almost) makes one forget she is not a born spinto but a scaled-up lyric soprano. That vocal pedigree is most evident in her death-scene, sung with limpid tone and quite sublime.

Baritone Dmitri Hvorostovsky was apparently undergoing treatment for a serious medical condition when this recording was made. He sounds tired as the Count di Luna; and does not sing “out” as often as required, wisely preferring to conserve his voice carefully. He has true Verdian style, singing his romantic ode to Leonora (Il balen del suo sorriso) as an inward, reverent utterance, with long-breathed phrasing and impeccable legato.

Azucena has been a signature role in Dolora Zajick’s long and illustrious career; and her voice is still remarkably well-preserved. The high notes ring out and the chest register is strong, if not stentorian. But there are problems in between; the all-important middle-voice has become dry and unwieldy, greatly affecting her rendition of Stride la vampa. Much of the subtlety in the following Condotta all’era in ceppi eludes the singer, though she delivers the lines describing the crying child in a mezza voce that is hair-raising. This and her soft, meditative Ai nostri monti indicate why her Azucena was one of the finest in recent memory.

Manrico, the eponymous troubadour, is sung by Yonghoon Lee who is surely not as well-known as the other principals. He is a pleasant-voiced tenor but does not possess anything near the squillo that this role demands, although the high notes are secure enough in Di quella pira. His lyric singing is praiseworthy; but the line in Ah sì ben mio stretches him to the utmost, not helped by the funereal tempo.

Which brings one to Marco Armiliato’s conducting. It is at its best in the orchestral preludes to each act, which are played with pointed zest; and the thrilling Anvil Chorus. He mostly gets out of the way, simply accompanying the singers…which is not a bad thing. However, the trio that ends Act 1 and the Finale of Act 2 lack rhythmic propulsion and bite; and ensembles are not razor-sharp in co-ordination.

Sir David McVicar’s production is apparently inspired by Goya and set in the early 19th Century, closer to Verdi’s own time. It certainly is atmospheric, conveying the plot’s tragic course and murky history effectively. The predominant colour is grey; and the image of Azucena’s mother, burnt at the stake, is always present. There is blood and violence; and also scenes of debauchery in the soldiers’ camp, all realistically done.

But the overall darkness can cause some eye-strain in viewing, even though the transmission is in High Definition. This was certainly the case at the Godrej Theatre, in Mumbai’s National Centre for the Performing Arts. The video-projection and some anomalies in the sound are being looked-at by the management in the hope of improving the audio-visual experience.

In sum, this is not an “Il Trovatore” for the ages. One has to go not too far back in the Met’s history for a proper realisation of this warhorse; to any of the performances featuring Leontyne Price and a cast of Met stalwarts (including the young Domingo and Milnes) or a little further to the electrifying 1952 recording with Milanov, Björling, Warren and Barbieri. They would have done Caruso proud.

A Barbiere of middling qualità

After more than a year, a review for Seen and Heard International of a screening of the opera "The Barber of Seville" in "The Met-Live in HD" series at the NCPA. This current performance and production was mediocre, on-the-whole, which makes one wonder why they don't screen some of the amazing stuff they have in their archives? One GREAT relief was that the sound is now tolerable....gone is the horrible compression of loud passages and boosting of soft ones (rather like an old VHS recorder). Guess the specific suggestions I made to their technical staff and equipment-supplier were finally heeded!


Rossini, Il Barbiere di Siviglia:  Soloists, Chorus and Orchestra of the Metropolitan Opera / Michele Mariotti (conductor), "The Met, Live in HD" screening, Godrej Dance Academy Theatre, National Centre for the Performing Arts (NCPA), Mumbai. 22.12.2014 (JSM).


Cast:
Fiorello: Yungpeng Wang
Count Almaviva: Lawrence Brownlee
Figaro: Christopher Maltman
Rosina: Isabel Leonard
Dr Bartolo: Maurizio Muraro
Don Basilio: Paata Burchuladze
Berta: Claudia Waite
An Officer: Dennis Petersen
Ambrogio: Rob Besserer


Production
Director: Bartlett Sher
Set Designer: Michel Yeargan
Costume Designer: Catherine Zuber
Lighting Designer: Christopher Akerlind
Stage Director :Kathleen Smith Belcher
Live in HD Director: Matthew Diamond
Live in HD Host: Deborah Voigt


Pierre-Augustin Caron de Beaumarchais, playwright, revolutionary and spy, would surely have been surprised to learn that two plays from his Figaro trilogy were destined to become mainstays of opera, that most aristocratic of art-forms. The first of these, Le Barbier de Séville, was set to music by several composers, of which Rossini's Il Barbiere di Siviglia is the most enduring; and the second was to become Mozart's Le Nozze di Figaro. The third play, La Mère Coupable, was also adapted into opera by Darius Milhaud and by John Corigliano in The Ghosts of Versailles; but these could hardly be considered mainstream.

Figaro is one of the most endearing yet subversive characters in operatic repertoire; but, in Bartlett Sher's staging at the Metropolitan Opera, he is reduced to a sex-symbol. He first appears atop a cart drawn by fawning women, who also make another appearance (unannounced and unnecessary) out of closed doors in the duet that follows, with two of them caught in a lesbian clinch within the cart. One questions the reasoning behind this dramaturgy, which seems prompted merely by a desire to be cute and sensational.

To his credit, Mr. Sher's staging pays tribute to both Commedia dell'Arte and French farce in several ways; the most noticeable of which is the presence of over-sized, old-fashioned footlights across the front of the stage, taking one immediately back to an earlier theatrical tradition. And his use of an extended apron (or passerelle) all around the orchestra allows a welcome immediacy between singers and audience.

One wishes the singing itself in this "Live in HD" recording were something to write home about. Sadly, with one or two exceptions, it isnt.

The greatest disappointment is Christopher Maltman's Figaro. With little or no semblance of bel canto technique, all that's left is a pleasant, lyric baritone matched to a good-looking, boyish stage-presence, not enough to do full justice to this vocally demanding part for which he evidently lacks the requisite skill.

The Rosina too, played by the mezzo-soprano Isabel Leonard, is marred by approximations in coloratura passagework and often-smudged roulades, making one wonder at the wisdom of adding extra fioriture when those that were actually written can just about be managed. Even so, her well-produced, warm timbre and intelligent acting contributes to a performance that is nicely rounded but lacking, perhaps, in what is called star quality.

The tenor Lawrence Brownlee, on the other hand, is very much the star of this show. Possessing a formidable technique and a small but accurately "placed" voice, he executes all of his florid singing with élan, from the opening serenade to the fiendishly-difficult Cessa di più resistere (omitted by many tenors) near the end of the opera, intriguingly adding an extra aria whose first half is borrowed directly from Non più mesta in La Cenerentola. However, all this is not achieved without visible effort; and compromised by very intrusive aspiration in much of his passagework.

Of the two bassos, Maurizio Muraro's patter-singing as Dr. Bartolo is superbly nimble; but the rest is hampered by uncertainty in pitch. And Paata Burchuladze's Don Basilio has only a remnant of what used to be his awe-inspiring vocal lushness.

Rob Besserer, in the non-singing and barely-speaking part of the somnolent servant Ambrogio, virtually steals the show.

The performance is held together admirably by the young conductor Michele Mariotti, who draws playing of great vivacity from the Met orchestra, which displays commendable articulation and co-ordination in even the fastest, busiest passages. The sheer rhythmic verve and lyrical sensibility of the conducting make this a maestro to watch, with an undoubtedly brilliant future.

It was a relief to note that the sound in the Godrej Theatre at the NCPA is now free of the anomalies and severe dynamic compression heard until recently, which caused many regulars to stop attending the screenings altogether. Hopefully, the sound will be maintained consistently, giving these screenings the platform they deserve.

Speaking of which, the Met has in its archives a huge collection of unforgettable performances from the past, many of them preserved on video. Why not showcase this heritage around the world?

Dire Desire

This review of the new musical produced by the NCPA (in collaboration with others) was commissioned by Mumbai Theatre Guide and is available here: http://www.mumbaitheatreguide.com/dramas/reviews/25-english-play-review-club-desire.asp
The play is frankly awful and raises the question of why and how such tacky work is staged in this city.

“Club Desire”

Written by Sapan Saran.

Directed by Sunil Shanbag.

NCPA, Tata Theatre, 24 October 2013.

The opera “Carmen” is one of those univerally-appealing theatrical works that has been adapted countless times…with varying degrees of success, ranging from the sublime to the ridiculous. “Club Desire” which is said to be “inspired” by the opera, comes dangerously close to the latter end of this spectrum.

To begin with, one wishes the “inspiration” had dug a little deeper. For “Carmen” is a work about fundamental conflicts on several levels: between good and evil, law and lawlessness, society and the self, love and lust. In this, the soldier Don José’s passion for the wild gypsy girl Carmen is contrasted by the chaste love he shares with his childhood sweetheart Micaela; his need to serve his “flag” and do his duty as a soldier clashes with Carmen’s demands that he throw it all away and follow her (and her smuggler friends) in a life of unbridled freedom.

Carmen too faces a conflict of her own: whether to allow herself to be fettered by the bonds of love which José demands; or be free to follow her primal instincts in responding to the irresistably sexual charisma of the bullfighter Escamillo.

“Club Desire” dispenses with the Micaela character almost entirely, keeping her firmly offstage with only a couple of half-baked references in the dialogue. Thus she ceases to be an effective counterpoint to Carmen, who is here a nightclub singer, appropriately named Chahat (desire, in Hindi). Don José becomes Jayam, a somewhat nerdish, language-obsessed poet; and Escamillo, a flashy DJ named Abeer. The personal conflicts are merely twofold: that of Jayam’s call of duty towards his dying mother vis-à-vis Chahat’s demands; and her choosing between the two men…though even this is made a non-issue when she says its quite all right to sleep with one man while loving another.

Another conflict of sorts is introduced in Sapan Saran’s script by pitting the high art of poetry against the skill required to mix a DJ-set. Hardly earth-shaking; but Ms Saran makes a meal of it. She also holds forth at great length on language, on how “precious” words are, with interminable, jejune debates on their correct usage and expression. Considering all of this begins with an etymology of the expletive “f**k”, it is difficult to take seriously. Ms Saran alternates these intellectual exercises with dialogue that is mercifully naturalistic; and though the latter may not be great writing for the theatre, at least it isnt boring.

The same dichotomy exists in Arundathi Subramaniam’s lyrics, which  attempt to be pithy and raw…but so much ends-up sounding pretentious. A prize line is “The heart is a verb; and it hurts” (WHAT does that mean??). And when she tries to be simple (as in Chahat’s only ballad, near the end of the play) the results are embarassingly cloying and clichéd.

Sunil Shanbag is an immensely respected director; and one wonders why he chose such trite material to work with. One senses he is trying his best; but there are some longeurs during scenes and awkward transitions between them. Also, one senses his hands are tied by fear of the “moral police” in this city; as the interplay between Chahat and her lovers has about as much sexual aggression as adolescent groping in the school backyard. Ditto for her violent encounters with Jayam.

The music is generally hard rock; much of it monotonous, derivative, tuneless and forgettable. The few exceptions are Chahat’s ballad; and a couple of sensuous rhythmic “loops”. There are even a couple of references to the music in “Carmen”, with Chahat attempting to sing Carmen’s signature Habanera to a pop rhythm.

Which brings one to the performances. Manasi Parekh Gohil is a refreshingly “open” unmannered actress; and thus perfect casting for a character like Chahat who is free as a bird. She conveys a sexuality that is integrated into the characterisation rather than a too-obvious add-on. Unfortunately, her voice lacks a true “centre”, coming across as somewhat high-pitched in speech. In song, however, she employs her lower and middle registers more often…though there is a slight, audible “rasp” (probably brought-on by misuse) and some strain on the high notes. Her singing of the lyrics is mostly unintelligible in the rock numbers; or made so by the excessively loud band accompanying her.

Faisal Rashid as Jayam gives a finely-graphed characterisation, going from innocent poet to psychotic, spurned lover. One wishes, however, that his character had been made an English poet, as the frequent departures into flowery Hindi are irritating and distracting in what has been advertised as an English play.

Gagan Dev Riar offers comic relief as the vividly-etched nightclub-owner, though the comedy is too broad and stagey to make him truly convincing. On the other hand, Karan Pandit as the DJ has little meat on what is essentially a two-dimensional character; but he makes the best of it…though one misses a more libidinous swagger.

Ultimately, the most powerful image one remembers from this production is the DJ’s simian-like jumping, gesticulating and nodding to a mind-numbing, repetitive, electronically-generated rhythm. This is, sadly, a sign of the times, one of the themes driving the play. However, it is equally sad and apparent that “Club Desire” panders to the lowest common denominator in the cultural life of this city.

Tales from the holocaust

The review was commissioned by Mumbai Theatre Guide and is available on this webpage: http://www.mumbaitheatreguide.com/dramas/reviews/9-parts-of-desire-english-play-review.asp

“Nine Parts of Desire”

Written by Heather Raffo.

Directed by Lillette Dubey.

NCPA, Experimental Theatre, 11 October 2013.

Heather Raffo’s “Nine Parts of Desire” is a meditation on “the pity of war” and its effects on the lives of ordinary people, specifically Iraqi women, during and between the two Gulf conflicts and subsequent occupation.

The play was apparently inspired by the painting of a nude woman clinging to a barren tree; and it does indeed seem like a portrait-gallery of diverse female characters spanning generations, ideologies, backgrounds, even continents; but sharing the common “spine” of suffering and surviving the most severe physical and emotional conditions.

Layla the painter is central to this group, setting the scene and returning later to offer further exposition and comment. So, to a lesser extent, is the exiled intellectual Huda, nursing her Scotch and providing historical perspective. But it is the image of Umm-Ghada, the black-clad mother of a girl who died when the Americans mistakenly bombed a civilian air-raid shelter, that encapsulates the play’s essence in her taciturn, numbed (and numbing) narration of the horror of what happened.

However, for all its passion, the play seems a little too episodic in its many vignettes, lacking development towards a climax. Lillette Dubey’s direction does not try to induce one; and thus the end does seem somewhat anticlimactic. Even so, the drama flows at even pace, allowing the script to “breathe”, never flagging tension or interest; hard-hitting, humorous, compassionate and angry in turn, with movement and tempo-rhythm to match.

Much of the credit goes to Ira Dubey, the sole performer onstage, who gives something of a tour de force in embodying all these women. Her sheer concentration, energy and range, both expressive and emotional, allow her to paint vividly-etched characters, aided only by simple costume-changes. A minor drawback would perhaps be her near-constant reliance on the lower half of her vocal compass, with the result that some of the women sound a little alike. Although the Iraqi accent tends to vary, sometimes coming dangerously close to Russian. Even so, it is a vital, brave, searing performance.

The production is endowed with an extraordinarily communicative set, designed by Bhola Sharma and Lillette Dubey. This multi-layered mise-en-scène, aided by Mr. Sharma’s evocative lighting, conjures a desolate, tragic tapestry, both internal and actual.

Similarly, Gandhaar Sangoram’s sound-design (with help from Lillette and Ira Dubey) strikes all the right notes (literally) in supporting and commenting on the action. For example, the soft sound of a crying infant underlaying the Umm-Ghada sequence is utterly, appropriately chilling.

One wishes the audience (at least at the NCPA) would not clap or talk after each story…or worse, during a monologue. It breaks one’s concentration and undoubtedly that of the actor onstage, also fracturing the cumulative build-up of tension and emotion.

“Nine Parts of Desire” is not for the squeamish, as made obvious by the involuntary gasps of horror heard from the audience during the performance. However, in its unflinching, unromanticised look at the traumas of war and oppression; and in its sheer humanity, the play offers a powerfully cathartic and intense experience.

Addendum:

On watching the play again, I was struck by the improvement in performance. The vagaries in accent were gone; and the voice was now used to its fullest range and extent. Emotionally too, the interpretation had deepened. In Ira's own words, her performance is now "nicely cooked"!