A slightly-edited version of this review has been posted (along with my previous music/opera reviews) on my webpage at: http://www.seenandheard-international.com/tag/jiten-s-merchant/
Arties Events are an international initiative by the cellist Gauthier Herrmann, to spread an awareness of classical music in countries where it is not indigenous. They are based in Pune, India; and their Festivals of chamber music are held twice a year (March and November) in various locales, spanning the length and breadth of this country. Now in its ninth “edition”, the Festival included three performances in Mumbai, of which this reviewer attended the first.
The program was unusual, consisting of music for soprano, piano, clarinet and string quartet in various combinations. Indeed, some of it had probably never been performed in this city before; and thus was of great interest to those jaded by predictable choices in chamber music programming.
The concert began with a group of French mélodies by Fauré, Debussy and Hahn, all settings of poems by Paul Verlaine. In these, soprano Karen Vourc’h showed a keen affinity for the idiom but was often inaudible below the stave at the end of a phrase, owing to inadequate breath-support. Pianist Emmanuel Christien offered richly pointed accompaniment, underscoring the subtle harmonies in the music.
“Luonnotar” by Sibelius, in the original, pre-orchestrated version for voice and piano, was next; and here Ms Vourc’h gave a thrilling performance, utterly secure in her vocalism, with unflinching high notes. However, she missed conveying the mystery of the closing pages depicting the wonder of creation. Mr. Christien, on the other hand, began with the right air of atmosphere in the tremulous, hushed piano introduction but was no surrogate orchestra….though he whipped-up a respectable sea-storm in the work’s central climax.
Schubert’s “Der Hirt auf dem Felsen” ended the program’s first half, where Vourc’h and Christien were joined by clarinettist Olivier Patey, familiar to Mumbai audiences from his recent appearance here with the Mahler Chamber Soloists (see review). His phrasing was exquisite, sensitively dovetailing with the soprano. Ms Vourc’h was assured and even from top to bottom of the very wide range demanded by this song, the octave-plus leaps posing no problems. She did not, however, seem so comfortable with the German language nor the coloratura, which was somewhat approximate. Also, near the end of the song’s middle section where the shepherd bemoans his lot, there is a wonderful transformation into the major key at the words Die Herzen es zum Himmel zieht mit wunderbarer Macht (surely the dying Schubert’s acceptance of Divine Will, depicted in music of great beauty and serenity) where her coloring was more anxious than spiritual.
Post-interval, Mr. Patey returned with string quartet, proving himself well up to the virtuosic demands made of his instrument in Weber’s Clarinet Quintet. For instance, the upward runs in the Adagio were almost perfectly mirrored in their pianissimo “echoes”; and the intricate passagework in the finale was, quite literally, breathtaking. But his tone tended to harden while playing forte above the stave; and the soft, impish figures in the Menuet were sometimes imprecise and barely audible.
The work has often been criticised as being more a concerto for clarinet, accompanied by string quartet, rather than a truly symbiotic piece of chamber music; but the performance often disproved this, for example during the trenchant dialogue between Mr. Patey’s clarinet and Gauthier Herrmann’s cello.
Finally, Ms Vourc’h joined the string quartet, along with Mr. Christien at the piano, for an impassioned rendering of Chausson’s “Chanson Perpétuelle”. They made a superb ensemble; soprano and piano blending seamlessly with the quartet (though Marie Chilemme’s viola could have had more presence) and the performance seemed deeply felt by all, quite moving in its intensity and building to a cathartic climax.
In sum, the concert was a worthy, out of the ordinary start to another Arties Festival, auguring well for more to come.
Saturday, March 17, 2012
Friday, March 2, 2012
Burana in Bombay
This piece is also posted (with small edits) on my webpage at http://seenandheard-international.com/tag/jiten-s-merchant/
Large-scale works are beloved of concert organisers and audiences alike. After all, which ordinary symphony can compare with Beethoven’s Ninth or Mahler’s Eighth for sheer glamour or frisson? "Carmina Burana" is surely one of the few in the same league.
However, like others of its ilk, it makes huge demands. For one thing, co-ordinating the oversized orchestra (with augmented percussion section and two pianos), a large choir, children’s chorus and three soloists can be a logistical nightmare. And then there’s the musical challenge of making sure they are all well-rehearsed to play in time and tune, under a conductor who knows exactly what he’s doing.
It is to the NCPA’s credit that these formidable challenges were partially met, on the evidence of the work’s first performance (of two) at the Jamshed Bhabha Theatre. Not that Mumbai hasn’t heard "Carmina" before: this was at least the third time the shockingly contemporary Benediktbeuern manuscripts from the Middle Ages, set to music by Carl Orff, have been performed here.
Marat Bisengaliev, Music Director of the Symphony Orchestra of India, conducted this performance hinself, with mixed results. Mr. Bisengaliev favoured extreme and sudden changes in tempo, sometimes in two adjacent phrases. A case in point was his conducting of the two orchestral dances: the first thrillingly fast, with its syncopations neatly pointed; the second slow to the point of somnolence. There could have been fewer and shorter pauses between sections in a piece, thus making the performance more spontaneous and organic; and one missed an overall sense of structure and unity in his evidently “episodic” interpretation.
The orchestra was able to keep up with him….most of the time. There were occasional minor imprecisions in ensemble from the brass; but the strings played con brio and the percussionists gave it their all.
The chorus was another matter. One initially got the distinct impression they were focussing entirely on singing the words and notes correctly, with the consequent loss of open-throated abandon that only fluency can bring. Things improved gradually during and after Ecce gratum as they gained confidence; and by the time Veni, veni, venias came around, they were in fine fettle. However, there were some instances of imperfect co-ordination with orchestra, especially when the chorus had to begin a piece --- most damagingly in Floret silva nobilis and Swaz hie gat umbe where their attack was poor indeed, indicating insufficient rehearsal with a mercurial conductor! Moreover, the sopranos did occasionally flat their highest notes; and the male chorus could have been more full-bodied during In taberna; but the children’s chorus was bright and clear.
Soprano Annamaria Dell’Oste gave a fluent account of her opening solo; but, as the performance continued, her vibrato became intrusive. She seemed stretched by the conductor’s slow tempo for In trutina, consequently needing to take breath-pauses mid-phrase; and her lower notes were virtually inaudible --- not surprising, since the part was written for a full-fledged lyric soprano; and, judging by her timbre, she is apparently a coloratura. However, this paid dividends in the fiendishly-high Dulcissime, where she managed the flights in alt with hardly any strain.
Baritone Javier Arrey sang with warm, full tone and immense musicality; but limited understanding of the meaning of words in the haunting Omnia sol temperat and the headlong Estuans interius (which he nevertheless ended with a ringing top A) while his drunken Abbot was decidedly sober. Even so, through impeccable legato and beautifully-rounded vocalism, he conveyed passion in Circa mea pectora and lovesickness in Dies nox et omnia movingly, singing the latter entirely in full-voice without resorting to the customary falsetto above the stave….and, sadly, cracked.
The famous Song of the Roasted Swan was prefaced by an evocative orchestral introduction by Mr. Bisengaliev. Tenor Filippo Adami launched into the piece with gusto, attacking the exposed high-notes with fearless security, shifting seamlessly into falsetto when required. This, combined with his graphic colouring of words, made for a vivid rendition and definitely the finest (albeit brief) contribution to the concert that evening.
Speaking of which, the subsequent performance the following day was probably more assured, with some of the kinks ironed-out. But that’s what rehearsals are for; and, with proper attention, it should certainly be possible to get things right on opening night!
Large-scale works are beloved of concert organisers and audiences alike. After all, which ordinary symphony can compare with Beethoven’s Ninth or Mahler’s Eighth for sheer glamour or frisson? "Carmina Burana" is surely one of the few in the same league.
However, like others of its ilk, it makes huge demands. For one thing, co-ordinating the oversized orchestra (with augmented percussion section and two pianos), a large choir, children’s chorus and three soloists can be a logistical nightmare. And then there’s the musical challenge of making sure they are all well-rehearsed to play in time and tune, under a conductor who knows exactly what he’s doing.
It is to the NCPA’s credit that these formidable challenges were partially met, on the evidence of the work’s first performance (of two) at the Jamshed Bhabha Theatre. Not that Mumbai hasn’t heard "Carmina" before: this was at least the third time the shockingly contemporary Benediktbeuern manuscripts from the Middle Ages, set to music by Carl Orff, have been performed here.
Marat Bisengaliev, Music Director of the Symphony Orchestra of India, conducted this performance hinself, with mixed results. Mr. Bisengaliev favoured extreme and sudden changes in tempo, sometimes in two adjacent phrases. A case in point was his conducting of the two orchestral dances: the first thrillingly fast, with its syncopations neatly pointed; the second slow to the point of somnolence. There could have been fewer and shorter pauses between sections in a piece, thus making the performance more spontaneous and organic; and one missed an overall sense of structure and unity in his evidently “episodic” interpretation.
The orchestra was able to keep up with him….most of the time. There were occasional minor imprecisions in ensemble from the brass; but the strings played con brio and the percussionists gave it their all.
The chorus was another matter. One initially got the distinct impression they were focussing entirely on singing the words and notes correctly, with the consequent loss of open-throated abandon that only fluency can bring. Things improved gradually during and after Ecce gratum as they gained confidence; and by the time Veni, veni, venias came around, they were in fine fettle. However, there were some instances of imperfect co-ordination with orchestra, especially when the chorus had to begin a piece --- most damagingly in Floret silva nobilis and Swaz hie gat umbe where their attack was poor indeed, indicating insufficient rehearsal with a mercurial conductor! Moreover, the sopranos did occasionally flat their highest notes; and the male chorus could have been more full-bodied during In taberna; but the children’s chorus was bright and clear.
Soprano Annamaria Dell’Oste gave a fluent account of her opening solo; but, as the performance continued, her vibrato became intrusive. She seemed stretched by the conductor’s slow tempo for In trutina, consequently needing to take breath-pauses mid-phrase; and her lower notes were virtually inaudible --- not surprising, since the part was written for a full-fledged lyric soprano; and, judging by her timbre, she is apparently a coloratura. However, this paid dividends in the fiendishly-high Dulcissime, where she managed the flights in alt with hardly any strain.
Baritone Javier Arrey sang with warm, full tone and immense musicality; but limited understanding of the meaning of words in the haunting Omnia sol temperat and the headlong Estuans interius (which he nevertheless ended with a ringing top A) while his drunken Abbot was decidedly sober. Even so, through impeccable legato and beautifully-rounded vocalism, he conveyed passion in Circa mea pectora and lovesickness in Dies nox et omnia movingly, singing the latter entirely in full-voice without resorting to the customary falsetto above the stave….and, sadly, cracked.
The famous Song of the Roasted Swan was prefaced by an evocative orchestral introduction by Mr. Bisengaliev. Tenor Filippo Adami launched into the piece with gusto, attacking the exposed high-notes with fearless security, shifting seamlessly into falsetto when required. This, combined with his graphic colouring of words, made for a vivid rendition and definitely the finest (albeit brief) contribution to the concert that evening.
Speaking of which, the subsequent performance the following day was probably more assured, with some of the kinks ironed-out. But that’s what rehearsals are for; and, with proper attention, it should certainly be possible to get things right on opening night!
Santuzza in stilettos, Canio on TV
This piece is also posted (with small edits) on my webpage at http://seenandheard-international.com/tag/jiten-s-merchant/
(Also apparently available via a link on http://theoperacritic.com/ which can be accessed only by a paid subscription).
Opera in Mumbai used to be a rare phenomenon, occurring once in a very great while. However, thanks to the opera-centric management at the city’s National Centre for the Performing Arts (NCPA) and its world-class orchestra-in-residence, the Symphony Orchestra of India, it is now relatively frequent, with new productions being staged for limited runs every two years or so.
Since Mumbai lacks an opera-company, productions are imported in varying degree; and this latest offering of "Cavalleria Rusticana" and "Pagliacci" came from South America, complete with sets. As such, it minimised the Indian contribution to a few members of the orchestra (most of whom are, again, “imported”), some choristers and extras. It had a run of three performances, of which this reviewer caught the first and the last.
Opening-night was fraught with problems. For one thing, the interval lasted 75 minutes, owing to the elaborate set-change. The truth is, the Jamshed Bhabha Theatre has limited space around the stage; so large sets cannot be wheeled on and off; and have to be struck and mounted in situ. The subsequent performances saw a progressive reduction in this inordinate delay, down to about 50 minutes.
In "Cavalleria", mezzo-soprano Elena Bocharova as Santuzza was apparently unwell on opening night; and decided not to attempt any high notes after the Easter Hymn, singing them an octave lower. Wearing what looked like diamond ear-studs, a pearl or coral necklace and a pair of bright and shiny patent-leather stilettos, it seemed as though a member of the audience had lost her way onto the stage. And there was nothing in her performance that conveyed more than cursory emotional involvement with the predicament of this supposedly poor, simple village-girl.
Her Turiddu was slightly better. Giancarlo Monsalve had the looks and physical presence; but his vocalism was heavy-handed, needing a “leg-up” to reach the high notes; his tone an ill-focussed spread. Even so, he managed a surprisingly proficient account of his final Addio alla Madre.
The others saved the day. Gevorg Hakobyan’s Alfio was alpha-male in his swagger and robust tone, though somewhat cavalier with note-values during Il cavallo scalpita. Marianna Vinci was spot-on as Lola, though clotted below the stave; and Chiara Fracasso gave probably the finest performance in the cast as Mamma Lucia, note-perfect in a finely-shaded, idiomatic characterisation.
Ms Bocharova was replaced after opening-night by soprano Chiara Angella, who had no problems with the role’s high tessitura and wore much more sensible footwear. She did, however, have a wide and pronounced vibrato. Even so, her sheer involvement and innate musicality paid immense dividends during Voi lo sapete and the duet with Turiddu, ending in a hair-raising “Bada!” and curse.
Mickael Spadaccini sang Turiddu on the last night and his interpretation was “softer” than the animal-like quality of Monsalve; his vocalism followed suit with sensitive phrasing, though not always perfectly-rounded in tone.
In Pagliacci, tenor Francesco Anile proved himself to be very much a singer’s singer, allowing the pathos and passion in the music to express itself (à la Björling) without resorting to bathetic boo-hooing or savage shouting. Possessing a relatively small but evenly-produced voice, his high notes were laser-sharp, cutting through orchestral tutti with ease. Acting-wise, he erred on the side of economy, conveying Canio’s extremis simply but effectively. However, the final stabbing of Nedda and Silvio could have been much more crazed and vicious; here it barely registered on the audience.
Sabina Cvilak, as Nedda, was secure and powerful above the stave; and threw herself into her part with convincing abandon. Although she was occasionally inaudible in the lower passaggio (but with strong chest-notes) her musicality was unimpeachable, with ravishing pianissimi in her duet with Silvio, where baritone Javier Arrey was also superbly lyrical and offered a moving rendition of his brief solo.
Silvio Zanon’s harder, gleaming baritone suited Tonio perfectly. Though slightly strained by the Prologue’s top notes, he gave a vivid musico-dramatic characterisation of the hunchback, reaching its peak in the fiery exchange with Nedda. In contrast, he showed a real flair for comedy during the antics of Scene 2, in which Filippo Adami sang Beppe’s little solo in full voice with insouciant ease; and moved with great agility.
If "Cav and Pag" are said to be twins, they could hardly be more dissimilar than in this production. Here, "Cavalleria" was played on an exquisitely-detailed set of a Sicilian village-piazza; beautiful but shrouded in a near-perpetual twilight through which the Sicilian sun shone only intermittently. "Pagliacci", interestingly, was set in a TV studio from the early 60s, with professional cameras “shooting” the action in black and white, displayed on a screen at the back. A large neon-sign announced “23 ORE” as the title of the show in which Canio’s troupe was slated to perform; and the chorus became the studio-audience. The show itself, in Scene 2 of the opera, was a circus-style extravaganza complete with acrobats, while the preceeding intimate scenes were performed “off-camera” in a dressing-room and the empty studio.
Director Willy Landin’s imagination had obviously run riot, offering a thoroughly riveting “modern” mise-en-scène of "Pagliacci", albeit with a few minor inconsistencies. It was difficult to accept that the same director was responsible for the somewhat four-square "Cavalleria" earlier that evening!
Landin’s forte was the interaction between principal characters, brilliantly realised in both operas, especially "Pagliacci" in its switching back-and-forth between reality and Commedia dell’Arte. The chorus were given little attention in "Cavalleria", being made to walk around in slow-motion or strike stilted poses in groups, without much sense of “character” or involvement (where were their wine-glasses during the Brindisi?). In "Pagliacci", however, they remained happily seated until called-upon to react, in time to the music.
This amalgamation of choirs, though satisfyingly full-voiced, lacked the agility of a true operatic chorus, being somewhat sluggish in its response to the dynamics of music-drama; and unable to adapt to sudden changes in tempo. As a result, there were major imprecisions in ensemble with the orchestra, under both conductors.
Antonello Allemandi conducted opening-night con brio….to a fault. The orchestra was king, playing with full-blooded attack and burnished tone; the conductor seeming to revel in the amplitude of its sound at the expense of those singers who were unable to cut through it. His tempi were generally fast, making for a thrilling listen but also the occasional Runaway Train, when singers were unable to keep-up.
Resident-maestro Zane Dalal was, on the other hand, more responsive to the lyricism in both scores, keeping passion in its place. From the very first, meltingly-beautiful notes of the Prelude to "Cavalleria", it was clear this was going to be an utterly musical, elegant reading of the operas. He conducted with a firm, clear downbeat, in sync with variations in rhythm (for example, the heady swirl of Nedda’s Balatella) and highlighting inner voices with tender clarity. Climaxes, when they occurred, had requisite weight and volume, if not quite the visceral slam conjured by Maestro Allemandi.
The semi-covered pit of the JBT was perhaps responsible for amplifying the orchestral sound to a point where only the most securely-produced voices were able to ride it successfully; and this was evident at three differently-located seats, in an auditorium notorious for its unpredictable acoustics.
This, along with technical limitations and logistical problems, makes staging opera a difficult proposition in this city. Mumbai’s NCPA has a few more lessons to learn; but, with experience and international support, it might well become a major operatic centre in this part of the world.
(Also apparently available via a link on http://theoperacritic.com/ which can be accessed only by a paid subscription).
Opera in Mumbai used to be a rare phenomenon, occurring once in a very great while. However, thanks to the opera-centric management at the city’s National Centre for the Performing Arts (NCPA) and its world-class orchestra-in-residence, the Symphony Orchestra of India, it is now relatively frequent, with new productions being staged for limited runs every two years or so.
Since Mumbai lacks an opera-company, productions are imported in varying degree; and this latest offering of "Cavalleria Rusticana" and "Pagliacci" came from South America, complete with sets. As such, it minimised the Indian contribution to a few members of the orchestra (most of whom are, again, “imported”), some choristers and extras. It had a run of three performances, of which this reviewer caught the first and the last.
Opening-night was fraught with problems. For one thing, the interval lasted 75 minutes, owing to the elaborate set-change. The truth is, the Jamshed Bhabha Theatre has limited space around the stage; so large sets cannot be wheeled on and off; and have to be struck and mounted in situ. The subsequent performances saw a progressive reduction in this inordinate delay, down to about 50 minutes.
In "Cavalleria", mezzo-soprano Elena Bocharova as Santuzza was apparently unwell on opening night; and decided not to attempt any high notes after the Easter Hymn, singing them an octave lower. Wearing what looked like diamond ear-studs, a pearl or coral necklace and a pair of bright and shiny patent-leather stilettos, it seemed as though a member of the audience had lost her way onto the stage. And there was nothing in her performance that conveyed more than cursory emotional involvement with the predicament of this supposedly poor, simple village-girl.
Her Turiddu was slightly better. Giancarlo Monsalve had the looks and physical presence; but his vocalism was heavy-handed, needing a “leg-up” to reach the high notes; his tone an ill-focussed spread. Even so, he managed a surprisingly proficient account of his final Addio alla Madre.
The others saved the day. Gevorg Hakobyan’s Alfio was alpha-male in his swagger and robust tone, though somewhat cavalier with note-values during Il cavallo scalpita. Marianna Vinci was spot-on as Lola, though clotted below the stave; and Chiara Fracasso gave probably the finest performance in the cast as Mamma Lucia, note-perfect in a finely-shaded, idiomatic characterisation.
Ms Bocharova was replaced after opening-night by soprano Chiara Angella, who had no problems with the role’s high tessitura and wore much more sensible footwear. She did, however, have a wide and pronounced vibrato. Even so, her sheer involvement and innate musicality paid immense dividends during Voi lo sapete and the duet with Turiddu, ending in a hair-raising “Bada!” and curse.
Mickael Spadaccini sang Turiddu on the last night and his interpretation was “softer” than the animal-like quality of Monsalve; his vocalism followed suit with sensitive phrasing, though not always perfectly-rounded in tone.
In Pagliacci, tenor Francesco Anile proved himself to be very much a singer’s singer, allowing the pathos and passion in the music to express itself (à la Björling) without resorting to bathetic boo-hooing or savage shouting. Possessing a relatively small but evenly-produced voice, his high notes were laser-sharp, cutting through orchestral tutti with ease. Acting-wise, he erred on the side of economy, conveying Canio’s extremis simply but effectively. However, the final stabbing of Nedda and Silvio could have been much more crazed and vicious; here it barely registered on the audience.
Sabina Cvilak, as Nedda, was secure and powerful above the stave; and threw herself into her part with convincing abandon. Although she was occasionally inaudible in the lower passaggio (but with strong chest-notes) her musicality was unimpeachable, with ravishing pianissimi in her duet with Silvio, where baritone Javier Arrey was also superbly lyrical and offered a moving rendition of his brief solo.
Silvio Zanon’s harder, gleaming baritone suited Tonio perfectly. Though slightly strained by the Prologue’s top notes, he gave a vivid musico-dramatic characterisation of the hunchback, reaching its peak in the fiery exchange with Nedda. In contrast, he showed a real flair for comedy during the antics of Scene 2, in which Filippo Adami sang Beppe’s little solo in full voice with insouciant ease; and moved with great agility.
If "Cav and Pag" are said to be twins, they could hardly be more dissimilar than in this production. Here, "Cavalleria" was played on an exquisitely-detailed set of a Sicilian village-piazza; beautiful but shrouded in a near-perpetual twilight through which the Sicilian sun shone only intermittently. "Pagliacci", interestingly, was set in a TV studio from the early 60s, with professional cameras “shooting” the action in black and white, displayed on a screen at the back. A large neon-sign announced “23 ORE” as the title of the show in which Canio’s troupe was slated to perform; and the chorus became the studio-audience. The show itself, in Scene 2 of the opera, was a circus-style extravaganza complete with acrobats, while the preceeding intimate scenes were performed “off-camera” in a dressing-room and the empty studio.
Director Willy Landin’s imagination had obviously run riot, offering a thoroughly riveting “modern” mise-en-scène of "Pagliacci", albeit with a few minor inconsistencies. It was difficult to accept that the same director was responsible for the somewhat four-square "Cavalleria" earlier that evening!
Landin’s forte was the interaction between principal characters, brilliantly realised in both operas, especially "Pagliacci" in its switching back-and-forth between reality and Commedia dell’Arte. The chorus were given little attention in "Cavalleria", being made to walk around in slow-motion or strike stilted poses in groups, without much sense of “character” or involvement (where were their wine-glasses during the Brindisi?). In "Pagliacci", however, they remained happily seated until called-upon to react, in time to the music.
This amalgamation of choirs, though satisfyingly full-voiced, lacked the agility of a true operatic chorus, being somewhat sluggish in its response to the dynamics of music-drama; and unable to adapt to sudden changes in tempo. As a result, there were major imprecisions in ensemble with the orchestra, under both conductors.
Antonello Allemandi conducted opening-night con brio….to a fault. The orchestra was king, playing with full-blooded attack and burnished tone; the conductor seeming to revel in the amplitude of its sound at the expense of those singers who were unable to cut through it. His tempi were generally fast, making for a thrilling listen but also the occasional Runaway Train, when singers were unable to keep-up.
Resident-maestro Zane Dalal was, on the other hand, more responsive to the lyricism in both scores, keeping passion in its place. From the very first, meltingly-beautiful notes of the Prelude to "Cavalleria", it was clear this was going to be an utterly musical, elegant reading of the operas. He conducted with a firm, clear downbeat, in sync with variations in rhythm (for example, the heady swirl of Nedda’s Balatella) and highlighting inner voices with tender clarity. Climaxes, when they occurred, had requisite weight and volume, if not quite the visceral slam conjured by Maestro Allemandi.
The semi-covered pit of the JBT was perhaps responsible for amplifying the orchestral sound to a point where only the most securely-produced voices were able to ride it successfully; and this was evident at three differently-located seats, in an auditorium notorious for its unpredictable acoustics.
This, along with technical limitations and logistical problems, makes staging opera a difficult proposition in this city. Mumbai’s NCPA has a few more lessons to learn; but, with experience and international support, it might well become a major operatic centre in this part of the world.
Monday, January 30, 2012
Shame on the audience!
An edited version of the following review is uploaded on my webpage at http://www.seenandheard-international.com/tag/jiten-s-merchant/
Mahler Chamber Soloists: Henja Semmler (violin), Christian Heubes (violin), Anna Puig Torné (viola), Delphine Tissot (viola), Antoaneta Emanuilova (cello), Olivier Patey (clarinet).
Presented by the Indian Council for Cultural Relations (ICCR), Tata Theatre, National Centre for the Performing Arts (NCPA), Mumbai, India. 24.01.2012
Good things can come in small packages; and this was made evident at the concert by the Mahler Chamber Soloists, a group of six players from the Mahler Chamber Orchestra, in Mumbai. Presented as part of the celebrations honouring 60 years of friendship between Germany and India, it was certainly a success, though one that was somewhat qualified.
The major hurdle in making this a special evening was the audience. Typical of these sponsors, there was a large number of Indian and European government and corporate types among the invitees, which probably explained the bursts of applause after each movement, clicking of cameras, loud coughing and constant traffic of latecomers and premature departees….but mercifully only one interruption from a cell-phone. The genuine music-lovers and regular concert-goers among those present must surely have wondered what kind of impression this audience had made on the hapless musicians; and wished the organisers had included a handbook of concert-etiquette with the brochure.
Even so, the players coped valiantly. Opening with Dvorak’s Terzetto in C Major, they displayed impeccable co-ordination and fine contrast between the cantabile and marcato passages, though the syncopations in the Furiant could have had more rhythmic bounce.
Mozart’s String (Viola) Quintet in G minor followed; and from the start it was apparent this performance was going to be different. The opening Allegro was taken at a clip, establishing a nervous, febrile energy, with sharply angular dynamics and agogic pauses, though the stabbing chords in the following Menuetto could have been made more emphatic. The Adagio was also a shade too fast, lacking gravitas; and it was only in the last movement that the performance struck the right note of grief (especially in Henja Semmler’s soaring violin solos underpinned by pizzicati from the cello) for this was written by Mozart when his father was dying. It has been suggested that the work’s ending, a jaunty Allegro, represented his freedom from paternal tyranny; and here it was appropriately tentative, halting and (again) nervous, bringing us full-circle to the opening.
Brahms’ Clarinet Quintet, after the interval, was undoubtedly the concert’s main event. Its opening promised sylvan shades and autumnal mood….shattered alas in the very first forte passage, the clarinet’s tone hardening acerbically under pressure, exacerbated by the “shouting” quartet. However, clarinettist Olivier Patey’s soft playing thereafter was exquisite, leading up to an ending that was magically hushed. This promise of lyricism was amply fulfilled by the players in the ensuing Adagio; and its rhapsodic “aria” for clarinet was rendered passionately by Mr. Patey, with ravishing pianissimi. The following Andantino was lively, while the last movement’s contrasts were well-realised (for instance, in the clarinet’s flawless legato during its arching phrases, backed by the rhythmic accents of the quartet) with a sombre and very moving end.
Fresh from their concert in Goa, the Soloists offered a charming encore, a medley of Goan folk-songs arranged specially for their ensemble. It proved, unequivocally, that Indo-German collaboration is indeed a happy marriage.
Mahler Chamber Soloists: Henja Semmler (violin), Christian Heubes (violin), Anna Puig Torné (viola), Delphine Tissot (viola), Antoaneta Emanuilova (cello), Olivier Patey (clarinet).
Presented by the Indian Council for Cultural Relations (ICCR), Tata Theatre, National Centre for the Performing Arts (NCPA), Mumbai, India. 24.01.2012
Good things can come in small packages; and this was made evident at the concert by the Mahler Chamber Soloists, a group of six players from the Mahler Chamber Orchestra, in Mumbai. Presented as part of the celebrations honouring 60 years of friendship between Germany and India, it was certainly a success, though one that was somewhat qualified.
The major hurdle in making this a special evening was the audience. Typical of these sponsors, there was a large number of Indian and European government and corporate types among the invitees, which probably explained the bursts of applause after each movement, clicking of cameras, loud coughing and constant traffic of latecomers and premature departees….but mercifully only one interruption from a cell-phone. The genuine music-lovers and regular concert-goers among those present must surely have wondered what kind of impression this audience had made on the hapless musicians; and wished the organisers had included a handbook of concert-etiquette with the brochure.
Even so, the players coped valiantly. Opening with Dvorak’s Terzetto in C Major, they displayed impeccable co-ordination and fine contrast between the cantabile and marcato passages, though the syncopations in the Furiant could have had more rhythmic bounce.
Mozart’s String (Viola) Quintet in G minor followed; and from the start it was apparent this performance was going to be different. The opening Allegro was taken at a clip, establishing a nervous, febrile energy, with sharply angular dynamics and agogic pauses, though the stabbing chords in the following Menuetto could have been made more emphatic. The Adagio was also a shade too fast, lacking gravitas; and it was only in the last movement that the performance struck the right note of grief (especially in Henja Semmler’s soaring violin solos underpinned by pizzicati from the cello) for this was written by Mozart when his father was dying. It has been suggested that the work’s ending, a jaunty Allegro, represented his freedom from paternal tyranny; and here it was appropriately tentative, halting and (again) nervous, bringing us full-circle to the opening.
Brahms’ Clarinet Quintet, after the interval, was undoubtedly the concert’s main event. Its opening promised sylvan shades and autumnal mood….shattered alas in the very first forte passage, the clarinet’s tone hardening acerbically under pressure, exacerbated by the “shouting” quartet. However, clarinettist Olivier Patey’s soft playing thereafter was exquisite, leading up to an ending that was magically hushed. This promise of lyricism was amply fulfilled by the players in the ensuing Adagio; and its rhapsodic “aria” for clarinet was rendered passionately by Mr. Patey, with ravishing pianissimi. The following Andantino was lively, while the last movement’s contrasts were well-realised (for instance, in the clarinet’s flawless legato during its arching phrases, backed by the rhythmic accents of the quartet) with a sombre and very moving end.
Fresh from their concert in Goa, the Soloists offered a charming encore, a medley of Goan folk-songs arranged specially for their ensemble. It proved, unequivocally, that Indo-German collaboration is indeed a happy marriage.
Friday, January 13, 2012
3 Divas in Bombay!
I am now an accredited reviewer at Seen and Heard International, the live-performance wing of Music Web International, one of the oldest, largest and most-visited online purveyors of musical criticism.
My first review for them was of a concert featuring three sopranos, including the Mumbai-born but UK-based Patricia Rozario.
Since this was extensively edited on the website (sometimes, I admit, for the better!) here is my original piece:
Three of a Kind!
Operatic arias by Patricia Rozario (soprano), Susanna Hurrell (soprano) and Joanne D’Mello (soprano).
Tata Theatre, National Centre for the Performing Arts (NCPA), Mumbai, India.
9 January 2012.
There are sopranos and sopranos….and this concert at the Tata Theatre in the National Centre for the Performing Arts, Mumbai, showcased three species in the genus.
All three shared a basically lyric fach and timbre, with one offering a shade of spinto; another, the bright tone of a coloratura. Occupying a solid, quintessentially lyric middle-ground between the two was their teacher and mentor, Patricia Rozario. Recently honoured with an OBE, Ms Rozario taught Susanna Hurrell at the Royal College of Music’s International Opera School; and her own compatriot, Joanne D’Mello from Goa, also at the RCM. Both students joined their teacher in this programme of mostly familiar operatic arias and duets (and a few folk-songs).
However, the very first item on the programme was decidedly unfamiliar, Brilla nell’ alma from Handel’s “Alessandro”. Ms Hurrell launched into it con brio but lacking the laser-sharp focus of the true coloratura; and with some approximation in the florid passages. These traits, along with a few lapses in intonation and little evidence of a proper trill, were also seen in two of the latter pieces, the valse from Gounod’s “Romeo et Juliette” and Adele’s Laughing Song from “Die Fledermaus”; but Ms Hurrell saved the day with her confidence above the stave. And really came into her own during Manon’s Adieu, notre petite table, which was performed complete with the preceeding recitative, the singer throwing herself convincingly into Manon’s predicament, fully conveying her conflict on leaving her lover for the high-life.
Joanne D’Mello has the makings of a fine lirico-spinto, though at the moment her voice seems still somewhat unformed. It is relatively small, with almost the timbre of a lyric mezzo in the lower register; but free, ringing top notes. However, there is sometimes a noticeable beat in the voice, which is a little worrying to hear at such an early stage in her career. She is amazingly responsive to changes in colour, differentiating clearly not only between operatic characters but also contrasting portions within the same aria. This was made evident in Cleopatra’s lament from Handel’s “Giulio Cesare” (though she lacked the requisite heft) while her rendition of Euridice’s Che fiero momento showed great sensitivity to emotion and meaning of words. Her Musetta was coquettish and playful but Despina less convincing; and she managed the mezzo parts of Dorabella and Mallika, in the duets respectively from “Cosi fan tutte” and “Lakme”, with aplomb, both partnered by Ms Hurrell.
She was also a charming Susanna in the duet Canzonetta sull’ aria from “Le Nozze di Figaro” in which she was joined by Patricia Rozario as the Contessa. From the start, it was evident that something was terribly wrong and Ms Rozario seemed to be having an off day (courtesy the Mumbai smog?) for this was not the Patricia we have come to know and love! Her legato, always the pride and joy of her vocalism, was heavy and effortful here; and also in the subsequent arias from “The Pearl Fishers” and “Rusalka”, during which she had to clear her throat a couple of times and seemed to rely on sheer will-power to finish. Even so, there was no doubt about the authority of her renditions, although the inclusion in the programme of the Queen of the Night’s “revenge” aria was a sad mistake. Written for a dramatic-coloratura (which Ms Rozario definitely is not) it was painful to hear and perhaps to sing, causing grave concern for Ms Rozario’s vocal health. Thankfully this was unfounded, as she returned later to give an utterly stupendous, show-stopping account of “Its my Wedding” from the opera “Enchanted Pig” by Jonathan Dove.
Mark Troop’s sure-footed piano-accompaniment provided a bedrock of musical support (though sometimes almost overpowering Ms D’Mello) through the evening, which ended with the three ladies singing Dvorak’s Three Gypsy Songs (including the popular “Songs my mother taught me”) with perfect co-ordination. And, in keeping with Ms Rozario’s and Ms D’Mello’s roots, the encores were a couple of lilting Goan folk-songs, sung in the native Konkani, which Ms Hurrell had mastered in two weeks!
My first review for them was of a concert featuring three sopranos, including the Mumbai-born but UK-based Patricia Rozario.
Since this was extensively edited on the website (sometimes, I admit, for the better!) here is my original piece:
Three of a Kind!
Operatic arias by Patricia Rozario (soprano), Susanna Hurrell (soprano) and Joanne D’Mello (soprano).
Tata Theatre, National Centre for the Performing Arts (NCPA), Mumbai, India.
9 January 2012.
There are sopranos and sopranos….and this concert at the Tata Theatre in the National Centre for the Performing Arts, Mumbai, showcased three species in the genus.
All three shared a basically lyric fach and timbre, with one offering a shade of spinto; another, the bright tone of a coloratura. Occupying a solid, quintessentially lyric middle-ground between the two was their teacher and mentor, Patricia Rozario. Recently honoured with an OBE, Ms Rozario taught Susanna Hurrell at the Royal College of Music’s International Opera School; and her own compatriot, Joanne D’Mello from Goa, also at the RCM. Both students joined their teacher in this programme of mostly familiar operatic arias and duets (and a few folk-songs).
However, the very first item on the programme was decidedly unfamiliar, Brilla nell’ alma from Handel’s “Alessandro”. Ms Hurrell launched into it con brio but lacking the laser-sharp focus of the true coloratura; and with some approximation in the florid passages. These traits, along with a few lapses in intonation and little evidence of a proper trill, were also seen in two of the latter pieces, the valse from Gounod’s “Romeo et Juliette” and Adele’s Laughing Song from “Die Fledermaus”; but Ms Hurrell saved the day with her confidence above the stave. And really came into her own during Manon’s Adieu, notre petite table, which was performed complete with the preceeding recitative, the singer throwing herself convincingly into Manon’s predicament, fully conveying her conflict on leaving her lover for the high-life.
Joanne D’Mello has the makings of a fine lirico-spinto, though at the moment her voice seems still somewhat unformed. It is relatively small, with almost the timbre of a lyric mezzo in the lower register; but free, ringing top notes. However, there is sometimes a noticeable beat in the voice, which is a little worrying to hear at such an early stage in her career. She is amazingly responsive to changes in colour, differentiating clearly not only between operatic characters but also contrasting portions within the same aria. This was made evident in Cleopatra’s lament from Handel’s “Giulio Cesare” (though she lacked the requisite heft) while her rendition of Euridice’s Che fiero momento showed great sensitivity to emotion and meaning of words. Her Musetta was coquettish and playful but Despina less convincing; and she managed the mezzo parts of Dorabella and Mallika, in the duets respectively from “Cosi fan tutte” and “Lakme”, with aplomb, both partnered by Ms Hurrell.
She was also a charming Susanna in the duet Canzonetta sull’ aria from “Le Nozze di Figaro” in which she was joined by Patricia Rozario as the Contessa. From the start, it was evident that something was terribly wrong and Ms Rozario seemed to be having an off day (courtesy the Mumbai smog?) for this was not the Patricia we have come to know and love! Her legato, always the pride and joy of her vocalism, was heavy and effortful here; and also in the subsequent arias from “The Pearl Fishers” and “Rusalka”, during which she had to clear her throat a couple of times and seemed to rely on sheer will-power to finish. Even so, there was no doubt about the authority of her renditions, although the inclusion in the programme of the Queen of the Night’s “revenge” aria was a sad mistake. Written for a dramatic-coloratura (which Ms Rozario definitely is not) it was painful to hear and perhaps to sing, causing grave concern for Ms Rozario’s vocal health. Thankfully this was unfounded, as she returned later to give an utterly stupendous, show-stopping account of “Its my Wedding” from the opera “Enchanted Pig” by Jonathan Dove.
Mark Troop’s sure-footed piano-accompaniment provided a bedrock of musical support (though sometimes almost overpowering Ms D’Mello) through the evening, which ended with the three ladies singing Dvorak’s Three Gypsy Songs (including the popular “Songs my mother taught me”) with perfect co-ordination. And, in keeping with Ms Rozario’s and Ms D’Mello’s roots, the encores were a couple of lilting Goan folk-songs, sung in the native Konkani, which Ms Hurrell had mastered in two weeks!
Saturday, February 19, 2011
Blasts from the past!
Three drama-reviews from the (recent) past: "Zen Katha", "R&J", "Evita".
"Zen Katha" by Partap Sharma.
Directed by Lillette Dubey.
mid-2004.
Originally published in the theatre-newsletter "The Script".
The best thing about Partap Sharma’s new play “Zen Katha” is that it is informative. Few people are aware that Zen, the Martial Arts and even Budhhism were exported from India to China by one Bodhidharma, a prince-turned-monk from the Ancient Indian kingdom of Kanchi. This is apparently a matter of more than passing interest to some; and the rest of us would surely raise an eyebrow or two in surprise!
However, the “enlightenment” ends there. What promises to be the chronicle of an intense voyage of self-discovery, becomes instead a dreary docu-drama, wending its desultory way through the annals of history and geography. Mr. Sharma gives little or no insight into the workings of his hero’s mind and heart; little or no inkling of struggle, suffering or sacrifice. One is left with a biography of the most superficial kind; and is appropriately impressed yet completely unmoved. In addition, the second act’s interminable lec-dems of the various disciplines developed by Bodhidharma are made all the more tiresome by an air of self-conscious didacticism.
For all that, Mr. Sharma does have a gift for piquant turns of phrase, tossing-in modern repartee like dashes of Tabasco, enlivening the proceedings.
Lillette Dubey’s production exacerbates all the play’s faults; and adds more than a few of its own. There is hardly any sense of dramatic development, of working towards a climax. The endings of most scenes are flaccid; some of the movement is stagey and artificial; pace and rhythm are severely hampered by awkward, uncalled-for pauses. The overall impression is one of amateurish, under-rehearsed approximation.
Even so, Ms. Dubey does have an eye for detail; a certain sensitivity in the more intimate scenes. These nuggets save the play from total annihilation.
Since the martial arts are one of the major focal-points of the play; and since Sensei Pervez Mistry was in charge of choreographing the (many) fights, one would imagine that these at least would provide some thrills. Alas, not so. All but one (maybe two) of the fight-scenes verge on the ludicrous, the actors moving clumsily and with little sense of actual physical combat, hardly ever conveying the feeling of real and imminent danger.
Almost every actor plays more than one role. While one appreciates the difficulty, one questions the necessity; as it forces actors to caricaturise in an attempt to make each avatar “different” from the others. The results are generally two-dimensional and often irritating.
Denzil Smith lends class to the production, as the hero’s teacher in Act One, speaking and emoting with wonderful clarity and resonance. However, he too caricaturises his next appearance in the second act, playing the Chinese Emperor with an exaggeratedly high voice and high-camp accent.
Rajiv Gopalakrishnan as Bodhidharma tries hard; but simply does not have what it takes, vocally and emotionally, to convey the character’s transition from callow prince to enlightened being. To his credit, he moves well and shows some semblance of transformation; but it seems superficial, not an internal, spiritual growth.
The production’s design is cheap and tacky in the extreme, featuring blown-up photographs of pillars, statues, mountain-scenery and foliage; plus a couple of bright-red columns, surely borrowed from a Chinese restaurant. And Mahesh Tinaikar’s original score sounds like bad Indo-Jazz fusion or Kitaro gone wrong.
Ultimately one is glad the play holds forth at length on its hero’s teachings. They should be heeded. One certainly needs them towards the end of the performance!
"R&J" (Romeo and Juliet) by William Shakespeare.
Directed by Alyque Padamsee.
October 2002.
Originally published in the Sunday Times, Mumbai, 27 October 2002
“Romeo and Juliet” has probably had more modern interpretations than any other of Shakespeare’s plays. This is so, because its story of young love set against the forces of warring clans rings true and is, sadly, timeless. These “star-crossed lovers” have appeared in widely-diverse garbs, locales and time-frames; in versions that jettison the original text to those that preserve (some of) the words but change the milieu.
Alyque Padamsee’s “modern version” is among the latter. Set in India, it substitutes “communities” for clans; and while any outright reference is studiously avoided, the liberal use of teekas and topis offers no prize for guessing. The point of communal disharmony is made richly and repeatedly; the horror of the violence therein, vividly rendered. If the text, under Padamsee’s scalpel, resembles a Reader’s Digest condensation, that is a price purists have become accustomed to paying; more seriously, some of his heavy-handed attempts to evoke sympathy or shock are unintentionally hilarious. Such gaucheness, along with some corner-cutting, is surprising from a director known for his finesse.
A chief offender is Merlin de Souza’s muzak. Though it is very effective in underscoring violence and terror, using tablas and other percussion, its syrupy tunes (including one song with jejune lyrics) make one gag --- especially since these form the continuous background for entire scenes, in the manner of bad TV drama.
Bobby Mukherji’s set is, thankfully, another matter. In pristine white, with diaphanous curtains, it conveys a much-needed peace and neutrality in the play’s troubled waters.
However, it is said one can play Shakespeare against sackcloth, as long as one plays him truly. In this respect, a more contrasting pair of lovers could not be found --- Aditya Hitkari’s pleasing and expressive voice and physical presence are marred by a mannered staginess; Peeya Rai Choudhuri’s Juliet, though not as obviously accomplished as her counterpart, has touching moments of sincerity and truth that more than make up for her occasional awkwardness. The rest of the acting generally varies from the glaringly amateurish to under-developed attempts at characterisation (not helped by costumes that are often garish or bizarre) with many actors vocally ill-focussed or indistinct.
“R & J” ends with a rousing disco number during the curtain calls, setting an apt seal on this production. One leaves the theatre knowing the operation was NOT a success --- however, the patient, thanks to the Bard’s immortal words, still breathes….barely.
"Evita" by Webber/Rice.
Directed by Alyque Padamsee.
circa 1997-2000.
Originally intended for publication on a cultural-events website, which folded. Eventually posted on mouthshut.com
Women in politics --- history has provided many examples proving that the so-called weaker sex is more than a match for its male counterpart, in this arena.
The name of Eva Peron would appear in any list of politically-prominent women, particularly those from the post-War era. Originally a small-town girl, she rose through the night-club circuit and television to marry General Peron, who eventually overcame his rivals and became President of Argentina --- a virtual dictator. Eva, or "Evita", was said to be the power behind the throne, and became a popular cult-figure for the Argentinian masses.
A likely topic for a musical? Perhaps not; but composer Andrew Lloyd Webber and lyricist Tim Rice proved the sceptics wrong when "Evita" became a smash hit on London's West End in 1976. It has proved to be the most enduring of the Webber-Rice collaborations as, twenty-odd years later, it still remains in public consciousness --- most recently, through the medium of cinema.
Its popularity is well deserved. It has all the requisite ingredients --- an engrossing plot, pithy lyrics, memorable melodies and infectious (Latin-American) rhythms. However, this musical attempted something unheard of since the days of Bertolt Brecht --- political comment. Drawing from recent history, the plot has an immediacy; the familiarity of recent headines and how they compare with current affairs.
The title character too is easily identifiable --- the quintessential modern career-woman, with all her ambition and ambivalence. Her story is told through the cynical observations of Che Guevara, a Communist rebel.
"Evita" has had many productions over the years, throughout the world. This is its third staging in Bombay and, like the two before, it has been directed by Alyque Padamsee.
Or rather, "Conceived and Directed by Alyque Padamsee", according to the "Creative Credits" in the programme. The names of Andrew Lloyd Webber and Tim Rice do not figure anywhere in this publication. One wonders why, especially since copyright demands it.
In the "Director's Note", Padamsee says his production is "an examination of how a myth is manufactured and sold to the public" by the media. Sure, we do occasionally see a person holding a Handycam running around the stage --- we are even afforded a glimpse of what he is "shooting" by way of a clever virtual-video projected onto the cyclorama. Also, at one time, we see a crowd of reporters aimlessly milling around Evita's sick-bed. Such references to the media are few and far between --- if this is a "conception", it is far from immaculate.
The production is actually a pretty straight-forward, typically glitzy presentation with no earth-shattering insights. Though there is no spoken dialogue as such in the musical, Padamsee departs from the norm by introducing commentary, spoken by Che, between the numbers. The purist will find this an intrusion; however the average person's grasping power and attention-span being what they are today, the commentary serves an elucidatory purpose, though some of the asides are insufferably arch.
The director's real achievement lies in his creation of stunning, memorable stage pictures, especially in the big crowd scenes; for example, Evita's funeral at the beginning and end of the play. The production is something of a technical tour de force, as Padamsee makes full- blooded use of all the techno-magic at his disposal. Indeed, one has probably never seen some of the special effects before in this country (though God help the man who is allergic to the foul-smelling smoke emitted from the fog-machine, which is used often and with gusto).
Another worthy feature of the production is Terrence Lewis' vibrant choreography. Dancing, in the musical theatre, must be a part of the action, the dancers becoming actors. It is to Lewis' credit that he follows this principle at least some of the time --- to such great effect that one wishes he never varied from it by opting (as he often does) for the merely decorative. In any case, his dancers have athleticism, precision and pizzazz.
But what of Evita herself? This musical stands or falls on the strengths of its star; and Sharon Prabhakar Padamsee, on the whole, does not disappoint.
The voice has retained its freshness and now has an added bloom of maturity that makes it sweeter, less strident than before --- she sings her opening number like an angel. One is less happy with her vocal mannerisms, nor can she vocally convey Evita's "steel" in later scenes. And, though the idea of interpolating "Memory" from "Cats" (with different lyrics) makes the character too cloying, who can comp1ain when it is so beautifully sung, the final note held for ages, in full voice, with near-complete security?
Yet, one musn't forget that acting is part of the deal; and here Ms Padamsee strikes too many poses and is too superficially driven, to make her portrayal of this multi-faceted woman truly come to life.
Similarly, the young Chaitanya Bhonsle does more or less what one expects as Che Guevara, though one misses a sense of inner fire. He moves well but his diction is sometimes unintelligible. It is a strange voice, hard-toned at times; and taking a while to warm-up (the opening "Oh what a circus" was a disaster) but with free, ringing top notes.
Farid Currim lacks the right physicality and vocal quality for General Peron, coming across somewhat weak, when self-assurance, underscored with menace, and a darker tone are called for.
In sum, this production remains very much a vehicle for its director and star. While one admires all the expertise that has gone into it, one can't help feeling that the musical's essence is lost somewhere, in all the exorbitance.
Ultimately, this "Evita" may excite the senses; but rarely touches the heart.
"Zen Katha" by Partap Sharma.
Directed by Lillette Dubey.
mid-2004.
Originally published in the theatre-newsletter "The Script".
The best thing about Partap Sharma’s new play “Zen Katha” is that it is informative. Few people are aware that Zen, the Martial Arts and even Budhhism were exported from India to China by one Bodhidharma, a prince-turned-monk from the Ancient Indian kingdom of Kanchi. This is apparently a matter of more than passing interest to some; and the rest of us would surely raise an eyebrow or two in surprise!
However, the “enlightenment” ends there. What promises to be the chronicle of an intense voyage of self-discovery, becomes instead a dreary docu-drama, wending its desultory way through the annals of history and geography. Mr. Sharma gives little or no insight into the workings of his hero’s mind and heart; little or no inkling of struggle, suffering or sacrifice. One is left with a biography of the most superficial kind; and is appropriately impressed yet completely unmoved. In addition, the second act’s interminable lec-dems of the various disciplines developed by Bodhidharma are made all the more tiresome by an air of self-conscious didacticism.
For all that, Mr. Sharma does have a gift for piquant turns of phrase, tossing-in modern repartee like dashes of Tabasco, enlivening the proceedings.
Lillette Dubey’s production exacerbates all the play’s faults; and adds more than a few of its own. There is hardly any sense of dramatic development, of working towards a climax. The endings of most scenes are flaccid; some of the movement is stagey and artificial; pace and rhythm are severely hampered by awkward, uncalled-for pauses. The overall impression is one of amateurish, under-rehearsed approximation.
Even so, Ms. Dubey does have an eye for detail; a certain sensitivity in the more intimate scenes. These nuggets save the play from total annihilation.
Since the martial arts are one of the major focal-points of the play; and since Sensei Pervez Mistry was in charge of choreographing the (many) fights, one would imagine that these at least would provide some thrills. Alas, not so. All but one (maybe two) of the fight-scenes verge on the ludicrous, the actors moving clumsily and with little sense of actual physical combat, hardly ever conveying the feeling of real and imminent danger.
Almost every actor plays more than one role. While one appreciates the difficulty, one questions the necessity; as it forces actors to caricaturise in an attempt to make each avatar “different” from the others. The results are generally two-dimensional and often irritating.
Denzil Smith lends class to the production, as the hero’s teacher in Act One, speaking and emoting with wonderful clarity and resonance. However, he too caricaturises his next appearance in the second act, playing the Chinese Emperor with an exaggeratedly high voice and high-camp accent.
Rajiv Gopalakrishnan as Bodhidharma tries hard; but simply does not have what it takes, vocally and emotionally, to convey the character’s transition from callow prince to enlightened being. To his credit, he moves well and shows some semblance of transformation; but it seems superficial, not an internal, spiritual growth.
The production’s design is cheap and tacky in the extreme, featuring blown-up photographs of pillars, statues, mountain-scenery and foliage; plus a couple of bright-red columns, surely borrowed from a Chinese restaurant. And Mahesh Tinaikar’s original score sounds like bad Indo-Jazz fusion or Kitaro gone wrong.
Ultimately one is glad the play holds forth at length on its hero’s teachings. They should be heeded. One certainly needs them towards the end of the performance!
"R&J" (Romeo and Juliet) by William Shakespeare.
Directed by Alyque Padamsee.
October 2002.
Originally published in the Sunday Times, Mumbai, 27 October 2002
“Romeo and Juliet” has probably had more modern interpretations than any other of Shakespeare’s plays. This is so, because its story of young love set against the forces of warring clans rings true and is, sadly, timeless. These “star-crossed lovers” have appeared in widely-diverse garbs, locales and time-frames; in versions that jettison the original text to those that preserve (some of) the words but change the milieu.
Alyque Padamsee’s “modern version” is among the latter. Set in India, it substitutes “communities” for clans; and while any outright reference is studiously avoided, the liberal use of teekas and topis offers no prize for guessing. The point of communal disharmony is made richly and repeatedly; the horror of the violence therein, vividly rendered. If the text, under Padamsee’s scalpel, resembles a Reader’s Digest condensation, that is a price purists have become accustomed to paying; more seriously, some of his heavy-handed attempts to evoke sympathy or shock are unintentionally hilarious. Such gaucheness, along with some corner-cutting, is surprising from a director known for his finesse.
A chief offender is Merlin de Souza’s muzak. Though it is very effective in underscoring violence and terror, using tablas and other percussion, its syrupy tunes (including one song with jejune lyrics) make one gag --- especially since these form the continuous background for entire scenes, in the manner of bad TV drama.
Bobby Mukherji’s set is, thankfully, another matter. In pristine white, with diaphanous curtains, it conveys a much-needed peace and neutrality in the play’s troubled waters.
However, it is said one can play Shakespeare against sackcloth, as long as one plays him truly. In this respect, a more contrasting pair of lovers could not be found --- Aditya Hitkari’s pleasing and expressive voice and physical presence are marred by a mannered staginess; Peeya Rai Choudhuri’s Juliet, though not as obviously accomplished as her counterpart, has touching moments of sincerity and truth that more than make up for her occasional awkwardness. The rest of the acting generally varies from the glaringly amateurish to under-developed attempts at characterisation (not helped by costumes that are often garish or bizarre) with many actors vocally ill-focussed or indistinct.
“R & J” ends with a rousing disco number during the curtain calls, setting an apt seal on this production. One leaves the theatre knowing the operation was NOT a success --- however, the patient, thanks to the Bard’s immortal words, still breathes….barely.
"Evita" by Webber/Rice.
Directed by Alyque Padamsee.
circa 1997-2000.
Originally intended for publication on a cultural-events website, which folded. Eventually posted on mouthshut.com
Women in politics --- history has provided many examples proving that the so-called weaker sex is more than a match for its male counterpart, in this arena.
The name of Eva Peron would appear in any list of politically-prominent women, particularly those from the post-War era. Originally a small-town girl, she rose through the night-club circuit and television to marry General Peron, who eventually overcame his rivals and became President of Argentina --- a virtual dictator. Eva, or "Evita", was said to be the power behind the throne, and became a popular cult-figure for the Argentinian masses.
A likely topic for a musical? Perhaps not; but composer Andrew Lloyd Webber and lyricist Tim Rice proved the sceptics wrong when "Evita" became a smash hit on London's West End in 1976. It has proved to be the most enduring of the Webber-Rice collaborations as, twenty-odd years later, it still remains in public consciousness --- most recently, through the medium of cinema.
Its popularity is well deserved. It has all the requisite ingredients --- an engrossing plot, pithy lyrics, memorable melodies and infectious (Latin-American) rhythms. However, this musical attempted something unheard of since the days of Bertolt Brecht --- political comment. Drawing from recent history, the plot has an immediacy; the familiarity of recent headines and how they compare with current affairs.
The title character too is easily identifiable --- the quintessential modern career-woman, with all her ambition and ambivalence. Her story is told through the cynical observations of Che Guevara, a Communist rebel.
"Evita" has had many productions over the years, throughout the world. This is its third staging in Bombay and, like the two before, it has been directed by Alyque Padamsee.
Or rather, "Conceived and Directed by Alyque Padamsee", according to the "Creative Credits" in the programme. The names of Andrew Lloyd Webber and Tim Rice do not figure anywhere in this publication. One wonders why, especially since copyright demands it.
In the "Director's Note", Padamsee says his production is "an examination of how a myth is manufactured and sold to the public" by the media. Sure, we do occasionally see a person holding a Handycam running around the stage --- we are even afforded a glimpse of what he is "shooting" by way of a clever virtual-video projected onto the cyclorama. Also, at one time, we see a crowd of reporters aimlessly milling around Evita's sick-bed. Such references to the media are few and far between --- if this is a "conception", it is far from immaculate.
The production is actually a pretty straight-forward, typically glitzy presentation with no earth-shattering insights. Though there is no spoken dialogue as such in the musical, Padamsee departs from the norm by introducing commentary, spoken by Che, between the numbers. The purist will find this an intrusion; however the average person's grasping power and attention-span being what they are today, the commentary serves an elucidatory purpose, though some of the asides are insufferably arch.
The director's real achievement lies in his creation of stunning, memorable stage pictures, especially in the big crowd scenes; for example, Evita's funeral at the beginning and end of the play. The production is something of a technical tour de force, as Padamsee makes full- blooded use of all the techno-magic at his disposal. Indeed, one has probably never seen some of the special effects before in this country (though God help the man who is allergic to the foul-smelling smoke emitted from the fog-machine, which is used often and with gusto).
Another worthy feature of the production is Terrence Lewis' vibrant choreography. Dancing, in the musical theatre, must be a part of the action, the dancers becoming actors. It is to Lewis' credit that he follows this principle at least some of the time --- to such great effect that one wishes he never varied from it by opting (as he often does) for the merely decorative. In any case, his dancers have athleticism, precision and pizzazz.
But what of Evita herself? This musical stands or falls on the strengths of its star; and Sharon Prabhakar Padamsee, on the whole, does not disappoint.
The voice has retained its freshness and now has an added bloom of maturity that makes it sweeter, less strident than before --- she sings her opening number like an angel. One is less happy with her vocal mannerisms, nor can she vocally convey Evita's "steel" in later scenes. And, though the idea of interpolating "Memory" from "Cats" (with different lyrics) makes the character too cloying, who can comp1ain when it is so beautifully sung, the final note held for ages, in full voice, with near-complete security?
Yet, one musn't forget that acting is part of the deal; and here Ms Padamsee strikes too many poses and is too superficially driven, to make her portrayal of this multi-faceted woman truly come to life.
Similarly, the young Chaitanya Bhonsle does more or less what one expects as Che Guevara, though one misses a sense of inner fire. He moves well but his diction is sometimes unintelligible. It is a strange voice, hard-toned at times; and taking a while to warm-up (the opening "Oh what a circus" was a disaster) but with free, ringing top notes.
Farid Currim lacks the right physicality and vocal quality for General Peron, coming across somewhat weak, when self-assurance, underscored with menace, and a darker tone are called for.
In sum, this production remains very much a vehicle for its director and star. While one admires all the expertise that has gone into it, one can't help feeling that the musical's essence is lost somewhere, in all the exorbitance.
Ultimately, this "Evita" may excite the senses; but rarely touches the heart.
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Relentless jamboree
Review of
“The Sound of Music”
Tata Theatre, NCPA, Mumbai
26 January 2011.
(An edited version of this review was originally published in the Times of India, Mumbai, on 29 Jan 2011.)
Rodgers and Hammerstein’s final collaboration “The Sound of Music” is one of the world’s best-loved musicals, thanks mainly to the iconic film which made it immortal.
It tells the true story of Baroness Maria Augusta von Trapp, who left the confines of a convent to serve as governess to the seven children of a widowed, autocratic Naval commander whom she ultimately married, bringing back music and joy into the life of this dysfunctional family. After the Nazi annexation of Austria, they escaped to Switzerland, embarking on a concert-career as The Trapp Family Singers.
The play’s heartwarming tale of courage, faith and the healing powers of music and love; and the lilting songs which have become “standards”, are the bedrock of this musical. When presented simply and directly, it can be an extraordinarily moving experience. This production by Raell Padamsee, directed by Advait Hazarat, is not.
The reason is, in a word, excess, overwhelming any real meaning or emotion in a relentless, fatiguing jamboree. It begins in the foyer, where one is greeted by children singing songs from the musical, and continues onstage with a pair who become our “hosts”, introducing the show and its participants; and return at the beginning of Act 2 to give-out prizes from a lucky draw.
We are told, repeatedly, of the many child-welfare organisations whose children have been given this wonderful opportunity to present their talents in a professional production. And indeed they do, appearing in hordes without explanation or dramatic plausibility (the exception being the choir from the Happy Home School for the Blind) in an attempt to augment some of the musical numbers; thereby taking-away focus from the seven Von Trapp children who are actual characters in the play. By contrast, My Favourite Things, choreographed by Karla Singh and featuring just Maria and the seven kids, is truly charming.
In Mr. Hazarat’s staging, characterisations are generally two-dimensional; either hammy or underdone, with actors talking “at” each other and some of their movement seeming aimless or contrived. However, Delna Mody’s Maria is a sincere creation, with a voice that is both strong and sweet; though her phrasing could be more musical. Dalip Tahil’s beautiful singing-voice has aged gracefully; but his Captain von Trapp is perhaps a shade too poker-faced to make the transformation entirely convincing. Among the children, Simran Jehani’s Liesl stands out for sheer confidence and ease; but the boys look too young.
Marianne D’Cruz Aiman is also too young and light-toned for the Mother Abbess, more lyric soprano than Earth-Mother contralto. Even so, her rendition of Climb Ev’ry Mountain is a show-stopper, thanks to prodigious breath-control and secure high notes. She is Vocal Director of the production; and her chorus of nuns make heavenly sounds.
Fali Unwalla’s sets are gorgeous but hampered by the limitations of the Tata Theatre’s stage, which is also a stumbling block for director Hazarat, though he makes imaginative use of the entire auditorium. However, one’s suspension of disbelief is tested to the utmost by some of the ludicrous choices made; not helped by Technical Director Alyque Padamsee’s lurid, multi-coloured lighting and over-use of the fog machine. To say nothing of the bombastic “background music” culled from diverse sources (including Carmina Burana) and used to create tension and terror when called-for, a la Bollywood.
No expense has been spared to “impress” and this makes one wonder what priority drives a production such as this. Is it to present a timeless classic in as extravagant a manner as possible; or engender a feel-good atmosphere at any cost; or, simply, to do charity? But, in the final analysis, it hardly matters because no amount of exorbitance or exuberance can compensate for inability to move an audience with dramatic truth. In this respect, this production of “The Sound of Music” with all its good intentions (and astronomical ticket-prices!) leaves a lot to be desired.
“The Sound of Music”
Tata Theatre, NCPA, Mumbai
26 January 2011.
(An edited version of this review was originally published in the Times of India, Mumbai, on 29 Jan 2011.)
Rodgers and Hammerstein’s final collaboration “The Sound of Music” is one of the world’s best-loved musicals, thanks mainly to the iconic film which made it immortal.
It tells the true story of Baroness Maria Augusta von Trapp, who left the confines of a convent to serve as governess to the seven children of a widowed, autocratic Naval commander whom she ultimately married, bringing back music and joy into the life of this dysfunctional family. After the Nazi annexation of Austria, they escaped to Switzerland, embarking on a concert-career as The Trapp Family Singers.
The play’s heartwarming tale of courage, faith and the healing powers of music and love; and the lilting songs which have become “standards”, are the bedrock of this musical. When presented simply and directly, it can be an extraordinarily moving experience. This production by Raell Padamsee, directed by Advait Hazarat, is not.
The reason is, in a word, excess, overwhelming any real meaning or emotion in a relentless, fatiguing jamboree. It begins in the foyer, where one is greeted by children singing songs from the musical, and continues onstage with a pair who become our “hosts”, introducing the show and its participants; and return at the beginning of Act 2 to give-out prizes from a lucky draw.
We are told, repeatedly, of the many child-welfare organisations whose children have been given this wonderful opportunity to present their talents in a professional production. And indeed they do, appearing in hordes without explanation or dramatic plausibility (the exception being the choir from the Happy Home School for the Blind) in an attempt to augment some of the musical numbers; thereby taking-away focus from the seven Von Trapp children who are actual characters in the play. By contrast, My Favourite Things, choreographed by Karla Singh and featuring just Maria and the seven kids, is truly charming.
In Mr. Hazarat’s staging, characterisations are generally two-dimensional; either hammy or underdone, with actors talking “at” each other and some of their movement seeming aimless or contrived. However, Delna Mody’s Maria is a sincere creation, with a voice that is both strong and sweet; though her phrasing could be more musical. Dalip Tahil’s beautiful singing-voice has aged gracefully; but his Captain von Trapp is perhaps a shade too poker-faced to make the transformation entirely convincing. Among the children, Simran Jehani’s Liesl stands out for sheer confidence and ease; but the boys look too young.
Marianne D’Cruz Aiman is also too young and light-toned for the Mother Abbess, more lyric soprano than Earth-Mother contralto. Even so, her rendition of Climb Ev’ry Mountain is a show-stopper, thanks to prodigious breath-control and secure high notes. She is Vocal Director of the production; and her chorus of nuns make heavenly sounds.
Fali Unwalla’s sets are gorgeous but hampered by the limitations of the Tata Theatre’s stage, which is also a stumbling block for director Hazarat, though he makes imaginative use of the entire auditorium. However, one’s suspension of disbelief is tested to the utmost by some of the ludicrous choices made; not helped by Technical Director Alyque Padamsee’s lurid, multi-coloured lighting and over-use of the fog machine. To say nothing of the bombastic “background music” culled from diverse sources (including Carmina Burana) and used to create tension and terror when called-for, a la Bollywood.
No expense has been spared to “impress” and this makes one wonder what priority drives a production such as this. Is it to present a timeless classic in as extravagant a manner as possible; or engender a feel-good atmosphere at any cost; or, simply, to do charity? But, in the final analysis, it hardly matters because no amount of exorbitance or exuberance can compensate for inability to move an audience with dramatic truth. In this respect, this production of “The Sound of Music” with all its good intentions (and astronomical ticket-prices!) leaves a lot to be desired.
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