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May 15 Famous Artists Broadway: Young Frankenstein

2012-05-16T21:28:05Z

It’s Alive! ‘Young Frankenstein’ terrorizes Syracuse—with belly laughs

The bawdy jokes, sight gags and sexual innuendos in this reprise of the 2007 Mel Brooks musical comedy classic are not just for juveniles. Or are they?

By Laurel Saiz
http://cnycafemomus.com/Laurel_Saiz.html

Young Frankenstein is the perfect musical to bring a teenage boy.

I know this because a raucous group of what appeared to be ninth or tenth grade males was sitting in the row in front of me at the opening night performance of the current national tour of the Mel Brooks horror send-up.

I briefly wondered if they were a part of a school field trip or just a bunch of friends brought on an outing by one’s very indulgent mother, but my biggest realization was that they—perhaps more than any of demographic group present at the Civic Center—were totally appreciative of the near constant stream of broad, juvenile sexual humor that Brooks is well-known for.

Young Frankenstein, based on Brooks’ fabulously endearing 1974 horror spoof, opened on Broadway in November 2007 and ran for about 14 months—a good, but not huge, success. It was nominated for (but did not win) three Tony Awards. Save for one number, most of its songs are unmemorable. However, the Civic Center was filled with laughter and enjoyment—with a most enthusiastic pocket coming from the post-pubescent boys in my vicinity.

The plot, as anyone who has watched Saturday afternoon television can tell you, is familiar. The young Dr. Frederick Frankenstein—make that Froncken-steen—has tried to live down his scientific heritage but is beckoned to Transylvania, where the ever-loyal Igor—make that Eye-gor—convinces him to resurrect the family business by resurrecting the dead. Literally. For most of that point on, the film and the play mirror and parody of the 1931 classic Boris Karloff film, directed by the great James Whale.

The cast was uniformly strong, with A.J. Holmes as Frankenstein, Christopher Timson as Igor, Elizabeth Pawlowski as the voluptuous laboratory assistant Inga, Lexie Dorsett as the well-groomed and glamorous fiancée Elizabeth, and Pat Sibley as the chatelaine of Castle Frankenstein, Frau Blücher. Special kudos must go to Rory Donovan as The Monster, whose non-literate yowls and grunts were more entertaining and hilarious than much of the dialogue, and Britt Hancock as Inspector Kemp (and in a cameo as the Hermit). The scene where the Frankenstein monster visits the blind hermit, who is so lonely he yearns for the sound of an owl (maybe just a cricket) is the single best part of the play.

The rest of Young Frankenstein is filled with a succession of randy jokes (mostly groaners), bawdy sight gags and unrelieved innuendo that dominate the more memorable moments from the movie. The young men ahead of me were convulsed by the famous line “What knockers!” as Igor bangs on the door hardware of the castle while Frankenstein simultaneously is eye-to-eye with Inga’s chest. They also guffawed at the two, three or more other references to breasts—either verbally or by actual grabs of the female characters’ anatomy in other parts of the musical.

One great scene from the movie has been changed. In the original, Gene Wilder as the doctor says goodbye to his fiancée, comedienne Madeline Kahn, while puffs of smoke belch from a locomotive at Pennsylvania Station. Minutes later, he alights ay Transylvania Station. (What about the Atlantic Ocean?) Here, Elizabeth boards an ocean liner—geographically more explicable, perhaps, but also an opportunity for a joke about the benefits of a large “masthead.” It goes on from there.

The songs’ lyrics are often strained (Example: We’re the happiest town in town), and song numbers are created for no real reason other than to conform to the structural demands of a major musical (to wit, the first act closure Transylvania Mania).

The stand-out song of the bunch isn’t even a Mel Brooks tune. It is of course the Irving Berlin classic, Puttin’ on the Ritz. The 1929 song was incredibly popular in earlier movie incarnations, sung and danced by the graceful and elegant Fred Astaire and even the handsome Clark Gable. (Clark Gable? Check it out on YouTube.) Young Frankenstein has a singing, dancing and debonair Frankenstein Puttin’ on the Ritz, which has “showstopper” written all over it. Just the juxtaposition of those diametrically opposed concepts—graceful, handsome, elegant with a huge, clunky monster—demonstrates Brooks’ zany brilliance.

The movies of madcap, musical Mel Brooks make perfect source material for Broadway productions. The Producers, based on the cult 1968 hit, was a mega-blockbuster and won Brooks the Tony Award for best original score, among a record-setting 12 Tonys in 2002. In the closing curtain number the cast of Young Frankenstein promises Blazing Saddles next. That would be perfect for the young male theater-goers in the row ahead on me.

I, myself, am holding out for Robin Hood: Men in Tights.

DETAILS BOX:
What: Young Frankenstein, book by Mel Brooks and Thomas Meehan, music and lyrics by Mel Brooks
Who: Famous Artists Broadway Theater Series
Where: Crouse-Hinds Theater, John H. Mulroy Civic Center, 411 Montgomery St., Syracuse
When: Through May 17
Length: Two and a half hours, with one intermission
Ticket: $30 to $57. Call 315-424-8210 or http://www.famousartistsbroadway.com/
Family guide: Numerous risqué jokes and sexual references

May 4 Met (Live): The Makropulos Case

2012-05-09T02:34:21Z

The Met’s ‘The Makropulos Case’ the perfect showpiece for an ageless diva

Finnish soprano Karita Mattila dons a Marilyn Monroe wig and lets her hair down as the 337 year-old protagonist

By David Rubin

http://cnycafemomus.com/David_Rubin.html

Leos Janacek’s The Makropulos Case is an opera for playgoers who think they don’t like opera. It is heavy on plot and dialogue, short on conventional operatic duets and trios. The singers hold forth in Janácek’s distinctive speech melody, bent to fit the rhythms of the Czech language. The music supports and underscores the action on stage. It’s a comedy, a thriller and a mystery rolled into one, with a genuinely cathartic conclusion. Janácek based the opera on a play by Karel Capek written in 1922, and that’s probably worth seeing, too.

The opera is tailor-made for a diva. Its lead character, Elina Makropulos, is 337 years old, although she hardly looks a day over 40. She has spent many of those years singing opera under a variety of names, all with the initials E.M. In the late 1500s her father invented an elixir that delivered this life span to her. At the time of the opera, the mid-1920s, she is calling herself Emilia Marty, and her time is running out. She needs the recipe for that elixir to keep the beat going. The plot focuses on her efforts to recover the recipe while those around her try to figure out who she really is.

In the role of Emilia Marty the Met offered a real-life diva, the Finnish soprano Karita Mattila, and it was a good match. E.M. is, understandably, getting a bit weary after 337 years of sex, singing, and sashaying around Europe from century to century. Her boredom is clear when she asks a young couple if they have yet experienced sexual intercourse. Before they can answer, she exclaims, “It’s not worth it,” and then adds, “Nothing is worth it. Absolutely nothing.”

Coiffed in a Marilyn Monroe wig, and with her overt sexuality on full display (including a scene in a slip, legs akimbo on a couch), Mattila was thoroughly believable as the brassy, alluring, arch E.M. Men are desperate to bed her, and one commits suicide for her. The audience does not have to suspend its disbelief.

Where Mattila was less convincing, however, was in the final 20 minutes, the climax to which this opera builds in two hours of tense music. E.M. has managed to get the recipe for the elixir from Jaroslav Prus, whose ancestor was E.M.’s lover a hundred years earlier. She bribes Prus with a roll in the hay in her hotel room. (Prus found her frigid. No surprise there.)

But once she has the recipe, Mattila decides—in an extended and powerful aria that ends the opera—not to make use of it. She has it burned. Life without end is not worth living, she concludes, and so she embraces death.

To make this spectacular scene work, the singer must be more than brassy. She must exhibit a vulnerable side. She must become smaller as she sings. But Mattila maintained her larger than life presence right to the end, when she walks into flames at the back of the stage, Don Giovanni style. (This staging is all wrong: She should disintegrate and turn to dust before our eyes, as any 337 year-old would.) So, despite an excellent performance for most of the opera, Mattila failed to deliver a chill in the finale. The audience should stop breathing in the final 20 minutes, as she makes her decision. That didn’t happen.

The Met surrounded Mattila with a terrific supporting cast of singing actors. The veteran Richard Leech handled the high-flying heroic tenor role of Gregor with vigor. E.M. gave birth to Gregor’s great-great-whatever grandfather years before, so his romantic lusting for her is creepy. Leech was believable as the love-besotted relative, not that he ever quite figured out his incestuous feelings.

Tom Fox still has his villainous bass-baritone, and he used it to full effect as the lawyer Kolenaty. Tenor Bernard Fitch was an amusing character as the aged and demented Count Hauk-Sendorf, who had an affair with E.M. 50 years earlier when she was Eugenia Montez, in Spain. He can’t believe his luck that he’s found her again—although he is a bit puzzled that she hasn’t aged.

The one weak spot among the major characters was Christopher Feigum, who was replacing the scheduled singer in the role of Prus. His baritone was too light and his stage presence too deferential to E.M. He lacked the gravitas of a baron. The smaller roles of the lawyer Vitek (Alan Oke), and the young lovers Kristina (Emalie Savoy) and Janek (Matthew Plenk) were in capable hands.

Elijah Moshinsky (yet another E.M.) designed this production in 1996 for Jessye Norman. It still looks great and works well. Act One is a lawyer’s office, dominated by cabinets of files that threaten to topple over and bury the place. Act Two is the bare stage of an opera house, onto which an Aida-like Egyptian sphinx is positioned for a later performance. Act Three is a hotel room bare enough that it doesn’t upstage the denouement, where the focus should be on Emilia Marty and not on the decor.

The importance of the Czech conductor Jiri Belohlávek to the whole enterprise was evident at the curtain calls, when even Mattila deferred to him and insisted on his taking solo bows. The orchestra handled Janácek is if it were the Czech Philharmonic, snarling when necessary, rhythmically alert, and precise.

The Met does Jenufa and Makropulos so well that it should take on The Cunning Little Vixen, the opera he wrote just before Makropulos that shares much of the same musical language. It’s a natural for the Met’s adventures in HD broadcasts into theaters.

Details Box:

What: The Makropulos Case, Live at The Met

When: May 5, 2012
Who: Metropolitan Opera

Running time: 2 hours, 40 minutes

Where: Metropolitan Opera House, New York

Ends: May 11. 2012

May 4 Redhouse Theater: Vigil

2012-05-09T00:06:23Z

Oddball play, oddball characters add up to even performance in Redhouse’s ‘Vigil’

John Bixler’s deadpan delivery provides the dark shades to this black comedy

By David Feldman

http://cnycafemomus.com/David_Feldman.html

If a picture is worth a thousand words the right facial expression might well be worth twice that number, at least if they’re the ones on Caroline Fitzgerald’s face in Vigil, currently at Redhouse. Fitzgerald, arguably the grande dame of local theater, plays a lonely old woman into whose house a stranger (John Bixler, as Kemp) has stumbled while in search of his aunt—who may or may not be Grace, the Fitzgerald character.

Bixler has 99-percent of the dialogue in this play. Fitzgerald has the other one-percent, but don’t assume that all of Bixler’s dialogue is really a monologue. Fitzgerald’s facial expressions tell us more about what’s going through her mind than words ever could—from shock to despair, to joy, to sadness, to delight, to concern, to… well to just about every emotion a person can have.

The script by Canadian playwright Morris Panych is kind of a sentimental black comedy, and it’s treated carefully and lovingly by director William Morris. Kemp arrives at Grace’s house and immediately makes himself at home. He drops his suitcase on the floor, awakens Grace and announces he’s come to be with her until she dies—which according to the information he has should be pretty soon.

Kemp is neither some kind of death-loving ghoul nor your average, everyday nephew. He’s received a letter telling him that his only living relative—an aunt whom he barely remembers from visits years ago when he was a kid—is dying, and he’s there to make the necessary funeral arrangements and be with her to the end and beyond. “Do you want to be cremated?” he asks Grace, whose face registers shock and surprise. So intent is he on his own concerns he doesn’t notice. Black-out!

These brief encounters, followed by the lights going out, continue—as does the lack of communication. He talks about whatever he wants: his past, his parents and his old job. She reacts and he doesn’t seem to notice. Indeed, the first act is almost entirely one-way. We soon realize that Kemp’s interpersonal skills, on a scale of one to 10, are probably about a minus-three. The same goes for his sensitivity to others. At one point he’s sitting in plain sight of Grace, reading Grieving for Dummies. He announces, apropos of nothing at all, “I used to smoke. I looked ridiculous. But I did it anyway.” Bewilderment on the face of Grace. Blackout, again.

Throughout everything but the last few moments of the first act, Grace never utters a word. And yet there is drama in what he says (and doesn’t say) in her reactions. The lines are funny and Kemp delivers them absolutely dead-pan. We learn he’s always been a lonely guy. To say that his family was dysfunctional is to put things mildly. But never mind, his mother and father are dead. He left his drab job and has come to claim Grace’s house and her possessions after she dies. About all he knows how to cook for her is butterscotch pudding. He wonders why the lady sitting in the house opposite keeps looking in at them. He gets annoyed by kids playing outside. These seemingly unconnected tangents do get tied up in the end. At least most of them.

Kemp in his own way takes care of Grace for days, weeks, months, even seasons. Still, she stays alive—to Kemp’s dismay. Grace remains in bed except for rare excursions, on one of which she discovers that the suitcase he brought is empty. Kemp comes in and out and wonders aloud why she isn’t yet dead. He tells her of the funeral arrangements he’s made.

This is all funny, thanks to Bixler’s ability to deliver one-liners and to Fitzgerald’s expressions as she reacts to them. But after a while the joke begins to pale, and the situation fails to build until a surprise sight gag, including a demonic machine he’s created, gets misused by him and the act comes to an end.

Act Two is stronger. Kemp is getting desperate. Grace is madly knitting something. Odd things are going on outside her windows. Christmas comes, and then New Year’s, and slowly the two are clearly developing a relationship—of sorts.

The climax, when it comes, leads to a pleasantly sentimental ending (not to be given away here), and we find that we have been immersed for two hours in the lives of a man who can barely communicate with words and a woman who barely has a chance to use her voice. Yet in their own odd ways, the two ultimately connect.

William Morris directs deftly and gently. Tim Brown’s costumes seem right for these two, and his set creates a sense of being closed in but not claustrophobic. Jeremy Johnston’s sound design is spot on—light 1950s ballads, such as Mr. Sandman (Send Me a Dream), which opens the play.

Over 25 plays by playwright Panych have been produced in the U.S., Canada and Great Britain. Redhouse and Morris deserve much credit for thinking outside the box in this play selection, not simply because Canadian plays are too rarely done in the U.S. but because the characters in this one are so interesting oddball—as is the script itself.

Details Box:

What: Vigil, by Morris Panych.
Where: Redhouse Theater, 201 South West St., Syracuse.
When: May 9-12 at 8 p.m.
Length: One hour and 40 minutes, with 15-minute intermission.
Tickets: $25 general admission; $15 Redhouse members; call (315) 424-0405 or https://secure.vertiglo.com/831/redhouse/MAY3VIGIL.html

Family guide: May not be appropriate for young children.

May 4 NYS Baroque: Songs of Love and War

2012-05-07T03:44:08Z

NYS Baroque makes love—and war—in Syracuse season-closer

Scholar-performer singers and instrumentalists bridge past and present in persuasive program of Italian early-Baroque works

By David Abrams

http://cnycafemomus.com/David_Abrams.html

Are love and war mutually exclusive terms? Not to those who’ve been married as long as I have, perhaps. And not to those able to “read between the lines” of Italian late-Renaissance poet Torquato Tasso’s epic poem, Gerusalemme liberata.

Friday evening’s program by NYS Baroque (aptly titled Songs of Love and War) afforded the listener a fresh look at the Tasso narrative that vividly recounts a duel-to-the-death by two armed warriors. Along the way, the poet weaves through countless metaphors and ironies (the combatants, unbeknownst to one-another, are lovers) until arriving at the bittersweet ending.

The story is brought to life within a dramatic musical setting by Claudio Monteverdi titled Combattimento di Tancredi e Clorinda—part of the composer’s colossal 8th Book of Madrigals (subtitled Songs of Love and War), which closed Friday’s program. The great Italian Renaissance-Baroque master fashioned the work as a cantata for three singers: a narrator (tenor Sumner Thompson); a warrior, Tancredi (tenor Aaron Sheehan) and his female lover, Clorinda, disguised as another warrior (soprano Laura Heimes). The singers are accompanied by strings and continuo.

The 11-piece period ensemble breathed life into this evocative work—capturing the drama, pathos, torment and heartbreak endemic to early Baroque opera (this cantata is, in essence, an unstaged tragic opera)—with a historically informed and brilliantly executed performance that faithfully and accurately depicted the manner and musical conventions of the period.

The narrator has the lion’s share of the work here, and Thompson produced a stunning vocal tour de force with a bold and dramatic intensity of tone and expressive delivery that did justice to Monteverdi’s customary stil concitato (excited style), with convincing fervor and fury. (One had only to watch the expression on Thompson’s face to grasp his level of commitment in this role.)

Thompson’s powerful operatic vocal presence, with its wide dynamic range and crisply articulated Italian diction, helped make this work appear as a timeless treasure that transcends the centuries-old writing to bridge past and present.

Heimes and Sheehan, in the more muted roles as the ill-fated lovers, complemented Thompson’s performance through faithful devotion to the dramatic elements in this cantata.

Heims paid great attention to nuances of dynamics and expression, particularly in her moment of ultimate resignation, with the touching words Amico, hai vinto (Friend, you have beaten me). Unfortunately, Heims’s diction throughout the evening, and to a lesser extent that of Sheehan, was difficult to grasp within the lively acoustical environment of the First Unitarian Universalist Society sanctuary. (Handouts with the printed text, along with the translation, were a great help to the listener.)

The attentive instrumental ensemble, led by Baroque violinist Julie Andrijeski, handsomely nourished Monteverdi’s concertato style writing, pitting the contrasting textures of voices and instruments suitably in early-Baroque style.

Tenors Thompson and Sheehan were joined by bass Steven Hrycelak (and continuo consisting of guitar, harp, violone and harpsichord) in a charming rendition of Monteverdi’s O mio bene—a gentle madrigal punctuated by stark use of augmented chords. The three male voices returned in Monteverdi’s Lamento della ninfa (this time with continuo comprising harp, theorbo and harpsichord), a hypnotic work set over a repeating four-note descending ground bass pattern that recalls Dido’s lament in Purcell’s When I am laid in earth. The three male voices blended well together, in spite of occasional pitch inconsistencies between the two tenors.

Hrycelak’s splendid bass-baritone was especially evident in Giulio Caccini’s Chi mi confort’ahime, one of the gems from the composer’s collection of airs titled Nuove musiche. Accompanied by continuo of theorbo and harp, Hrycelak drew some of the most enthusiastic responses of the evening from the audience, with depth of resonance in his deep pedal tones and firm command of coloraturas in the aria’s ornamental sections.

In similar fashion, Heimes—a frequent guest with NYS Baroque—satisfied the crowd with her sparkling coloraturas in the virtuosic embellishment sections of the solo madrigal for soprano and continuo, Voglio di vita uscir, attributed to Monteverdi. Heims delivered the two-part aria (accompanied here by continuo of harp, violone and harpsichord) with deep expression and anguish, and the handsome quality of her rich soprano cut straight to the soul.

Heims’s usual command of pitch eluded her at times during Monteverdi’s Più lieto il guardo, where she experienced trouble when reaching for the high notes in this Spanish-flavored aria—made all the more Spanish by the inclusion of the Baroque guitar, played ever so attractively by Deborah Fox—who also managed the theorbo (bass lute) parts during the concert.

The purely instrumental sections of Saturday’s program also shined. Giovanni Paulo Cima’s Sonata no. 2 for violin and continuo gave Andrijeski a chance to display her considerable talents, while Girolamo Frescobaldi’s Toccata no. 1, Book 2 gave harpsichordist Adam Pearl ample opportunity to dazzle the crowd in the rapid running passages that alternated with improvisatory rubato sections of this work. (It was nevertheless difficult to ignore that the harpsichord began to drift out of tune.)

Harpist Christa Patton gave the listeners a taste of the Baroque triple harp with her performance of Giovanni Leonardo Dell’Arpa’s Lucretia gentil, while Baroque cellist David Morris enlightened the crowd with an explanation of the lirone—a cello look-alike with nine to 16 strings (instead of the usual four) that was born in the Italian Counter-Reformation and died shortly thereafter. (Morris is one of a dozen or so musicians to own and play a replica of this rare instrument.)

It’s always a pleasure to have NYS Baroque come to Syracuse. The period-instrument ensemble brings music from the past to audiences who may not otherwise find exposure to early-music treasures such as the works on Friday's program. What’s more, they do it right—with authentic performance practices that require both scholarship and mastery of a large assortment of unusual and challenging instruments.

These scholar-musicians are truly worthy of our attention.

Details Box:

What: NYS Baroque: Songs of Love and War
Where: First Unitarian Universalist Church, 109 Waring Rd., Syracuse

When: Friday, May 4, 2012 at 8 p.m.

Time: One hour, 55 minutes

Information: call (607) 533-4383

2012-2013 Season (Syracuse): La Vida Bona, 4 p.m. Sep. 16; Handel’s Apollo & Dafne, 7:30 p.m. Oct. 5; Fleurs de Lis, 7:30 p.m. Mar. 1

Ticket prices: $25 general; $20 seniors; $10 college; K-12 students free

April 27 SU Drama: As You Like It

2012-05-03T02:06:33Z

SU Drama’s ‘As You Like It’ the way we like it

Lead roles are outstanding in the department’s cross-dressing, gender-bending final production of the season

By David Feldman

http://cnycafemomus.com/David_Feldman.html

It's awfully easy to confuse Shakespeare’s comedies.

Is As You Like It the one with the two brothers tossed up in Sardinia, or wherever? Or is it the play where some of the people get turned into animals and the 99-percent occupy a rude comedy? Or how about when the bad duke sends our hero and heroine into the woods and the one girl dresses like a guy and the one guy loves the guy when he was still a girl and writes poems about her and then plasters them all over the… whoa… that’s the one currently at the SU Drama Department—which for this excursion into Shakespearean cross-dressing and gender-bending is at the Archbold Theater and not the Storch (which currently houses The Brothers Size).

The production moves so quickly throughout its 2 hours and 40 minutes that it manages to make time pass about half as long as some two-hour Christmas-type productions I’ve seen.

And there’s a lot of action to stuff into that time. Strong and handsome Orlando is kicked out of the evil Duke Frederick’s court. Soon enough, perky-pretty and strong-willed Rosalind, who has fallen precipitously in love with Orlando, is also sent into exile, basically because evil dukes are like that. The duke’s daughter, Celia, goes with her because she and Rosalind have been, like, BFF since they were babies. And besides, Shakespeare needed somebody for Rosalind to talk with and keep the plot moving. As they head into the Forest of Arden Roz disguises herself as a man, because that’s what Shakespeare liked to have his young male actors do, while faithful Celia dresses down for a trip into the forest.

By now, Orlando has been writing love poems to Roz and tacking them up thither and yon all over the woods. Elsewhere in the forest is the good Duke Senior—bad Duke Frederick’s exiled brother and Roz's father who, extolling the joys of life in the wild, tells us famously that “sweet are the virtues of adversity.” With him are his rustically dressed courtiers, including the ever-melancholy Jaques (“All the world’s a stage,” etc.).

Also wandering around are a bunch of local residents, none of them terribly bright, but they are ever at the ready for various well-born types to interact with. Amazingly, Orlando happens to run into Roz just hanging out in that big forest. More amazingly, he doesn’t even recognize his own true love, costumed as she is as a male. But he does go along with her/his clever idea to pretend to be a girl named Rosalind (hence, girl dresses as a man and then pretends to be herself) so Orlando can practice his wooing skills with her/him/her. (Or, as done on the Elizabethan stage, him/her/him/her.)

This is the main stage directing premiere of SU Drama Department Chairman (his second year here), Ralph Zito. Zito elicits outstanding performances from a young cast: verve, pace, élan and style are the order of the day. Zito surgically excised enough of the marginal business to cut the running time without doing serious damage to the play.

The cast works hard, but he and they make it look easy—a rare but much appreciated quality. Among the standouts: a lovely, pert and flirty Rosalind (Hayley Palmaer) who ties with one other cast member for the most graceful hand gestures in the production; the other set of hands belongs to tall, somehow enigmatic Olivia Gjurich as moody Jacques, a male in the original but a woman here—and why not? It works just fine.

Throughout the production there’s careful attention paid to small gestures, and there’s nicely paced movement about the stage—the kind of things both large and small that in sum create a sense of high quality work.

There are delightful comic turns by Sammy Lopez (Touchstone, a very foppish fool), Sidney Patrick (as Audrey, for whom the fool lusts and vice versa), Helene Morse (Phebe who pines for Roz, thinking she’s a he) and Joseph Fierburg (Silvius, the shepherd who pines for Phebe).

Kyle Anderson’s Orlando is played nicely beamish and boyish—not easy to do in a role that demands he be mostly a foil for Rosalind.

There’s some delightful stage business when Celia (Rebeccah Singer) unrolls and unrolls and almost drops and… unrolls again a scroll that brings us up to date about what’s been going on back at court.

This is one of the few productions I’ve ever seen (other than at the Royal National Theatre in London) that uses a stage turntable as one of the major players. Credit scenic designer Alexander Koziara for a well-integrated device to help create segues between the scenes. Director Zito uses it to maximum effect—as when Orlando on one side of the slowly moving turntable fishes out the locket given him by Rosalind, while simultaneously 180 degrees away on the other side Rosalind sighs over a mask Orlando wore early on. Watching them, you can’t help feeling that love is grand even when the two lovers fear they’ll never see each other again.

The costumes by Maria Marrero are 18th century rather than Elizabethan, which works just fine establishing a sense of distance in time plus a certain elegance for the young cast. And As You Like It takes place in a timeless time, anyway.

There’s touchingly romantic music for this, one of Shakespeare’s most musical of plays, by Sound Designer Kate Foretek.

I wasn’t wild about a wimpy-looking wrestler for Orlando to go up against. The match, staged as a modern professional wrestling bout done in slow motion, seems too heavy in a production that for the most part is light and gentle. There’s a fair amount of variation in the quality of the performances, notably some of those in minor roles needing seasoning until they get to the genuinely professional level of most of the leads. And there are some really weird, near-homosexual moments between Orlando and Roz who is at that point, he believes, a man—while she and we know she ain’t.

It’s not easy for American performers to do justice to Shakespeare’s English. Fortunately the cast doesn’t try, choosing instead fast and basically standard American English that clips along well, except for a few stumbles: Some dialogue gets lost at times and Jaques’ last speech spoken from nearly offstage down left to rear of the theater gets thrown away. And the “seven ages of man” soliloquy seemed to me to be more mannered than melancholic.

Then there’s the problem with the ending—not the production’s, but Shakespeare’s. The slap-dash, stitched-together ending wraps everything up not very neatly, with off-stage conversions and the sudden entrance of Hymen, goddess of marriage (sweet voiced Samantha Blinn) to tie things up. But then again, if Will hadn’t finished it off so abruptly the play would still be going on and on without ever ending. And the original Old Globe would still be standing on the south bank of the Thames.

But well-crafted endings aren’t necessary for comedies to delight us. And this one does exactly that. The bottom line for this, the department’s final production of the season, is that it imparts a delightful sense that at all times we are watching the creation anew of a lovely artifice done artfully well.

Details Box:
What: As You Like It, by William Shakespeare, performed by the Syracuse University Department of Drama
Where: The Archbold Theatre, 820 E. Genesee St., Syracuse
When: May 3, 4, 5, 11 and 12 (Matinee at 2 p.m. for May 12 production; others at 8 p.m.)
Length: Two hours and 40 minutes, including a 15 minute intermission
Tickets: Adults, $18; seniors and students, $16; rush tickets $8 one hour before each performance
Call: (315) 443-3275 or visit SyracuseStage.org
Family guide: Suitable for all ages

April 21 Kalichstein Laredo Robinson Trio

2012-04-26T17:39:42Z

After 35 years, the Kalichstein-Laredo-Robinson Trio remains in top form

The celebrated piano trio closes out the Syracuse Friends of Chamber Music’s 62nd season with impeccable ensemble

By David Abrams

http://cnycafemomus.com/David_Abrams.html

If you’ve been having trouble finding Ponce de León’s legendary Fountain of Youth, perhaps you should follow the Kalichstein-Laredo-Robinson Trio on its next trip to Florida.

The celebrated chamber ensemble comprising violinist Jaime Laredo, cellist Sharon Robinson and pianist Joseph Kalichstein has been touring the circuit and turning out recordings ever since its White House debut at President Carter's Inauguration in 1977. Saturday evening’s Syracuse performance—perhaps a warm up to the ensemble’s upcoming Alice Tully Hall program May 6 at Lincoln Center with André Previn—suggests the ageless trio has lost neither freshness of approach nor spontaneity of delivery since its Jimmy Carter gig.

There was much to enjoy in the group’s stylistically appropriate and technically precise performance of Mozart’s Piano Trio in B-flat Major (K. 502), which opened the program. While technically a chamber work, this charming Trio is more akin to a piano concerto in that the keyboard predominates over the other instruments throughout the work—an imbalance that afforded listeners an opportunity to savor Kalichstein’s formidable pianistic skills.

To play Mozart convincingly a pianist must have the delicacy of touch necessary to delineate the composer’s elegant phrases, steady fingers to balance the crystal clear passagework evenly, and the technical facility to execute turns, trills and other ornaments with suitable grace and polish. Kalichstein has all this—along with the ability to inject spontaneity and artistry into his playing.

Kalichstein’s sensitive phrasing allowed the elegant Larghetto (slow) movement to sing, as he massaged the shapely melodies with just the right touch of rubato. At times the sensuous give-and-take of tempo was such that I thought I was listening to an Italian bel canto aria. He adroitly negotiated the many turns and ornaments of the final movement rondo, echoed beautifully by Laredo, producing a joyful and thoroughly enjoyable listening experience.

Stanley Silverman’s Piano Trio No. 2, commissioned by the Kalichstein-Laredo-Robinson Trio and premiered by the group last September, is a work written in dedication to a man who was among those who perished in the World Trade Center tragedy. But far from being a solemn tribute to the deceased, Herman Sandler, this work revels in the humor of the incongruity of his eclectic tastes—such as serving dinner guests candy bars for dessert following the gourmet meals he had prepared for them.

Silverman’s tribute to Sandler is eclectic, as well—reflecting the composer’s training and hybrid career as a composer-arranger. (He studied with ultra-serialist Pierre Boulez yet orchestrates and collaborates with James Taylor, John Williams, Sting and Paul Simon.) His Trio is a striking amalgam of several different musical styles that takes the listener on a zigzag journey from art music to pop-music and from Latin dances to contrapuntal procedures.

The intermingling of styles is especially evident as the Cuban dance Guajira bobs in and out of the somber lute song, Fear No More Heat o’ the Sun. As Joseph Kalichstein explained in his pre-performance talk, Silverman got the idea from listening to his radio, whose tuning dial separating the adjacent classical music and salsa stations is so narrow that the two channels fade in and out on one-another.

The Kalichstein-Laredo-Robinson Trio took the work seriously, rendering a tightly knit performance that was persuasive throughout the many stylistic twists and turns. Beyond the first-rate playing, however, Silverman’s Trio comes off as a novelty—how else might you explain the unabashed juxtaposition of incongruous musical styles, tongue-in-cheek writing and musical quotations? (Most notably Paul Simon’s You Can Call Me Al, the genesis of the lengthy final movement.) And like most novelties, freshness has a tendency to fade when it goes on and on—as this piece does. After 10 or 15 minutes, the smile on my lips began to fade.

When the piece at last drew to a close I felt that my life had somehow been enriched as a result experiencing this work. But I have little desire to enrich it further by listening to the work a second time.

One piece I’ll never grow tired of is Beethoven’s mammoth Piano Trio in B-flat Major, more commonly known as the Archduke Trio.

The last of Beethoven’s cycle of piano trios, the Archduke is among the composer’s most melodically inclined works, and the generally relaxed tempos are a stark departure from his middle-period chamber works. The Kalichstein-Laredo-Robinson Trio gave this piece all the breathing room it needed to blossom into a fulfilling listening experience.

The performers’ good ensemble and evenness of timbre was evident from the opening exposition of the Allegro moderato movement. The good blend of sound was particularly apparent in Laredo’s sweet tone, which provided a complementary—rather than soloistic—collaboration with the other players. The lengthy pizzicato section between Laredo and Robinson was nicely balanced and well synchronized.

The piano part in this work is not easy and Kalichstein dropped more than just a few notes throughout the four movements, especially during the busy sections of the second movement Scherzo. But after all, Beethoven himself struggled at the first public performance of the work in 1814. According to composer Louis Spohr, "In forte passages the poor deaf man pounded on the keys until the strings jangled and in piano he played so softly that whole groups of notes were omitted." (Not surprisingly, a subsequent performance of the work a few weeks later marked Beethoven’s last public appearance as a pianist).

But whatever Kalichstein missed under the fingers he captured in style and manner of interpretation, particularly in the intoxicating variations of the chorale-like slow (Andante cantabile) movement that Beethoven is believed to have written for his “Immortal Beloved.” The inspiring playing here, and sensitive delivery, proved to be the artistic highlight of the evening.

Prior to the start of Saturday evening’s program the winners of the 2012 SFCM Youth Chamber Music Competition, the Tanka Quintet, took center stage with the first and third movements from Schumann’s sprightly Piano Quintet in E-flat Major.

One of the great warhorses of the piano quintet repertory, the Schumann Quintet presents a formidable challenge for even the most seasoned chamber ensembles. But the Rochester-based Tanka Quintet, an ensemble of immensely talented high school students under the able coaching of the Eastman School of Music’s George Taylor, exceeded all expectations.

Led by the strong skills of first violinist Ilya Kim, a junior at Wilson High School who had previously studied at the Moscow State (Tchaikovsky) Conservatory Ensemble, the ensemble of five able players has no weak links. Ensemble was tight throughout the two movements (played up-to-tempo), and pulse was even throughout the metronomic-like Scherzo movement.

When this dazzling movement concluded, an incredulous SFCM audience rose to its feet in a rousing demonstration of appreciation, if not astonishment, and the promise of a new generation of performers to carry the torch of chamber music for years to come.

Details Box:

What: Kalichstein-Laredo-Robinson Trio

Presented by: Syracuse Friends of Chamber Music

Where: Lincoln Middle School, 1613 James Street, Syracuse

When: April 21, 2012
Information: call (315) 682-7720

Ticket prices: Regular $20, Senior $15, Student $10

Website: http://syracusefriendsofchambermusic.org

April 22 Syracuse Opera: Madama Butterfly

2012-04-25T02:54:48Z

Syracuse Opera delivers a handsomely understated ‘Madama Butterfly’

Patricia Hibbert’s colorful, authentic looking costumes trump the production’s budget-minded set in the company’s 2011-2012 season closer

By David Rubin

http://cnycafemomus.com/David_Rubin.html

A handful of operas depend for their success on the performance of one character. Strauss’s Salome, Puccini’s Sour Angelica, and Verdi’s Otello all require singers in the title roles who carry an inordinately large burden. If they are not up to the task, nothing else matters. If they are, the performance will be a success. Puccini’s Madama Butterfly is surely among this group.

Syracuse Opera was fortunate, therefore, in having Mihoko Kinoshita in the title role. Kinoshita, a native of Japan now living in New York City, has sung this part over the last decade in opera houses from Tokyo to Vancouver, and from London to Sofia. While she has a wide repertoire, Butterfly is clearly her specialty.

No Butterfly can meet Puccini’s requirement in the libretto that she be 15 years-old at the time she foolishly marries the caddish American Navy Lieutenant, B.F. Pinkerton. Kinoshita isn’t, doesn’t look it, and, wisely, didn’t try. She was dignified and reserved throughout, even a bit matronly. She kept to a minimum the stock Japanese gestures adopted by many non-Japanese Butterflies. Her acting was subtle, such as a quick embrace of her maid Suzuki once the decision to commit suicide was inevitable. She stood immobile, and nobly, throughout the long orchestral prelude to Act 3, looking out to the harbor as she waited for Pinkerton’s arrival.

All the cast members seemed to take their cues from her understated style. Credit for this should also go to stage director Dean Anthony, who enticed natural performances from everyone. Baritone Cory McKern was an anguished and embarrassed American consul, Sharpless. Sarah Heltzel was a Suzuki with a spine, wise to the drama being played out but powerless to stop it. As Goro, the marriage broker, Jason Ferrante was appropriately oily and sinister as he flitted about the stage.

Patrick Miller had the easiest acting assignment as Pinkerton, a part that almost plays itself. He looked great in his dress whites, was properly romantic in Act 1, and then thoroughly cowardly in Act 3 when he returns to claim his child. In this version he arrived in time to cradle the dying Butterfly, who recognized him and stretched out her hand to him, giving Pinkerton a faint touch of humanity.

Even Butterfly’s child, Sorrow, played by Elena Colegrove, was more subdued than usual.

Vocally speaking, Kinoshita had the stamina for this long part. Her voice was strongest in the upper register, weaker in the middle and low ranges. She was occasionally covered by the orchestra, as were others in Act 1. Her sound is somewhat monochromatic and slightly tremulous, but she was always in command and on pitch. Her touchstone aria Un bel di was greeted warmly by the packed house, which sat rapt and totally engrossed in the performance.

Both McKern and Heltzel also sang well. McKern is a baritone with a future. This house (2,117 seats) is a bit large for his voice, but he has a distinctive sound and the ability to convey anger and resignation with his singing. He and Heltzel were splendid as two-thirds of the trio early in Act 3 when they acknowledge the catastrophe that is about to overwhelm Butterfly.

Pinkerton, of course, is the third part of that trio. Miller has an attractive middle voice, but what should be his thrilling top notes are often tentative and weak, and when he had to sing out in the best manner of an Italian tenor, he pulled back. This kept his love duet with Butterfly from taking wing. Miller should not force his voice to fill a house this large.

Neither Ferrante as Goro nor Marc Webster as The Bonze, Butterfly’s outraged uncle, had voices large enough to make the necessary impression. This Bonze would not have frightened anyone.

Given Syracuse Opera’s tight budgetary circumstances, it was wise for them to invest in costumes, and not in a set. The latter, designed by Penny Gilbert, was about as bare as can be: a small Japanese house with sliding panels at stage left; a little red bridge over an unseen stream at stage right; and, next to the little bridge, the outline of a wild black tree with no leaves. This served as the backdrop for all three acts.

The costumes, however, made up for the lack of variation in the set. Designed by Patricia Hibbert, they were far better than the generic costumes Syracuse Opera often rents. They appeared highly authentic, from the consul’s waistcoat and Pinkerton’s Navy whites, to the apricot, lavender, and turquoise dresses worn by Butterfly’s family members. Whenever the family was on stage, Hibbert gave the audience a riot of color, complete with matching parasols.

Conductor Douglas Kinney Frost, who is also the company’s Director of Music, is getting the very best out of Symphony Syracuse. The orchestra played with passion. After a scrappy start in the strings, the ensemble settled down and delivered a satisfying performance. Kinney Frost’s interpretation was on the slow side, enhancing and underscoring the grim proceedings. There isn’t much major key, up-tempo, cheerful music in Butterfly to begin with, and Kinney Frost minimized what there was. This contributed to the emotional punch of Butterfly’s suicide at the curtain.

This Butterfly was another large step in the company’s artistic renaissance under Kinney Frost. Given his way with Puccini, next season’s first offering, Tosca, should be just as impressive.

Details Box:

What: Puccini’s Madama Butterfly

Who: Syracuse Opera

When: 2 p.m. Sunday, April 22, 2012

Where: Crouse-Hinds Theater, John H. Mulroy Civic Center, 411 Montgomery St., Syracuse.

Tickets: $18 to $165

Contact: Box office: (315) 47-OPERA or http://syracuseopera.com

April 20 Syracuse Stage: The Brothers Size

2012-04-23T22:56:32Z

Label ‘The Brothers Size’ extra-large, both in drama and power

The staging in Timothy Bond’s Syracuse Stage production keeps the audience close to the action—both literally and figuratively

By David Feldman

http://cnycafemomus.com/David_Feldman.html

There are sighs. And there is size. And there are sizes that don’t fit and those that do. You can do all sorts of wordplay with the title of The Brothers Size at Syracuse Stage, and nothing should be dismissed out of hand—because playwright Tarell Alvin McCraney likes to play with names.

The brothers of the title, for instance, come in two sizes.

One Size is the brawny, dependable older brother Ogun (Joshua Elijah Reese), whose name in the Ifa religion of the Yoruba peoples of western Africa means one who works in iron. The Ogun deity also promotes people’s search for a life song, and among his manly pursuits is repairing vehicles. So, no surprise, this African-American man runs a car repair shop in a small Louisiana bayou town in “the distant present.”

The younger brother is smaller, more lithe and less settled than Ogun. Oshoosi Size (Rodrick Covington), recently released and on parole from a prison term, is searching like many a young man to find out who he is and how he fits into the world. The Yoruba deity Oshoosi is a wanderer and forest spirit, so you shouldn’t be surprised to learn by the end of the play (directed to stunning and powerful effect by Timothy Bond) that Ogun will help brother Oshoosi find his own life song.

But you will be delightfully surprised that the most tender moment in this riveting and brilliant play about the bitter world of young African-American men comes when these brothers Size emotionally connect after years of sibling animosities while listening to (and singing and dancing to) Otis Redding’s Try a Little Tenderness. It is a scene at once exuberant, hilarious and charming.

The play opens with music that has its origins far from America (although not all that far from its most characteristic music): the rhythms of African ritual and dance. Three figures weave in and out of the circle one has laid out at the center of the Storch Theatre. Seating surrounds the playing area on three sides, bringing the audience close in to the action. Lest we ever forget that this drama, like all good theater, is intended both to draw us in and simultaneously let us know that this is a performance for our entertainment, some of the dialogue is spoken directly to the audience, while some of the stage directions for the characters are spoken aloud by the characters whose actions those stage directions describe. This may seem like a gimmick at first (and I don’t know if the concept is Bond’s or McCraney’s), but believe me—after a while it works very well and we accept spoken stage directions as a convention as normal as lighting or set design.

The circle drawn on the stage encloses the home that Ogun provides for himself and Oshoosi and it suggests the protection Ogun, the older brother, tries to provide for his charming and impulsive younger brother. Beyond the circle lies the rest of the world: an America that locks up black men for small offenses in an attempt to get them off the streets, and where it’s damned hard to make a decent living if you were born at the bottom of the economic pack. And in the most basic theatrical sense, beyond the circle we are in the audience watching three black men enact an elemental drama. Looming ever in the background is set designer Jess Ford’s brooding backdrop—a modernist sculpture that suggests an altar, a prison cell and things that are not quite finished. The action unfolds on a floor that’s the deep-red color of African earth.

The third brother isn’t connected to the other two by blood, but he is connected to Oshoosi by the bond of brotherhood that exists among former prison mates. His name? Elegba, a Yoruba trickster figure. Things remain in relative stasis, the play heavy with narrative and back story until Elegba’s entrance. After that, the stage explodes with action and emotion.

Elegba is himself fresh from prison. His arrival disrupts the relatively peaceful life the brothers have developed since Oshoosi returned. Ogun has had to drag Oshoosi out of bed and get him to work at the repair shop. Oshoosi is cranky and restless; he wants to celebrate his freedom with a car of his own and women to drive around in it.

The relationship between Elegba and Osooshi in prison was homoerotic, and Elegba has come to seduce Oshooshi away from his job at Ogun’s repair shop and, indeed, away from the brother. He tempts Oshoosi with an offer of that quintessential American symbol of freedom: a car. Oshoosi tries to resist, but resisting temptation has never been easy. And the results, as anyone who has given way to powerful temptation can attest, can be as they are here—tragic.

These are African-American men, and protection from the dangers of the white world outside the home circle are varied and few. And the law leans heavily on young blacks who have been in trouble, even if only once. The car leads to just the kind of trouble that the law likes to bust black men for. Oshoosi, innocent of anything worse than just wanting to have fun, finds himself entangled in a situation that he can extricate himself from only through a sacrifice by his brother.

You don’t need to know anything about the names of Ifa deities or about African ritual and music, or even about the limitations the white world places on African-American men trying to make a living (or staying out of trouble) to appreciate the play and this fine production. It ends where the most powerful dramas do—Greek, Asian, American Indian or African-American—in a tragic moment where the gods who rule a culture for their own inexplicable reasons bring the power of fate down on characters locked in elemental drama. In The Brothers Size, as in the best tragic theater, the result is loss. But along with loss comes a moment that lets us see into the inherent nobility of some human souls.

There are those who will be uncomfortable with the language in the play. There’s a lot of the “n-word” whose use, while acceptable by black youths speaking to other black youths, will no doubt ring uncomfortably to many white ears. And it has a lot of the “f-word,” too. But there’s nothing here that would faze the sergeant I had in Army basic training, or even most of the guys who hang out at the gym.

This is a brilliant play, and a powerful one as well. It deals thoughtfully with the subject of race without ever being preachy. McCraney is frequently mentioned as one of the rising stars of American theater, and rightly so. He has a wonderful ear for language and the ability to create powerful and interesting characters and involve them in riveting dramatic action. But The Brothers Size is not what is sometimes called “a director-proof, actor-proof play.” It demands a strong director, one who is sensitive to the play’s genuinely unique qualities, and it demands three actors with energy and passion, as well as the skill to inhabit their roles. All these are present in this powerful and touching production.

DETAILS BOX:
What:  The Brothers Size by Tarell Alvin McCraney, at Syracuse Stage
Where:  Storch Theatre, 820 E. Genesee St., Syracuse.
When: Through May 12
Length: 90 minutes, without intermission
Tickets: Adults, $28 - $50; 40 and under, $28; 18 and under $18; senior discounts for all performances but Friday and Saturday evenings. Rush tickets day of performance only: $20 -25 general public; $18 with valid student ID, subject to availability. Call (315) 443-3275 or visit SyracuseStage.org.
Family guide: Strong language and action; recommended for adults only

April 14 Met simulcast: La Traviata

2012-04-20T02:18:37Z

Courtesan light: A ‘Traviata’ without the glamour and glitz

The Met’s quasi-surreal production, which examines Violetta’s soul but casts aside her flamboyant lifestyle, dies long before the sickly heroine

By David Abrams

http://cnycafemomus.com/David_Abrams.html

Willy Decker wasn’t the first man to try and gain a better perspective of the courtesan Violetta by examining what lay beneath the iconic red dress. But I have to wonder whether the German director’s psychological undressing of the heroine in the present Met production has uncovered anything more revealing than his predecessors.

Violetta, the Camille of Dumas’s play from which Francesco Paive’s libretto formed the genesis of Verdi’s La Traviata, leads a colorful and glamorous lifestyle that the audience longs to experience—if only vicariously. (Who doesn’t long for a glass of the bubbly during the Libiamo?) The courtesan nonetheless abandons her lavish lifestyle in exchange for “true love,” only to relinquish her newfound happiness for the sake of the one she loves so dearly.

Violetta’s sacrifice comes at a cost, of course. But in order to appreciate the magnitude of this sacrifice, the audience must first savor the extravagance of the culture in which she has immersed herself. In stripping Violetta of her lavish possessions and removing all sense of gaiety, however, Decker—aided and abetted by Wolfgang Gussmann’s bare-bones set and colorless costumes—confines his examination of the heroine to her soul. So while Violetta’s conversion seems real enough, her courtesan alter ego has now been demoted to that of a monochromatic, abstract state of mind. Now, when she sings the Sempre libera at the close of Act 1, affirming her determination to live only for pleasure, it’s anybody’s guess what these pleasures might be.

Those who had hoped to discover in the singing the pizzazz missing in the set and costumes were likely to have been disappointed.

In her Met debut as Violetta, Natalie Dessay forged a sympathetic (if not overly fragile) character who, under the close-up camerawork of TV director Gary Halvorson, appeared so exhausted and sickly I wondered whether she would last through the final curtain. Indeed, Dessay seemed uncharacteristically weak in voice—and perhaps a tad hoarse as well, judging from her speaking voice during the backstage interview with Deborah Voigt. She struggled with some of the high notes, including the optional final E-flat at the end of Act 1.

The quality of Dessay’s voice, while muted, nevertheless retained the beauty of timbre to which we have become accustomed in prior Met simulcasts, such as in last season’s Lucia di Lammermoor. The coloraturas in the Sempre libera were sufficiently elastic, and her Addio! Del passato—in which she bids a whisper-quiet farewell to life—evoked sufficient sympathy and a tear or two.

As Alfredo, Matthew Polenzani sang with a pleasant but oftentimes tame tenor. I thought it odd that he didn’t muster up a larger, more powerful vocal presence in both the splashy Libiamo and the second-act De’ miei bollenti spiriti, where he reflects upon his new life with Violetta (it's possible he did not wish to overpower Dessay). Nor did Polenzani’s acting—convincing only during times of anger (such as in his rage and fury denouncing Violetta in Questa donna conoscete? at the end of Act 2)—do much to enhance the drama.

Dmitri Hvorostovsky cut an imposing figure as Alfredo’s manipulative father, Giorgio Germont. The Siberian singing sensation, as some prefer to call him (and not without merit), looked somewhat like a grey-haired Arnold Schwarzenegger. He carried a handsome and weighty baritone as he importuned Violetta in the second-act to make a great sacrifice and give up Alfredo for the good of Germont's daughter (Pura siccome un angelo), and again in his signature aria, Di Provenza, consoling his son after the latter had been devastated after reading Violetta’s “Dear John” letter.

Hvorostovsky did however have an occasional tendency to sing sharp throughout the afternoon, especially in the louder sections—such as when he reprimanded Alfredo for his inexcusable behavior in publicly humiliating Violetta.

The set, reprised from the Met’s 2010-2011 production of La Traviata, comprises a curved, amorphous structure that resembles a prison courtyard surrounded by tall walls over which the chorus, dressed alike in unisex black tuxedos, voyeuristically watches the action below. A large clock rests within the walls, casting an expressionist-surrealistic look at time and space that seems detached from (or at least indifferent to) the opera’s plot.

But whatever one may think of Decker’s controversial set, the director deserves to be credited with a number of effective (and occasionally memorable) staging effects—such as the pantomime during the prelude to Act 1 that reveals the dying, consumptive heroine slowly staggering across the stage to the mysterious Dr. Grenvil (Luigi Roni), who in this production is made to double as The Grim Reaper. And I’ll never forget the spectacle of the enraged Alfredo in the Questa donna conoscete as he tosses his gambling winnings, one bill at a time, at the browbeaten Violetta as she lay stretched motionlessly over the set’s giant clock. Finally, there’s the clever segue from Act 2 to Act 3, where the curtain remains up and the action continues uninterrupted as the characters slowly exit the stage, walking backwards step by step, leaving only a dying Violetta sprawled onstage beneath the solitary spotlight that illuminates her.

Conductor Fabio Luisi had his work cut out for him during the performance, possibly due to staging problems that may have affected the performers’ line of sight with the podium. The chorus in particular had ensemble problems, rushing ahead of Luisi’s baton during several of its numbers, such as while looking down at the stage from above the walls in Act 1, and while at ground level during the frenzied gambling party at in Act 2. Dessay, too, had a tendency to rush ahead of the beat, including her entrance in the Libiamo and again near the conclusion of the great second-act duet with Hvorostovsky.

The Met Orchestra was outstanding, as usual. What a pity the singers couldn’t stay with them. I especially enjoyed the ethereal high-register reminiscence motif, whispered by eight stands of violins, that portends Violetta’s fatal illness both in the opening prelude and again in the beginning of the final act.

Perhaps the orchestra should have included a death motif for this austere production, as well.

Details Box:

What: Verdi’s La Traviata, Simulcast Live in HD
When: April 14, 2012

Who: Metropolitan Opera
Running time: Approximately 3 hours and 5 minutes, with intermission

Where: Metropolitan Opera House, New York

Encore performance: May 2, 2012 at 6:30 pm EST

April 17 Special events: Stomp

2012-04-19T03:15:17Z

‘Stomp’ gets the feet tappin’ and the hands clappin’

Got rhythm?

By Robert Bridge

Contributing writer

Stomp is a percussion/dance/theater experience that’s not as easy to define as you might think. They find music in a variety of found and contrived objects, then fashion it in a variety of ways to portray drama, joy, sorrow, surprise, and humor. And it is this variety that grabs—and holds—the audience’s attention.

The travelling troupe did a “bang up” job Tuesday evening. You might even say it was real “hit,” and a “smashing” success. Formulaic and predictable? Of course. But fun from start to finish.

As a musical event, Stomp could be described in musical parlance as an extended arch form with a coda. The ensemble continually built sections up from one player to eight (and sometimes reversed the process to end the section). Themes were concise (motifs might be the better word), and reappeared in different guises throughout the program. Almost all the sections or movements were based upon American rock or Brazilian samba, although one of the soloists played in a West African style. She performed well, but the rhythms and sensibility appeared oddly out of place. I think this says something interesting about the music of the new world: While obviously owing a huge debt to Africa, they are growing up and taking on our own personalities.

As a dance event Stomp kept its signature urban look and style, while employing a variety of techniques. One of the challenges that percussion pageantry groups face is how to present a unified look during unison musical phrases, as this idea started with military groups. Stomp achieved this with perfectly executed choreography and clever lighting effects. That is to say, they remained individuals within a singular visual aesthetic.

Stomp is not a story in the teleological sense. The closest theatrical analogy might be a variety show with a theme. There are however eight individuals on stage, and they leverage the personality of each quite well. I suspect their auditions have more to do with charisma and stage presence than either drumming or dancing.

The shoe opened with one of Stomp’s more famous numbers, Brooms. (Stomp, first created in 1991, is old enough now to have “Greatest Hits.”) The broom rhythms were crisp and alternated between sections in duple and compound meters. The individual notes were myriad: sweeping sounds; taps with the side, bottom and top of the broom head; slams with the side and top of the broom head; taps and slams with the broom handle, and foot stomps. Rhythms were often offset to generate more sonic velocity and visual interest—the stuff crowds love to watch and hear.

After the brooms cleared, John Sawicki (acting as the group’s leader for the evening) taught the crowd a simple two-note clap pattern that was to return often throughout the evening. Through a series of grunts and groans (words were never used) he led the crowd to a fairly tight performance of the two notes. This small amount of participation really had the audience feeling like “insiders.”

Matches, a number for four performers, proved the quietest number of the evening. Each player had a small box of matches that they played by shaking or striking them—a technique that recalls Brazilian samba rhythms and techniques. And like many of the works played throughout the evening, there was ample room for individual expression and improvisation.

Another low-volume production was Pipes, in which the eight performers used a piece of plastic pipe (each tuned in the western tradition) to forge melodies and harmonies. This was the only number to use pitches, and I found myself longing for more such works.

One of my favorite productions involved no instruments beyond Stomp’s Hands and Feet. Part of the joy of Stomp is that there are eight individual personalities on stage, some of whom are accomplished tap dancers. This was surely a piece that Savion Glover would endorse. The audience two-note clap pattern came back a few times in this number.

Lighters was a crowd favorite. Imagine 16 lighters in the dark, turning on and off in a variety of patterns. The music was minimal, but the visual effect was strong.

Cans began with Guy Mandozzi, the comedian of the troupe, catching large paint cans being thrown at him from the wings. Each toss was more difficult than the previous one, and he played these for the laughs. The ensemble slowly joined him with small paint cans, as the mood became more serious and the music more intense. Soon, the players set a rhythm and began to juggle or throw the cans, all the while keeping the rhythm intact. Just at the moment when something should be expected to happen to the theme, Mandozzi jumped back on stage with a cart of medium paint cans and slowly swapped them for the small cans—a paint can “modulation,” to use musical jargon once again. This is how real music works, and Stomp makes a convincing argument that they are real music. The group “changed key” once more by picking up the large cans from the beginning of the piece and recapping the beginning. The mood lightened when Mandozzi played the crowd’s earlier two-note pattern.

The set was a wall of urban junk that functioned as a soundscape. The show quite literally included he proverbial kitchen sink. (Four sinks to be exact!) They used both sand and water to create sounds, and even played a trio with bags (Bags Groove).

The Finale was very much a Brazilian samba. Dumpster sordus, frying pan agogos, trash can lid cymbals, and a samba whistle all came together for this piece. Towards the end, Sawicki engaged the audience in a clapping call and response.

Overall, Stomp proved a great experience—part performance art, part dance, part theater, and almost all infectious music. The sonorities are numerous and there was significant variety in the rhythmic content on the program. I heartily recommend it for people of all ages who appreciate dance, rhythm and theater.

Robert Bridge received the Doctor of Musical Arts from Eastman School of Music. He is currently Professor of Music at Onondaga Community College in Syracuse, NY, where he was recently honored with the State University of New York’s "Chancellor’s Award for Scholarship and Creative Activities." He is an active recitalist and has appeared with several symphony orchestras. In the fall of 2010, Bridge performed a solo recital and taught at the Shenyang International Percussion Festival in Shenyang, China.

Details:

Who: Stomp

When: Tuesday, April 17, 2012

Where: Landmark Theater, Famous Artists Broadway Theater Series

Attendance: About 2800

Tickets: From $25 to $50

Time: 1 hour 45 minutes, without intermission

Information: Call 424-8210 or visit FamousArtistsBroadway.com