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In a word: "Wow!" Christoph Willibald von Gluck's austere, once-popular opera, has been revived at the Met after some twenty years in a production conceived by Mark Morris and featuring both members of his own company and from the Met ballet. Gluck's version of the Orpheus legend is a decorous one in which, following the hero's failure to keep his vow not to look back at Eurydice before emerging from Hades, he is nonetheless rewarded for giving it a good try and his lady love is restored. No Thracian Maenads tearing the disconsolate Orpheus limb from limb here.

As with other of his takes on various classics (Sylvia, Nutcracker, Four Saints in Three Acts), Morris doesn't play the story entirely "straight" but infuses his own ironic twists on the settings and action. Since Orfeo is not a comedy, he generally doesn't go for laughs, but there are mildly comic moments even in the most tragic scenes, as when Heidi Grant Murphy as the god Amor, makes her first entrance suspended on a harness from the flies and slowly plummets down to earth. Orpheus, well portrayed by the great countertenor David Daniels (the production was first conceived for the late soprano Lorraine Hunt Lieberson) is dressed in black, slinging a guitar like a modern-day Elvis. But the most surprising twist is how Morris finds for once a real use for the vast expanse of the enormous Met stage. This is very much a choral opera, and Morris together with stage designer Allen Moyer situates the 90-member choral ensemble on a huge, semi-elliptical apparatus in which they sit on three levels like bleachers, virtually filling the rear of the stage floor to ceiling, while the dancers occupy the floor level. Evidently representing the spirits of the dead, each is costumed by Isaac Mizrahi individually as an historic or mythic personage: I saw among others Gandhi, Nefertiti, Napoleon, Elizabeth I, Lincoln, an Old Testament prophet, an Indian chief, and too many more to identify. It was like a takeoff on the old Sergeant Pepper album cover come to life, and whether one "approves" or not (I certainly did), one has to marvel at the sheer audacity of the concept. Soon one learns this huge edifice is really two structures each holding half the chorus, and each part is eventually shifted around the stage in various configurations by some dozen stagehands (who get their own well-deserved bow at the end of the opera). After Orfeo descends to Hades and gains admission to the Elysian Fields, a huge staircase-like apparatus descends from the flies through a trap door to represent the change of setting. Finally the rear wall of the set revolves to the front to represent the way up to earth from Hades. The stage machinery is utterly incredible.

But the staging would not be enough to carry the evening were the musical performances not so committed and compelling. Completing the small trio of principals is Maija Kovalevska, a brilliant soprano, and the musical direction is under the ubiquitous James Levine, a conductor whom I have often found stolid and under-nuanced, but who here contributes a surprisingly lively, incisive account of the score. And then there are the dancers, doing typically inventive Morris-y things that I'm sure any of you dance aficionados can describe better than I. The dancers are also strikingly costumed - first in relatively neutral casual wear, then all in white when they play the Blessed Spirits, and finally back on earth in any number of solid colors (blue, green, red, lavender, etc.) - but what a change from the cartoonish solid colors used for NYCB's new Romeo and Juliet.

The only drawback is that the Met uses the original, 1762 version of the score without alteration, thus making an evening of about 1 hour and 40 minutes with no intermission. This means some fine music Gluck later added for the 1774 Paris version (where Orfeo becomes a high tenor) is not heard, above all the familiar dance with flute solo that Balanchine used in Chaconne. But given the loss of familiar music, I can't see the grounds for textual purity, especially as many productions incorporate the best of both versions (just as they do with Don Giovanni, Boris Godunov, and other operas that exist in multiple editions).

But don't let that deter you. The other three performances are probably sold out, but do what you can to keep an eye for returns, buy at the door, or catch it in an upcoming season. This is one not to miss. And both the chief music critic and the chief dance critic from the Times were as impressed as I was:

http://www.nytimes.com/2007/05/04/arts/mus....html?ref=music

http://www.nytimes.com/2007/05/04/arts/dance/04morr.html

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Thank you, klavier, for that wonderfully thoughtful report. And for the links to TWO Times critics. This is clearly a cultural event of tremendous importance for NYC.

I love the idea that underlies this production ---

You do not have to look deep to grasp the concept of this production. The creative team sees the opera as a mythical tale, passed down and pondered through the ages, about the cycles of life and death. Dancers serve as active participants in the story, which has only three characters: Orfeo, Euridice and Amor, the god of love.
And I'm delighted that both Times reviewers think that the execution serves the concept effectively, even "whimsicallly" -- something all too rare in opera and, even moreso -- alas -- in ballet. You and the others in the audience are lucky to have been there. :off topic:

Did anyone else get the chance to see this?

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Thanks very much, Klavier. Joel Lobenthal takes a more measured view, which sounds plausible. (Meaning no disrespect, Klavier. :off topic: )

Mr. Morris's dancers are sometimes used to assist in the narrative action or comment or illustrate the libretto. They interact with the singers, and there is occasional unanimity between chorus and dancers. And at these times they blend into the actions. When the dancers are center stage, however, one couldn't help wonder what they were doing in the production. The choreography is almost completely drained of Baroque tint, even when Mr. Morris uses a soft-edged dialect of the language of ballet, itself a child of the Baroque.

Musically, Mr. Morris and Gluck are not a perfect fit, because of the choreographer's preference for responding to notes as much as phrases; this approach tends to fracture Gluck's long-breathed melodic line with a gratuitous amount of ticks and twitches. Dance doesn't have to conform to its musical partners, and there can be welcome tension in opposition. But here there is no question that Gluck is dominant and is to be ignored at a choreographer's peril. Perhaps it's a question of context: What would be welcome on Mr. Morris's own stage becomes intrusive in this environment.

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I just wanted to mention a strange and funny thing that happened when I was there Wednesday night. Just before the performance began, the woman in front of me inserted foam earplugs in her ears, and didn't take them out again until the opera was over. I guess she's a dance fan, but not an opera one!

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I just wanted to mention a strange and funny thing that happened when I was there Wednesday night. Just before the performance began, the woman in front of me inserted foam earplugs in her ears, and didn't take them out again until the opera was over. I guess she's a dance fan, but not an opera one!

And what did you think of the performance?

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Thanks very much, Klavier. Joel Lobenthal takes a more measured view, which sounds plausible. (Meaning no disrespect, Klavier. :off topic: )

My guess is that someone who isn't in tune with Morris's tone of affectionate irreverence (or irreverent affection) is not going to like this production, just as they might not like his Sylvia. My feeling Morris that he loves these works too much to play them 100% straight, which would just result in a solemn realization, where instead he catches the viewer always a little off guard. The question I have heard raised is "what does this huge panoply of costumed historical figures have to do with Gluck?" And my answer is that they are at once the spirits of the dead that he encounters in the underworld, as well as a kind of Greek chorus commenting on the action. You can get an idea of the set and the choral placement from this page:

http://www.metoperafamily.org/metopera/new...es/contest.aspx

- and if you like you can even enter the Name the Chorister contest. I wonder if anyone will get them all correct.

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My guess is that someone who isn't in tune with Morris's tone of affectionate irreverence (or irreverent affection) is not going to like this production, just as they might not like his Sylvia. My feeling Morris that he loves these works too much to play them 100% straight, which would just result in a solemn realization, where instead he catches the viewer always a little off guard.
Thanks for that phrase: "he catches the viewer always a little off guard." It's is one of the things I llke best about the relatively ifew pieces of Morris's classically based work that I've seen. Unlike the fabricators of many modern "takes" on the classics -- and Europe, especially, has been churning out pretty dreadful ones recentlyi -- he starts with deep affection for, and understanding of, the original piece. When he succeeds -- as, for me, with "The Nut" and "Dido and Aeneas" -- it's wonderful. When he fails -- as, apparently for Lobenthal in this production -- it's not for lack of respect or want of trying. Paul Parrish's review of Morris's version of Purcell's "Kin Arthur," makes similar points. Link to DanceViewTimes, Nov. 2006

I'm curious, Klavier, as to what you thought of these comments from Lobenthal's review:

[1[ ... Musically, Mr. Morris and Gluck are not a perfect fit, because of the choreographer's preference for responding to notes as much as phrases; this approach tends to fracture Gluck's long-breathed melodic line with a gratuitous amount of ticks and twitches. Dance doesn't have to conform to its musical partners, and there can be welcome tension in opposition.

[ ... ]

[2] ... Perhaps it's a question of context: What would be welcome on Mr. Morris's own stage becomes intrusive in this environment.

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We went tonight, the first time I've been to an opera in a couple of decades. The attractions were Mark Morris, of course, but even more to experience the music that Balanchine chose to make his true welcome home to Suzanne Farrell, Chaconne. Of course our Klavier has given us his brilliant and helpful review of the music, and also, as usual, tells of his inexperience with dance, and then, as usual, puts the lie to that reservation. As also usual, Alastair Macaulay comes through. So I've just got a handful of remarks.

I felt that in Act I Orfeo was clearly shown to be a member of the fairly unurban community that the dancers also inhabited, so had no problem at all with the celebratory dances they shared with the happy couple at the end. In both those Acts Lauren Grant seemed a central, nurturing figure, one whose method was infectuous joy. There was an especially brilliant exit for the dancers from center stage to wings stage right. At first the image of Suzanne skimming magically off, as of course pulled by the unnoticed cloth she was standing on. But operas clearly can do these things more expensively, as their exit formed an arc, convex to the audience.

While many commentators were not enamored with MM's Dance of the Blessed Spirits, I really liked this, especially as the dancers circled, hands reaching high with palms up, reaching to catch the rain, as one of the dancers told me after the show. I could see here many Romantic ballerinas dead, such as wilis from Giselle and bayaderes (they surely die in Makarova's last Act) from La Bayadere, at least now in a proper place of grace. Not long after, Sterling Hyltin with her Juliet hair appeared from the group and exited stage left. Well, from a distance. It was of course Euridice, Maija Kovalevska. (Pain, thinking of upcoming NYCB Balanchine. How about new principals in Orpheus, the new principal Hyltin, for one?)

I really liked that carbon-like rock passage O+E climbed on their way up from Heck. This was a place where diamonds grow, some sparkles already. Eventual optimism. It takes a lot longer than in ballet, but the music was beautiful. Then he blew it and she was borne back down. The beautiful music was gone and replaced by the sublime. Mr. Daniels was far more than I'd expected.

As he sang for his wife to return, I think I learned why Mr. B. made Chaconne for Suzanne.

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Great evocation of the performance, drb. It's wonderful to see it described from a dance and dancer perspective. It's interesting to compare your report with the preview of the May 5 broadcase in "Opera News."

In the Elysian Fields, a group of blessed spirits dances serenely. They depart, and Orfeo enters ..."

Not much, really. But I guess this WAS intended for the radio listeners.

Anyway, thanks for adding the visuals.

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I very much appreciated the anecdote by Anthony NYC because I once witnessed something comparable. It happened way back in 1979, but I've never gotten over it. The New York City Opera collaborated with New York City Ballet (an all-too rare event) on a double bill of Purcell's Dido and Aeneas and Richard Strauss's Le Bourgeois Gentilhomme. The man sitting next to me paid close attention during the Purcell, but once the Strauss started never lifted his head to look at the stage, no matter how enthusiastic the audience reaction. I didn't understand why he hadn't just left at the intermission, but finally decided it was so he could tell people of the great cast he's just "seen:" Patricia MacBride, Jean Pierre Bonnefoux, and Rudolf Nureyev.

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I'm curious, Klavier, as to what you thought of these comments from Lobenthal's review:
[1[ ... Musically, Mr. Morris and Gluck are not a perfect fit, because of the choreographer's preference for responding to notes as much as phrases; this approach tends to fracture Gluck's long-breathed melodic line with a gratuitous amount of ticks and twitches. Dance doesn't have to conform to its musical partners, and there can be welcome tension in opposition.

[ ... ]

[2] ... Perhaps it's a question of context: What would be welcome on Mr. Morris's own stage becomes intrusive in this environment.

In honesty, Bart, I don't understand Lobenthal's comment. First he says M+G are not a perfect fit; then he seems to contradict himself by saying dance doesn't have to conform to the music, and there can be tension in the opposition of the two. The fact that the "fit" between collaborators isn't always "perfect" is what makes collaboration interesting. I for one didn't find the dancing intrusive, but seen from the balcony section of the Met's enormous auditorium, what dominated the stage picture was above all the two huge movable bleachers for the chorus, and perhaps if I had been in the orchestra section (which would have cost $300 or so rather than $80), I would have been more conscious of any "intrusiveness" from the dancers. Perhaps drb has more pertinent thoughts.

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I for one didn't find the dancing intrusive, but seen from the balcony section of the Met's enormous auditorium, what dominated the stage picture was above all the two huge movable bleachers for the chorus, and perhaps if I had been in the orchestra section (which would have cost $300 or so rather than $80), I would have been more conscious of any "intrusiveness" from the dancers. Perhaps drb has more pertinent thoughts.

Fortunately we attended on a far lower-priced evening and I ordered way in advance. Center orch, Y, was only $100. Of course decades ago when I attended opera, Balcony was first choice, for the accoustics. The sound was a little less fullsome down there, but the view terrific. Got to enjoy Amor's ups and downs! Up is really way up! I found nothing intrusive. In fact the dancers and singers interacted in ways that I think further clarified and help develop their characters. Had he created something like Balanchine's Chaconne for the Blessed Spirits dances he would have perhaps had a greater artistic triumph, but with his restraint kept this about O finding E, not upstaging the course of the opera: he allowed the opera have its peak where Gluck placed it. Morris and restraint!

Not to say Gluck needed any help.

In honesty, Bart, I don't understand Lobenthal's comment. First he says M+G are not a perfect fit; then he seems to contradict himself by saying dance doesn't have to conform to the music, and there can be tension in the opposition of the two. The fact that the "fit" between collaborators isn't always "perfect" is what makes collaboration interesting.

Amen.

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