The hills are alive, thanks to the Met Opera

Author: Andrew Throdahl

Can opera function surrounded by popcorn, Pepsi and jeans? The Metropolitan Opera, managed by the entrepreneurial Peter Gelb, has no reservations about transmitting its productions to a few select multiplex movie theaters across the country, trimming the operatic experience of all bowties, overpriced brownies and glib expressions. On Oct. 11th, the famous New York opera company broadcasted its production of Richard Strauss' expressionistic opera "Salome" to the Palace 9 cinema in South Burlington. The experience raised a few questions about the digital future of the medium.

Rather than concentrate solely on the opera, the Met brought its star, Karita Mattila, into focus. The '"show" started off as an enhanced version of the "authentic" experience - the orchestra was shown warming up while the audience filled the hall. The camera occasionally shot the curtain, which was down to serve that abstract function of "suspension of disbelief." So far, so good. Then Brecht rolled over in his grave - soprano Deborah Voigt (who was not in the performance) appeared onscreen, fidgety, standing outside Mattila's dressing room. Voigt informed the audience of the difficulty of "Salome," and the importance of stretching before the daunting "Dance of the Seven Veils." So much for disbelief - this broadcast became half Strauss and half Mattila's stardom.

Some could argue that this offense is found in the "real" audience's experience of the opera. Didn't they come to see this production because Mattila was singing the lead? Well, the "behind-the-scenes" interview came immediately prior to the start of this searing, one-act horror story, and rendered it more of a sporting event. It was "what a difficult role" rather than "what an inexhaustible work of art." When Mattila dismissively told Voigt that she would "kick ass," she escorted to the stage where she self-consciously ignored the camera's intrusive glare. The curtain was raised with no interim between "behind-the-scenes" and the feature presentation. Rather than see Salome in Judea, I saw Karita Mattila on a stage.

"Salome," adapted from Oscar Wilde's French play of the same name, is one of the great 20th-century succès de scandale, alongside Stravinsky's "The Rite of Spring." It premiered in Graz, Austria in 1905 and was promptly banned in England until 1908. The final scene, in which Salome kisses the severed head of John the Baptist (Jochanaan), continues to appall. Many of Strauss' orchestral effects found their way in Stravinsky's primitivist ballet, most notably the trilling woodwinds that build suspense before the final confrontation. The title role requires the same stamina and glass-shattering force that Wagner's great heroines beseech, but with the added complication of the "Dance of the Seven Veils."

Mattila strikes an almost unprecedented balance between believable acting and big-voiced singing - she can also do a split! While she did not look like a teenager, she moved about the stage like one - a plus in a stereotypically plus-sized profession.

With the complexity of "Salome," it is insufficient to simply hit the high notes - Salome's peculiar descriptive powers require an imaginative soprano. This has been the shortcoming of some Wagnerian sopranos who have taken on the role. Mattila took enough risks to pull everything off. For example, during her incessant demands for the head of Jochanaan (she repeats, "der Kopf des Jochanaan!") Mattila wailed with bratty abandon. In hindsight, it seems more likely that Strauss wanted Salome to be in a murderous trance during this scene, but Mattila gets points for chutzpah and showmanship.

This production's "Dance of the Seven Veils" must be one of the Met's most creative achievements. Salome's striptease can be ridiculous or awkward for women who specialize in Teutonic repertoire. While two men in tuxedos helped Mattila out a bit (removing her pants with their teeth), she commanded the routine with a confident, malicious girlishness. For an instant she stood before Herod (and the audience) nude and victorious, an image both haunting and risqué.

Conductor Patrick Sommers led a detailed and precise reading of the score, performed with the consistent panache of the Met orchestra. King Herod (Kim Begley) was not quite as erratic as Strauss suggests, although his wife Herodias (Ildiko Komlosi) sounded sufficiently shrill. The young tenor Joseph Kaiser sang a clear and expressive Narraboth, the infatuated and suicidal Syrian soldier. But, all things considered, it was Mattila's show.

In addition to Vermont's Palace 9, the Met will come to Middlebury's Town Hall Theatre for five Saturday afternoon High-definition broadcasts. Tickets are $22 - about $200 cheaper than a good seat in New York. On the roster are Puccini's "La Rondine" and "Madama Butterfly," in addition to other frothy Italian confections by Donizetti, Bellini and Rossini. Unfortunately, the Met's anticipated revivals of Wagner's "Ring Cycle" and "Tristan und Isolde" will not be broadcast, perhaps due to their length. Whatever problems one might have about the Met's broadcasting style, or about a performance, it is a pleasure to acquaint, or reacquaint, oneself with any opera that's withstood the test of time and smug opera audiences. The advantage of a live performance is that you can hear all the difficulties of a work - where some performances slip others excel, and with a masterpiece like "Salome" a lifetime of listening would still not reveal all of its secrets.