"EXCLUSIVE: "Bonnie Bride's Brutal BloodbathBreakdown!" Live from our Kongelige Operakor correspondents
Views vary widely regarding the ethics and success rate of arranged marriages - a concept which in Western culture, at least, is viewed as alien. Yet, if one looks at opera literature, examples abound if not in arranged marriages precisely, then in "highly encouraged" or, conversely, "highly discouraged" relationships.
Not staged in Copenhagen since 1835, Lucia di Lammermoor, the opera we are currently working on, is ultimately about an arranged marriage which has fatal consequences. Written by the Italian composer, Gaetano Donizetti, it is one of his most famous operas with a fiendishly demanding soprano role for the eponymous heroine. Already in deep depression following the death of her mother, Lucia, whilst in love with one tenor (Edgardo), is forced by her brother (the baritone) to marry the other tenor (Arturo). Her brother (that baritone), down on his luck financially, wants thereby to create a secure economic tie with a wealthier local family. The plan backfires: on the day of her wedding she stabs Arturo to death in an upstairs bedroom and returns to her wedding feast in a state of delirium from which she never recovers. A lot of scope for an evening of operatic hysterics one might think.
Donizetti was composing at the same time as Bellini and Rossini, and Italian operatic choral writing of the period and the role the chorus portrays is at first sight much more straightforward than it was to become in operas further down the century. True, the chorus is not really a protagonist but an element that can be used for subtextual purposes and as a dramatic tool.
It relates plot that is otherwise too lengthy to stage or too complicated. In the first scene the male chorus puts the audience in the picture about Edgardo and Enrico.
It points up events on stage. "Edgardo! Che giunge?" gasps the chorus, meaning "Look, Ladies and Gentlemen of the Audience, that other tenor has just arrived on stage, the one from the Love Scene, keep an eye on him!"
It sets up atmosphere and creates context. Scene 6 opens with a substanial and festive chorus number recreating an upbeat, optimistic setting which contrasts with the murder which is about to occur.
But what the chorus represents here is as prevalent now as it was in 1835. That is to say, it represents you and me - the ordinary mass of people witnessing events over which they have no control. It happens to us all the time - through newspapers, television and the internet, in Virginia, Nørrebro and Iraq. In musical terms, however, it translates into material for the chorus which one might be forgiven for calling formulaic. But is that so wide of the mark? May be our responses in real-life are also formulaic - the coming together of crowds, laying flowers, lighting candles, saying prayers, leaders who are "much saddened" expressing "grief" and "deep sorrow" whilst their "hearts go out" to those involved. Hardly original - and we see the same when we open our opera score. Yet for those people in Virginia, Nørrebro and Iraq the situations were not at all formulaic.
What we need when we rehearse these operas in a first-hand witness who can communicate the drama we have to portray. He has to lift the music as given by the composer on to a level where our reactions are no longer a conditioned, cliché ridden reflex to yet another high octane drama. This witness is embodied in the form of Giancarlo Andretta, our conductor - a native Italian, steeped in the tradition and a specialist in Italian opera of this period. For him there is no choral utterance that is not unoriginal. Every sigh and utterance becomes a genuine emotional response. And when Giancarlo is in the pit, although we might not be the makers and breakers of the piece, Lucia, too, is as genuine for the chorus as any other opera.
Philip White
Not staged in Copenhagen since 1835, Lucia di Lammermoor, the opera we are currently working on, is ultimately about an arranged marriage which has fatal consequences. Written by the Italian composer, Gaetano Donizetti, it is one of his most famous operas with a fiendishly demanding soprano role for the eponymous heroine. Already in deep depression following the death of her mother, Lucia, whilst in love with one tenor (Edgardo), is forced by her brother (the baritone) to marry the other tenor (Arturo). Her brother (that baritone), down on his luck financially, wants thereby to create a secure economic tie with a wealthier local family. The plan backfires: on the day of her wedding she stabs Arturo to death in an upstairs bedroom and returns to her wedding feast in a state of delirium from which she never recovers. A lot of scope for an evening of operatic hysterics one might think.
Donizetti was composing at the same time as Bellini and Rossini, and Italian operatic choral writing of the period and the role the chorus portrays is at first sight much more straightforward than it was to become in operas further down the century. True, the chorus is not really a protagonist but an element that can be used for subtextual purposes and as a dramatic tool.
It relates plot that is otherwise too lengthy to stage or too complicated. In the first scene the male chorus puts the audience in the picture about Edgardo and Enrico.
It points up events on stage. "Edgardo! Che giunge?" gasps the chorus, meaning "Look, Ladies and Gentlemen of the Audience, that other tenor has just arrived on stage, the one from the Love Scene, keep an eye on him!"
It sets up atmosphere and creates context. Scene 6 opens with a substanial and festive chorus number recreating an upbeat, optimistic setting which contrasts with the murder which is about to occur.
But what the chorus represents here is as prevalent now as it was in 1835. That is to say, it represents you and me - the ordinary mass of people witnessing events over which they have no control. It happens to us all the time - through newspapers, television and the internet, in Virginia, Nørrebro and Iraq. In musical terms, however, it translates into material for the chorus which one might be forgiven for calling formulaic. But is that so wide of the mark? May be our responses in real-life are also formulaic - the coming together of crowds, laying flowers, lighting candles, saying prayers, leaders who are "much saddened" expressing "grief" and "deep sorrow" whilst their "hearts go out" to those involved. Hardly original - and we see the same when we open our opera score. Yet for those people in Virginia, Nørrebro and Iraq the situations were not at all formulaic.
What we need when we rehearse these operas in a first-hand witness who can communicate the drama we have to portray. He has to lift the music as given by the composer on to a level where our reactions are no longer a conditioned, cliché ridden reflex to yet another high octane drama. This witness is embodied in the form of Giancarlo Andretta, our conductor - a native Italian, steeped in the tradition and a specialist in Italian opera of this period. For him there is no choral utterance that is not unoriginal. Every sigh and utterance becomes a genuine emotional response. And when Giancarlo is in the pit, although we might not be the makers and breakers of the piece, Lucia, too, is as genuine for the chorus as any other opera.
Philip White
posted by Det Kongelige Operakor at 17:36
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