The Gladiators (New Yorker Films, $29.95)

The Kubrickian premise of Peter Watkins’ futuristic film concerns the International Peace Games, military games modeled after the gladiatorial matches of ancient Rome and broadcast on television. The purpose is to subvert mankind’s naturally destructive impulse and channel it into a highly controlled environment where both sides, the Western Team and the Communist Team, will get their share of blood. However, this fascinating premise doesn’t ever deliver. The quasi-love story that develops between members of the opposing teams is treated far too superficially. The film is in a smattering of Swedish, English, French, and Chinese, and Watkins tries his hardest to disconcert by hurling surreal and grizzly surprises at the viewer. Viewed alongside Watkins’ other works, this earlier attempt from the socially conscious mockumentarian is surprisingly naive and even incoherent. While no doubt jolting and unnerving, the film lacks the incendiary and immediate tone of Punishment Park and the pensive, meditative quality of Edvard Munch.

Werckmeister Harmonies (Facets, $29.95)

Bela Tarr’s 2000 feature film, Werckmeister Harmonies, is an incredibly stylized work that feels both ancient and timeless and has a uniquely meditative pace and dreamlike quality. The loose narrative concerns an isolated town somewhere in Hungary and a traveling circus that arrives with a dead whale and a mysterious figure known simply as “the prince,” who incites the townsfolk to violence. We see the film mostly through the lens of a central character, Valuska, a poetic simpleton who is fascinated with the orbiting of the heavenly bodies. As the film develops at its own unhurried pace, violence of an apocalyptic order erupts on the screen: here are many scenes of extraordinary power, captured in wide and luminous black and white. The cinematography, coupled with Tarr’s delicate application of light and music, is especially effective. The result is the type of heightened aesthetic experience that Tarr so consciously denies the viewer in his film Family Nest. While decidedly not light entertainment, Werckmeister Harmonies is an indelible film that rewards close viewing.

Kind Hearts and Coronets (Criterion, $39.95)

This tale of an amoral would-be aristocrat who kills off the members of his distant family to inherit a dukedom is the most savage comedy to come out of Britain’s Ealing Studios. It also ranks with The Ruling Class as one of the most wicked attacks on the British aristocracy. Dennis Price stars as the charming rogue, and Alec Guinness as the eight members of the D’Ascoyne family who stand in the way of Price’s fortune. Despite superlative performances from the two leading men and an infinitely clever script, the supporting performances are rather wooden and laughable. But this hardly factors in calculating the film’s diabolical fun. The film’s acid bite doesn’t wear off easily, and the irony is so pervasive that one positively shudders to think it was made in 1949. Criterion’s two-disc set presents the film in a stunning new transfer. Extra features include the alternative American ending that was added to comply with production code regulations that crime shouldn’t be seen to pay off. The history of Ealing Studios is entertainingly chronicled in a BBC program on the second disc.

Three seasons ago the New York City Opera unveiled a well-cast yet woefully unimaginative and insipid new production of Don Giovanni. Gratitude is in order, then, that City has brought back their classic Harold Prince production in time for Mozart’s big birthday. This is the Don to catch in Mozart’s centenary year, in New York at least. The cast they have assembled is solid and impressive. Perhaps none more so that the Don himself.

It is unusual to find a singer who so completely fits into the Don’s imposing shoes; but Christopher Schaldenbrand was such a Don. He made a devilishly fun-loving Don who swaggered and strutted with the assurance of a man known the world over as a great lover. He had a lovely voice too, even if he could stand to be a bit louder in crucial moments, including the champagne aria.

Making his City Opera debut as Leporello was the energetic and eager Robert Gierlach. His powerful bass and pleasant demeanor made him a stand out, if not the star of the evening. He had his share of weak spots early on, seeming shaky at times, which might have been due to nerves. Returning to city after his success last year in Bizet’s “Pear Fishers” was the affecting lyric tenor Yeghishe Manucharyan as Don Ottavio. For pure vocal beauty, he undoubtedly won first prize. There was no moment more glorious than the slow, luxuriant lullaby of his “Dalla Sua Pace.” Rounding out the male cast was Brian Mulligan as a lovable and bubbling Masetto and the commanding Brian Jauhiainen as a particularly stern Commendantore.       

The women didn’t disappoint either. The Irish soprano Orla Boylan made an impact as a powerful and vindictive Donna Anna. In her debut, Elizabeth Caballero was a suitably tender yet weak-willed Donna Elvira. Both singers reached all their high notes admirably and managed to lend a human warmth and dignity to their characters. Hanan Alattar’s Zerlina, while for the most part solid, seemed to be trying too hard with an overdone vibrato. She came through where it mattered, though, notably in “Là ci darem la mano.”

Hal Prince’s theatrically gloomy sets are a bit shaky but this classic, well-worn production still has a certain timeless charm. In the pit, Steven Mosteller led the musicians in a careful account of the score, highlighting the winds and softening the strings. Solid and assured musicianship rounded out a pleasant and satisfying evening.

Mark Lamos’ schizophrenic production of Handel’s “Acis and Galatea” returned to the New York City Opera on Easter Sunday for four performances only. City has assembled such a delightful cast that its really a pity they’re using this ill-conceived and confusing production. All four leads were making their company debut and their wonderful efforts would really have been better served by a production less silly and more coherent. 

The intrigue of the opera is drawn from an episode in Ovid’s “Metamorphoses.” Lamos’ production updates the myth to a 1950s pool party. The men wear sailor shirts and the women bathing caps as they play with enormous beach balls.  The set consists of a large glittering green rock on which reclines a giant blue statue of Cupid. The backdrop is a tacky fence of blue plastic; trees apparently made from tin foil crowd upper stage left.

The affecting tenor Philippe Castagner portrayed Acis with delicacy and assurance. His voice, while pleasant, lacked power in places, warbling at the top of his range. He was a physically dynamic performer and his brightest moment came during “Love sounds the alarm.” As bright as he was, he was outshone by Nicholas Phan, who played Acis’ boon companion Damon. In this production, the homoeroticism between the two men was played to the hilt (and not that effectively). Of the two, Phan had the bigger and sweeter voice, as well as a touching vibrato. 

At the heart of this sexy production was the pleasant and sensual Sarah Jane McMahon as Galatea. Though her voice rarely faltered, she was guilty of overdoing her sensuality and never missed an opportunity to show off her lovely legs.

Jason Hardy made a thrilling entrance in the second act as the villainous Polyphemus, who kills Acis out of jealousy for Galatea. His voice is one of the main reasons to see this production, yet Lamos provided him the most preposterous of get-ups: Imagine if the Little Prince grew up to become a mad scientist. His Polyphemus also seemed to have taken lessons from both the Ministry of Silly Walks and Michael Jackson. As he began his ridiculous cavorting, the audience was understandably confused. As it became clear that the comedic effect was intentional, the house was in stitches. Hardy sang with complete conviction and accuracy, but his absurd costume and affect certainly made his vocal power all the harder to appreiciate.

In this colorful yet flippant production, the chorus seemed especially poorly direction, both in the unintentionally hilarious “Happy, Happy” and as they shuffled around like a pack of frightened chickens before Polyphemus’ entrance.

The conductor Ransom Wilson, making his City debut, led the players in a brisk and springy account of the important Handel score. While solid overall, some more detail in the winds (especially during the overture) would have been nice. In the second act, Wilson catered to the darker, more somber elements of the score and achieved a requiem-like effect.

Michael Tilson Thomas brought the San Francisco Symphony Orchestra to Carnegie Hall for two concerts last week. The Wednesday night program was a nicely-balanced offering of French and German music. On the program’s first half, Debussy and Ravel dominated. The meticulous pianist Jean-Yves Thibaudet joined the orchestra for Ravel’s jazzy Piano Concerto in G. In the second half, the mournful Adagio from Mahler’s unfinished 10^th symphony was coupled with Siegfried’s Rhine-Journey from Wagner’s Götterdämmerung.

The orchestra opened with Debussy’s delightful “Jeux,” which is often heard with accompanying dance. Yet as the SFSO players demonstrated, it stands firmly as an orchestral work in its own right. The performance was characterized by clean winds and playful horns. The nearly-20-minute piece featured blossoming melody fragments in the tranquil harp. At the podium, Tilson Thomas led effortlessly with minimal instruction: directly and honestly.      

The Ravel was a finely-balanced display of individual virtuosity and ensemble cohesion. Thibaudet played softly, warmly and the orchestra supported him expressively. He is a detail-oriented and dexterous performer and was well heard over the lively orchestral force. There were rich passages provided by the English horn and tender, and plenty of lulling moments from an ensemble and soloist with a remarkable range of textures. The third movement especially was filled with surprises and Thibuadet delivered beautifully with quick, sharp notes. Tilson Thomas was a master coordinator and kept the performance together organically and naturally.

Most recordings of the Adagio from Mahler’s 10^th Symphony run between 20 and 25 minutes. By my clock, Tilson Thomas drew it out to a full half-hour. Like much of the conductor’s Mahler interpretations, this performance conveyed a strong understanding for the harmonics and orchestration of the work resulting in an emotionally forceful account; yet the plodding tempo and drawn-out phrases skirted dangerously the line between the laborious and the overwrought.  The opening violas were slow and dirge-like, contemplative in the extreme. The melody lines in the horns were highlighted in a way that offered extra support to the string. Many ghostly passages were achieved in an account so languid and ethereal. The lengthy final cadence sounded positively ambient; resulting in an ending whose ambiguity admitted of many different interpretations; serenity, defeat, peace. 

The anguished introspection of the Adagio gave way to unabashed Teutonic splendor with an unbridled account of “Siegfried’s Rhine Journey,” the orchestral interlude from Act 1 of Götterdämmerung. After being drained by the Mahler whence did Tilson Thomas draw energy anew for a rousing performance of Wagnerian fireworks?

By A.J. Goldmann

 
Lohengrin returned to the Metropolitan Opera last Monday night in Robert Wilson’s dazzlingly abstract production. Last seen during the 1998-1999 season, Wilson’s Lohengrin is more a re-imagining of Wagner’s middle masterwork than a traditional restaging. With its minimal sets, cool lighting, and expressionistic stage direction, it inhabits the opposite extreme to the realism of Otto Schenk’s sumptuous, “historically accurate” productions of the Ring Cycle and Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg. Following the Wilson mantra “there’s nothing more beautiful than an empty space,” much of the opera unfolds in front of a blue background as illuminated beams float elegantly across the stage, corresponding to the various leitmotifs. A delicate and effective match to the deliriously tender score, this Lohengrin is sure to appeal to all but the most conservative of Wagnerians.

One of the most striking elements of the production is the stark use of light, which spots the singers’ highly controlled faces and hands, while they perform in a manner befitting Dr. Caligari. The hyper-stylized movements bring to mind the chorus of a Greek tragedy and the formless dresses and gowns again bring to mind German expressionism. What little furniture there was on stage seemed out of a Bauhaus catalogue designed by Tim Burton.

The one place where the production seemed to work less well was the ending. Much of the denouement is not evident from the libretto alone, and the abstract staging certainly didn’t help clarify things. Those less familiar with the intrigue will be sent back to their playbills to find out what exactly happens.

This provoking and moving production also boasts one of the most talented casts of the operatic season. In the title role, the true heldentenor Ben Heppner took a bit of time to ease into his character. Early on, he took a few big breaths and his effortless and lovely voice was a little lost in the ensemble scenes. He was most capable where it mattered most, letting his richly textured and delicately lilting voice fill the house in the final scene. If this performance is any indication, we have much to look forward to in his Parsifal next month.

As the innocent and tragic Else, the powerhouse Karita Mattila turned out one of her most mesmerizing performances to date. Seen most recently as Leonore in the Met’s Fidelio, the indefatigable Mattila continues to astound with a luscious and distinctive voice that wafts through the Met with ease. Unfortunately, in Monday’s performance, the ring of a cell phone interrupted her first strains of distress. Throughout the evening, she alternated between heroism and pity in each lyrical outpouring. We’ll have a hard time waiting for her Isolde.

In the other roles, the baritone Richard Paul Fink was an impressive Telramund. He sang with dark, husky, muscular tones that lent his villainous yet weak-willed character an appropriate degree of pathos. The American soprano Luana DeVol, making her company debut, portrayed Ortrud, the opera’s Lady Macbeth. Her wicked indignation seemed almost righteous in her honeyed tones. Forceful and terrifying, she seemed to run out of steam towards the evening’s end. Andrew Greenan made an impressive debut as King Henry, even if he was a bit weak at the top. He showed a greater dramatic and vocal range than the brazen herald of Eike Wilm Schulte, whose diction may have suffered if anything from being too precise.

In the pit, Philippe Auguin—replacing the convalescent Maestro Levine—led the exemplary musicians in an impassioned, well balanced reading that conveyed full mastery of the score: one that never lagged in the opera’s four-and-a-half hours. Auguin steered the performance away from sentimentality and melodrama and achieved a cool refinement that served as a perfect complement to the unorthodox staging.