Great news for Korngold fans - Violanta, the composer’s rarely-staged 1916 romantic tragedy set in 15th-century Venice, will receive a pair of double bill productions in 2010: at the Teatro Lirico di Cagliari (April 21 – May 2), where it’s been paired with Delius’ Fennimore and Gerda), and at the Teatro Colón in Buenos Aires (October 12-19), alongside Zemlinsky’s Eine florentinische Tragödie. Details to follow as they become available.

(h/t Brendan G. Carroll, President of the Korngold Society, for alerting me to the Buenos Aires run)

Title: Captian Blood
Year: 1935
Director: Michael Curtiz
Writer: Casey Robinson, based on the novel by Rafael Sabatini
Starring: Errol Flynn, Olivia de Havilland, Lionel Atwill, Basil Rathbone
Music: Erich Wolfgang Korngold
Length: 119 minutes
Synopsis: a group of men sentenced to slavery escapes and becomes pirates
How I saw it: on video (rented on DVD), yesterday
Subjective Rating: 7/10
Objective Rating: 6/10 (points off for dialog, pacing, cinematography and acting)

My wife says, “It’s like a bag of cliches, tied with a cliche bow. But that’s okay.” It’s a fun movie to watch, not so much because it’s a fun movie, but because it’s so campy and dated that it’s easy to get into the spirit of Going To The Movies In 1935 and appreciate it in perspective. Whoever at Warner Brothers had the idea to package these DVDs the way they do – with a handful of period shorts and a newsreel – is a genius.

It’s time to address the question that I posed in my second post here. Why do we listen to film music, knowing that it was written to be heard, but not listened to?

One of the answers has to be its sheer quality. Sure, there’s a lot of dross out there – especially given the huge growth of the film music market over the past 20 years or so. Just about every film that gets any kind of release will see its soundtrack thrown onto the shelves, no matter how good it is. But a good proportion of what’s released is of very high quality indeed.

As I type this, I’m listening to Rumon Gamba’s superb rerecording of Erich Wolfgang Korngold’s score for the 1940 Errol Flynn swashbuckler The Sea Hawk. It’s just stunning. Kaleidoscopically colourful, thematically varied, technically flawless and microscopically detailed. In Gumba’s spacious and atmospheric recording for Chandos it sounds absolutely gorgeous, almost as though Korngold had decided to make up for the black-and-white action for the eyes by setting off an iridescent explosion of colour for the ears. And as if Flynn’s gung-ho machismo wasn’t enough, the music is thrillingly kinetic and muscular when it needs to be, though never afraid to refine itself down to passages of the greatest delicacy and tenderness for the love scenes between Thorpe (Flynn) and Doña Maria (Brenda Marshall). It is quite hair-raisingly good.

But it’s Korngold, you might say, the wunderkind whose precocity had stunned Europe, who had written his first orchestral score at 14 and in 1920, aged just 23, caused an international sensation with his opera Die Tote Stadt. Of course it’s going to be good. Well, yes. But here’s the thing: if he hadn’t wanted to be that good, he needn’t have. He knew that his music would be heard only in a mono recording of restricted dynamic range, competing with (often obliterated by) dialogue and sound effects. And in any case, his music was never to be the point of the whole thing: people would flock to the picture houses to see Errol swinging from the rigging, and back then movie scores just didn’t get released as stand-alone fare. His music was going to live and die with the film. He could have got away with turning almost anything out, borrowing from himself and others to save time.

But as I listen to it I find myself moved by the thought that Korngold chose not to do that, and instead threw every ounce of his skill into the project, one which many might have said was a poor occupation for a composer who had shown such promise. But the results of his labours have stood the test of time, not only adding an extra degree of class to the movie, but giving me and countless others pleasure 69 years later.

It’s not just Korngold. So many of the composers who followed him have shown the same instinct to apply the highest standards to their work, all of them, like him, allowing their art almost literally to play second fiddle: Steiner, Waxman, Rozsa, Newman, Goldsmith, Williams – to pluck just a few names from an illustrious list.

Listening to their music is thanking them for their work, and it’s a pleasure in its own right.

Homem feio da porra

But I have a confession to make.
Do you know, I think I like Mason as much as Errol Flynn?

Diálogo de Festim Diabólico (Rope, Alfred Hitchcock, 1948)

Já vou dizendo: nunca fui grande fã dele, ao menos não em virtude dos filmes, mas o mito Flynn é impossível ser desprezado, afinal, só tendo muita força de vontade para desprezar um tipo desses. O homem era sensacional, além de ser uma ode ambulante ao falo (o que é bem difícil de esquecer), Flynn seria o companheiro de boteco ideal para qualquer pessoa bem humorada. Era bonitão (lindo e gostosérrimo, na verdade) e carismático, foi muso por vários anos de Raoul Walsh e Michael Curtiz, era um homem inteligentíssimo e culto, tinha uma vida pessoal muito divertida, intrigante e ao mesmo tempo muito trágica (acho que ninguém em período algum de Hollywood foi mais espetacular do que ele) e, apesar do estigma de bonito e apetitoso eclipsar totalmente qualquer ato dramático, fazia o que era preciso além do que os detratores possam dizer.
E claro, a perspectiva talvez seja variante, mas não seria nenhum exagero dizer que Flynn pode ser o maior símbolo sexual do cinema, ninguém foi mais associado única e exclusivamente a sexo do que ele e não digo apenas dentro do mainstream, mas incluindo até astros pornôs, simplesmente porque este homem era um símbolo fálico de 1,90 de altura em todo seu esplendor e glória. Flynn não possuía um pênis, ele era o pênis em pessoa.
Então que fique aqui um top dos filmes onde vi Mr Flynn nos honrar com sua presença umidificante.

1- O Ídolo do Público (Gentleman Jim, Raoul Walsh, 1942)Amm umm… então tá. Do que eu estava falando mesmo? Ah, sim, de mais uma das obras primas de Raoul Walsh.
De todos os filmes em que Flynn trabalhou, este era o seu favorito, o porquê é fácil ver, Errol está no auge: do sucesso, da forma física, dos melhores desempenhos e… solteiro! Bom, da forma física só na aparência, pois durante as filmagens ele teve o seu primeiro princípio de ataque cardíaco, com apenas 33 anos, mesmo com esse fator de risco ele continuou fazendo as próprias cenas de um esporte que dominava desde a adolescência. Devo concordar com Flynny, também é o meu favorito e nem é porque o homem passa boa parte do filme sem camisa e trajando ceroulas, mas especialmente por ser a primeira grande obra prima sobre boxe, título este que particularmente creio só ter sido equiparado quando um tal de Martin Scorsese tomou o cinturão para si nos anos 80.
Uma cena é especialmente impagável, onde Flynn e Jack Carson estão no teatro ridicularizando a maneira de atuar de um outro lutador chamando-no de ham, isso nada mais é do que uma brilhante auto-referência, Flynn e Carson eram os mais encrenqueiros, bêbados e exagerados atores sob contrato da Warner na época, ambos eram identificados como ham actors e nem todo mundo tinha estômago para trabalhar com eles, Flynn chegou a ganhar por duas vezes o prêmio Sour Apple de ator menos cooperativo de Hollywood. Gentleman Jim como um tôdo faz grande paralelo entre a arte e estilo de atuar com a arte e estilo de lutar, Walsh bate na tecla de que cada estilo dá a contribuição para se alcançar um novo patamar e isso soa lindamente se refletido em Flynn.

2- Fugitivos do Inferno (Desperate Journey, Raoul Walsh, 1942)Ôpa, esse é filmaço! Dá até para arriscar um palpite de que este trabalho é o pai de certos filmes cultuados dos anos 60, tais como Os Doze Condenados e Fugindo do Inferno, é mantido o mesmo clima, sobretudo o bom humor, mas o que o faz ainda melhor é um distanciamento temporal que poucos os filmes de guerra dos anos 40 possuíam e que o gênero só reconquistaria a partir dos anos 50. Também é a prova do porquê Walsh é o maior diretor de cinema de aventura desde os anos 20, a ação não deixa de nos empolgar um só minuto, a dinâmica dos atores é perfeita, as situações são engraçadíssimas e não há o ranço propagandista emotivo que se via usualmente nos filmes da época. Desperate Journey mostra também o quanto Spielberg foi influenciado pelo cinema de Walsh, mas este é um assunto para uma outra hora…

3- Capitão Blood (Captain Blood, Michael Curtiz, 1935)Coisa fofa da mãe. Aqui vemos o porque nenhuma mulher da Hollywood dos anos 30 podia ser vista ao lado de Errol Flynn e continuar com a reputação intacta: o homem era irresistível e faz por merecer a expressão atemporal In Like Flynn. É em Capitão Blood que tudo realmente começa para Flynn: é o primeiro filme que protagoniza em Hollywood, o primeiro ao lado de Miss Havilland e o ponto em que ele surge de total desconhecido que só fazia pontas para um dos maiores astros dos anos 30 e 40. E Michael Curtiz nos legou alguns grandes exemplos de aventura e ação, apesar de ser mais lembrado por Casablanca, é com os filmes ao lado de Flynn que Curtiz se mostra capaz de manter o enfadado público atual eletrizado com seus filmes de 75 anos atrás e, cá entre nós, Capitão Blood é o meu filme de pirata favorito. E que bonito – tudo que Flynny e Douglas Fairbanks construíram durante o século XX foi destruído pelo Johnny Depp na última década. Que bonito.

4- Um Punhado de Bravos (Objective, Burma! Raoul Walsh, 1945)Raoul Walsh foi mesmo o molde para todos os filmes de guerra dos últimos 70 anos, sobretudo em Fuller e Spielberg, a prova está documentada em cada sequência de Um Punhado de Bravos. Prova maior ainda é o quanto Errol Flynn rendia nas mãos de Walsh, ele era um ator completamente distinto sob o comando do diretor e vai ver por isso o filme começa com vários soldados cheios de frescuras, fazendo as unhas, lavando seus collants (!?!), um anuncio que os tempos de Flynn usando collant tinham terminado e aqui deveria se comportar feito macho.
Um lance histórico bacana é o quanto os ingleses e australianos ficaram putos com esse filme, por fazer parecer que os americanos ganharam toda a guerra sozinhos, pois a tal da Operação Birmânia foi predominantemente composta por soldados da Inglaterra e Austrália. Nada como manipular pessoas através do cinema…

5- As Aventuras de Robin Hood (The Adventures of Robin Hood, Michael Curtiz/William Keighley, 1938)Ah, todos queles homens alegres e coloridos! Sabe como são as coisas, o povo ainda não estava acostumado com cinema em technicolor, então exagerava um pouco. É fato: Robin Hood será associado eternamente a imagem de Errol Flynn e seu collant verde, ele não foi o primeiro e nem o último que encarnou a personagem, mas de alguma forma Flynn é único e todos agradecemos por Jimmy Cagney não ter ficado com o papel.
Robin Hood foi o primeiro filme que vi com Mr Flynn e é mesmo impossível não cair nas graças dele (ah, esses homens hiperativos!), sobretudo se lembrarmos daquela memorável luta de sombras, a qual futuramente seria reprisada em The Sea Hawk com deslumbrante fotografia em preto e branco, enquanto a trilha sonora de Erich Wolfgang Korngold climatiza tudo e um pouco mais em ambos os casos. Também nunca esquecerei da primeira vez que vi Flynn quando eu era criança: vi um tipo dando tchauzinho para o Pernalonga em Rabbit Hood (Chuck Jones, 1949) e só anos mais tarde, já na adolescência, finalmente soube que aquele cara era o Errol Flynn!
É durante as filmagens de Robin Hood que Miss Havilland decide começar a torturar Mr Flynn para que este deixe sua esposa para ficar com ela, iniciativa esta que causou problemas no collant dele (se é que me entendem), como a própria Havilland confessou no documentário Adventures of Errol Flynn.

6- O Intrépido General Custer (They Died with Their Boots On, Raoul Walsh, 1941)Com um título original desses não tem como não sair correndo para ver o filme, se ouvirmos uma das mais famosas trilhas do western clássico (a composta por Max Steiner) fica mesmo impossível resistir. Flynn e Walsh se unem pela primeira vez e não mais desgrudam tanto profissional quanto socialmente, adotando uma postura de irmão mais velho e caçula, mesmo Walsh tendo idade para ser pai de Flynny. Deve ser por isso que gosto mais da parceria Flynn-Walsh do que a Flynn-Curtiz, a presença de Flynn fluía melhor nos filmes de Walsh, é como se falassem a mesma língua e não estou fazendo piada com as dificuldades notórias de Curtiz com a língua inglesa, mas porque era visível na tela a afinidade dos dois malucos.
Numa das inúmeras cinebios de personagens históricas banhadas de muita licença poética e pouca realidade e que só a Hollywood dos anos dourados sabia nos proporcionar, vemos Flynny num dos seus mais dilacerantes momentos profissionais: a cena de despedida entre Custer e sua esposa é também a cena de despedida da parceria romântica entre Flynn e Havilland, era alí que acabava um dos mais entusiasmantes casais da tela.

7- Sangue e Prata (Silver River, Raoul Walsh, 1948)E a bíblia vai ao velho oeste. Último filme oficial do duo Flynn-Walsh, é um imenso western do Walsh e um tremendo trabalho do Flynn, relembrando os anos em que foi garimpeiro na Papua Nova Guiné. Conta a história da ascenção e derrocada do império da prata no velho oeste, onde Flynny assume uma sensacional posição de anti-herói com caráter duvidoso ao encarnar o rei da prata, a versão mais argêntica e sossegada do Daniel Plainview.

8- Olhando a Morte de Frente (Rocky Mountain, William Keighley, 1950)Último western de Flynn e uma grata surpresa, quando o assisti não esperava muita coisa desse faroeste e acabei me deparando com um exemplar excelente. Fotografia deslumbrante, trama fatalista, enquanto Flynn desponta mais másculo e melancólico do que nunca, anos-luz dos tempos saltitantes de Robin Hood sob a batuta parcial do mesmo diretor. Certamente um dos filmes que mais recomendaria para se conhecer o trabalho de Mr Flynn, além disso o desgraçado saiu com mais uma esposa debaixo do braço durante as filmagens.

9- A Glória de Amar (That Forsyte Woman, Compton Bennett, 1949)Quer ser respeitado como ator? Vai filmar com um cineasta inglês sobre um conto da Inglaterra vitoriana que tu vira Laurence Olivier! Ao menos era isso que se pensava e Mr Flynn também caiu nessa, não sem colher bons frutos, pois é passível de se dizer que o seu Forsyte é o trabalho mais desenvolvido de sua carreira, especialmente porque ele consegue deixar a sua irrestibilidade natural de lado e não só consegue se vender como aquele homem frio de negócios, como rouba o filme para si, enquanto Compton Bennett volta à sua obsessão com pianista-martirizada-por-homem-autoritário que tanto fez sua fama em O Sétimo Véu. Uma pena Flynn não ter sido bem aproveitado para além dos filmes de aventura.

10- Três Dias de Glória (Uncertain Glory, Raoul Walsh, 1944)Grande propaganda de guerra, mas ao contrário de muitos dos contemporâneos do estilo, este é efetivamente bom e consta um dos melhores papéis de Flynn, encarnanado um anti-herói pouco comum em sua carreira, um criminoso que finge ser um mártir de guerra e cujo desenvolvimento durante o filme é a dúvida entre ser um covarde vivo ou um herói morto. É exatamente por conta desse tipo de filme que Flynny deveria ser mais lembrado pelas parcerias com Walsh do que com o Curtiz.

11- Revolta (Edge of Darkness, Lewis Milestone, 1943)É um grande filme de modo geral, mesmo o cunho propagandista não interfere, Flynn está mais contido do que o usual, Ann Sheridan, Walter Huston e Ruth Gordon compensam cada segundo em cena, além da deslumbrante sequência inicial e o pouco comum ponto de vista da resistência norueguesa, mas talvez sua duração seja mais longa do que o necessário. Nunca cansaremos de ver nazistas no cinema, todos aqueles homens tão impetuosos e bem vestidos… Ninguém se vestia melhor do que os nazis, o figurino impecável é de morrer de inveja, a tal da superioridade ariana realmente era viável, mas só nas coleções outono/inverno.

12- Raízes do Céu (The Roots of Heaven, John Huston, 1958)E os três enfants terribles da Hollywood dos anos 30/40 se unem: Errol Flynn, Orson Welles e John Huston – agora não-tão-jovens, mas ainda terríveis. Some-se ainda mais um maluco, só que da literatura – Romain Gary – e a bagunça está formada em uma história de Gary preocupada com o abuso do homem sobre o animal (que o diga White Dog do Sam Fuller), preconizando um assunto que só viraria moda décadas mais tarde. O próprio Huston renegava este filme, mas putz, eu gosto dele, mesmo sendo uma bagunça, o filme possui uma força estranhamente peculiar, por isso ele está melhor colocado nesta listagem do que alguns outros, mesmo porque nenhum outro cineasta teve mais filmes falhos que são ao mesmo tempo obras-primas.
Não sei exatamente o que pensar quanto a sua natureza ideológica, baseado no livro de Gary – um defensor dos animais, mas adaptado por Huston – um caçador, não sei o que pensar da coisa toda, tanto vê-lo exclusivamente sob a óptica do idealismo ou sob a do cinismo me parece perspectivas não adequadas, talvez a intenção seja mesmo essa, algo como a versão “Rede de Intrigas do Greenpeace e PETA”, onde parte da galera tem preocupações sinceras, outra parte se preocupam por interesses próprios e a terceira parte está pouco se fodendo para qualquer coisa. Flynn mostra a sua faceta bêbada em tempo integral neste que foi um dos seus últimos filmes, pois morreria no ano seguinte, logo agora que finalmente estava sendo reconhecido como ator de verdade e não apenas um astro. As filmagens foram problemáticas do início ao fim, como era comum aos filmes de Huston, especialmente porque Darryl Zanuck ficou enchendo a paciência no set, pois não queria deixar a sua Juliette Greco solta nas savanas ao lado de Flynn e Huston, dois dos mais “perigosos” homens de que se tinha notícia.
A divertidíssima participação de Jude Law encarnando Flynn em O Aviador me remeteu imediatamante àquela historinha lendária (como todas as outras milhares de brigas que Flynny arrumou durante a vida – ninguém fez mais amigos através de socos do que ele) e ocorrida em meados dos anos 40 entre o duo Flynn-Huston. Segundo o narrado, a briga começa porque Flynn teria dito algo grosseiro sobre Havilland e Huston tomado as dores da ex-amante (não se fazem mais cavalheiros como antigamente!), daí eles foram para o jardim, lutaram boxe durante horas e ambos foram parar no hospital, Flynn com as costelas destruídas e Huston com o nariz quebrado.

*Da série: Este post foi programado, eu não estou aqui!

Erich Wolfgang Korngold (1897-1957)

Today is Erich Wolfgang Korngold’s 112th birthday. In lieu of posting a lengthy biographical portrait, let me point you all to the essay I wrote for the OREL Foundation, a web-based resource providing “information and ongoing discussion about composers whose careers were destroyed or irrevocably altered by the events in mid– 20th century Europe.” (Unfortunately, my last name is misspelled, but I’ve notified them about that.) My connection with Korngold’s music goes back to the research I did on his film scores in graduate school, and so when Michael Beckerman, professor of musicology at New York University and OREL project manager, commissioned an article from me in 2007, I was more than happy to comply.

I’d also like to offer up the following musical selections from each of Korngold’s five operas, all recorded in 1949 and all featuring the Austrian State Radio Orchestra.

Title: The Adventures of Robin Hood
Year: 1938
Directors: Michael Curtiz & William Keighley
Writers: Norman Reilly Raine & Seton I. Miller
Starring: Errol Flynn, Olivia de Havilland, Basil Rathbone, Claude Rains
Music: Erich Wolfgang Korngold
Distinctions: Oscars for best score, art direction and editing; currently #200 on IMDb’s Top 250
Synopsis: rebel challenges usurper
Length: 102 minutes
How I saw it: on video (rented from Netflix), December 2008
Subjective Rating: 7/10 8/10
Objective Rating: 7/10 (points off for pacing, cinematography and special effects/design)

Slow in places, but fun. The score is perfect. It’s an extremely dated movie (although a hell of a lot better than the Kevin Costner remake), but the DVD makes the most of that by including a period cartoon, musical short and news reel clip.

Being one of my very favorite orchestral pieces, I doubt weather there could be a performance of Antonin Dvorak’s New World Symphony that I wouldn’t like. With that said, the Syracuse Symphony Orchestra performance of the New World Symphony, which concluded their concert on Saturday night, was one of the weaker performances that I have seen them give.  Besides a couple of noticeable errors in the brass section, intonation in the strings was sometimes questionable, and the ensemble was not always precisely together. However, the beautifully phrased flute solo in the second movement was a highlight of the piece, and there were other powerful moments which made it an enjoyable performance overall. This piece is always an audience favorite, and the overwhelming applause showed that Saturday night’s crowd was not phased by the few minor glitches.

The concert opened with a piece by Karl Husa, an American composer who taught at Cornell University for a time.  This eleven minute piece, “Fresque,” really drew me in at two moments: the beginning and the end. It both started and finished with a very soft tremelo (rapid back and forth bow motion) on one note. As the piece grew out of the opening, however, the dissonance was often too harsh for my taste, and there was no clear melodic line. It began to captivate me again as it became more and more gentle and eventually returned to where it started. Often we think that a piece has to transform and evolve into something different by the end to be effective, but in this case it seems that coming full circle can be just as effective.

Russian-born violinist Philippe Quint was very talented as a performer, but I wished he had chosen a different piece to exhibit his talent He played the Korngold violin concerto, which had some lovely themes, especially in the romantic and lyrical second movement, but most of the time reminded me too much of something out of a musical. In fact, Erich Wolfgang Korngold did work as a film composer and spent the later part of his life in Hollywood. He wrote the film score for “Robinhood” among others. Many of the themes from the violin concerto are closely related to themes in some of his film works, and it is unknown which actually came first. In any case, Mr. Quint’s performance was well received and he treated the audience to an encore: music from the movie The Red Violin. About three minutes in length, to me this quick encore was more enjoyable than the entire concerto.

The next concert on the SSO’s Classic Series is March 20th and 21st and includes Beethoven’s Piano Concerto No. 4.

-Meredith Laing, Managing Editor 

Last night I went with J and Cate to see Die tote Stadt at the Royal Opera House. I was attracted to this opera for two reasons; first, it was the first ever UK production of this show; second, it was a 20th century opera written in the early part of the century, when things were more musical. I like new shows and I liked the possibility of an opera that I’d actually enjoy – because, I must be honest, I am really just not much of an opera fan. I keep trying and trying but I’ve failed to create a passion for the art form, though I do enjoy listening to people sing.

Anyway, I found Die Tote Stadt really quite fun. It started slowly, in the house of a man who’s created a massive fetish about his dead wife – his house is full of pictures of her and he sits around caressing her hair (ew!). But he’s convinced he’s found her again, in the person of a dancer he’s run into on the streets of Brussels.

At this point, I am forced to quote Robyn Hitchcock, whose song “My Wife and My Dead Wife” played over and over in my head during the course of this show. I’ll refer to it again during the review as it just seemed to appropriate for the show not to share.

“My wife and my dead wife
“Am I the only one that sees her?
“My wife and my dead wife
“Doesn’t anybody see her at all?”

While listening to Paul (Stephen Gould) wax poetic about his love for his dead Marie, either to himself or to his friend Frank (Gerald Finley), I was a bit creeped out, but also not very interested – it seemed all so sterile and dull, like even when Marie was alive there was something extremely non-physical about their relationship. I feared for the evening. The staging was reminding me way too much of almost everything I’ve seen at ENO, where the singers stomp back and forth from one end of the stage to another with no apparent purpose but to demonstrate the size of the venue.

But when dancer Marietta (Nadja Michael) appeared on stage, the show gained momentum. She was full of life, dressed in yellow and full of passion and love for herself. While she was willing to play with Paul’s obsession, she made it clear that she was herself, and not anyone else, and ran off into the night to attend her show rehearsal.

“My dead wife sits in a chair
“Combing her hair
“I know she’s there.”

At this point Paul appears to pass out in a state of exhaustion, and has a conversation with his dead Marie, who appears in a room that’s behind the one in which he sleeps (and a copy of it). I found this trope quite cool – Marie sitting in the same chair in the living room that’s now empty, addressing a man whom in the dream world is sitting up (while Paul sings in the front room, apparently asleep). Marie chides Paul for not being faithful to her, then says she’s going to warn him about what will happen if he tries to renew his love for her with this other woman. What? A jealous ghost? It all seems to be Paul’s subconscious handling his guilt poorly. It all builds up to this triumphal/spooky moment where all of these top-hatted dancers come onto the stage to reveal …

WHAT? While my ultra cheap, very very very back of the opera house tickets did manage to let me read the supertitles, the climax of this scene (like “Diamonds Are A Girls Best Friend”) was invisible from where I sat as the person who was revealed within the circle of dancers was only visible from the waist up and thus completely obscured by the top of the set. Wah. Was it a gowned or bejeweled dancer, the dead woman, or perhaps a skeleton? I will never know!

However, at this point the set went even wackier, as the ghost attempted to illustrate for her husband the ill things that would occur to him if he hooked up with Mariette. This part left me somewhat confused as to whether or not it was reality she was showing or just his fevered dreams, but I loved the energy and surrealism, with houses floating across the back of the stage (a la Wizard of Oz), nuns marching by carrying a crucified Mariette (or was it Marie?), and white garbed dancers (Mariette’s troupe) who suddenly flip the 6 foot portrait of Marie around to show it as WHOOP WHOOP a gaping skull! (It seemed really obvious that this would happen.)

“And I can’t decide which one I love the most
“The flesh and blood or the pale, smiling ghost”

At some point it appears that Paul has actually hooked up with Mariette in reality, but by the end of the scene he’s guilting about how he’s ruined his pure love for his wife. Mariette reproaches him for not accepting his love for her, and it seems that things are going to go well … but no, it’s German culture 1920 and women who embrace their sexuality can pretty much only be vampires, a la The Blue Angel. Mariette parades aroudn stage with no hair at all and Paul gives in and admit it’s she he loves – and his reward is to get stuck wearing the Pucinella/”Dumbo” costume. Bah. Can’t it be a good thing that he’s finally decided to move forward with his life instead of living in the past? Is all of this just his wife attempting to control him from beyond the grave?

“My wife lies down on the beach/She’s sucking a peach
“She’s out of reach/Of the waves that crash on the sand
“Where my dead wife stands/Holding my hand”

“Now my wife can’t swim/but neither could she/And deep in the sea
“She’s waiting for me …”

At this point, 90 minutes in, the interval occurs … and I realized I didn’t really have any curiosity about Paul and what else might happen to him, and I felt emotionally satisfied by him accepting his love for Mariette, and I was worn out and not looking forward to getting home after 11 and being exhausted all day at work. Cate proposed that we go home – and so we did. That said, I did enjoy the opera, and I recommend it as fun to watch, though I can’t say the music was too exciting – but that’s probably more about me than about the music, not that Erich Wolfgang Korngold would really care one way or another.

(Cast list here. This performance took place Wednesday, February 11th, 2009. Die Tote Stadt’s last performance is February 17th.)

Reactions to the Royal Opera’s production of Die tote Stadt are slowly starting to roll in; some have been favorable, others not so much.

As I read through that second group of reviews I kept thinking about Hugo Wolf’s “Abschied,” the very last song in the marvelous set of Mörike-Lieder. The poem tells of a man who is visited quite unexpectedly one evening by a critic.

I’ll let Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau and Gerald Moore take it from there…

Erich Wolfgang Korngold’s Die tote Stadt will receive its (cough…cough…long overdue..cough…cough) UK stage premiere at the Royal Opera House, Covent Garden later this month, and Jessica Duchen–the author of an excellent biography of the composer–is counting down the days to the big event on her blog. Meanwhile, over at Mr. Norris Changes Trains, Gavin Plumley has been posting a series of terrific pieces about Korngold and the opera in conjuction with the ROH production.

While I’m thinking of it, I should also mention upcoming performances of Die tote Stadt in Venice (January 23 – 31)–the first time the opera has been presented at the Teatro La Fenice–Vienna (March 28 – April 6), Passau (April 3 – 30), Palermo (April 16 – 23), and Nürnberg (May 30 – June 7).

I first became acquainted with Korngold’s exceedingly well-crafted film scores as a grad student in the early 1990s, and I’ve been an advocate of his music ever since. Despite the fact that the composer is still the target of some lingering critical prejudices–why, for instance, is there no entry for him in the most recent edition of the Grove Book of Operas?–we should all be encouraged to see Die tote Stadt programmed with greater frequency these days. I suppose opera companies are slowly starting to realize what many of us have known all along–that this is an intensely powerful and moving stage work that deserves to be experienced by a much wider audience.

Ótimo documentário sobre o pessoal de cinema que teve de sair corrido da Europa em tempos de Hitler, seja por serem judeus, homossexuais ou simplesmente por não tolerarem viverem no mesmo continente que o tipinho de bigode caricatural. Não é segredo para ninguém que esses fugitivos foram os responsáveis por boa parte do que há de melhor no cinema americano dos anos 30 e 40, o gênero noir, por exemplo, foi moldado predominantemente por artistas exilados. Hitler praticamente destruiu o cinema alemão, tudo que havia de melhor na UFA era de ascendência judaica ou meramente de antipatizantes do nazismo, de que adianta se para cada Leni Riefenstahl ele impediu centenas de trabalharem e sabe-se deus quantos de nascerem.
Claro que muitos alemães e austro-hungaros já estavam em Hollywood antes da ascensão de Hitler, como Erich Von Stroheim e Ernst Lubitsch, mas nem por isso deixaram de lado seu passado na Alemanha, como é o caso do judeu Lubitsch que talvez tenha construído a maior das sátiras sócio-políticas com o seu Ser ou Não Ser exatamente sobre a atmosfera insana em que se transformara parte da Europa, embora nenhum filme do período tenha abrigado mais artistas anti-nazismo do que Casablanca de Michael Curtiz, este é outro que já curtia Hollywood há algum tempo.
Tanto Lubitsch quanto Marlene Dietrich foram abertamente contrários ao regime hitleriano desde o início e ativamente participantes na ajuda de refugiados migrados para os EUA, incluindo a fundação de uma organização secreta de ajuda onde conseguiam dinheiro para que os judeus fugissem através da Suiça, Lubitsch lotava seus filmes com técnicos e artistas expatriados de guerra, já que não era fácil para todo mundo conseguir emprego durante essa diáspora hollywoodiana. A própria Dietrich estava na lista negra pessoal de Hitler, não que fosse judia, mas porque ela era simplesmente foda mesmo.

Marlene Dietrich e Ernst Lubitsch durante as filmagens de Angel (1937) quando há muito já se preocupavam com a ascensão do nazismo

O que muito me espanta é a ausência de Max Ophuls neste documentário que, como muitos de seus compatriotas, fez a habitual escala cinematográfica na França antes de ir para os EUA quando Paris já não mais apresentava a segurança de outrora. Outro que não foi citado foi Otto Preminger, um protegido de Lubitsch desde o início.
Mas claro, nem tudo são rosas na terra do sol, os americanos não gostavam muito dessa invasão germânica e todos os empregos que eles supostamente tirariam e embora ninguém estivesse nem aí para o fato de ser judeu, católico ou protestante, o fato de ser alemão não era visto com bons olhos, mesmo antes de Pearl Harbor e a entrada dos EUA na guerra. Enfim, hoje nada mudou muito em qualquer lugar do mundo.

Nota: Sempre me causa alegria ver como Billy Wilder se refere a Lubitsch, é de um sentimento de adoração tão imenso que parece não haver nada mais grande e elevado na face da terra do que o tio Ernst. E é sempre assim, Wilder nunca perdeu a oportunidade em todas as suas entrevistas de dizer que Lubitsch era o maior de todos. Wilder, pode ser mais famoso e respeitado pelo público de hoje, mas pessoalmente ainda prefiro o cinema de Lubitsch, mesmo porque sem ele Wilder não seria Wilder.

MUDGE’s Musings

There’s most read, and then there’s favorite. This is a post which yr (justifiably) humble svt is, regrettably, but not regretfully, not at all humble about.

Blast from the Past!

A post we really, really loved to write, and read, and re-read…

From last summer, originally posted September 2, 2007, and originally titled “It <is> a serious music trifecta”.

MUDGE’S Musings

Have written comparatively little regarding music, until the past few days. Odd how concepts seem to cluster sometimes.

So, first it was that terrific review of that sublime recording of the Bach Goldberg Variations by Simone Dinnerstein, which recording was even excerpted on our local classical station today during their new releases weekly segment.

Then, found very randomly on someone’s blog, that hysterical (I’ve watched it several times and it makes me laugh each time) goof on the performance of Rachmaninov’s Prelude (“only the hands are small!”).

Later the day I posted that one, we went out to our neighborhood Blockbuster to find holiday weekend fare. Sometimes she picks the movies; sometimes I do. This time she did.

What did lovely spouse (emphatically not the serious music lover in the family; mainly the tolerator of the serious music lover in the family) choose first to listen to that night? Copying Beethoven.

It never made much of an impression when it was released last year; just another of the thousands of releases that MUDGE would never venture out to see in a theatre. I guess I read a review or two:

went to Copying Beethoven expecting, even wanting to like it. Some of it I did like. Immediately, Agnieszka Holland’s usually sure hand is evident in the magnificent opening scene. A closed carriage careens along a muddy road in the 19th century Austrian countryside, past poor trudging women who peer after it as they get out of the way, past fields and woods—past daily life—and beneath wheeling birds whose startled flight matches the passenger’s own urgency. It’s 1827 and young Anna Holtz (Diane Kruger), musical copyist and aspiring composer, is rushing to the death-bed of her “Maestro,” the renowned Beethoven (Ed Harris). But more than anything this carriage scene is about the vivid, almost overwhelming awakening of her senses. It’s chilly, and we are roughly thrown about in Anna’s careening coach along with her, catching flashes of sky and branch, nearly smelling the steaming horses, and above all, hearing everything. Every hoof beat, every crow’s call, every squeak of the carriage, every sudden brief lull, pant and rustle—all of it picked out clearly and then mingled with soaring music. Anna Holtz apprehends the world fully just as the man who’s shown it to her lies on the razor’s edge of death. You see, she has just grasped what he has to offer, barely in time to repay his gift by telling him so

Copying Beethoven – Movie Review – Stylus Magazine

Or this one, from London:

When writing this good can meet with indifference from the hand that feeds, it’s all the more galling to see a dog of a script being thrown filet mignon. The glossy Euro-production Copying Beethoven barks, rolls over, and plays dead for two hours. It is a great example of that time-honoured genre, the biopic so silly it plays like a spoof.

Try this: “My God, Beethoven, you’re even deafer than I thought!” says someone about one of the late string quartets.

Or this: “Beethoven mooned me!” complains his put-upon female copyist, Anna Holtz (Diane Kruger). You won’t struggle to guess which sonata he was miming.

Film reviews: Sparkle, Copying Beethoven and more – Telegraph

I have to say, though, that it made a better impression on us, watching at home ($4.29 vs. $18.00 never hurts either). The centerpiece comes in the first hour: the performance, chopped, hashed, sliced and diced as it was arrayed in the film, of the 9th Symphony. It was compelling, not for one looking for an authentic, complete performance (although it was taken from a masterful one), but for the film’s depiction of its emotional affect on the listeners.

There are moments in music that one would love to have a time machine available to go back to. And the first appearance of a massed choir is definitely one. Am I subjective about this? Of course. A lifetime ago, I sang in an amateur chorus (its amateurishness enhanced by my presence, alas).

• The entry of the chorus for the first time (the fourth number) in Handel’s Messiah: “And the glory of the Lord.”
• The near-whispering entry of the chorus in the last movement of Mahler’s 2nd Symphony (I’m certain that Beethoven’s 9th was Mahler’s inspiration).
• And the triumphant entry of the chorus in the 9th itself. You see them there, and even if you know the music, when they enter… there are fewer more sublime moments in life, much less music.

Back to the film. Here’s what one of its writers, Steven Rivele had to say, on a site called Films about Beethoven: Copying Beethoven:

Our film begins in April of 1824 just before the premiere of the 9th Symphony. Beethoven has had a falling out with his copyist, Wolanek, and Schlemmer is desperate to find someone to replace him, to prepare the parts for the premiere. He sends to the Vienna Conservatory for their brightest young composition student, and they send, in return, our fictional heroine, Anna Holtz. (In fact, they sent two young men, but we asked ourselves: What if it had been a woman? This is what enabled us to create a film about the late Beethoven that could actually get financed.) Anna goes to work with Beethoven, helps him prepare for the premier, conducts with him from the wings, and then summons the strength to show him some of her own work. He mocks it, sending her into despair. Later he comes to apologize, and to ask her to help him with the composition of the last string quartets, his legacy to the future of music. In doing so, she learns the deepest meaning of music, and finds the strength to become a composer in her own right. There’s more to it than this, of course, but that’s the gist of it. There is a lot of humor, much soul-searching, a great deal of talk about the meaning of art and the role of musicians, and, of course lots of wonderful music.[...]

…We have had very lively discussions on our forum with regard to authenticity, and Mr.Rivele has explained just how difficult this is to achieve on a limited budget. For example, did the violinists use chin rests? Did the cellos have tailpins? Did the horns have valves? What music would have been played in the taverns? There can be no doubting Mr.Rivele’s sincerity and desire to present a film covering the last years of Beethoven’s life as accurately as possible, but in order to create a viable project certain artistic licence has had to be taken.

Films about Beethoven: Copying Beethoven – Ludwig van

So, perhaps not the greatest film ever made with a musical subject (Amadeus, definitely an inspiration to the filmmakers, who respond with a similarly gritty depiction of 19th Century Vienna might get my vote), but atmospheric, weirdly (a female copyist?) believable, and often profoundly moving.

Definitely worth the renting. And definitely odd that we should end up watching a film with serious music as its theme. Clustering.

Then, in a rare DVD matinée, this afternoon we watched her next choice, the scenery chewing performances of Judi Dench and Cate Blanchett in Notes on a Scandal, which features a characteristically moody music score provided by another long-time favorite of this scribe, Philip Glass.

I have fond memories of driving my little guy to summer camp every day when he was indeed little, five or six years old. All he wanted to hear on the car’s stereo was Glass’ score to Mishima, a film I never saw, because, really, I’m just not that interested in a fanatical Japanese guy who commits hara kiri to make a point, but the music is wonderful.

So, it’s been about serious music for the past several days.

And, BTW, I do consider seriously composed film music serious music. I’d go so far as to say, much of it has more of the qualities that audiences for so-called classical music are starved for: emotional content, a story, tunes.

The Pulitzer-winning college professors who rule the roost in concert halls today (if you can find orchestras that play music written in the last 50 years), present their clangorous, academic, modern for the sake of modernity, scores composed for academic reasons (publish or perish, indeed).

And, naturally, their off-campus audiences stay away.

The film guys: Ennio Morricone, Jerry Goldsmith, Erich Wolfgang Korngold, even James Horner and Hans Zimmer, to slight very many others, speak to the audience directly and compellingly. And their best scores are eminently listenable, even if you never see the movie.

Immersed as I’ve lately been in the pop soup of Pandora.com, it reminds me of what I’ve been missing that Cyndi Lauper, Mike Post, Paul McCartney and the like just aren’t providing.

So, that’s the serious if not totally classical music trifecta. It’s been fun. Maybe we’ll do it again.

It’s it for now. Thanks,

–MUDGE

MUDGE’S Musings

Have written comparatively little regarding music, until the past few days. Odd how concepts seem to cluster sometimes.

So, first it was that terrific review of that sublime recording of the Bach Goldberg Variations by Simone Dinnerstein, which recording was even excerpted on our local classical station today during their new releases weekly segment.

Then, found very randomly on someone’s blog, that hysterical (I’ve watched it several times and it makes me laugh each time) goof on the performance of Rachmaninov’s Prelude (“only the hands are small!”).

Later the day I posted that one, we went out to our neighborhood Blockbuster to find holiday weekend fare. Sometimes she picks the movies; sometimes I do. This time she did.

What did lovely spouse (emphatically not the serious music lover in the family; mainly the tolerator of the serious music lover in the family) choose first to listen to that night? Copying Beethoven.

It never made much of an impression when it was released last year; just another of the thousands of releases that MUDGE would never venture out to see in a theatre. I guess I read a review or two:

went to Copying Beethoven expecting, even wanting to like it. Some of it I did like. Immediately, Agnieszka Holland’s usually sure hand is evident in the magnificent opening scene. A closed carriage careens along a muddy road in the 19th century Austrian countryside, past poor trudging women who peer after it as they get out of the way, past fields and woods—past daily life—and beneath wheeling birds whose startled flight matches the passenger’s own urgency. It’s 1827 and young Anna Holtz (Diane Kruger), musical copyist and aspiring composer, is rushing to the death-bed of her “Maestro,” the renowned Beethoven (Ed Harris). But more than anything this carriage scene is about the vivid, almost overwhelming awakening of her senses. It’s chilly, and we are roughly thrown about in Anna’s careening coach along with her, catching flashes of sky and branch, nearly smelling the steaming horses, and above all, hearing everything. Every hoof beat, every crow’s call, every squeak of the carriage, every sudden brief lull, pant and rustle—all of it picked out clearly and then mingled with soaring music. Anna Holtz apprehends the world fully just as the man who’s shown it to her lies on the razor’s edge of death. You see, she has just grasped what he has to offer, barely in time to repay his gift by telling him so

Copying Beethoven – Movie Review – Stylus Magazine

Or this one, from London:

When writing this good can meet with indifference from the hand that feeds, it’s all the more galling to see a dog of a script being thrown filet mignon. The glossy Euro-production Copying Beethoven barks, rolls over, and plays dead for two hours. It is a great example of that time-honoured genre, the biopic so silly it plays like a spoof.

Try this: “My God, Beethoven, you’re even deafer than I thought!” says someone about one of the late string quartets.

Or this: “Beethoven mooned me!” complains his put-upon female copyist, Anna Holtz (Diane Kruger). You won’t struggle to guess which sonata he was miming.

Film reviews: Sparkle, Copying Beethoven and more – Telegraph

I have to say, though, that it made a better impression on us, watching at home ($4.29 vs. $18.00 never hurts either). The centerpiece comes in the first hour: the performance, chopped, hashed, sliced and diced as it was arrayed in the film, of the 9th Symphony. It was compelling, not for one looking for an authentic, complete performance (although it was taken from a masterful one), but for the film’s depiction of its emotional affect on the listeners.

There are moments in music that one would love to have a time machine available to go back to. And the first appearance of a massed choir is definitely one. Am I subjective about this? Of course. A lifetime ago, I sang in an amateur chorus (its amateurishness enhanced by my presence, alas).

• The entry of the chorus for the first time (the fourth number) in Handel’s Messiah: “And the glory of the Lord.”
• The near-whispering entry of the chorus in the last movement of Mahler’s 2nd Symphony (I’m certain that Beethoven’s 9th was Mahler’s inspiration).
• And the triumphant entry of the chorus in the 9th itself. You see them there, and even if you know the music, when they enter… there are fewer more sublime moments in life, much less music.

Back to the film. Here’s what one of its writers, Steven Rivele had to say, on a site called Films about Beethoven: Copying Beethoven:

Our film begins in April of 1824 just before the premiere of the 9th Symphony. Beethoven has had a falling out with his copyist, Wolanek, and Schlemmer is desperate to find someone to replace him, to prepare the parts for the premiere. He sends to the Vienna Conservatory for their brightest young composition student, and they send, in return, our fictional heroine, Anna Holtz. (In fact, they sent two young men, but we asked ourselves: What if it had been a woman? This is what enabled us to create a film about the late Beethoven that could actually get financed.) Anna goes to work with Beethoven, helps him prepare for the premier, conducts with him from the wings, and then summons the strength to show him some of her own work. He mocks it, sending her into despair. Later he comes to apologize, and to ask her to help him with the composition of the last string quartets, his legacy to the future of music. In doing so, she learns the deepest meaning of music, and finds the strength to become a composer in her own right. There’s more to it than this, of course, but that’s the gist of it. There is a lot of humor, much soul-searching, a great deal of talk about the meaning of art and the role of musicians, and, of course lots of wonderful music.[...]

…We have had very lively discussions on our forum with regard to authenticity, and Mr.Rivele has explained just how difficult this is to achieve on a limited budget. For example, did the violinists use chin rests? Did the cellos have tailpins? Did the horns have valves? What music would have been played in the taverns?  There can be no doubting Mr.Rivele’s sincerity and desire to present a film covering the last years of Beethoven’s life as accurately as possible, but in order to create a viable project certain artistic licence has had to be taken.

Films about Beethoven: Copying Beethoven – Ludwig van

So, perhaps not the greatest film ever made with a musical subject (Amadeus, definitely an inspiration to the filmmakers, who respond with a similarly gritty depiction of 19th Century Vienna might get my vote), but atmospheric, weirdly (a female copyist?) believable, and often profoundly moving.

Definitely worth the renting. And definitely odd that we should end up watching a film with serious music as its theme. Clustering.

Then, in a rare DVD matinée, this afternoon we watched her next choice, the scenery chewing performances of Judi Dench and Cate Blanchett in Notes on a Scandal, which features a characteristically moody music score provided by another long-time favorite of this scribe, Philip Glass.

I have fond memories of driving my little guy to summer camp every day when he was indeed little, five or six years old. All he wanted to hear on the car’s stereo was Glass’ score to Mishima, a film I never saw, because, really, I’m just not that interested in a fanatical Japanese guy who commits hara kiri to make a point, but the music is wonderful.

So, it’s been about serious music for the past several days.

And, BTW, I do consider seriously composed film music serious music. I’d go so far as to say, much of it has more of the qualities that audiences for so-called classical music are starved for: emotional content, a story, tunes.

The Pulitzer-winning college professors who rule the roost in concert halls today (if you can find orchestras that play music written in the last 50 years), present their clangorous, academic, modern for the sake of modernity, scores composed for academic reasons (publish or perish, indeed).

And, naturally, their off-campus audiences stay away.

The film guys: Ennio Morricone, Jerry Goldsmith, Erich Wolfgang Korngold, even James Horner and Hans Zimmer, to slight very many others, speak to the audience directly and compellingly. And their best scores are eminently listenable, even if you never see the movie.

Immersed as I’ve lately been in the pop soup of Pandora.com, it reminds me of what I’ve been missing that Cyndi Lauper, Mike Post, Paul McCartney and the like just aren’t providing.

So, that’s the serious if not totally classical music trifecta. It’s been fun. Maybe we’ll do it again.

It’s it for now. Thanks,

–MUDGE

«Aix, uix, una òpera moderna», penses mentre comences a escoltar els primers acords de La ciutat morta, de Korngold. Recordes l’última experiència amb una òpera contemporània i tems que tot serà igual. L’audició, però, només et dóna alguna pista del que veuràs més tard: és una audició interrompuda sovint i sense posar-hi gaire atenció. Així que quan seus al teatre penses: si més no, que el cantants siguin bons. Comença l’obra. No és el que esperaves. Ni la calor que fa al teatre provoca la més mínima distracció. Et deixes portar per la música, per la posada en escena (amb l’escenografia que trenca les lleis de la perspectiva, inspirat en el cinema expressionista alemany), per les veus de Torsten Kerl, de Susan Anthony, de Bo Skovhus i, potser la millor en el paper més petit, la Brigitta de Julia Juon. És la segona funció i el teatre no és ple com passa sempre que hi fan alguna òpera poc habitual. Els bravos i els intensos aplaudiments als cantants i a l’orquestra omplen el teatre i t’acompanyen mentre vas baixant camí de la sortida. Surts al carrer amb una sensació semblant a la d’Otello, i també a la que et provocà l’Idomeneo del mes passat: d’exultació, de felicitat per haver-ho vist, per haver-ho sentit.

I ara me’n vaig a llegir la sèrie d’articles sobre l’òpera que ha escrit en Wimsey de La llança de Klingsor.

Technorati tags: òpera, Die Tote Stadt, Erich Wolfgang Korngold