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New life for Baroque opera
Handel's "Rodelinda' at the Met
Steve Cohen
Opera transmissions to high-def cinema screens often reveal new facets in the productions. The Met's Carmen, Don Pasquale and Faust (among others) gave us revealing close-ups and camera angles that enhanced what could be seen in the opera house.
In none, however, was the musical experience improved as much as in Handel's Rodelinda.
At last the Baroque operas of Handel and his contemporaries have found a proper medium. It's not on the stage of any opera house, but on the cinema screens, where the singers don't need to push.
Baroque operas were originally staged in halls holding audiences of 1,000 patrons or fewer, not 4,000 as at New York's Metropolitan or 2,900 at Philadelphia's Academy of Music. The style for that era requires a relaxed vocal production, so the sound will float. The singer shouldn't belt, nor attempt to bounce sound off of the back walls.
It's unnatural for Baroque singers to try to be heard in today's vast halls. It's also unreasonable to expect singers trained for Verdi and Puccini to possess the right technique for Baroque.
A century without Handel
On the other hand, no one should treat Handel as an effete miniaturist. He did seek to express emotion— Handel style includes turbulence and anger— but using the tools of his time: He often wrote trills to express agitation, for example.
More than a century passed before the Met presented its first Handel opera—Rinaldo, in 1984— and the company didn't get around to Rodelinda until 2004. I saw it live in High Definition December 3, and that performance will get an encore screening Wednesday, January 4, at selected movie theaters across the U.S.
Unlike other Handel works, Rodelinda is a human drama rather than a pageant about ancient gods or sorcerers (as in Rinaldo). The plot is based on Seventh Century Italian history, and this production updated it to the composer's time, with a manor house, stables, gardens and dungeon— even a live horse.
Renée Fleming played a queen who, thinking she's a widow, agrees to marry the man who deposed her husband in order to save her young son's life. Her husband, however, still lives and, after much adventure, the couple is reunited for a happy ending.
Pouring a drink
Although this earthbound story is more accessible than most Handel works, the composer used conventions that puzzle modern audiences. He wrote a succession of single-voice arias with almost no ensembles. Each aria had an "A" section, a contrasting "B," then a return of the same notes and words of "A." This formal structure can seem repetitious.
To breathe life into such arias, the trick is to use subtle vocal colorations that render the repeats a bit different each time. Stage director Stephen Wadsworth introduces actions— having the singer pour a drink, say, or pick up a book— that in turn trigger changes in the singer's vocal expression. When a singer averts a gaze or shrugs a shoulder, we can see it on the big screen.
At the original English Haymarket Theatre in Handel's day, only part of the audience might have noticed such gestures. In today's modern opera houses, such small moves can't be seen at all.
Castrati shortage
Handel's score may not demand great volume from his singers, but it does require nuance, as well as breathtakingly florid coloratura. You need a keen sense of rhythm, and articulation, and great breath to handle those cadenzas. Some of the cast excelled in that talent, especially the men.
The young British countertenor Iestyn Davies sang with beautiful tone, grace and refinement. Andreas Scholl, the veteran countertenor, sang elegantly, albeit with less luster than Davies. Countertenors weren't Handel's choice for these roles, but no one is going to create castrati in our time, and you can learn to enjoy these falsettos. As a usurper to the throne, tenor Joseph Kaiser sang with distinction.
Renée Fleming and Stephanie Blythe provided rich vocal color. Sometimes Fleming slid into high notes from below, but her passion and dedication were impressive. As a real-life mother herself, Fleming was convincing in the scenes with her character's son. Harry Bicket, the British conductor, led a smallish orchestra that included recorders, lute and theorbo.
After an evening of one aria after another, the duet that concludes the first part and the quintet that ends the opera have immense dramatic impact. Try to get into the spirit of this style; you might find it addictive.
In none, however, was the musical experience improved as much as in Handel's Rodelinda.
At last the Baroque operas of Handel and his contemporaries have found a proper medium. It's not on the stage of any opera house, but on the cinema screens, where the singers don't need to push.
Baroque operas were originally staged in halls holding audiences of 1,000 patrons or fewer, not 4,000 as at New York's Metropolitan or 2,900 at Philadelphia's Academy of Music. The style for that era requires a relaxed vocal production, so the sound will float. The singer shouldn't belt, nor attempt to bounce sound off of the back walls.
It's unnatural for Baroque singers to try to be heard in today's vast halls. It's also unreasonable to expect singers trained for Verdi and Puccini to possess the right technique for Baroque.
A century without Handel
On the other hand, no one should treat Handel as an effete miniaturist. He did seek to express emotion— Handel style includes turbulence and anger— but using the tools of his time: He often wrote trills to express agitation, for example.
More than a century passed before the Met presented its first Handel opera—Rinaldo, in 1984— and the company didn't get around to Rodelinda until 2004. I saw it live in High Definition December 3, and that performance will get an encore screening Wednesday, January 4, at selected movie theaters across the U.S.
Unlike other Handel works, Rodelinda is a human drama rather than a pageant about ancient gods or sorcerers (as in Rinaldo). The plot is based on Seventh Century Italian history, and this production updated it to the composer's time, with a manor house, stables, gardens and dungeon— even a live horse.
Renée Fleming played a queen who, thinking she's a widow, agrees to marry the man who deposed her husband in order to save her young son's life. Her husband, however, still lives and, after much adventure, the couple is reunited for a happy ending.
Pouring a drink
Although this earthbound story is more accessible than most Handel works, the composer used conventions that puzzle modern audiences. He wrote a succession of single-voice arias with almost no ensembles. Each aria had an "A" section, a contrasting "B," then a return of the same notes and words of "A." This formal structure can seem repetitious.
To breathe life into such arias, the trick is to use subtle vocal colorations that render the repeats a bit different each time. Stage director Stephen Wadsworth introduces actions— having the singer pour a drink, say, or pick up a book— that in turn trigger changes in the singer's vocal expression. When a singer averts a gaze or shrugs a shoulder, we can see it on the big screen.
At the original English Haymarket Theatre in Handel's day, only part of the audience might have noticed such gestures. In today's modern opera houses, such small moves can't be seen at all.
Castrati shortage
Handel's score may not demand great volume from his singers, but it does require nuance, as well as breathtakingly florid coloratura. You need a keen sense of rhythm, and articulation, and great breath to handle those cadenzas. Some of the cast excelled in that talent, especially the men.
The young British countertenor Iestyn Davies sang with beautiful tone, grace and refinement. Andreas Scholl, the veteran countertenor, sang elegantly, albeit with less luster than Davies. Countertenors weren't Handel's choice for these roles, but no one is going to create castrati in our time, and you can learn to enjoy these falsettos. As a usurper to the throne, tenor Joseph Kaiser sang with distinction.
Renée Fleming and Stephanie Blythe provided rich vocal color. Sometimes Fleming slid into high notes from below, but her passion and dedication were impressive. As a real-life mother herself, Fleming was convincing in the scenes with her character's son. Harry Bicket, the British conductor, led a smallish orchestra that included recorders, lute and theorbo.
After an evening of one aria after another, the duet that concludes the first part and the quintet that ends the opera have immense dramatic impact. Try to get into the spirit of this style; you might find it addictive.
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