Opera Philadelphia's "Silent Night' (1st review)

In a Berlin opera house in August 1914, a man and a woman in fancy costumes sing a Mozartean duet as the curtain rises. They are interrupted by an attendant who announces that their country has gone to war. This opening scene of the new Kevin Puts opera, Silent Night, places us at the beginning of World War I while simultaneously introducing us to two characters we will follow during the rest of the evening: the soprano Anna and the tenor Nikolaus, who is her lover.

That scene resonated with me, because I once had the privilege of interviewing people who lived in Germany in 1914. They told me how zealous they were because they feared the alliance of France, Great Britain and Russia. Silent Night shows us patriotic young men marching off to war.

Yet by December 1914, soldiers stuck in the trenches on both sides felt lonely, isolated, and hungrier for companionship than for military victory. Silent Night is based on a remarkable true incident during the first Christmas Eve of that war, when enemy soldiers in adjoining trenches spontaneously agreed to a brief truce, in defiance of their commanding officers.

Hug your enemy

Superior commanders were appalled by the camaraderie of the truce, which they considered treason. In Silent Night, the French General Audebert transfers his own son, a lieutenant who participated in the truce, to a new assignment, far behind the lines, "where you can't cause any trouble." He sends him to Verdun, a place so obscure that "the Huns don't even know it exists." We know now that two years later Verdun became the bloodiest battlefield of the war.

Once they mingled together, adversaries found they shared much in common. A German soldier tells a Frenchman how much he enjoyed his honeymoon in Paris. At the end of the 24 hours, the "enemies" hug, then return to their stations to resume shooting and killing each other.

A revolving stage set designed by Francis O'Connor revealed trenches, a church and a killing field, and computer-animated images showed us the fog of war, explosions and snow, coordinated convincingly by stage director Eric Simonson. At one point, falling snowflakes morphed into falling sheets of paper as soldiers recited lines from the letters they were sending home.

Too dissonant?

The lives of individuals— like the opera performers of that opening scene— are interwoven with global issues in Mark Campbell's beautifully crafted libretto. Kevin Puts's intricately orchestrated music intensifies the drama. Especially beautiful is an introspective orchestral interlude at the start of Act II, featuring lovely solos by low strings, horn and then flute.

Puts's musical vocabulary is dissonant, characterized by singsong declamation rather than soaring Puccinian melodies. During intermission I heard many of the same objections that I received from BSR readers four years ago when I rapturously reviewed Alban Berg's dissonant Wozzeck. (Click here.) There was little respite from atonality during the two-and-a-half hours of Silent Night. "Excellent drama, unpleasant music," seemed to be the audience verdict.

On the contrary, war is unpleasant, and therefore music about war should be dissonant. And in any case, Silent Night doesn't lack melody; it does lack sustained limpid melodies of the type that most audiences crave. At some points, tonal music from the orchestra was accompanied by atonal music from the singers. In other scenes, pretty vocal music was splashed with acid from the orchestra.

Modern opera's problem

Why haven't modern operas achieved the popularity of say, La Bohème, Carmen or Die Walküre? Most people blame the music, but I would fault the libretti. Very few operas of our era tell relatable human stories. Those that do, like Wozzeck (about a harried Everyman) and Peter Grimes (about a misunderstood loner), have achieved popularity even though few listeners can hum any tune from either of them. Silent Night's story is one that any observer can relate to.

William Burden was outstanding as the tenor Nikolaus, displaying a winning personality and gleaming sound. Kelly Kaduce sang with a strong musicality, although her voice occasionally got strident. Baritone Troy Cook played an appealing Scottish chaplain who, at the end, faces excommunication because he allowed the truce to take place. Michael Christie conducted the rich-sounding orchestra.

The performers from each country sang in their own languages (German, French, English)— an unusual and interesting touch. One quibble: Some of the Scottish soldiers sang with accents that were decidedly un-Scottish and un-British. (They pronounced "truce" as triss.) For that matter, some of the French sang with a lack of Gallic placement. With so many multi-linguistic singers available, this is inexcusable.♦


To read another review by Peter Burwasser, click here.