A COLLECTION OF ESSAYS

Ramblings about things done, seen, or remembered.

Madam Butterfly

(Modus, Opera and I)

Opera.  Some see it as a waste of time, some follow its commentaries and developments with religious fervor, but most, like me, are somewhere in-between.

So when my friend JB sent an e-mail saying she had acquired top-price tickets to Madam Butterfly and did I want to come, I immediately and without hesitation, wondered whether or not I could be bothered. JB did make a very convincing argument—when would I ever get to see proper opera from the eighth row of the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion for free? It was clear this would add to my cultural well-being and so I agreed.

Not only were the seats eighth row, but they were in the middle.  This meant at least 20 well-to-do people (who could afford such tickets) were displaced by my walking past them to get to my seat. If nature called during the performance, it would have to leave a message.

Madam Butterfly is well known even by the less discerning.  It has been remade into several versions including the long-running modern musical Miss Saigon. Puccini himself re-wrote it more than once, initially after a really bad reception on opening night and a couple of times in subsequent years (going from two acts to three in the process). He was quite likely the victim of overly good pre-opening hype. The word on the street was this was the opera to end all operas.  It most likely could never live up to such high expectations no matter how good it was. Much like Star Wars episode I. Puccini wrote a note to his female lead on opening night saying “it seems superfluous that I wish you well.” But opening night the audience did not receive it well and verbally abused the cast, especially the pregnant Butterfly. He reworked the music over the next few years, instilling more emotion, improving the story and its popularity grew. Completely unlike Star Wars Episode I.

The best known operas of course are in non-English languages, traditionally Italian. In days long gone, when there were less iPods, TV’s, and even radio was just an itch in Marconi’s ear, opera was mainstream entertainment (not that it isn’t for many people today, but you know what I mean). I suspect more people had at least a passing knowledge of Italian and so could enjoy it. Today of course the world is a smaller place.  Nationalities are mingled all over the planet and with the advent of international cooperation, and the global village…fewer people understand a word of it. Luckily there were subtitles on screens above the stage. The closer you are to the stage the more you have to incline your neck to read them.  So, ironically, the more you paid for your seat, the more likely you are to get neck cramp.

Some productions go for amazing sets, some rely on the strength of the performance or the music. This production fell into the later and the staging was sparse.  Very sparse.  Sparse enough that I could count the number of pieces of moveable set on one finger. A single chair made an appearance in the first act but was so popular it was bought back to repeat its role in the second.  Other than that nothing moved, then again, there was nothing to move. There were no other props and the sets didn’t change. But the lighting did. The back of the stage was a huge white sheet onto which was projected solid colors that changed in hue and intensity according to the current mood of the story.  The stage was covered in a huge sheet of “gravel.” All the action took place in a flattened 15x15 foot square at front stage right. To get there a path came in from stage left, and another led from the back for when distance was needed. And that was it. Minimalistic but interpretive.

So as to keep audience interest, the whole set changed for act two. That is to say, the 15x15 foot square where all the action took place was now center stage. Oh, And there was a three foot rock half way along one of the paths (though it played second fiddle to the chair because it didn't move).

Clearly this was a production where the actors performances were VERY important.  Accept of course, the performances were…the word staid comes to mind, as in, they stayed in the dressing rooms. No one on stage actually touched. Hand holding was signified by a palm-down hand hovering over an upturned one. Palms held up toward other people at the end of outstretched arms stopped them coming any farther. The same gesture also signified longing, as in I want to touch you but can’t. There was an awful lot of longing.

Each character had a couple of mannequin-like poses they kept returning to, often having to hold the pose for some minutes. The exception to this was Cio-Cio-San (Butterfly) who had general freedom of movement, though as a trade-off she had to hold her arm outstretched (with longing palm) for at least 20 minutes during the “I stayed up all night” music interlude of the second act.  I found myself applauding for that feat alone.

The sparse interpretation has been the cause of some debate in the opera going community here in L.A. Many are impressed with the clearly defined but broad-stroked version. Others are bored to despair (presumably the idea is they learn from Cio-Cio-San character, who does not allow herself despair despite the tough circumstance she is in. At least, not until the obligatory tragic suicide at the end).

Some experimental interpretations of opera change setting or era, this one at least embraced the orient theme in its costuming, which was great. The vocal performances also were stellar—as might have been expected from the LA Opera.

Overall very enjoyable, both for what it was and the live experience. It certainly worked for JB who had all sorts of emotions ruffled at the disgraceful behavior of Pinkerton—marrier and heart-breaker of young girls that he was. As we left I started to ask her how old he was supposed to be and was instructed in great detail as to his evilness and how, by half way through the second act, she wanted him dead (I suspect she’d have seen to it personally if she would not have had to disturb so many people in our row to get out).

Stimulating emotion to an exaggerated degree is part of what opera sets out to achieve I think. My friend JW holds Butterfly as an all-time favorite and has found herself crying during it more than once. Me? I am a fan of many of the more famous opera hits, but I don’t think I really “get” it. Dedicated fans talk about opera to a depth I’m envious of.  They see things within that I just can’t see for myself till they point it out. And it takes a long time for anything to happen in opera. I am a product of the age where stories told on TV and film have their timelines distorted to fit a shorter time—not spun out.

A reviewer I read made the point that opera tends to take a single emotion or moment and magnify it disproportionately so the audience is carried away in the mood. This he saw as a positive thing, but you can make the same argument in a negative way too.  The recent Mel Gibson film The Passion (an overly gruesome and controversial rendition of the crucifixion) exaggerated the physical pains of Christ’s death and...well that was it really. The whole movie focused solely on that one thing, ignoring other important parts of the story such as, I don’t know, the resurrection perhaps—a far more hope inspiring part of the story. I want to know that Butterfly’s death did some good for someone, that Pinkerton changed his ways, that their child overcame, forgave, and made his fortune in America importing silks. Give me an opera with a Hollywood ending—just once in a while.

Opera generally does not succumb to clever plot devices or minutiae of a situation. Seldom concerned with clever plot twists or unexpected story-changing revelations, it focuses on striking instead directly at our emotions.  You cannot help but acknowledge the music’s ability to evoke in you whatever it wants; anger or passion, regret or joy. The fact that opera is as alive and sought after as it ever was is testament to this power.

And when the celestial powers decide it's time for the end of the world, when all the terrible final-day prophecies of all the prophets come about, I’m certain that if you listen carefully you'll hear a “larger-than-average” lady singing.

Los Angeles 2006

Copyright © Lincoln Thomas  2006