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Opera Criticism in ‘the Best of All Possible Worlds’

Memoirs on My First Opera Season

All in all, this essay I would call the most important in the whole 2018–19 opera season. It contains my conclusions on the industry and modern opera criticism, you can read it on Medium (I ruled out a possibility to include it into the curator’s choice, so it will be always free of charge).

Full essay (in English).

Nemunas magazine (translated into Lithuanian).

The first part (on Tumblr, in English).

Memoirs on My First Opera Season

This essay was published in Nemunas magazine on 21st of July 2019, translated into Lithuanian.

I’m now finishing my first opera season as an international opera critic. During this year I wrote about thirty reviews for three publications and started researching for writing two big articles about the problems of the industry. But the more I write about the opera world, the more problematic I find sharing my critical opinion.

Far behind repertory stagnation, gatekeepers, merciless directors, and other serious issues, we are quietly missing the crisis of criticism. And it’s nothing about unprofessional writers or loyalty to singers and opera houses.

It is about two most important components — the opinions and the medium for their distribution.

Here you can read a full version 

Part One: What’s on Us?

When I started to write about opera, I got an additional course in Music Theory from the University of Birmingham. I thought to refresh my knowledge was really important. So I could describe what I’ve seen more confidently. Go, watch, review. That’s an opera criticism, as is. And I’ve adored some perfect examples of this: complex, with numerous details about singing, acting, and conducting, balanced with special terms, and not confusing. And yet, they contained nothing on the background. Nothing, that could affect the industry as a whole.

Critics lacked complex vision. The reviews, sharing something more than a professional opinion about the performance — some conclusions made on the basis of experience and confirmed by what’s just been seen were very rare.

But isn’t it a responsibility only opera critics could take? To watch and to estimate the general progress of the entire industry. Aren’t we those who have both a proper knowledge and an ability to describe and discuss problems in the best way? Why most of us, critics, avoid doing this?

When I see another performance, I always recall some previous operas I’ve seen and find connections. Together they always reveal some common issues. Something bigger than a particular production. And sometimes I do spend half of my article to discuss this notable problem. Though I never judge. I try to ask questions. I try to represent different perspectives as I see them. I can find a topic for a separate article after every performance I’ve seen in my life, but should I? Should I write another big piece, trying to catch attention to this problem out of nowhere, when I have a vivid example illustrating my thoughts? So I find it more accessible for an audience [and accessibility is extremely important] if I include those related topics in my review.

I’m not saying, put your extra thoughts in your every review. I’m saying, show what you have more. In your articles, in your lectures, in your talks.

Don’t you feel like this or don’t you feel like doing this?

You will say, I know you will because I had some talks like this before, that you haven’t noticed any trends besides some obvious. I’ll say — you need to study. You’ll say that you’ve been doing this job for 20 years and my approach doesn’t work for you. I’ll remind you that the world is changing, and the art is reflective.

I’ll ask you to tell me about #metoo in perspective of opera. You’ll say about women in the industry, about those who’s been hurt. I’ll ask if that’s it. You’ll remember some miserable female characters, nothing related to the general progress of the industry though. I’ll agree. I’ll ask about Calixto Bieito. You’ll roll up your eyes. Easy! He’s a monster! There’s always something offensive in his violent productions…

I’ll recall November evening in 2018 when I rushed into Opera Bastille straight from an airport. With the last call, I was making my way through the line of opera critics to my seat in the middle of a row. I was a black oversized sweater, messy hair, tired, carrying my backpack. They were noble, refined, male, fifty plus. They had estimated me. And they were right, I was different.

That was opening night of “Simon Boccanegra”, a new production by Calixto Bieito, featuring Ludovic Tezier and Maria Agresta.

“…In his production, Calixto Bieito decided to add and highlight the character of Maria Fiesco. When you see her in the prologue, Jacopo Fiesco drags a plastic sheet with a girl on it. She is still alive. She seems no more than a victim of his. She is moving but isn’t resisting. […] In the next scene, she is already dead, but stands up and starts her senseless existence on stage almost all the time, half-naked, receiving just anxiety or ignorance from everyone else. Even Simon, after his own death, heads toward her but also abandons her.”

That’s how I later described the most offensive part of this production. My colleagues did the same. And then, they were stuck. As they were stuck during the premiere.

One of the critics questioned loudly during the interval, “Isn’t it disgusting?” “Offensive,” I corrected quietly to myself. My neighbor leaned to me, “Do you know, what to say about it? How to justify your opinion against the big name of the director?” “I do,” that was a promise. “I’m happy you’re here then, we need you to say something,” he left me pop-eyed.

So I would conclude the description of that performance and quite likely the whole review with questions on eternal values in the modern world — in the opera world, expecting if not to start a dialog, then to provoke some thoughts:

“A woman, a lover of the main hero, a mother of his beloved child, a great loss for her father, a symbol of memories. Maria represents all of these virtues in the libretto itself. But here we see her as a victim, before and after death — weak, ignored, with no goal and reason to exist, naked, autopsied and surrounded by rats on the curtain during the interval. What this representation was supposed to mean? Is it the image of a woman we need in contemporary opera? Moreover, how does this support the themes of unity that encapsulate the opera itself?”

No one else asked any questions or did any conclusions in their reviews. They were short. They punctuated: Terrible. Disgusting. Wasted. And then, they returned to describing a beautiful singing.

I wasn’t sad, because I remembered us walking down the stairs after the performance. I was sharing my ideas modestly, my colleagues were promising not to copy. I wouldn’t mind, and yet they wanted to share their own opinions.

Suddenly, one of them asked, “What should we study about that?” I was glad to hear this question. I said, “You should study the modern world.” We laughed, and he asked for something “petite” to start. I suggested #metoo but in art perspective. “And then,” I added, “rotate those terms. And study more.” Short and easy to remember. Not that easy to do.

But I assumed they would find what to say next season. And I had to rotate the perspective already in a month, talking about how weak argumentation could harm feminism on the example of a new production of “Otello” at Bavarian State Opera.

“The character I really feel sorry for is the victim — Desdemona,” — [director Amelie] Niermeyer said. I wonder, why having all the instruments to highlight any shade of Desdemona’s personality, the director decided to show this proud, true, and noble woman as just a victim, deserving pity?

Perhaps, Niermeyer tried to bust the problem, depriving it of “unnecessary details.” Details like a social context and love itself. And what was shown was just darkness with no shades.

Instead of blackface, the director turned the whole opera into black.

In this review, I had to defend a historical and social context, proving that you cannot change the source for the sake of your ill-conceived ideas. I also advocated feminism as a reasonable and relevant idea against what was showing in the performance.

After the first half of a season, I caught myself thinking I was writing on women’s right way too often. I didn’t want to be branded this way. But instead of avoiding the topic, I decided to study more and open my eyes to the bigger picture. Indie opera, local theatres, new approaches. And this worked out perfectly.

There would be many general problems to discuss in my followed reviews: the big topics of the small operas, the importance of the inner match to the role, the external perspective of the directors, acting and dramaturgy, sustainability, national mentality, popularity and status, experiments, and gatekeepers.

Also, many of them would lead to the greatest one — the lack of open communication in the industry. Solving this problem would be the long-run objective of my future research.