Fidelio
The Enlightenment was an optimistic time, and the men who shaped the age believed that their optimism was justified. They’d thrown off the shackles of superstition-based religious authority and governmental tyranny, and in their vision of the future, humanity would rise from the darkness into the light of reason on a steady upward path.
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Part of the problem lay in the nature of the production. In the beginning there was opera–staged, costumed, a theatrical as well as musical spectacle. Later came concert opera, with singers lined up across the stage in front of the orchestra, scores on music stands. A popular variation on this theme is the semistaged concert opera, performed in concert dress but with limited movement–an acknowledgment that opera is more than just music, even as it saves lots of rehearsal time and money.
This semiconcert form became the excuse for deleting the usual spoken dialogue and replacing it with a set of often awkwardly phrased soliloquies for Leonore, commissioned from Edward Said, an academic with an impressive resume (he’s soon to become president of the Modern Language Association) but little feel for dramatic effect. Most of these narrative inserts were prerecorded, which helped undermine the dramatic tension–a big problem given that this relatively static opera needs all the tension it can get.
The music end of the production was better than the dramatic. Barenboim’s conducting was inconsistent, but at times it was absolutely brilliant, as in the final scene. The orchestra rose to the challenge of the score in shining form, but the singers stood behind the orchestra, making projecting unnecessarily difficult. (The orchestra pit in a real opera house offers some protection to voices striving to be heard over the instruments.)
Art accompanying story in printed newspaper (not available in this archive): photo by Dan Rest.
