Endangered Productions is a philanthropic organisation that seeks to revive opera and musical theatre gems. Last year it essayed Peer Gynt (Ibsen and Grieg), this year it has bought to light four mid 20th century operas, three American and one German. The curated feast – It’s So Last Century - consists of: the cocktail, Lukas Foss, Introductions and Goodbyes; the canapes, Samuel Barber, A Hand of Bridge; and the entrée, Menotti, The Telephone or L'Amour à trois. The main course is a performance of Karl Orff’s pork and dumpling fairy-tale, Die Kluge.
This is an adept and interesting program – devised and directed by Christine Logan. In performance some of it works very well.
Introductions and Good-byes (1959) is by Lukas Foss with a libretto by Gian Carlo Menotti. It is a theatrical presentation of a cocktail party with nine guests (Miss Addington-Stitch, Comte de la Tour-Tournée, Mr. and Mrs. Cotlensky, Miss Panchanera, Dr. Lavender- Gas, Mr. and Mrs. Wilderkunstein, and General Ortega y Guadalupe). Its dramatic narrative—arrival, conversation, and departure – can best be understood as a palindrome.
To make its impact is requires cutglass diction and carrying power. As the host, baritone Leon Vitogiannis’ lovely voice could not consistently carry above the orchestra which dominated the soundscape of the performance. Nor did we have the solo vocal-quartet in the pit, as requested by Foss, that would have given the voices of the party guests a disembodied theatricality.
Directorially, a fizzing sense of energy might have helped. The guests were dressed in a variety of vivid costuming, but in terms of living beings at a party they were somewhat garden fete pantomime and uneasily choregraphed. Names and couplings could not be uncluttered. This was a distinctly wan introduction to the arc of the program, though the xylophone solo in the prelude section did conjure nicely the effect of mixing martinis, while the doorbell rings were crisp.
Samuel Barber’s Hand of bridge Opus 35 (1959), libretto by Menotti, is an engrossing work. Each of the heterosexual partners within two couplings is given an arietta that expresses inner desire and turmoil. It requires deft and handsome singing and forensic word pointing. This was fitfully achieved in this performance. Sandra Oldis was vocally unable to fully inhabit the role of Sally whose meditation on the outsize glamour of an outrageously beautiful hat sublimates exotic desire for straight human happiness. Her voice was buried by the orchestra, though it did give hints of a rich mezzo.
Her character is somewhat enervating and may reflect how two homosexual artists of the 1950s saw the American hausfrau – unidimensional - but as least she does have one outburst at her husband when he trumps the Queen. Geraldine blithely refers to her as “the long discarded queen”.
Her husband Bill was sung by Kent McIntosh. He caught some of the sexual longing that inhabits his secret world – musing on his current lover with ardent melissas – as well as conjugating his potential rivals for her congress. He also caught the snatches of fear that invade his thought, as he muses on the possibility that his wife Sally may be aware of his infidelities and is no longer keen to play the dummy in his relationship games.
Emily Turner aroused sympathy as Geraldine, reflecting potently on who might truly love her. Not her husband, David, not Bill who used to play footsies with her under the card table. In her heartfelt arietta, she reflects tragically on the imminent demise of her mother, the only one who every truly loved her. Some of this searing subtext surfaced, but overall, it was a rather generalised emotional palette that only half elided its passion, failing to point the text across Barber’s febrile orchestration.
As David, her “stock market husband”, Ed Suttle finally sealed the drama of the work with his powerful response to the text and his clear diction. He released the inner debauchery of his character, with his baritone lusting after wealth and flesh – boy and girls - and riding his imagined masculine power, before the lights dim and he realises he is yet again with some unhappy people playing bridge. This arc of unhappiness fixes all the players, almost as butterflies on a card table, not quite dead, but slowly expiring with the concomitant demise of love, hope and beauty. The textual updating of his words - referencing Alan Joyce and Gina Reinhart – seemed gratuitous.
The jazzy rhythm that denotes the card play was nicely swung by the orchestra.
Menotti’s The Telephone (1947) is a beautifully crafted work – meant as a lighter companion piece to his two-act opera, The Medium (1947). The orchestration is piquant, its sure dramatic flow teasing and tender, the bursts of vocal flourish and melismas beautifully balanced. This was the highlight of the four works presented.
As Lucy, Lesley Braithwaite was doggedly connected, but dizzily unknowing – cheered by the presence of Ben and his flowers, but unable to join the dots. Her outrage at gossip and slander wrongly attributed to her was nicely elided, but even here, during transparent moments of the score, the highly eloquent words were often lost in the orchestral dominance that this production favoured. She was both disarming and daft. The eventual marriage proposal, via the telephone, was delightfully enacted. Braithwaite valiantly navigated the wicked coloratura laughter that Menotti demands.
Matthew Avery was a convincing Ben, a touch gangly, diffident, besotted with Lucy but unable to pop the question, even with the intake of fortifying wine. He sang with disarming clarity and benign grace. His baritone was unforced and warm with emotion.
Orff’s wondrously percussive score for Die Kluge (1943) was vividly played by the chamber orchestra (15 players), under the direction of the ever-reliable Peter Alexander. The big problem was that this loud orchestral music generally overwhelmed the voices. The balance was highly impaired. Even with the aid of Orff’s endless, staccato word repetitions, much of the story was muffled.
The direction was hit and miss – there were so many noisy exists and entrances through the auditorium. The inherent tedium of the three Vagabonds is a problem in this work and was not helped by the crass acting that seemed to clumsily channel unfunny ockerisms. The tonally rich and dashing singing of Robert Mitchell, Jeffrey Lock and Kent Mcintosh was, however, a treat. In tandem with their vivid choreography, this helped restore the works comic heft and vocal excellence. The chugging music of Scene 7 - and its delicious repetitions - bought to mind the earlier absurd patter songs of Walton’s Façade (1922).
Mathew Avery was the King. Though his baritone is pure, it had deep trouble riding over the orchestra. Only occasionally could we hear his sustained high notes. Unfortunately, this King lacked gravitas and ferocity. His acting and physical demeanour was much too diffident – as though withdrawing into himself.
As The Clever One, Emily Turner displayed her beautiful shining soprano to good effect, delicious in the lullaby scene that put the angry king to sleep ("Schuh-schuhu, es fallen dem König die Augen zu"). The beauty of her singing was not enough, however, to activate consistently plausible diction and audibility. As the work progressed, a certain stiffness entered her physical bearing – though she was deliciously wise in the answering of the three riddles.
Ed Suttle was a dogged Peasant, the father imprisoned for his honest ways, whose opening aria of woe launched the proceedings with good energy. His word pointing was generally strong, though not so clear when he played the Muleman.
Damien Hall, as the Donkeyman, displayed some grounded operatic skill, delivering a believable angst when he is downcast and robbed by the King’s faulty justice, all with a touch of Florestan in his robust tenor voice.
The play acting of the Jailer (Leon Vitogiannis) was tolerable - as least he kept his limp in line – even if his voice could not carry across the space. The creation of a Court attendant (Milan Madhavi) as Arabian dancer was somewhat superfluous - in a Cecil B De Mille kind of way - though the costuming did add a dash of colour to the somewhat unprepossessing King.
Too much of the acting settled on the generalised gesturing of middle-class burghers at play. The use of the upper circle was occasionally effective in separating realms of action. The large chamber orchestra dominated the performance space – crowding egress to some degree. The lighting was erratic, leaving key performers in the dark.
The design elements managed by the creative director, Karen Lambert, were nicely varied. The heraldic drapes were apt, the costuming suitably gorgeous and deranged depending on the character involved. The vivid drape on the wooden crate, the big, underutilised prop that finally traps the King’s soul, was suitably arresting.
This little fairy-tale, spawned from the Brothers Grimm, responded neatly to Goebbels’ demand that Germanic music should be “volk verbunden” – folk linked to Aryan ideals. It was premiered as the Third Reich was commencing its descent into its destruction, via defeat on the eastern front.
It is encouraging that Sydney has such companies as Endangered Productions and Operantics to renew our acquittance with operatic works from the 20th century, works that remains distinctly unperformed in a town that seeks to valorise its cultural excellence. Brava to the adventure and enterprise that such small companies can unleash. The audience certainly enjoyed these offerings.
Endangered Productions, The Nielsen, Pier 2, Sydney, November 18, 2023
Gar Jones
This is an adept and interesting program – devised and directed by Christine Logan. In performance some of it works very well.
Introductions and Good-byes (1959) is by Lukas Foss with a libretto by Gian Carlo Menotti. It is a theatrical presentation of a cocktail party with nine guests (Miss Addington-Stitch, Comte de la Tour-Tournée, Mr. and Mrs. Cotlensky, Miss Panchanera, Dr. Lavender- Gas, Mr. and Mrs. Wilderkunstein, and General Ortega y Guadalupe). Its dramatic narrative—arrival, conversation, and departure – can best be understood as a palindrome.
To make its impact is requires cutglass diction and carrying power. As the host, baritone Leon Vitogiannis’ lovely voice could not consistently carry above the orchestra which dominated the soundscape of the performance. Nor did we have the solo vocal-quartet in the pit, as requested by Foss, that would have given the voices of the party guests a disembodied theatricality.
Directorially, a fizzing sense of energy might have helped. The guests were dressed in a variety of vivid costuming, but in terms of living beings at a party they were somewhat garden fete pantomime and uneasily choregraphed. Names and couplings could not be uncluttered. This was a distinctly wan introduction to the arc of the program, though the xylophone solo in the prelude section did conjure nicely the effect of mixing martinis, while the doorbell rings were crisp.
Samuel Barber’s Hand of bridge Opus 35 (1959), libretto by Menotti, is an engrossing work. Each of the heterosexual partners within two couplings is given an arietta that expresses inner desire and turmoil. It requires deft and handsome singing and forensic word pointing. This was fitfully achieved in this performance. Sandra Oldis was vocally unable to fully inhabit the role of Sally whose meditation on the outsize glamour of an outrageously beautiful hat sublimates exotic desire for straight human happiness. Her voice was buried by the orchestra, though it did give hints of a rich mezzo.
Her character is somewhat enervating and may reflect how two homosexual artists of the 1950s saw the American hausfrau – unidimensional - but as least she does have one outburst at her husband when he trumps the Queen. Geraldine blithely refers to her as “the long discarded queen”.
Her husband Bill was sung by Kent McIntosh. He caught some of the sexual longing that inhabits his secret world – musing on his current lover with ardent melissas – as well as conjugating his potential rivals for her congress. He also caught the snatches of fear that invade his thought, as he muses on the possibility that his wife Sally may be aware of his infidelities and is no longer keen to play the dummy in his relationship games.
Emily Turner aroused sympathy as Geraldine, reflecting potently on who might truly love her. Not her husband, David, not Bill who used to play footsies with her under the card table. In her heartfelt arietta, she reflects tragically on the imminent demise of her mother, the only one who every truly loved her. Some of this searing subtext surfaced, but overall, it was a rather generalised emotional palette that only half elided its passion, failing to point the text across Barber’s febrile orchestration.
As David, her “stock market husband”, Ed Suttle finally sealed the drama of the work with his powerful response to the text and his clear diction. He released the inner debauchery of his character, with his baritone lusting after wealth and flesh – boy and girls - and riding his imagined masculine power, before the lights dim and he realises he is yet again with some unhappy people playing bridge. This arc of unhappiness fixes all the players, almost as butterflies on a card table, not quite dead, but slowly expiring with the concomitant demise of love, hope and beauty. The textual updating of his words - referencing Alan Joyce and Gina Reinhart – seemed gratuitous.
The jazzy rhythm that denotes the card play was nicely swung by the orchestra.
Menotti’s The Telephone (1947) is a beautifully crafted work – meant as a lighter companion piece to his two-act opera, The Medium (1947). The orchestration is piquant, its sure dramatic flow teasing and tender, the bursts of vocal flourish and melismas beautifully balanced. This was the highlight of the four works presented.
As Lucy, Lesley Braithwaite was doggedly connected, but dizzily unknowing – cheered by the presence of Ben and his flowers, but unable to join the dots. Her outrage at gossip and slander wrongly attributed to her was nicely elided, but even here, during transparent moments of the score, the highly eloquent words were often lost in the orchestral dominance that this production favoured. She was both disarming and daft. The eventual marriage proposal, via the telephone, was delightfully enacted. Braithwaite valiantly navigated the wicked coloratura laughter that Menotti demands.
Matthew Avery was a convincing Ben, a touch gangly, diffident, besotted with Lucy but unable to pop the question, even with the intake of fortifying wine. He sang with disarming clarity and benign grace. His baritone was unforced and warm with emotion.
Orff’s wondrously percussive score for Die Kluge (1943) was vividly played by the chamber orchestra (15 players), under the direction of the ever-reliable Peter Alexander. The big problem was that this loud orchestral music generally overwhelmed the voices. The balance was highly impaired. Even with the aid of Orff’s endless, staccato word repetitions, much of the story was muffled.
The direction was hit and miss – there were so many noisy exists and entrances through the auditorium. The inherent tedium of the three Vagabonds is a problem in this work and was not helped by the crass acting that seemed to clumsily channel unfunny ockerisms. The tonally rich and dashing singing of Robert Mitchell, Jeffrey Lock and Kent Mcintosh was, however, a treat. In tandem with their vivid choreography, this helped restore the works comic heft and vocal excellence. The chugging music of Scene 7 - and its delicious repetitions - bought to mind the earlier absurd patter songs of Walton’s Façade (1922).
Mathew Avery was the King. Though his baritone is pure, it had deep trouble riding over the orchestra. Only occasionally could we hear his sustained high notes. Unfortunately, this King lacked gravitas and ferocity. His acting and physical demeanour was much too diffident – as though withdrawing into himself.
As The Clever One, Emily Turner displayed her beautiful shining soprano to good effect, delicious in the lullaby scene that put the angry king to sleep ("Schuh-schuhu, es fallen dem König die Augen zu"). The beauty of her singing was not enough, however, to activate consistently plausible diction and audibility. As the work progressed, a certain stiffness entered her physical bearing – though she was deliciously wise in the answering of the three riddles.
Ed Suttle was a dogged Peasant, the father imprisoned for his honest ways, whose opening aria of woe launched the proceedings with good energy. His word pointing was generally strong, though not so clear when he played the Muleman.
Damien Hall, as the Donkeyman, displayed some grounded operatic skill, delivering a believable angst when he is downcast and robbed by the King’s faulty justice, all with a touch of Florestan in his robust tenor voice.
The play acting of the Jailer (Leon Vitogiannis) was tolerable - as least he kept his limp in line – even if his voice could not carry across the space. The creation of a Court attendant (Milan Madhavi) as Arabian dancer was somewhat superfluous - in a Cecil B De Mille kind of way - though the costuming did add a dash of colour to the somewhat unprepossessing King.
Too much of the acting settled on the generalised gesturing of middle-class burghers at play. The use of the upper circle was occasionally effective in separating realms of action. The large chamber orchestra dominated the performance space – crowding egress to some degree. The lighting was erratic, leaving key performers in the dark.
The design elements managed by the creative director, Karen Lambert, were nicely varied. The heraldic drapes were apt, the costuming suitably gorgeous and deranged depending on the character involved. The vivid drape on the wooden crate, the big, underutilised prop that finally traps the King’s soul, was suitably arresting.
This little fairy-tale, spawned from the Brothers Grimm, responded neatly to Goebbels’ demand that Germanic music should be “volk verbunden” – folk linked to Aryan ideals. It was premiered as the Third Reich was commencing its descent into its destruction, via defeat on the eastern front.
It is encouraging that Sydney has such companies as Endangered Productions and Operantics to renew our acquittance with operatic works from the 20th century, works that remains distinctly unperformed in a town that seeks to valorise its cultural excellence. Brava to the adventure and enterprise that such small companies can unleash. The audience certainly enjoyed these offerings.
Endangered Productions, The Nielsen, Pier 2, Sydney, November 18, 2023
Gar Jones