Samson in Seoul – The Review
In a city that clearly embraces
art and (traditional Korean) culture, the BESETO opera
has several significant obstacles to establishing itself as a
world-class opera company: lack of western opera tradition and
a significant audience that appreciates the art form; a limited
number of talented, trained, and experienced singers and
musicians; and weak outreach and marketing efforts. Based on
their presentation of Samson et Dalila, they are
also in desperate need of a highly qualified, visionary artistic
director who can mold the still-developing company into an
organic, synergetic ensemble. Lucky for them they had on hand
one of the most experienced and multi-dimensional professionals
in opera—and they were perceptive enough to allow José Cura the
freedom to begin that molding: the significant improvement in
stagecraft between the first and second performances (especially
in the second act) hinted at even greater possibilities should
they prove wise enough to invest properly in their future.
And so, without further ado
except to remind all that while the review pulls no punches,
this is an opera company still learning to walk. Should the
opportunity arise to return (ahem!) we would happily book
tickets—if we can figure out their rather arcane ticketing
system.
The Performers
With the exception of José Cura,
who remains an absolute wonder as a singing actor, the cast
featured in the production were problematic and ultimately
undermined the BESETO Opera's effort to bring its production to
world-class level. The mezzo who was teamed with Cura just one
week before the opening night may have suffered from lack of
adequate preparation but her lower register was swallowed whole
by the orchestra, her upper notes tended toward shrillness; and
she was occasionally flat. Her acting consisted of pacing and
posing -- that in spite of the heated and dynamic tenor beside
her who was working hard to create a believable stage
environment. The sensuous Act II love duet on opening night
became a tepid affair when the seductress Dalila seemed unable
to seduce, apparently lost as to how to approach, touch, and
love Samson. (The second night, with Cura taking the lead and
gently encouraging her, showed great improvement.) We had two
different high priests and the difference between them in
creating the character was notable. The orchestra played the
notes but did not inhabit them, and the fiery Bacchanal lacked
sizzle, passion and momentum.
The Performance
The staging was traditional, as
were, for the most part, the costumes.
Act I:
The Hebrews were spread across the wide stage, with a large
stone ‘building’ in the background with a portal mid-stage
through which the Philistines entered and exited. The opening
hymn (Dieu,
d'Israël)
was properly melancholy and the cast properly subdued. Samson
entered stage right, slowly and somberly, assessing the state of
his people as he moved through them before attempting to revive
both hope and faith (Arrêtez,
ô mes frères).
They resisted Samson’s message and cowered convincingly as
Abimelech, surrounded by bare-chested young warriors, appeared
to mock them. Samson aggressively taunted the Philistine
governor, gesturing to the other to draw his sword and attack;
he killed Abimelech easily and in turn defeated the guards who
fell in carefully stylized rows before Samson followed the
Hebrews off-stage.
But without Cura’s strength and leadership to carry the scene,
the first cracks appeared in the performance. As the defeated
warriors lay prone in their rows, the High Priest of Dagon
appears—and seems lost. When the messenger arrives to tell the
priest that the Hebrews have attacked the harvest, he vows his
revenge and retreats—as the wounded men magically revive
simultaneously, get to their feet, and do their best to look
fierce as they back out through the opening, fully recovered,
spears aimed at invisible enemies.
The next scene is supposed to be at dawn but a black screen
drops and a group of Hebrew men, including Samson, appear on the
lip of the stage to offer humble prayers to God and thanks to
Samson, their unison suggesting plainchant. The men file off and
the screen rises to show a bare stage without any suggestion of
time or place. As Samson and the Old Hebrew return downstage
left, Dalila and her priestesses arrive upstage right. With no
scenery to fill the vast space (the theater boasts both a broad
and deep stage), the scene plays out awkwardly, with the
priestesses lining up along the back wall to dance and Dalila
slowly moving back and forth across the void. The disconnect
between the dance and dancers in the background and the
seduction taking place in the foreground made it seem as if two
different performances were underway—a feeling that wasn’t
helped by the fact that the ensemble was missing a dancer who
quite obviously joined the group with only a few minutes left in
the act. The huge swath of dead space between the dancers and
principles deadened any sense of unity of drama and drained the
music of any sense of coherence. Dalila did not engage in
anything resembling sensual dancing; in fact, except for
walking, stopping, and posing, she engaged in little activity.
There was certainly no erotic urgency at the end of the act when
she walks off, leaving an emotionally torn Samson behind.
Act II:
The stage is dominated by Dalila’s large stone home; it seemed
to take up the back half of the stage. The platform is raised,
reached by climbing a number of steps. Dalila is on the
platform, dressed in what can best be described as a sheer,
strapless, billowy red unitard (one assumes a body suit was in
place under it); it was accessorized with a long, flowing
scarf. As she sings of her certainty of Samson’s appearance (Amour!
viens aider ma faiblesse)
she climbs up and down the steps and waves her scarf.
Tedium is broken with the appearance of the High Priest of
Dagon—but not for long. His costume includes a right arm that
is covered in a black, sparkly, droopy, long sleeve that he
waved ceaselessly as he parades around the stage. After a
while, it seemed the drama would be distilled to which accessory
would be deemed the better actor as the High Priest swaggered
with his and Dalila kept rearranging hers. The garment battle
was accentuated by the lack of chemistry between the two
characters; they seemed to talk past each other rather than to
each other so that whatever tension might have been inherent in
their scheming against Samson was dissipated. (The second
performance featured a different singer as the High Priest; he
brought more presence to the stage, more chemistry with Dalila,
and less fascination with that sparkling black sleeve.) At one
point, when they make their oath to destroy the Hebrew, the pair
engaged in carefully choreographed arm movements, crossing and recrossing at the wrists in time with the music in a staged
ritual that went on far too long. Eventually the High Priest and
his black sleeve left and Dalila carried her wrap up the steps
to her platform to wait for Samson.
The relief that came with his
appearance was short-lived, however. In front of us stood a
Samson full of self-doubt about his future and self-loathing at
his weakness, a leader of his people teetering on a precipice
between sacred duty and personal pleasure. Even without the
rumbling of thunder, the tension was palpable in the way Cura
hesitated, held himself, looked toward Dalila’s retreat and
away: without saying a word, Cura showed us the man in crisis
and laid the groundwork for the tragedy ahead. Then Dalila
appeared.
The second half of the second act
of Samson et Dalila is one of opera’s most
provocative and sensual and to be fully successful, the audience
needs to be seduced along with Samson—we need to be caught up in
the dynamic taking place before us. To make this happen,
however, we first have to believe that Dalila is a woman of such
strong erotic sensibilities that she is capable of making a man
sworn to God to forget his promise to that God and his people in
the mistaken belief that lust is love. Dalila has to project a
sense of the prototype temptress, the archetype seductress, the
first black widow, a woman whose darkness can be twisted into
physical allure so strong that no man can resist. It isn’t
about looks or body type; it’s about allusion and commitment.
What we saw on opening night was a woman who thought seduction
was dropping her sheer wrap and standing next to Samson, rarely
touching, certainly not enticing, even while singing the
sensuous
Mon cœur s'ouvre à ta voix. It was a
wannabe Dalila, a first time harlot who had no idea what to do
with her hands, her body, her self. Even with the famous
‘testosterone tenor’ willing her to go further, try harder, this
Dalila couldn’t cross the line.
(To be fair, the second night was
much improved and hinted at the influence of Cura in making the
mezzo more expressive—though the moment when Dalila’s twin moons
rose high as she knelt over Samson reminded us that seduction
did not come naturally to this Dalila and that she was not
experienced enough to understand how body movements play out to
the audience.)
We had one more stair climb as
Dalila left the shattered Samson, who soon follows. The
bare-chested warriors reappear downstage and creep up on the
platform; but as with so much that happens with the BESETO
opera, the lack of experience undermined a powerful moment: the
warriors disappear behind Dalila’s platform, waiting to attack
Samson. At the appropriate moment, they race from behind the
platform across the stage and disappear to capture the shorn
Samson—all except one. Having somehow missed the cue, a more
seasoned performer would have remained crouched and hidden
waiting for the curtain to drop; instead, long after the other
warriors had made their dash, this last one streaked pass. The
serious and dramatic moment was undermined by laugher at the
hapless extra. A learning process, to be sure, but one that came
at the expense of the drama.
Act III: Vois
ma misère,
hélas
is, in my opinion, one of the most
exquisitely dramatic pieces in all of operadom: the scene opens
with the image of a brutalized man caught in a moment of respite
from torture. He is helpless, shackled, blinded, isolated and
alone except for the phantom voices that haunt him. In the span
of eleven minutes, pathos and grief, self-pity and
self-sacrifice are expressed with overwhelming human anguish.
Given the right singer, these eleven minutes elevate and redeem
the most flawed staging of this oratorical-styled opera. José
Cura brings to these few minutes a life-time of understanding
and feeling and never fails to move—though this staging may have
been his most challenging by far.
The scene opens to a black stage devoid of all except a small
(waist-high) millstone; lying prone at its base was the bloodied
and sightless Samson who remained virtually immobile for the
entire length of the aria. It was a surprising decision, one not
in keeping with other performances we had seen with Cura as
Samson, but still successful because of Cura’s ability to
inhabit the character and move us with his voice. We later found
the reason for the stillness: the millstone was made of foam and
the shackles were plastic: any real movement would have revealed
the flimsy props. Not even the recommendations of one of the
most experienced Samsons in the world could convince the set
designers to bring more substance to the wobbly set, so Cura
elected to sacrifice the full measure of his stagecraft to
protect the integrity of the scene.
Perhaps no other piece in the
entire number signaled BESETO’s basic need for more experience
with Western opera than the staging of the Bacchanal. Leaving
aside the issue of lack of pulsating excitement coming from the
pit, the dance was choreographed with such of mix of motifs and
style as to appear almost random in design—the addition of a
grinning break dancer who played shamelessly to the audience at
the end of the piece did not enhance the moment nor eliminate
the feeling that the choreographer had no idea what to make of
this sexually charged music.
Samson is finally brought
on-stage. At some point, the director got the idea that the
audience needed constant reminding of Samson’s blindness so for long
minutes we witnessed various chorus members demonstrating just
how blind Samson was: one extra, in particular, would side up to
Samson repeatedly and wave his hand in front of Samson’s
sightless eyes as the others roared with laughter; then he would
wiggle one foot in front of the fallen hero and everyone would
roar again. Once or twice might have been effective but the
non-stop repetition soon became old and felt fake and
amateurish; the forced merriment of the Philistines was more
than a little awkward. What should have been a riveting
moment was played for slapstick.
The ending came when the child led Samson to the rear of the stage and the huge, central
pillar that he would topple to destroy his enemies. The chorus,
Dalila and the High Priest all had their backs to the audience
and their arms raised in, one assumes, a sign of their huge
triumph over the Hebrews, but as Samson climbed slowly upward
and they remained in place the frozen tableau took on a different ambience, almost as if they were cheering Samson on to
their own destruction. All held their pose as Samson pushed
against the pillar; all crumbled in unison as Samson brought
down the temple.
Summation
BESETO opera has a strong and
powerful vision: bring Western opera to Korea to showcase
Eastern talents. The vision is a bit muddied by hiring Westerns
to sing the roles against a backdrop of Asian sensibilities but
it is possible to develop a powerful synergy between the two
performance cultures, since the west has much to teach. The
stagecraft that we take for granted when seated in our seats in
the US or Europe are still developing skills for these artists,
just as some western performance standards are not yet within
their comfort zone. Given time, BESETO could develop into a
major cultural success and become an important entry portal for
Asian singers who want to move on to a world stage. And while
there was much to point out as folly in their presentation of
Samson, there was also encouraging signs of success that point
to the possibilities.
In some respects, Samson
et Dalila may have been a too ambitious opera for BESETO
because it seems so apparently simple to execute—but is anything
but simple to execute well. If I were to recommend an opera for
them to stage next, it would be Fanciulla del west,
attractive because of its wonderful harmonies, its gun-slinger
old west ambience, it’s breathtaking second act, and its feel
good ending. And, of course, I would recommend José Cura as
director and tenor lead, since he is the best of the best as
Dick Johnson and has such obvious affinity for the work.
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La
Scala’s first joint production of Cavalleria rusticana and
Pagliacci in thirty years inverted the usual order of the
works. This was not a good idea, as Leoncavallo’s opera unfolds
between mid-afternoon and late at night, while Mascagni’s is a
morning work. It was also something of a risk to ask the young
English conductor Daniel Haring to lead the performances; he has no
real experience in the verismo repertoire and was thus unable to
impose an expressively coherent approach to phasing. Although the
orchestral playing was sometimes stunning in its refinement and
never excessive in volume, the sounds emerging from the pit were
somehow detached from those projected from the stage.
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The first opera festival in Estonia was born in 1999 and is held at
the Medieval Episcopal Castle of Kuressaare, capital of Estonia’s
largest island Saaremaa. The Episcopal Castle, which holds as many
as about a thousand spectators, has become one of the best-known
West-Estonian tourist sites and the acoustics of the castle’s yard
is more than ideal for romantic operas. The Kuressaare Opera Music
Festival owes its existence greatly to Ludmilla Toon, a renowned
choir conductor and music teacher in Saaremaa. By now the troupes of
St Petersburg Maria Theatre, the Latvian National Opera, the
Lithuanian Opera and Ballet Theatre have performed here, in Saaremaa
Opera Day's, but also directors and soloists from the famous opera
houses of Vienna, Moscow, the Nordic countries, Germany, Brazil, and
others. The Festival collaborates with the Finnish National Opera
and both Estonian opera theatres of Tallinn and Tartu. So far the
Festival has offered Tchaikovsky's "Eugene Onegin", Mozart’s "The
Magic Flute", short operas of Estonian composers Timo Steiner and
René Eespere, Olav Ehala's children’s musical, and many others.
Since 2008 the festival was organized by Eesti Kontsert, and
Artistic Director is
Arne Mikk.
“Estonia
is a wonderful place!” José Cura, the world-famous tenor from
Argentina, enthused. Now living in Madrid, Cura (48) tour of
Estonia began in the old city. Then the singer took to the
Kajsamoor schooner for a view of the beautiful Capital. 
Geologists
in the world give the phenomena such as Kaali crater the
affectionate name of “star wound.” Thousands of years ago, a
meteorite hit [the area] with mighty power, resulting in
colossal changes in the wild. We now go to admire the crater
lake it created … 
He
is one of the best tenors in the world. Tonight in Santander he
gives life to one of the most famous opera characters. 
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