BY MYLES OAKEY, 2016 CUTCOMMON YOUNG WRITER OF THE YEAR
Carmen
Opera Australia
Sydney Opera House, 21 June
The opera is a fancy affair. I’m dressed up for the occasion, but I still feel outdone by some stunning young operagoers, dressed to the nines for the red carpet. Oh yes, there’s a red carpet – it’s the opera, remember. After a spontaneous snap with a photographer, just to make me feel as though I’m ‘somewhere to be seen’, I wander to the back of the Opera House for an enjoyable pre-performance talk, which takes advantage of the gorgeous Sydney Harbour as its backdrop. As I glance around the room, those sharply dressed operagoers catch my eye; like myself, they’re the youngest in the room by a good 30 to 40 years, and noticeably unrepresented.
I’m ushered in, squeezing past the knees of too-eager patrons to find my cushioned seat just rows from the pit, in front of a wall of deep red velvet curtains – I’m in amongst the action, and I have to say, it’s an immersive experience. Unlike watching a filmed production, the decrepit Havana-esque plaza, revealed from behind the curtain, becomes my ultra-wide and vivid screen; and in a way, I become the cinematographer who can chose to either scan through or linger on the incredible detail in director John Bell’s captivatingly colourful, wild, and entertaining production.
You may or may not be bothered by fact that I’m yet to foreground the music. Throughout this production I get the sense that Bell views his audience the same way: he recognises his audience is mixed bunch; some are here for the music, some are here for a show.
For those who have arrived for the music, Yonghoon Lee’s conviction, striking projection, and deeply resonant low register conveys a convincingly desperate and unconsciously violent Don José. Of course, his love for the manipulative Carmen sends him this way: in the beginning, Lee’s delicate and secure but occasionally strained high register show us the quiet and tender mama’s boy Don José once was.
I watch as Clémentine Margaine’s Carmen manipulates Don José and all other men on stage as she asserts her well-known reputation through resonating confidence, cutting projection, and pure vocal quality, showcased in the famous Habañera. Although Carmen establishes an aura, the reputation of raw sexuality and lust that I expect seems to have been swapped for manipulative and playful. I first sense the characterisation in the dragging tempo of the Habañera, which when played dance-like and up-tempo evokes the raw sexuality and passion that is inextricably linked with the Habañera rhythm. Nevertheless, I adopt the new Carmen and by the end I empathise with how her cards have been dealt.
For those who have arrived for a show, they’re getting what they came for. But unfortunately for the rest, the music is overwhelmed by an incredible variety of eye-catching colour and movement on stage. My eyes dart from the detailed staging and retro colours of the havana-esque vibe to the tightly executed contemporary choreography. The production isn’t foregrounding the music; it’s an all-round show, providing a bit of something for everyone. I can see its merit, ideally you have a choice: if you’re not too fussed about the epic three hours of well-executed and sustained vocal performance, and rather more interested in the vibrant retro costumes, big hairdos, on-stage vehicles, and a fresh dose of comedy – you’re in for a treat. The problem is, I feel like I don’t have choice. You’re in for an opera that is a whole lot of fun – it’s entertainment front and centre.
This might sound odd to some, but I’m not always in for a good ole time. It’s the same reason that between two films on the subject of love, I tend to pick a challenging French film like Amour over, say, The Notebook. I’m fulfilled by experiences in which I’m moved, challenged, inspired, and intrigued; and that’s not always entertaining. If popular works within the Western tradition, like the opéra-comique Carmen, were composed for a good ole time, then no matter how you dress it up or down, Bizet’s score will still have you whistling its themes all the next day – I certainly was.
It’s pretty obvious that what young people do for good ole time has changed somewhat since Bizet’s opera first took off in 1875. And let’s be honest, opera isn’t cheap, understandably so. Nevertheless, young people need a compelling reason to fork out those hard-earned dollars.
Beyond the pull of a stellar vocal performance, which without a doubt this production is, an opera like Carmen doesn’t have what it takes to resonate and engage with young audiences in a real way. For me, I’m not seduced by Carmen as she suggestively slides her skirt above the knee; and I’m not shocked or challenged by Don José’s murder of Carmen, which looks more like a cuddle that reveals a bloody knife, as if he were a magician.
Reality is hard to ignore. If an opera like Carmen seeks relevance, it needs to resonate with contemporary social life and address contemporary audiences. It needs to engage with us: as a group of people who find entertainment by immersing ourselves within the epic drama, explicit sexuality, and raw violence of a show like Game of Thrones – and are also too cheap to buy it on Blu-ray.
This review by Myles Oakey is published as part of CutCommon Young Writers’ Month. About the author:
2016 CutCommon Young Writer of the Year Myles Oakey is in his fourth year of a Bachelor of Music/Bachelor of Education at the University of New South Wales. He loves playing classical guitar – though he’s also studied jazz and contemporary music. Myles is a member of the UNSW Balinese gamelan ensemble Suwitra Jaya. He took two educational trips to Bali, during which he performed at the Bali Arts Festival in 2015. Myles received the Dean’s List Award in 2014-15. This year, he won the Honours Bursary Award for Music and it’s allowed him to undertake additional research in the field of ethnography in music. His dream is to pursue a career in music research by “writing ethnographies that capture the diversity of musical activity and experience in music-making”.
Image Keith Saunders.
