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Based on Rainer
Werner Fassbinder's stage play
'Die Bittern Tranen der Petra
von Kant', performed in the English
translation by Denis Calandra
Composer
Gerald Barry
Director
Richard Jones
Designer
Ultz
Lighting
Designer
Mimi Jordan
Sherin
Choreographer
Linda Dobell
Conductor
Andre de
Ridder
Petra
von Kant
Stephanie
Friede
Karin
Thimm
Rebecca von
Lipinski
Marlene
Linda Kitchen
Sidonie
von
Grasenabb
Susan Bickley
Gabriele
von Kant
Barbara Hannigan
Valerie
von Kant
Kathyrn Harries
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London
Coliseum
English
National Opera
16 Sept - 7 Oct 2005 |
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"So
what's this opera about then?"
"German lesbians, darling.
You'll love it."
So went my conversation on
the way to the Coliseum with
my cousin, for the first night
of Gerald Barry's new opera
The
Bitter Tears of Petra von
Kant.
He did indeed love it, for
there is not much in this
opera that a twenty-something
with a penchant for gin-sodden
histrionics and all things
camp would not recognise.
Needless to say, I enjoyed
it too. It was the first Friday
night in a long while, both
for my cousin and for me,
that the protagonist in the
drama, snapping fingers above
her head and crying "Gin
and tonic! Ten gin and tonics!"
was someone other than ourselves.
Well, perhaps I exaggerate.
But if one can't go to the
opera in the spirit of exaggeration
there is little point in going
at all. Particularly where
this opera is concerned. Based
on Rainer Werner Fassbinder's
five-act stage play
Die
Bittern Tranen der Petra von
Kant,
it tells the story of fashion
designer Petra von Kant, a
middle-aged divorcee who becomes
infatuated with a much younger
woman, wannabe model Karin
Thimm, recently arrived on
a boat from Australia. Blond
and gangly Rebecca von Lipinski
is perfectly cast as Karin.
From the first moment she
totters into Petra's apartment
wearing a red-and-white striped
t-shirt over a suede button-up
miniskirt with white tights
and platforms, she is utterly
at odds with Petra's high
fashion aesthetic. Nonetheless,
they embark upon a relationship
which is beneficial to Karin's
modelling career, until Karin
tires of Petra and decides
to leave. Alone but for a
mute personal secretary called
Marlene, Petra retreats into
self-indulgent tantrums, culminating
in a breakdown before family
and friends during her birthday
celebrations.
The genius of Fassbinder's
text is that the problems
in Petra's relationship with
Karin are portrayed with such
normality that the issue of
lesbianism is no issue at
all. Differences wrought by
age and class, by dependence
and dominance, are as common
to heterosexual relationships
and are lived outside the
theatre as a matter of course.
This is perhaps why German
critics labelled Fassbinder's
play 'trivial' upon its premiere.
When nothing out of the ordinary
happens, it is hard to see
the point. The genius of this
production is that by setting
it as an opera, it is de facto
out of the ordinary. The point
then becomes its very artifice,
the trivial sheen of kitsch
laid over every surface like
the body-coloured paint on
a mannequin. Each character
is a bold outline, and a good
director instructs his cast
on how to fill the outline
such that characters are recognisable
but incomplete. There must
always be a model persona
played up to, so that characters
are constantly performing
their own personas. That is
to say, there is always a
gap between the ideal and
the actual and the very issue
- the point of the action
- becomes the way in which
that space is handled.
In the case of this production,
it is handled masterfully.
Director Richard Jones's production
team could not have done a
slicker job. Ultz's thrust
stage serves as a veritable
catwalk, a performative space
in which models inhabit a
certain set of choreographed
outlines or poses. Behind
it, Petra's apartment stretches
across the stage, from kitchen
to living room, to bedroom
and bathroom. The bedroom
forms the centre peice of
the set, with its bold seventies'
design wallpaper, pink telephone
and pink standing ashtray
near the bed. The chrome lamp
hanging on a lengthy cord
from the ceiling provides
some interesting opportunities
for Mimi Jordan Sherin's lighting
design, as do the flickering
neon striplights over the
living room. All aspects of
the design displayed a fearless
approach to complexity, reflecting
and meshed with Gerald Barry's
score. At one moment, for
example, even the flounce
of Petra's peach gown was
timed to coincide with a dissonant
brass section.
Movement director Linda Dobell
deserves high praise for the
nuanced touches to each character,
such as Barbara Hannigan's
awkward stance as Petra's
teenaged daughter Gabi. She
was all knees and ankles,
a confused mess of angles
yet to form an harmonious
whole. Hard to believe that
Hannigan was not, in fact,
fifteen. This production cannot
be disparaged by those who
say that opera is more about
singing than acting, because
both are combined here to
a perfect degree. It is worth
the price of a ticket just
to see Stephanie Friede perform
Petra's fabulous seventies
dance moves, kitsch in the
extreme.
"All real kitsch"
wrote Adorno in his
Essays
on Music,
"has the character of
a model. It offers the outline
and draft of objectively compelling,
pre-established forms that
have lost their content in
history." Hence we see
Petra making a phone call,
banging the dialling pad three
or four times without looking
at the numbers, in a camp
reference to old film practice.
References to film music are
present in the score too,
notably Hitchcock and seventies
pop culture. In this sense
Gerald Barry's score is kitsch,
operating as a kind of short-hand
for these pre-established
forms in music. The biggest
debt, however, is to Stockhausen.
The bold strokes of colour
assert themselves so vividly
on the musical canvas that
all is foreground. Large amounts
of ground are covered by one
stroke, as in the case of
Hannigan's Gabi, whose voice
is required to move between
octaves with immense speed.
Dissonant, barely structured
brass and woodwind mark a
further debt to the Second
Viennese School. Berg and
Webern loom large in the score.
The danger is that without
any centrifugal force, the
action and music lurch from
one bold brush stroke to another,
but this is counteracted by
Barry's close attention to
the text. Music and action
are inseparable, and any spaces
between vivid splashes of
music do not lull if the audience
remains focused on the details
of the action as a guide to
the music.
The result of Barry's servitude
to the text is that the music
takes on the vulnerable and
naif aspects of Petra herself,
of one who gives her all without
self-consciousness. The whole
world is in the score, and
we can recognise aspects of
everyone in Petra. This is
exactly how it should be,
for, as Adorno puts it, "the
rights of kitsch can be invoked
only over the head of the
composer, only when he himself
didn't mean anything by it."
As soon as it becomes self-conscious,
the power of naivety inherent
in kitsch ceases to exist.
The score, then, only functions
if it is overwhelmingly emotional,
reflecting Fassbinder's own
theory that opera starts "when
feelings become so overwhelming
that all [the character] can
do is sing." With this
in mind, The
Bitter Tears of Petra von
Kant
leaves us hanging with a question
mark. Displaying a certain
self-consciousness in the
way she has treated Marlene,
Petra asks Marlene to "Tell
me about your life."
Marlene's silent scream of
agony marks the opera's close.
The spirit of this opera is
camp, openly theatrical, but
it has its serious side too.
London has had to wait too
long for this kind of production,
marking as it does a new wave
of opera-kitsch that continental
opera festivals have been
quicker to endorse. Iím hopeful
that it will pave the way
for a new generation of up
and coming young directors
with new ideas about how to
perform opera, and consequently
give opera a wider fan base.
Laura Keynes |
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