On Friday, April 1, the Metropolitan Opera presented Richard Strauss’ final opera Capriccio for the first time since 1998 starring superstar Soprano Renee Fleming in the role of the countess – who must choose between the love of a poet and a composer. The opera is a particularly unusual work and at first glance may not seem accessible to the wide-ranging public. It is two and a half hours without intermission, and is essentially made up of a lengthy philosophical debate on the nature of opera and theater. However, the performance made it clear that this work is not only a wonderful treat for opera aficionados, but also a wonderful opportunity for the curious to gain an interesting appreciation for the world of opera.
Strauss dubbed Capriccio as a “conversation piece” or “theatrical fugue” and it is a hugely reflexive analysis of opera and its components. Its central thesis questions whether words or music are of greater importance to the theatrical art form. This question is personified by the aforementioned rivalry between a composer and poet for the love of a countess who herself could be seen as a symbol of the artistic muse. The work utilizes many operatic conventions that it both ridicules and celebrates. There is a ballet, lengthy arias and monologues, passages with rapid coloratura flourishes, the typical tenor-baritone-soprano love triangle, the chorus of servants commenting on the events of the day. It takes jabs at Italian Opera and its “dreadful librettos,” it takes some shots at French Opera and its obsession with the ballet, Baroque composers and their dry (“boring” according to the count) recitative passages. One of the most incredible scenes in the opera revolves around a sonnet that becomes the leitmotif for the work. First, the count does a forced rendition (a jab at poor acting), then the poet recites the verses to his beloved countess as a confession of love before the composer sets the words to music and sings it as his own declaration of love. The effect of this scene really encapsulates that question which Strauss is struggling to answer. When the words are set to music, the words themselves take on new meaning. But without the words, would the music have a strong an impact? Furthermore, if the words had not been written, would the composer have been inspired to writing such glorious music?
The production, by John Cox, had its premiere in 1998 and takes the opera’s original 18th century setting and transfers it to the 1920s. However, the appearance itself is still very much in the manner of traditional operatic productions. The set is lavish and detailed. The costumes, while in 1920s style, are elegant and detailed. The lighting effects, for the most part, are not stylized. However, as the opera began, the Met’s massive chandelier remained lit. The only lights on are in the pit, highlighting the string sextet that commences the opera (an uncharacteristic overture). We later learn that this string sextet is the composer Flamand’s performance for the countess that is taking place in another hall in the palace. The audience is essentially in that adjoining room watching the performance with the countess. The effect ensures that the audience is not just a group of spectators, but very much a part of the world created by the characters in the opera. For the most part, the production is relaxed. There are no set changes and its actors did not do much in way of radical movement that has become a staple of many modern opera productions. However, this omission enabled for the work to maintain a more naturalist feel without losing any of the subtle dramatic energy.
The work itself plays like a great comedy and some of its highlights were moments of incredible comic relief. The aforementioned scene in which the count, sung and acted energetically by baritone Morten Frank Larsen, recites the sonnet was a brilliant display of exaggerated declamation. One particular moment that remains memorable is when he has to state the words “Zwei Schläge sind dann Leben oder Tod” (Your glances are to me life or death). Larsen uses a high-pitched voice to declaim “Leben” before descending to astonishing depths to declaim “Tod.”
During a later scene, the producer/director La Roche (sung exquisitely by Peter Rose) brings in a pair of ballet dancers to perform for the count’s birthday. However, the female dancer quickly becomes annoyed by the teasing gestures of the actress Clairon (who was also vividly portrayed and sung by mezzo Sarah Connelly) and instead of focusing on dancing, decides to pick a fight with her. As directed by Cox, this scene brings into focus that eternal struggle in French opera. During the height of French Grand Opera, it was demanded that every opera to be presented in Paris contain a ballet. Without the ballet, the opera would be jeered or simply not performed. The actress, the major component of theater, is mocking the ballerina’s necessity to exist on the theatrical stage, and by extension, Strauss is mocking that absurd arbitration.
In the following scene, La Roche introduces a pair of Italian singers (sung elegantly and acted brilliantly by Tenor Barry Banks and Soprano Olga Makarina), who were both dressed in black costumes that look as if they had come straight out of the Addam’s Family. The singers then go on to sing a love duet in which they attempt to upstage one another. They provide the exaggerated gestures that have become staples of operatic stereotypes. In this case, the words and actions and music barely have anything to do with one another. The countess interrupts the duet and states that the music has nothing to do with words (another jab at the reputation of Italian opera for worrying more about vocal fireworks than the dramatic content). This instantly takes all attention away from the singers, who, annoyed by this, start singing over everyone. They begin moving downstage, completely ignoring the rest of the characters and trying to get the audiences’ complete attention. Then the tenor and soprano battled with one another for the audience’s affection. Makarina stepped in front of Banks and blasted her high C. However, then he pushed her out of the way and blasted his high C before she nudged herself back onto the center of the stage to share the spotlight with him. This scene brings up some other operatic questions (not as pertinent as the main thesis but still interesting nonetheless) regarding which of the two, tenor or soprano, represents opera’s most important vocal components.
Toward the end of the work, a chorus of servants came in to comment on the day’s events and ridiculing the prospects of modern operas including the common folk and servants. At that moment, the music stopped and the servants all froze in their places before turning to face the audience, creating an extremely effective moment of reflection. They proceed to state that the entire world is part of the theater and that as the employees they get the exclusive access to seeing what happens “backstage.” Once they have made their exit, the prompter who has been asleep the entire evening comes in to proclaim that without him the show cannot go on. It is an interesting thing to state when the entire crew has already deserted the stage without him and the opera itself is about to end.
However, the opera is not without its dramatic moments and its singers were always up to the task. After being admonished by the composer Flamand and Poet Olivier for the superficiality of his theater, La Roche fights back with an intense monologue justifying his existence and the preponderance of theater. Peter Rose stopped the show with his incredibly powerful and chilling performance of said monologue, his voice showing incredible fortitude and intensity throughout this lengthy speech. Tenor Joseph Kaiser was an elegant and delicate Flamand, matching up perfectly with the countess’ description as a “noble spirit with ardent glances.” His performance of the aforementioned sonnet was a major highlight and example of his tender and graceful singing throughout the night. His rival Russell Braun as the Poet Olivier was just as elegant and technically secure. In addition to his strong singing, his declamation of the sonnet came as a refreshingly inspired counterpoint to the count’s exaggerated reading.
Finally, Renee Fleming failed to take any of the spotlight early on, because of the powerful portrayals of her colleagues and the ensemble nature of the work. However, as soon as the stage was completely hers, she gave an emotionally charged account of the final scene in which she must choose between the composer and poet. Fleming has been questioned by critics for some of her repertoire choices such as her starring role in Rossini’s Armida last year. However, as exhibited throughout the night and particularly in this scene, the countess is a role that Fleming owns in every possible way. Her phrasing was delicate with no hints of vocal discomfort. Her delicacy in the quiet moments of the work when she sings the sonnet yet again were matched with intensity and angst during the moments when she finds herself confused. It was truly a performance to remember.
Strauss’ score presents a vast multitude of challenges for the conductor, which includes a string sextet with players on and offstage, a massive vocal octet, and moments of varying musical styles amongst others. Conductor Andrew Davis was more than up to the task and gave a riveting account of Strauss’ music that covered the entire dramatic and musical gamut.
Ultimately, the opera does not end with a clear-cut conclusion. In this production, the countess writes down what is presumably her decision and hands it to the majordomo before exiting for dinner. Ultimately, this opera provides its audiences with a celebration of opera and music. However, Strauss does not take the easy route and simply praise all of opera’s grandiosity. He also takes moments to celebrate its flaws, its absurdity, and its chaos so that its sublime nature and qualities may in turn receive greater appreciation.
Capriccio will be performed five more times this season with the final performance being screened in movie theaters worldwide on April 23.
