I went into last Wednesday’s production of André Previn’s 1998 version thinking that Streetcar was a clever choice for an opera. The play is kind of a spoken-word opera to begin with, with over-the-top arias and elaborate ensemble pieces. However I quickly changed my mind.
Rather than amplifying dramatic conflicts, or creating distinct moods for each scene, or even distracting us with tunes, Previn’s music mechanically accompanied lines of the text with sound effects. It was as if the play were being transcribed live by an incredibly loud and annoying stenotype machine.
Even that would not be necessarily fatal, if Previn didn’t have a tin ear for the pulpy poetry of Tennessee Williams's language. By which it follows that he had no grasp of the drama.
As a result, this was a Streetcar in which Stella (Stacey Tappan) and Mitch (Anthony Dean Griffey) were the most interesting characters. She in the beginning and he near the end had exceptionally passionate, lyric moments. These moments were not repeated.
Blanche (Renée Fleming) didn’t have any music to sing, and so passed the evening slinking around the stage, pretending to smoke stage cigarettes, and sneaking nips of stage booze. Rather extravagant use of a world-class performer.
Likewise, the Stanley, Ryan McKinny, devoted the evening to displaying his torso, being given no other reasons for being on stage. Don’t get me wrong; I have the greatest respect for his abs. You would never know that McKinny can also act and sing. They appreciate him better across the street at Disney Hall, where he has been permitted to shine as Creon, Tiresias, and the Messenger in Stravinksy’s Oedipus Rex, and in Shostakovich’s Orango.
Speaking of abs, the stage was decorated with a septet of supernumerary hunks, who disported themselves as picturesque louts when they weren’t moving of furniture around (pointlessly). They were ridiculous, but they constituted the only visuals to generate some atmosphere.
Brad Dalton’s minimalist staging amplified the flaws and minimized the virtues of the work. Nothing was gained by having the orchestra share the stage with the singers: it just confined the space available for the action to an inconvenient isthmus. Steamy, run-down New Orleans may be a cliché, but the story is rooted, right or wrong, in it. If you don’t provide a cliché New Orleans, you better provide an adequate substitute. I suppose the music was supposed to fill that role, but it didn’t.
The whole evening was just baffling. Other than Einstein on the Beach, L.A. Opera has demonstrated bad judgment in selecting more recent operas. Now, why this of all things? And I’m also baffled by Previn. He has talent: Every Good Boy Deserves Favour (1978) is terrific, and he provided music for quite a few interesting movies (e.g. Inside Daisy Clover, 1965) so what happened?
And anyway, the first obstacle to any kind of production of Streetcar Named Desire is the 1951 movie. When anybody utters those famous lines, indelible images of Brando, Vivien Leigh, and Karl Malden pop up before us without fail, more vivid than any flesh-and-blood performers. I can imagine that this also happened long ago, when the opera versions of beloved stage hits like Marriage of Figaro and La dame aux Camélias appeared first appeared. They must have seemed very unnecessary and very strange, too. But they had Mozart and Verdi behind them, while this .... All I can hear is the voice of Tennessee whispering, "Baby, get me a strong one."
We have been subjected to this work here in Chicago as well, with Dame Fleming as the star (Previn basically wrote it for her). It fails as both music and drama to my ear. Do not get it at all. There are so many 20th century operas malingering out there that could really benefit from revival: I like Jack Beeson's Lizzie Borden, and Marc Blitzstein's Regina (based on Hellman's The Little Foxes), to say nothing of the Thomson/Stein operas. Previn's fame and Fleming's advocacy are the only things this work has going for it.
Posted by: Jeff Abell | May 24, 2014 at 12:05 PM