There are messages on the London Underground, in railway guidelines
or even brochures of the Royal Opera indicating that they have a “no tolerance
policy” when it comes to abuse by members of the public of other users of their
services or of their staff. It is sad that we are living in times where such
guidelines are needed, but it is essential that we realise that they are
needed, and that we act accordingly and provide guidelines which are
enforceable by law. I wonder whether it has ever occurred to the performing
arts industry whether such guidelines are necessary for performers in
terms of what they are expected to do on stage. I have written about this before
(2013, 101-112) raising the following questions:
·
Are those who object to some expressions of theatre simply narrow-minded,
or conservative to the extent of rejecting innovation?
·
Is it all just a matter of taste, and therefore relative,
subjective, personal, and therefore ultimately not relevant for or interesting
to public / critical / academic debates?
·
Are there, should there be limits beyond which theatre should not
go—regarding the extent to which the dramatist or director may demand behaviour
from the actors that in many contexts other than theatre would be considered
highly problematic, morally suspect, possibly with legal implications?
·
Could there be any circumstance in which such activity, both gross
and subtle is acceptable?
·
Is its unacceptability subject to debate?
·
What are the criteria a serious critical discussion needs to
establish and then adhere to?
·
To what extent can the canon of ethical writing provide the
context?
The examples from my own theatre experience and from reading reviews
focused on quite openly controversial issues, such as defecating or urinating
on stage, real or faked, smearing themselves with real or stage blood, or any
other bodily fluid, for that matter, and killing live animals, for real, on
stage? Today I want to address things that performers (in my examples, opera
singers) are expected to do that are much less crass and gross than the
examples above. They need addressing nevertheless because of their potential
adverse impact on performers and because they represent instances where the
purpose and nature of art are fundamentally misunderstood.
At a recent production of Siegfried
by Wagner at the Deutsche Oper am Rhein, Düsseldorf, the tenor had to eat real food on stage during the
performance--how can this not have an adverse impact on his singing? It was
embarrassing to see the overweight mezzo soprano singing Erda in the same production having
to lie down on a sofa that was way too small for her size, and later sit up
on the sofa, only to be covered by a heavy large piece of cloth for some 45
minutes. Who would doubt that the first experience is humiliating for the
soprano, and the second one somewhere on the scale between somewhat to very
uncomfortable. Yes, the tenor can still sing, the mezzo soprano can still sing;
in comparison, these examples may come across as relatively harmless, and they
may be. However, what does it do to the singer’s career if the review mentions her
ability to endure under the blanket rather than her vocal qualities? How does
the humiliation impact on the soprano’s well-being, both subjectively (i.e.,
she felt humiliated and noticed it) and objectively (she is a rationaliser, in psychological terms,
feels not affected by it, but empirical research could show physiological
reactions that she is not aware of, and which correlate to the humiliating
stimulus)? What if the tenor cannot do full justice to one of the most
difficult roles in the opera literature because he had to eat during the
performance, and does not get invited to the next higher level of the opera
hierarchy by the artistic director who saw him in a performance marred by him
having had to eat?
In artistic terms, should not part of the director's role include
demonstrating at least the amount or the extent of insight it requires not to
threaten, by the directorial decisions and choices, the sound quality the
singer is able to produce? If we, as non-singers, recreate for ourselves some
of the physical positions we see singers in on stage, we have difficulty
breathing and speaking. Some training that the singer has, and we don’t have, may
compensate for the effect such positions have on the professionals in comparison to laypeople. Singers may also
develop their own survival strategies. But some adverse effect is sure to remain;
assuming it is not sheer nastiness on the part of directors to choreograph a problematic
physical position for their singers, is can only be ignorance, and directors
should take it upon themselves to be knowledgeable about how a singer’s body works
in relation to singing. Even an experienced and highly renowned
singer such as Klaus Florian Vogt cannot produce the best of his sound in his
signature role of Lohengrin in Act I Scene 3 in the phrase "Durch Gottes
Sieg" on the high note of "Gottes" if he has to freeze, after
the fight, before that line, in the physical position where he hovers above
Telramund, right foot forward, left foot behind, and has to lift the huge and
heavy metal sword in such a way that his left arm is highest and carrying most
of the weight--i.e., in counter-balance to the position of the feet. Vogt had
difficulty with the "Gottes" with that choreography at the current London production directed by David Alden, although he was brilliant at covering
up that difficulty and many will not have noticed. But he was forced to sing
less well than he can, and to cover a difficulty.
Should not the director be in charge of a production that is both
telling a gripping story to the audience and allowing the singers to use their
bodies, to hold their bodies, in the positions that are best for them to
produce the best sound with their voices? I would even argue that achieving
such a combination of gripping storytelling together with an insight into the
singer’s craft is much more challenging for any director than simply forcing
their singers into physical positions, and movements that they have to work
against while on stage, rather than being supported by them in their singing.
In addition to supporting or hindering the singers' singing,
directors have a further major role in dealing with their singers'
physicalities. It is still the case, for whatever reason, that many singers
are, in medical terms, overweight. No extent or degree of political correctness,
which might require us not to mention this, can hide this fact. It is equally
fact, and even more contentious that people relate weight and beauty. Is it for
what could be considered one of the most conservative and conventional art
forms, opera, to serve as an educational tool for changing people's attitudes?
Possibly. However, if that is one of the aims of opera, for some directors, how
is it best achieved? By doing almost everything possible, or at least a lot, to
show, parade and expose the excessive weight of the singer? Does the audience
get a better image of obesity when the near-immobile tenor is asked to engage
in movements that an agile performer might find challenging, but which cannot
fail to make the overweight tenor look ridiculous? Is there any point,
whatsoever, really, in having the overweight soprano, particularly an older
one, in a costume that is sleeveless? Do we need to encounter the sight of the
flabby, wobbly excessive fat on her upper arms and armpits? Is the revelation
supposed to make her look beautiful? To challenge our idea of beauty? Of
course, the director may want to show that a character looks ugly and uses the
singer’s physical givens as a starting point, showcasing them intentionally. Such
an intention on the director’s part, however, is rather an egoistic insult on
the part of the director, or design team, to us, but especially to the soprano
in question. It is also an example of poor story-telling because the intended outward
ugliness clashes, in most instances of the operatic canon, with the beauty of
the music (unless the playing of that music is equally distorted by the conductor
and orchestra). In most opera, ugliness or evil and the like are hinted at,
implied, or expressed and carried in contexts and through means that are in
themselves explicitly beautiful. Not surprisingly, revelations of a singer’s
obesity tend to occur predominantly in productions that have problems with
their storytelling to start with, and usually throughout. A brief look at the
fashion industry will not fail to demonstrate that there are plenty of ways of
showing and foregrounding that an overweight person, no matter whether male or
female, can look beautiful in line with current norms. That is a major shift of
insight, well worth for opera to be focusing on.
Great opera merges vivid, cogent story-telling, which can be
conservative or innovative in approach, with a splendid interpretation of the music
by the conductor and the singers. Within that framework, opera can afford to
take the demands of the singer’s voice in relation to their body into account
and can afford not to threaten the best possible voice production for each
singer. Opera can take up the challenge of all great art, of presenting its plots
and its characters in a way that is beautiful even if the circumstances at the
centre of the plot, or the traits of the characters, are all but beautiful. That
is the potential of art; realising that potential and doing it justice is the
challenge to all artists. Realising and safeguarding the performer’s dignity is
an essential part of that.