Orchestral music

Verbier Festival Chamber/Cheung/Capuçon

Date: March 23, 2018
Location: Hong Kong City Hall, Hong Kong.

Mozart – Symphony No. 35, K.385
Beethoven – Piano Concerto No. 4, Op. 58
Saint-Saëns – Cello Concerto No. 1, Op. 33
Schubert – Symphony No. 5, D.485

Encores:

J. Strauss II – Hungarian Polka Op. 332
Rossini – Overture to Guillaume Tell (with a twist)

Verbier Festival Chamber Orchestra
Gabor Takács-Nagy, conductor
Rachel Cheung (piano)
Gautier Capuçon (cello)

The fervent energy of the Verbier Festival Chamber Orchestra capped off an exciting month of programming at the Hong Kong Arts Festival. Culled from the best musicians from professional orchestras around the world, Verbier Festival Chamber Orchestra is currently touring in Asia and the Middle East, as part of its celebration of the Festival’s 25th anniversary. This evening, Gabor Takács-Nagy led the procession, with joyous and jubilant reading of the Mozart and the Schubert. With the beginning of Schubert, Takács-Nagy’s phrasing and dynamic control led us into a world of agony, the sort of wandering misery that Schubert is fond of projecting. But Schubert never intends his fifth symphony as a treatise on romanticism. Instead, he aims to allude to the classical era where formalities in harmony are at the forefront, and the piece would develop as such. The seamless transition in the interim is what made this evening most interesting: the orchestral sound ebbed and flowed, but what seemed to be an emerging didactic imagery slowly but surely gave way to pure sonorous beauty. Takács-Nagy’s handling of the call and response between the upper strings and lower strings in the final movement was one that conjured up less of visual symbolism than a professorial pursuit of harmonic balance. Never mind that Takács-Nagy tended to tap his shoes along with the music, thus revealing his perhaps even more illustrious past as a chamber musician: as an orchestral conductor, he was thoughtful, vivacious, and complete.

Cheung is a gifted pianist who gave a thoughtful display of perhaps Beethoven’s most lyrical piano concerto. Her intonation, especially in the slower second movement, was ethereal and controlled. In the faster passages, Cheung’s performance was handicapped by a Steinway piano muddling away, especially in the middle registers, and seemingly unwilling to project more clarity that perhaps Cheung, and most certainly Beethoven, surely would have sought. Capuçon’s cello lines had long, overarching phrasings that wove nicely with the orchestral lines. Melodic subjects were repeated with slight tweaks to intonation to yield a richly woven fabric of sound. If Cheung was seeking perfection in individual notes, Capuçon was clearly more committed to channeling meaning through shapely and refined paragraphs. Two encore pieces followed: a cheerful Hungarian Polka, by Strauss II, and a vocal-only rendition of Rossini’s Guillaume Tell overture (yes, orchestra members sang the overture) that confirmed just how much fun members of this festival orchestra are having on their tour.

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Ballet and dance

Whipped Cream

Date: March 22, 2018
Company: American Ballet Theatre
Choreography: Alexei Ratmansky
Location: Hong Kong Cultural Centre.

The Boy: Daniil Simkin
Princess Praline: Sarah Lane
Princess Tea Flower: Hee Seo
Prince Coffee: Cory Stearns
Prince Cocoa: Joseph Gorak
Don Zucchero: Blaine Hoven
Chef/Doctor: Alexei Agoudine
Marianne: Catherine Hurlin
Ladislav: Duncan Lyle
Boris: Roman Zhurbin

Hong Kong Philharmonic
Ormsby Wilkins, conductor

Richard Strauss completed scores for only two ballets, one of which is Whipped Cream, premiered in 1924. The story tells of a boy who, after overindulging on whipped cream, falls ill and starts to hallucinate and dream of a world of dancing confections. The original production, with lavish costumes and elaborate sets, was meant to bring back memories of the glorious yesteryear, with veiled references to the preferred bygone days of (perhaps) the Hapsburg Empire. Alas, that premiere did not go well with the Austrian public; any nostalgic feelings were quickly nullified by the brutal reality during this period of First Republic: hyperinflation ran rampant, and Austrians (and much of the German-speaking Europe) were barely making their ends meet. Strauss resorted to defending himself by explaining that he merely wanted to create joy, but the ballet’s exuberance in the eyes of the impoverished public left such a bad taste that it was mothballed for much of the rest of the composer’s life.

ABT’s revival of Whipped Cream (albeit with new choreography) during one of modern age’s longest bull markets seems timely. Unemployment has been inching downwards (at least in America). Inflation remains stubbornly low. The majority of Americans is not impoverished by any modern standard. In this production, premiered last year, Alexei Ratmansky douses the Company with copious amount of busy choreography, with demanding jumps and turns for both men and women. Sure enough, Mark Ryden’s set and costumes have all the trappings of a gilded age that, while referencing a distant past, echoes a prosperous society in which we are supposedly living in. But is that true? Income disparity has been severe and getting worse; social inequity has been exacerbated by political hacks unwilling to reverse the status quo. And yet we all feel comfortable with the sets and costumes, as if we have become so elitist, and so gilded, that, even if the art is purely escapist and fictional, we could be rendered defenseless if accused of losing perspective and insight into the deeper, perhaps unseen, problems in society? If we can’t find the repugnance of an elitist art amidst poverty and injustice in the same manner that ballet goers found repugnance a century ago, what does it say about the ballet goers today? Are we elevating ballet to an elitist art form so much so that we could see, and relish seeing, the art as a narcissistic reflection of ourselves, while conveniently forgetting, if only for the fleeting moment, the rest of humanity who could barely make their ends meet, in this gilded age in the 21st century?

Ballet remains an elite, not necessarily elitist, art form – one that requires world-class training and hard work. For all the potential trappings of an elitist evening, this evening’s performance was undoubtedly a showcase of the elite. Daniil Simkin was sensational as the Boy, a role he created last year. His boyish and fun portrayal was in stark contrast to performances seen earlier: as Romeo, and in Van Cauwenbergh’s “Les Bourgeois” (in Taipei, in 2017, not reviewed). His grand écarts were bouncy and weightless, bending up well past the 180-degree line. His coupé jetés encircling the stage were so smooth and effortless, as if he was a wild animal roaming on four legs in free land. Sarah Lane, as Princess Praline, displayed strong upper-body strength, and acted with passion and commitment. Her jumps were, at least on this occasion, lacking suspension en l’air. Both Cory Stearns and Hee Seo had good evenings juggling between Ratmansky’s fiendishly complex choreography and dramatic eloquence, but between themselves, a chemistry languished aside. Blaine Hoven’s muscular movements as Don Zucchero were decisive without losing the role’s comedic angle. Joseph Gorak’s excellent Prince Cocoa reminded us how even a secondary role could enliven an evening’s experience, much in the way that a scintillating Mercutio could lift the entire experience of Romeo and Juliet. Catherine Hurlin starred brightly as Marianne, another secondary role. Hurlin’s flexible body untangled Ratmansky’s choreography with fluidic and seemingly painless ease. One would be forgiven for deeming her outstanding performance, coupled with genuine eye contact and ebullient smiles, the brightest star of the evening. Ratmansky’s choreography for corps was busy but not frenzied, and accorded soloists with extended solo sequences that well-matched the long arches of Strauss’ phrases. The final grand pas, filled with classical steps and references to the Le Corsaire and Don Quixote of the ballet world, romped with uninhibited abundance and fanfare.

Ormsby Wilkins, a resolute leader, gave a measured reading of Strauss’ score. The orchestra executed with clinical precision, and was trouble-free all evening save for a minor blip in the high horn passages towards the end. More emphasis on carving out long Straussian phrasings, instead of meticulously shaping individual notes’ intonation, would have been preferred. Mark Ryden’s set was astoundingly beautiful, with warm colors and creative props. A trolley which the Boy would eventually climb atop to claim the figurative confectionery crown was wonderfully decorated; it was also used only once. The theatre filled with a jolly good spirit. In the context of the society in which the production is performed, whether it can be considered lavish or wasteful, or both, is a matter that deserves to be debated on another day.

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Opera

Pelléas et Mélisande

Date: March 15, 2018
Location: Hong Kong Cultural Centre, Hong Kong.

Arkel: Alfred Reiter
Geneviève: Leah-Marian Jones
Pelléas: Jacques Imbrailo
Golaud: Christopher Purves
Mélisande: Jurgita Adamonyté
Yniold: Rebecca Bottone
Doctor: Stephen Wells

The Orchestra of the Welsh National Opera

Lothar Koenigs, conductor
David Pountney, director

Pelléas et Mélisande, unlike Tristan und Isolde, is not an opera about its eponymous characters. The main character is Golaud — Mélisande’s husband and Pelléas’ half-brother — who could not come to terms with the force of destiny. Golaud would witness (and cause) the title characters to die, survive the both of them, yet be unceremoniously dismissed by Arkel as an after thought at the drama’s end. There is no hero, nor is there even a scripted downfall of the hero. The opera’s characters — and we — are all shaped and swept away by destiny. If Debussy’s free-flowing harmony does not already drive home the point that his is not, or is unglued from all influences of Wagner’s, the characters’ destiny most certainly does.

Where Golaud is central to this framework, Pountney’s production brings Mélisande more to the fore. The implication does not necessarily divert attention entirely away from Golaud, but the effort seems to put Mélisande on equal footing. The production set includes a spiraling tower in the middle of the stage, surrounded by a moat of water. The spiraling tower is fashioned in the form of a 50-feet tall skeleton topped with a skull the size of a small sedan. This skeleton tower remains there for the entire opera, and must surely signify something: that people (mostly men) traverse in and out of the skeleton throughout the opera probably signifies a carcass of a woman being trampled upon constantly, as though a stone-faced woman is to be raped so repeatedly as to have lost what remains of her soul and spirit, leaving merely the physical being to be ravaged. Could that be Mélisande? Dozens of chains hanging from the rafters above signify the entrapment of something. Could a spirit be entrapped in a spiritless physical being that reincarnates? In Pountney’s framework, the answers to the above seem to be in the positive: Mélisande is a recurring spirit being brought out by the shepherd. When she dies physically, her child is literally reduced into a puff of smoke, just as Debussy’s music resolves to a close. During the scene when Yniold is looking for his ball, Mélisande reincarnates as the stone that Yniold is unable to turn over. Yniold, focusing on the ball, is probably oblivious to this fact, but Pountney here seems to tie Mélisande as a morphing spirit of nature. If the stone in Debussy/Maeterlinck’s vision is to depict a world where no one can see let alone control his destiny, Mélisande in Pountney’s treatment seems to transcend above and beyond that. The fact that Mélisande is looking at the audience, smiling, while fiddling the ball away from Yniold, seems to suggest that Mélisande is in it with us — the audience. She may not be dictating fate, but she, and the audience, already knows the truth that Golaud so desperately wants to know: that fate shall run its course. Here, the reincarnating Mélisande is not comparable to Kundry precisely because she is also in it with the audience.

Jurgita Adamonyté’s voice were gentle, while her diction was easy on the ears. Jacques Imbrailo nurtured his lines with security and lyrical beauty. If Pelléas was a youthful representation of Maeterlinck himself, then, by Imbrailo’s depiction, Maeterlinck was certainly an innocent, blossoming young man ready to be loved and love. Violence to woman is horrific enough, but Golaud’s violence to a pregnant woman was here so repulsive, no matter how familiar the opera is to the audience, as to cause a few gasps from the auditorium. Christopher Purves’s Golaud simmered with remorseless evil. His voice was stentorian yet delineated with care, especially when he presented his departing recitatives. Where Rebecca Bottone’s voice lacked depth, she compensated with careful nourishing of Yniold’s lines. Bottone should excel in smaller houses, perhaps in Mozartean/Purcellian roles. Unlike other Arkels who would typically use rhythmic precision to accord a more devilish angle, Alfred Reiter’s portrayal was more free flowing and, to his credit, more agreeable with Debussy’s musical intention. Lothar Koenigs did a remarkable job shaping Debussy’s lines with aplomb – dramatic enough to stir, but not overt enough to draw attention. There were short bursts of moments when the orchestra sounded assertive, almost Wagnerian, especially during the scene changes, but overall it was sublime, lingering in a comfortable and non-obtrusive dynamic range.

WNO’s Pelléas et Mélisande. Photo credit: HKAF.

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Ballet and dance

Anna Karenina

Date: February 23, 2018
Company: Ballett Zürich
Choreography: Christian Spuck
Location: Hong Kong Cultural Centre.

Anna Karenina: Viktorina Kapitonova
Count Vronsky: William Moore
Alexei Karenin: Filipe Portugal
Princess Betsy: Giulia Tonelli
Betsy’s companion: Wei Chen
Levin: Tars Vandebeek
Kitty: Michelle Willems
Stiva: Daniel Mulligan
Dolly: Galina Mihaylova
Vronsky’s mother: Anna Khamzina
Countess Ivanovna: Mélanie Borel
Seryozha: Isaac Wong Hei

Christophe Barwinek, piano
Lin Shi, mezzo-soprano

Additional music on soundtrack

Modern choreographers, when interpreting Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina, often choose to focus on the love triangle between Anna, Vronsky and Karenin, because the emotions boiling among the trio overflow with plenty of material for one full evening of entertainment. Rarely would a choreographer venture deep into societal and philosophical aspects of Tolstoy’s work, simply because these concepts cannot easily be interpreted by dance motions. Take, for example, Alexei Ratmansky’s production for the Mariinsky. Most of the stage actions center around Anna, and her relationships with Vronsky and Karenin. When Ratmansky veers off, he tends to focus on what affects Anna personally. The corps is mostly used as sugary glazing to move the story along or, in the case of the elaborate horse racing scene, as a standalone, show-off-your-corps sort of spectacle. Secondary characters are given very little stage time, and they, when finally onstage, rarely partake in any choreography of significance.

Christian Spuck, in a Ballett Zürich production that opened the 46th Hong Kong Arts Festival, attempts something more ambitious. His production gives greater prominence, as well as more feature choreography, to three other pairs of characters: Stiva and Dolly, Princess Betsy and her consort, and Levin and Kitty. (By contrast, Ratmansky’s production for the Mariinsky hardly features these characters with much if any intensity.) As the ballet opens, readers of the novel would instantly recognize Stiva the adulterer and Dolly his despondent wife. The two characters would for the rest of the ballet hop on and off stage, with short bursts of intricate choreography to expose their relationships – abrasive enough to be emotional, sometimes even militant, but never enough to cause, unlike Anna’s, irreversible road to infamy. By repeatedly bringing the pair back, even as Anna’s life begins to crumble, Spuck perhaps wants to juxtapose the difference between these two adulterers: society back then would overlook adulterers like Stiva who nevertheless cause no irreparable damage to family and society (through the immense will of Dolly, to be fair), but would come down harshly on people like Anna whose extra-curriculars are certifiably her family’s – and herself’s – wrecking ball. Daniel Mulligan’s deliberately arrogant ballet stances and ignoble steps elaborated the outward and animal instincts of Stiva to great dramatic effect. The gutted facial expressions of Galina Mihaylova’s Dolly, most of which were directed towards the audience as she was left alone re-calibrating what remained of her dignity, made us wonder whether she would be better off choosing a Schopenhauerian escape from society once and for all?

Tolstoy makes Princess Betsy the anti-Orthodox, anti-Buddhist archetype, the sort of socialite with lax morals who would neither admit being nor associate with one: she of course snubs Anna as soon as society starts abandoning the latter. Curiously, she and her consort, aptly danced by Giulia Tonelli and Wei Chen, are given the most classical, conventional steps and sequences; perhaps supported pirouettes and classic arabesque lines cultivate the impression that Spuck is intentionally trying to contrast this pair, or at least deviate artistically, from the rest. Tonelli was a graceful dancer, with all the properly nefarious facial expressions. Chen gave Tonelli rock-solid anchorage as she pirouetted next to him, and elevated his dramatic significance in the act by naturally weaving himself into the action through eye contact and timely gestures.

Some of the most beautiful choreography in the entire production is given to Levin and Kitty, especially when they reconcile in the fields and during their wedding. The stage in these scenes is minimally decorated, with sparsely decorated tree trunks nonetheless brightly lit with optimistic color tones. In perhaps the evening’s coup de théâtre, audience gasped with excitement as the pair, portrayed by Tars Vandebeek and Michelle Willems, rode on stage on a bicycle, oblivious to the world and material life. This is not Lise and Colas riding on a bicycle and happily waving at an audience; this moment belongs to Levin and Kitty, and themselves alone. If Spunk intends on channeling a Schopenhauerian aesthetic ideal, or at least magnifying Tolstoy’s agrarian spirit, this is the moment.

Now we are left with the choreography between Anna, Vronsky and Karenin. Nothing was particularly awe-inspiring, and the only jaw dropping moment came during the love-making scene between Anna and Vronsky, where the undressing of Anna was more vulgar than was sensual, outdone only by the two frolicking and rolling on stage with such brutalist ugliness that, if deliberate, could only be explained as a brilliantly concocted contrast to the aesthetic ideal of Levin and Kitty. Again, Spuck could be forgiven for channeling Tolstoy here. Viktorina Kapitonova, as Anna, was a great dancer with confident steps and beautiful lines. Her arm placements, stunning as they were, felt luxurious yet natural. Her portrayal, save for those forgettable love-making moments, was entirely believable. Her dissolution scene, filled with intense pain, made a lasting impression. William Moore, as Vronsky, and Filipe Portugal, as Karenin, were two dependable lifters and committed stage actors, but Spunk has cast aside the characters by giving them very little bravura moments to shine.

Musically, some of the most poignant moments are handed to Levin – Rachmaninov’s depressing Op. 26-12 Noch’ pechal’na (The Night is Sad) was rendered when he was rejected by Kitty. Vandebeek’s possibly unintended fall to the ground towards the end of Levin’s solo weighed even more somberly on that destitute moment. Levin’s music upon his first return to the farms was the contemplative Rachmaninov’s Ne poy, krasavitsa! (No not sing, my beauty), Op. 4-4. Both songs were beautifully sung by Li Shi, to the fine and dreamy piano accompaniment of Christophe Barwinek. These two watershed musical moments are where the ballet production is also weakest – the drama seems completely driven by music and voice, and not necessarily by Spuck’s choreography or stage direction. By giving more prominence to other characters, the ballet company has more slots to show off its talent, but at the expense of finding time to fully develop each character to its full dramatic capacity. The impossible task of trying to explain Tolsoy’s masterpiece with totality remains unfulfilled, but Spuck can certainly not be faulted for the lack of trying.

Ballett Zürich’s Anna Karenina. Photo credit: Hong Kong Arts Festival.

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Ballet and dance, Theater

Cecilia’s Rhapsody

Date: March 18, 2017
Location: Hong Kong Cultural Centre, Hong Kong.

Blue Ka-wing – The Invisible S
Ata Wong Chun-tat – Très léger
Rebecca Wong Pik-kei – Nook

This contemporary dance program brings together three works in response to “Cecilia”, a short story about Hong Kong’s urban landscape that launched Hong Kong writer Dung Kai-cheung’s career twenty-some years ago. Blue Ka-wing’s piece, divided into multiple segments, questions whether the body matters in this world. In one segment, two dancers, with their bellies on the floor (actually, on a glass podium positioned mid-stage) and their hands and legs flapping around, are caricatured as instant message-typing goldfishes swimming aimlessly in a fish tank, to the waltzy music from Disney’s “Up”. Meanwhile, music switches intermittently into abrupt sequences of Stockhausen-like pulses, whereby the dancers jump up and take turns to embrace, slap at, or just look at each other. In another segment, the two dancers take turns to physically abuse each other, whether by slapping, kicking or pinching severely, as if alluding to some uncomfortable realities of modern society. Overall, the theatrical presentation here is quite memorable, but the dance language is too varied, and ultimately muddled.

Ata Wong Chun-tat’s piece begins with a dancer, dressed in a geometrically awkward costume that seems precisely to un-flatter the human body. Dancer Mok Chun-tung’s weighty body seems to reinforce this idea, though it must be noted that Mok, being a theater-actor by training, shows dancer-like flexibility and endurance, not to mention well-defined facial expressions, in his captivating solo. In the background, the soundtrack begins with a primitive sequence of long electronic pulses and ends with a soppy Cantopop song, played through a portable deck player held up on stage by a performer. In between, Chan Tze-wing renders live music with a cello while donning a long black dress and sitting on the shoulder of a lifter (hidden within the dress). This musical development, from the primitive to the commercial, seems to mirror the gradual increase in sophistication of the dancers’ movements during the piece, as though the choreographer wants to describe a developing humanity, probably in relation to Dung’s urban visualization of the city. If the piece is meant to be thoughtful and broadly contemplative, it succeeds theatrically and visually. But as a piece of dance theater, the language here seems too broad, with neither a lasting impact nor an all-encompassing glue that brings the various body movements under a cohesive thesis.

Of the three pieces, Rebecca Wong Pik-kei’s “Nook” offers the most coherent dance language and the most satisfying mix of dance and theater. A dark stage is lid with four rows of LEDs across the depth of the floor, with two on the floor and two hanging above them. Dancers Alice Ma and Takao Komaru display a well-rehearsed partnership where two body weights counter each other with seamless perfection just as they move freely across the stage. The two dancers mostly dance apart, but when they are together they are mostly connected through a piece of red dress (worn on Ma). At times Komaru would grab one end of the dress and swing violently, flying Ma’s body across the stage. Dancers would occasionally wrap their heads in the red dress and be led by the other, as though human relationships, no matter how beautiful, could at times find one side to be suffocating and subservient. When the dancers move together, they offer a most intense eye contact, infused with meanings undefined and unknown, as if alluding to the unpredictable and often dreamy human relationships in Dung’s work. With “Nook”, the overall effect weaving dance and theater together is most cohesive, while the dancers’ performance is most natural, sizzling, and revelatory. Komaru’s solo effort at the beginning, frenetic and muscular, reveals the top-class classical training behind the utmost fluency of his steps.

Alice Ma and Takao Komaru, in Rebecca Wong Pik-kei’s “Nook”. Photo credit: Hong Kong Arts Festival.

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Opera

The Makropulos Case

Date: February 25, 2017
Location: Hong Kong Cultural Centre, Hong Kong.

Emilia Marty: Annalena Persson
Albert Gregor: Aleš Briscein
Vítek: Petr Levíček
Kristina: Eva Štěrbová
Baron Prus: Svatopluk Sem
Dr. Kolenatý: František Ďuriač
Janek: Peter Račko
Stage Hand: Jiří Klecker
Cleaner: Jitka Zerhauová
Hauk-Šendorf: Jan Markvart
Lady’s Maid: Jana Hrochová

Orchestra and Chorus of the Janáček Opera of the National Theatre Brno

Marko Ivanović, conductor
David Radok, director

Janáček’s The Makropulos Case, based on a play by Karel Čapek of the same name, tackles a topic that is as old as humanity itself: human being’s infatuation with immortality. The heroine, Elina Makropulos has been living for more than three hundred years and, now going by the name of Emilia Marty, is seeking the potion that would allow her to live three hundred years more. As she pursues the secret formula, self-doubt eventually compels her to reject immortality altogether.

Here, Emilia Marty was portrayed by Annalena Persson, whose voice was supple with a molasses-like richness. Big, penetrating and powerful, Persson’s voice reminds us of the early years of another Swedish soprano by the name of Birgit Nilsson. As a dramatic actor, Persson owned the stage with a dominating presence, and that was not just because of a role that demands it. Persson made it a habit to engage those around her with a fiery and penetrating eye contact. Even as she was singing about her past excesses or a lingering meaninglessness of life, she would, via the certainty of a forceful glance, make it known to those on stage, and the audience off stage, that she meant what she sang. As the need to find the secret formula entraps Emilia and robs her of her freedom, the realization that life could go on without it unshackles her and brings her freedom. Here, Persson aptly portrayed this slow but sure transformation through a gradually loosening of limb movements. Through her eyes, one could sense that the aggression that used to overwhelm her in her initial quest for immortality has mellowed into the sort of content fulfillment that reflects more of a winning satisfaction than an appeasing complacency.

Janáček’s rhythms for the opera are precise and energetic. Emilia’s final aria is as close to a bel canto “mad scene” as one would have it. Brass stirs with multifaceted polyphony, on top of which rest intricate layers of rapidly-firing winds and strings. This has the effect of dramatizing Emilia’s transformation and the earth-shattering meaning behind it. Here, Brno’s orchestra, led by maestro Marko Ivanović, showcased the score with a lively briskness and measured urgency. Percussion section engaged with gripping intensity and ripping accuracy. The rest of the singing cast was dependable with their good singing and fine acting. Jan Markvart’s caricature of the jocular figure of Count Hauk-Šendorf delighted the crowd with Viennese operetta-like facial expressions perfect for the role. The production is classically done: at Dr. Kolenatý’s office, every piece of furniture, the walls and the lamps were meticulously handcrafted to take us back to the 1913 office realism that Čapek has well prescribed. The staging and lighting were ample and luxurious without seeking to overwhelm or take the limelight off of the music and the stage drama. In most productions, the secret formula would be destroyed. But here, Emilia simply wrinkled the paper containing the formula, threw it on the ground without destroying it. By leaving a can of worms ready to be re-opened, director David Radok created his only significant departure from the standard treatment of the opera’s ending, but in a way that gives us food for thought without demeaning it.

Makropulos Case by National Theatre Brno. Photo credit: National Theatre Brno’s website.

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Ballet and dance

Mixed Bill / Das Triadische Ballett

Date: February 21, 2017
Location: Hong Kong Academy for Performing Arts, Hong Kong.

Balanchine – Allegro Brillante
Duato – Jardí Tancat
Siegal – 3 Preludes, Rialto Ripples
Gerhard Bohner, after Schlemmer – Das Triadische Ballett

Bayerisches Staatsballett II

The appointment of Igor Zelensky as Ballet Director at Bayerisches Staatsballett in 2016 means that his predecessor, Ivan Liška, would either leave or be reassigned elsewhere. Liška, who has for nearly two decades overseen the ballet company’s rise into a formidable company with equal emphasis on classics and modern, has since taken up directorship of the junior company. Liška’s new appointment may be seen as a downgrade to some. But in many ways, Liška’s new appointment could very well point to his personal ambition to raise the prominence of the junior company and, given Liška’s stature and prominence, Munich’s desire to become a magnet for young rising stars. Many of these young stars were vividly featured this evening.

As the feminine protagonist in Richard Siegal’s choreography, to popular tunes by George Gershwin, Margarida Neto dazzled with a fantastic display of athletic finesse, precision timing and theatric artistry. Witnessing Neto’s acrobatic athleticism was liberating and revelatory. Her demeanor revealed an inner-self that is rebellious at heart. A contemporary whom she would readily look up to would be Natalia Osipova. Her three male counterparts were dutiful and humorous, but as they jumped en tutti with Neto it was clear that Neto exhibited superior control of timing (in relation to music) and muscles (in achieving elevation). I would not be surprised if Neto soon finds an offer as soloist in the senior company or elsewhere.

If Balanchine’s choreography chiefly demands technical mastery of the individual steps, Bianca Teixeira and Francesco Leone, the soloists in Allegro Brillante, were more than competent in that regard. Teixeira displayed strong arched back and good pointe work, while Leone was a solid partner with effortless elevation. Crucially, both were musically inclined and ready to dance to the music rather than to a list of steps. The rest of the ensemble revealed a well-rehearsed junior company in which jumps were in sync and positions were well-aligned. Liška should be proud of their effort overall.

Das Triadische Ballett, of course, was created by Oskar Schlemmer during the nascent days of Bauhaus. Dance, which before Bauhaus was designed to express emotions, were reduced into mechanic display of basic geometric forms and movements under Schlemmer. Ballerinas in tutus would move like a horizontally spinning disc. Danseurs would move like robots, with their limbs moving in simple degrees of freedom. If Bauhaus as a design philosophy means to reduce objects into abstract principles of functions and forms, then Das Triadische Ballett is a hugely significant attempt to apply that philosophy into dance. Whether that treatment has any philosophical or historical significance in altering dance thereafter is up to debate (though most modern choreography, including Balanchine’s, probably borrows fundamental abstractions from or reflects such abstractions central to this philosophy), the singular outcome definitely results in something fundamentally different from what the dancing world has heretofore experienced. This Munich showcase is based on a reconstruction by Gerhard Bohner in 1977. In this instance, Hans-Joachim Hespos replaces a soundtrack having works by Tarenghi, Bossi, Debussy, Haydn, Mozart, Paradies, Galuppi and Handel, with his own. The mutation is not entirely uncalled for, as Schlemmer himself has proclaimed the work to be accompanied with contemporaneous music.

In contrast with the music in the 1970 reconstruction by Margarete Hastings, which is available on Youtube, Hans-Joachim Hespos’ work is more violent in its usage of atonality and random noise. Tuneless output has the effect of drawing the audience’s attention away from what is presented to what the tuneless noise means. Whether it be (presumably) metallic scratching or beating of random pieces of plastic, that randomness does trigger in the modern mind a corresponding action, focus, or event that may or may not be what the choreographer intends to be. This is perhaps why a continuous rendering of tonal Haydn, Mozart or Handel could better direct the audience’s attention towards the dancers.

Of course, Schlemmer does not intend the piece to be merely about dancers. Costumes form a huge part of the display philosophy. Here, the costumes defer squarely to Schlemmer’s original, where costumes with names like “Sphere skirt”, “Disc”, “Wire Costume” and “Gold Ball” are meant to represent abstractions of the human body which, with their specific material properties, determine the dancers’ every movement. The physical presentation here is formal, without any unnecessary embellishments. Dancers essentially are there to showcase the costumes as models. For the most part they did well, other than an accidental clash between the “Disc”s and the occasional exposé of the dancer’s arm in the “jellyfish” costume, which certainly would not have pleased Schlemmer.

The bigger issue in this Bohner reconstruction is the dark background. While the dark background features movements and costumes more prominently, the overall presentation is too tiring to the eye, especially when the costumes are constantly spotlighted over darkness. Schlemmer calls this “triadic” because he aims to juxtapose presentations in multiples of three, whether it be a reference to the number of dancers, costumes in each segment, or in the dimensionality of the presentation. But it also refers to the tripartite-ness of the presentation — one that is partitioned into yellow, pink, and black. Here, because everything is maneuvered in pitch black, the three partitions exist only in the different costumes, and, ever marginally, in the music composition. Any future revival or reconstruction would probably benefit from the tripartite-ness of the background color, if only to go easier on the eyes. That being said, Liška should be lauded for his bravery and determination to allow such a significant project —  historical in its place in German modern art and modernism — to bear fruit. The Arts Festival, likewise, should be commended for bringing Schlemmer’s adventurism, for the first time, in front of the Hong Kong audience.

Das Triadische Ballett in Hong Kong. Credit: HK Arts Festival website.

Das Triadische Ballett in Hong Kong. Credit: HK Arts Festival website.

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