My verdict on The Elephant Man opera: worth seeing, so long as you’ve downed some espresso before hand.
My random thoughts: This being a contemporary French opera, the “dialogue” seldom manages to get outside of poor Joseph Merrick’s head. Therefore, the libretto is gawd-awful, chalk-full of trite simplifications about how it must feel to be the poor guy with “iguana eyes.”
The music all sounded fairly minimalist to my untrained ears. Lots of bells and other percussion, which was nice. But there was one moment of singing that made it all worth it: In Act III (which means you should NOT skip out after intermission), a woman named Mary Wilson took it away with some crazy over-the-top singing. Staccato. Vibrato. High C’s that reached the stratosphere. She pulled every trick in the opera handbook, as mandated by this otherwise sleepy score in a sudden act of boldness. It was hilarious. It was beautiful. It was totally awesome!
Weird stuff from the front: David Walker, the guy who plays Monsieur Elephant, is a countertenor, which means he’s a freak of nature in his own right–his voice is about as high as that of your average mezzo-soprano, ‘cept it lacks the color. Also, he’s not a particularly bad-looking guy. Nor is he costumed to be elephant-man ugly. I’m not sure how I feel about the decision to keep Walker “normal” lookin’. On one hand, I think it encouraged the audience to feel empathy for the character, as well as to drive home the point about how this Elephant Man “is a man,” something he’s not entirely certain of himself. On the other, there’s a disconnect ’cause Walker’s actually sorta hunky.
I’m super glad about him being cast, though! The composer originally wrote this part to be played by a woman–and seeing/hearing that would have really pissed me off. “You are a man.” “I am a man.” These lines are central to the libretto. (“Homme” in the French.) No better way to piss off the feminist arts patrons (and there are a lot of ’em) than to emasculate male characters in this manner. Joseph Merrick was a cripple, and thereby a weakling; I guess that’s the logic. Why does that have to make him a woman?
Through it all, the Merrick character was surrounded by dancers who were supposedly using movement to represent his internal struggle. On Friday, I predicted that this would be a “palsied” affair, and, hate to say it folks, but I was spot-on. These dancers–brought to you by choreographer/director Doug Varone–kept flopping onto their sides and twitching, as if, on top of everything else, the poor Elephant Man had also been sacked with epilepsy.
There’s a showing tonight. Now, I’m not a betting woman. But if I were, I’d say there’ll be at least a few rush tickets.
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