Julie Taymor's Magic Flute

Julie Taymor's new production of Die Zauberflöte at the Met is an unqualified triumph. My guess is that it will last at least as long as the David Hockney production it replaces (14 years), and might, conceivably, even outlast The Lion King on Broadway. Some reviewers seem to hope that it will serve as the ideal jumping-off point for the millions of New Yorkers who have never been to an opera before; my only worry is that it will spoil such people for the much more boring productions they're bound to go see if they do catch the opera bug. Either way, this is certainly the best production of Zauberflöte that I've ever seen, and although there have been countless others over the past 200 years, I'm sure that it's one of the best ever, anywhere.

The wonder and the curse of Zauberflöte is that it's an utterly magical opera, makes very little sense, and simply can't be "played straight". If the design team got the loudest ovations at the premiere on Friday, that was partly because of their magnificent achievement, but also because it makes no sense to criticise them from departing from the "normal" way of doing things. With this opera, more than any other, you can't just hire Franco Zeffirelli to put on a lavish and utterly unimaginative production: it requires colour, imagination, and inventiveness.

In the past, the Met has tackled this problem by hiring visually stunning artists, like Hockney and Marc Chagall, to design striking sets for the opera. In choosing Julie Taymor to direct it, however, they've tacked a little: she's credited for costume design, puppet design and overall production, but it's her colleague George Tsypin who gets credit for the sets. The result is a much less static opera than Zauberflöte normally is: there's nearly always movement on stage, something to surprise and delight the audience even after their initial awe at the staging has worn off. The moments which stick in the visual memory are not the bits when the curtain rises, so much as individual scenes: dancing bears, or Papageno's puppet-feast, or the grand entrance, on a revolve, of the Queen of the Night.

Moreover, for all its unprecedented theatrical innovation, Taymor's production is actually very conservative when it comes to what really matters – the music. The overture is played from beginning to end with the curtain down and nothing happening on stage at all, and when a cast member is singing, he or she is always standing up, facing the audience, with nothing interfering with our ability to enjoy their work. There are a few scrims in this production (regular readers of this blog might recall that scrims are something of a pet peeve of mine), but they're used rarely, and never in between a singer and the audience. No one is asked to sing while lying down, or sitting down, or hanging upside-down from a trapeze, or even to navigate a precarious rake. The whole production fits neatly inside the proscenium: Taymor is confident enough of her theatrical abilities that she doesn't see any need to break the rules for effect.

I have to say, then, that I'm extremely puzzled at the extremely curmudgeonly review that Tony Tommasini gave the production in the New York Times."Ms. Taymor's production is so packed with stage tricks, so peopled with puppets, kite-flyers, dancers and extras of sundry description," he says, "that the exceptionally fine musical performance given by the conductor James Levine and a strong cast was overwhelmed". Tommasini goes on to give specific examples: armed guards are "rendered irrelevant" by puppets; Tamino "looked distracted, as if trying to remember and execute a predetermined pattern of stylized poses"; other puppets have the unfortunate effect of preventing us from "pondering Papageno's romantic dilemma".

I'm sure that if Die Zauberflöte is presented in concert performance, that might help the audience concentrate a bit more on the music. But the whole point of opera as an artform is that it is the confluence of music and theatre; Taymor's Zauberflöte simply constitutes theater just as magical as the music.

I really don't understand Tommasini's point at all: of all the operas in the world, Zauberflöte is one of the least fragile. To put it mildly, this particular opera isn't exactly famous for its piercing psychological insights: the libretto makes no sense at all, even by operatic standards, and the number one reason to go see it is simply to listen to a large chunk of the most beautiful music ever written. Now I didn't go to the exact same performance that Tommasini did (I went last night, to the second performance), but I vividly remember that scene with the armed guards where he says they "might as well have been performing from the orchestra pit". And I can distinctly remember what I was thinking as I watched that scene: that the staging was hugely impressive, that the music was gorgeous, and that – foremost – the singing was some of the best in the opera.

In Zauberflöte of all operas, there's really no need for the singers to be the most important thing on the stage, visually speaking. Tommasini does have a shadow of a point when he talks about the costumes: they weren't really up to the standard of the staging or the puppets, but that didn't really matter because the voices were so good. I'd say it was an excellent ensemble cast: no one really stood out, but everybody sang their parts with accuracy and feeling. There's no doubt who the audience favourite was, though: the spirit-guide boy trebles, who were perfectly in tune and in time with each other.

Julie Taymor, with this prodution, has finally taken the weight of the story off the shoulders of the singers – and for that we should be grateful rather than aggrieved. "It's my job to make the libretto and the staging magical," she seems to be telling her singers: "your job is to do the same for the music". And, under the masterful direction of James Levine, that's exactly what they did.

I had the most wonderful night at the opera last night, thanks to a cast and crew of hundreds. Of all the people who contributed to the evening's success, Taymor, though crucial, was only the third most important. Levine was number two: he absolutely nailed the score, and reminded me that the Met's band is still one of the top five orchestras in the world. Number one, of course, was, and is, and ever shall be Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart.

Taymor did what she does best, without interfering with either Levine or Mozart, and that is probably her greatest achievement of all. And with all due respect to Tony Tommasini, anybody who thinks that Mozart's score can't stand up to a couple of puppets is in dire need of an injection of general musical enthusiasm.

Then again, I fear that Tommasini might not have been alone. Yet again, I came away sorely disappointed in the quality of the Met's audience, which seemed to be comprised last night mainly of a large contingent from the Upper West Side Hospital for Acute Bronchial Disorders. Given that the average age seemed to be somewhere north of 70, you'd think that they'd've worked out by now that the overture is actually part of the opera, and that when the orchestra is playing music, it might be a good idea to discontinue their conversations. But maybe this is what happens when you bring Julie Taymor to the Met: you get people who think that if they can talk and cough in The Lion King, they can talk and cough in Zauberflöte. Idiots.

Posted by Felix at 15:18 EST

Comments

On your last point:
One expects such low standards from young audiences who at least have the excuse of never knowing better. But if the elderly have also turned into assholes, we're screwed.

On the other hand, rich old bastards have always been rich old bastards. Get a more rural audience and see what happens.

Thanks for the post; I'm an ignoramus but would like to check this out if next time I'm in New York...think it'll last through spring?

Posted by: Jame at 5:34 EST, October 13, 2004

Absolutely! It's coming back for five performances in April. I'll be there.

Posted by: Felix at 7:15 EST, October 13, 2004

Your review is very encouraging. I'm going next Monday with my parents (my mother is a light opera director/choreographer in Ohio), and I just read the Times review.

I'm very excited. I grew up watching opera, but I haven't been to many in my adult life, so I'm still pretty ignorant. But I love Mozart.

Posted by: Eric at 17:42 EST, October 13, 2004

thank you for your comments. I haven't seen the opera but would like to very much, if not this spring then hopefully next year (its certain to sell out). But I couldn't agree more with A. Tommasini's review! I was so disappointed in his lack of enthusiasm for creativity and activity and excitement. And you know, it wouldn't be the worst thing if the Met had one opera where people brought their kids in droves to see it..starting a whole new audience for opera which is what everyone complains about. snob. When I was about 10 I fell in love with the Magic Flute via that scene of the Queen of the Night aria in the movie "amadeus". that may be totally middlebrow, but I am the one who now pays (maybe only 1x a year) to see an opera because of that...it has to start somewhere. And I loathe lincoln center audiences! Haven't been to the Met since I stood up to see Othello. (too expensive...I go to city opera!)

Posted by: jen at 22:16 EST, October 15, 2004

We just saw The Magic Flute.
Just extraordinary.

Congradulations!
Québec, Canada

Posted by: Lise at 17:15 EST, December 30, 2006