BWW Blog: English-Language Opera and The Vocal Instrument

Some audiences may dismiss opera as lofty or inaccessible, but operatic narration is structured with the same basic tenets of spoken theatre: conflict and resolution, marked by the surprising (yet ultimately expected) reactions of characters, makes for good storytelling. In spoken theatre, dialogue and dramatic action are the main vehicles for chronicling the story; musical theatre uses these forms along with musical storytelling. Song and dance in musical theatre accomplish the same tasks as dialogue: they serve to move the story forward narratively, or to present character development through emotional expression. The same concept applies in opera, and can be seen in the two main types of musical presentation, recitative singing and the arias. Recitative singing is exactly what it sounds like-spoken theatre (dialogue) that is set to music and sung. The arias are the more traditional-type songs, often used as character-driven exercises in emotional expression.

Spoken theatre can rely on fast, expository storytelling in the forms of monologues and dialogue to impart information, whereas operatic drama unfolds at the pace of the music. Watching foreign-language opera is, for me, akin to watching a non-language-based performance set to music, and the performers' voices are the featured symphonic instruments. It's fairly easy to infer dramatic motives based on stage action, so I rarely find it necessary to read the subtitle screens; sometimes it's more interesting to get lost in the music and associated movement. The subtleties of the story can be lost in translation this way, but the most powerful moments of opera-the grandiose, poignant, passionate actions set to equally commanding scores-are easily recognized and appreciated with or without context.

I find English-language opera, however, somewhat baffling. As an art form, it straddles the fence between language-based storytelling and movement or music-based storytelling. Dramatic action as presented through recitative singing still moves at the speed of the musical score, which can be, in a euphemism, luxurious. While I enjoy languid, thorough explorations of musical themes as presented by an orchestra, when the performers' voices are used as the source of exposition instead of a musical instrument, I start to notice the speed of the story's development. When the story flows with the speed of the musical movement, dramatic progression toward climax can seem substantially hindered.

I've been considering this since seeing The Consul, the last show of Opera Santa Barbara's 2013 season. The Consul was beautifully staged, with a film-noir ambiance. Magda, the tragic protagonist, lives in a dingy loft apartment somewhere against the cityscape, and the Consul's office lobby consists of stage-to-catwalk file cabinets, reminiscent of Mulder and Scully's dimly lit basement on The X-Files. However, despite the exciting trappings of an expertly staged theatrical piece, I had difficulty merging the language-based and non-language-based types of storytelling in my head. As a result, I had trouble enjoying The Consul.

Not to say that I didn't appreciate it. There were some very interesting concepts within the story; for instance, the awareness of expediency versus delay was played upon heavily. Desperate Magda brings anxious energy into the den of bureaucracy as she waits fruitlessly in the Consul's office to apply for a visa in order to meet her husband, John, a political insurgent who is on the run from the police. No one can see the Consul without the proper paperwork, and there is always more paperwork to be done. Amongst the crew of people who wait in the Consul's lobby is a magician; he becomes so keen to gain favor with the Consul's secretary in an attempt to expedite his own visa acquisition that the performs tricks. He possesses the others waiting in the lobby and directs their movement like puppets. "What shall we make them do?" he asks. "Dance!" And dance they do: the public, desperate for visas to leave the country, dance for the Consul's secretary, no matter how many clerical hoops she puts them through.

The Consul also presents a look at the modernization process of gender roles. Written in the late 1940s and based contemporaneously, The Consul is a modern opera. The gender ideologies of both the past and the future are accessible: on one hand, Magda's mother-in-law laments that the fates of all women are simultaneous and dependent on those of the men they've married; on another hand, the Consul's secretary, the character with the most perceived power, is female. Magda tries to break out of the antiquated sense of the female role by sealing her own fate via the procurement of a visa, but can't seem to free herself from the tyranny of filling out pedestrian information on repetitive government forms. Name: Magda Sorel. Age: still young. Hair: grey. Occupation: waiting. Name: woman. While her actions may be emboldened by the more modern sense of a woman's place in society, sadly her motives remain tied to the fate of her husband.

Interesting messages and thoughtful presentation notwithstanding, I still prefer my operatic voices to be used as musical instruments rather than as storytelling devices. I relish the melodrama and the theatricality of opera, and I enjoy committing to the idea that the story is not told, but shown: events are inextricably linked to the musical score, so I can release my expectation for efficient storytelling and find the pace of the story through the music. In that way, I can understand the messages of the show based on the common frame of reference of the human experience instead of through voiced explication. As an English-speaking person, the voice in English-language operas is the mode for telling the story-all the while remaining intricately tied to the musical score. This creates potential for the pace of dramatic buildup to seem too gradual, and sometimes uneven. In the case of The Consul, I found the pace to be plodding: unbefitting, yet oddly appropriate, for a play so obsessed with the idea of waiting for conclusion.