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Reviews
Boston Symphony Orchestra Presents the Cello at Its Finest
- Details
- Parent Category: Film and the Arts
- Category: Reviews
- Published on Thursday, 18 May 2023 15:13
- Written by Jack Angstreich
Boston Symphony Orchestra photo by Fadi Kheir
At Carnegie Hall, on the evenings of Monday and Tuesday, April 24th and 25th, I had the pleasure of attending two outstanding concerts presented by the excellent Boston Symphony Orchestra under the distinguished direction of Andris Nelsons.
The first program opened splendidly with a superb reading of Maurice Ravel’s exquisite Alborada del gracioso. The celebrated soloist, Gautier Capuçon, then entered the stage for an admirable performance of the New York premiere of Thierry Escaich’s compelling, impressively scored Les chants de l’aube for Cello and Orchestra, which was composed this year on a co-commission from the Leipzig Gewandhaus Orchestra and this ensemble (who have “an ongoing partnership”). Robert Kirzinger, in his note for the program, reports that:
With his new cello concerto, Escaich now has an association with the Boston Symphony Orchestra (BSO) as both composer and performer: He made his BSO debut as an organist in January 2020, performing Francis Poulenc’s Concerto for Organ, Timpani, and Strings under Alain Altinoglu’s direction at Symphony Hall.
And:
He wrote his concerto for violin, cello, and orchestra Miroir d’ombres for the brothers Renaud (violin) and Gautier (cello) Capuçon, who premiered the piece with Orchestre national de Lille in Belgium in 2006. That concerto led to commissions for solo concertos for both Renaud and Gautier, both of whom Escaich has known for many years through the Paris Conservatoire. The concerto for Renaud was written first but will receive its premiere in 2024.
The second half of the event was at least equally remarkable, a marvelous account of Sergei Rachmaninoff’s extraordinary Symphony No. 2. The initial movement’s introductory Largo conveys a longing that intensifies in the powerful Allegro moderato that constitutes its main body. The ensuing Allegro molto is exciting—indeed, at times even manic—although with more measured, moody, song-like passages, and ends quietly. The unabashedly lyrical Adagio is rapturously beautiful, a summit of musical Romanticism and the more variegated finale—marked Allegro vivace—is dynamic, even rambunctious.
The following evening’s concert was as memorable, beginning with a sterling rendition of the lovely, rarely heard Luonnotar of Jean Sibelius, featuring the wonderful soprano, Golda Schultz. Renowned soloist Anne-Sophie Mutter then joined the artists for a fine realization of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart’s charming, too infrequently played Violin Concerto No. 1. The opening Allegro moderato is effervescent but with serious moments while the Adagio possesses the elevated quality so characteristic of the composer’s enchanting slow movements and the concludingPrestois exultant and propulsive.
The closing half of the event was also brilliant. The violinist returned for a luminous version of the New York premiere of Thomas Adès’s striking Air (Homage to Sibelius), co-commissioned by Roche (as part of Roche Commissions for Lucerne Festival), Mutter, Carnegie Hall and this ensemble. About the work the composer has written that it is:
...actually an enormous canon or a series of canons at the 10th. They rise and at the same time descend, so that with so many modulations you end up arriving again at the point where you started, but transformed into something else. Anne-Sophie’s part is the freest agent within this mix.
The highlight of the concert, however, was a magnificent iteration of Sibelius’s stunning Symphony No. 5. The evocative and mysterious first movement has moments of austere grandeur, building to a thrilling finish and the succeeding Andante mosso, quasi allegretto is dance-like in rhythm and faintly pastoral in character. The finale opens suspensefully and soars majestically; after an enigmatic section the music slowly moves to an astonishing climax.
The artists were enthusiastically applauded on both nights.
May '23 Digital Week II
- Details
- Parent Category: Film and the Arts
- Category: Reviews
- Published on Wednesday, 17 May 2023 21:56
- Written by Kevin Filipski
4K/UHD Release of the Week
Superman—Five-Film Collection 1978-1987
(Warner Bros)
This set brings together the four Superman movies starring Christopher Reeve as the Man of Steel for the first time in 4K (the fifth is Superman II—The Richard Donner Cut). Donner directed Superman (1978), the grandly entertaining introduction to Reeve as a debonair but wholesomely Middle American Clark Kent and Superman, with the inimitable Margot Kidder as Lois Lane. After Donner was let go, Richard Lester was brought in to direct Superman II (1981), a sprawling comic adventure, and the misbegotten Superman III (1983), which wasted Reeve and Richard Pryor; finally, Superman IV: A Quest for Peace (1987), helmed by Sidney J. Furie and a stillborn artifact of its times, had nuclear weapons held hostage by Lex Luthor (Gene Hackman, a bright comic presence in three of these films).
While the films are wildly uneven—including Donner’s version of Superman II—the presentation is first-rate: everything looks spectacular in UHD. But not all extras have been ported over from earlier releases: the main retrospective making-of documentaries are here, along with commentaries, deleted scenes and some of the original Max Fleischer cartoons (see below).
All Quiet on the Western Front
(Capelight Pictures/Netflix)
German director Edward Berger’s adaptation of Erich Maria Remarque’s classic anti-war novel, set in the trenches of Europe during World War I, displays the horrors of war—blasts of poison gas, the excruciatingly agony of the dying—as horrific as anything ever filmed.
It’s been immaculately shot by James Friend, superbly acted by a large cast and has an effective visual aesthetic sharply contrasting natural beauty with the ugliness of the battlefield, but for all that, it’s proficient, rather than remarkable, filmmaking. Even Volker Bertelmann’s award-winning score sounds derivative of other, better composers. The film’s hi-def transfer is impeccable; extras are Berger’s commentary and a making-of featurette.
Knock at the Cabin
(Universal)
In M. Night Shyamalan’s latest twisty flick, a family of three—two dads and a young adopted daughter— on vacation in a remote area is accosted by a group of strangers who tell them that, to save the world from impending Armageddon, they must decide whom among themselves to sacrifice.
This tired “Sophie’s choice” trope might have been done with more nuance in Paul G. Tremblay’s underlying novel, but Shayamalan does little with the conceit, instead inserting turgid flashbacks for the characters alongside video feeds of the impending end of the world. Shayamalan can make these movies in his sleep and he seems to have done that here, with wooden acting, clichéd writing and derivative directing. The film looks good on Blu; extras include deleted scenes and featurettes.
(Warner Bros)
The 17 short films (most no more than 10 minutes) that make up this collection of original Superman cartoons created by Max Flesicher between 1941 and 1943 are an evocative glimpse at early manifestation of the original superhero—born in the days of Hitler, Mussolini and Hirohito—and a dazzling example of stunning animation marred by an ultra-patriotic, even zenophobic attitude.
It’s great that Warners has restored these important animated shorts—and their colors pop vividly throughout—but there’s also a scrubbed-clean sheen that robs the viewer of the grain that that earlier releases included. There are also three featurettes about the history and legacy of the Man of Steel and the Fleischer animations.
Samurai Wolf 1 & 2
(Film Movement Classics)
The samurai films of director Hideo Gosha are faster-paced and more freewheeling than, say, those of Kurosawa and Kobayashi, and these relatively short, fleet, exciting entries that were made back-to-back in 1966 and 1967, respectively, show off their unique style.
They also wear their influences (especially then-current spaghetti westerns) on their sleeve, along with gritty B&W camerawork. These newly restored hi-def prints look razor-sharp, and extras comprise an audio commentary by author Chris Poggliali and a featurette, Outlaw Director.
Beyond Human Nature
(Screen Media)
This unsettling documentary examines the 1992 death of Tom Monfils, an employee at a paper mill factory—he was found, drowned, at the bottom of a pulp vat soon after he had told authorities about alleged thefts by a fellow worker.
Director Michael Neelsen dives into this complicated story, looking into who would have wanted Monfils killed, looking through the evidence, the police investigation, the eventual apprehension of several of the plant worker, their trials and verdicts…and exculpatory evidence. This fascinating film, filled with turnabouts that make the viewer unsure of just what happened and who’s really responsible, makes one think that the truth might never be found.
The End of Sex
(Blue Fox Entertainment)
When married couple Josh and Emma hit a lull in their sex life—and conveniently while their kids are away at camp—they try to spice things up in director Sean Garrity and writer Jonas Chernick’s occasionally funny but mostly sophomoric sex comedy.
Swinging, a non-starting threesome, even a lesbian romp for Emma with Wendy, a school colleague—none of it works for them, or for the viewer for that matter. Although Chernick has a wan presence as Josh, Emily Hampshire makes Emma quite interesting and charming…she deserves a better vehicle for her comedic talents.
(Screen Media)
No one would accuse Megan Fox of being an accomplished actress, but it’s nice to see her do more than simply look good as a dangerous mob boss who confronts the title couple, a couple of nihilistic serial killers on a crime spree looking to rob Fox’s casino.
Director Tom DeNucci (who cowrote with Nick Principe) seems to be making it up as he goes along, especially dropping in Fox’s lethal and unkillable spirit creature that mows nearly everyone down. But even with Fox having a blast as the villain, this isn’t even a true guilty pleasure, since it’s so relentlessly one-note and, frankly, dull.
The Taking
(Dekanalog)
Appropriation of land in America is a fraught subject, and Alexandre O. Philippe’s documentary is a timely reminder of just how movies can have ramifications beyond the screen: Monument Valley became iconic partly through the westerns of director John Ford and, in the process, any sense of this landscape being part of Navajo territory has been lost.
Through extensive film clips as well as interviews with experts and historians, Philippe has made an eye-opening and challenging contribution to further proof of the old adage that “winners” are the ones who write (or rewrite) history.
The Poet’s Echo—Prokofiev, Shostakovich, Britten
(Rubicon Classics)
The words of the great 19th-century Russian poet Alexander Pushkin are the thread running through this imaginatively curated recital featuring three of the 20th century’s greatest composers. Sergei Prokofiev’s lovely Three Romances is followed by Dmitri Shostakovich’s delicate Four Romances. The lynchpin is Benjamin Britten’s The Poet’s Echo—the British composer’s first foray into setting Russian poetry—which was composed for those towering Russian artists, soprano Galina Vishnevskaya and her husband, cellist/pianist Mstislav Rostropovich; here, the flavorful arrangement for cello and piano is a nod to Rostropovich’s exceptional musicality.
Rounding out the program is Shostakovich’s eloquent D-minor Cello Sonata. The skillful performers are baritone Gareth Brynmor John, soprano Gemma Summerfield, cellist Abi Hyde-Smith and, anchoring the recording, pianist Jocelyn Freeman.
Off-Broadway Play Review—“The Habit of Art” by Alan Bennett
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- Parent Category: Film and the Arts
- Category: Reviews
- Published on Wednesday, 17 May 2023 02:02
- Written by Kevin Filipski
The Habit of Art
Written by Alan Bennett; directed by Philip Franks
Performances through May 28, 2023
59e59 Theaters, 59 East 59th Street, New York, NY
59e59.org
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| Matthew Kelly, John Wark and Stephen Boxer in The Habit of Art (photo: Carol Rosegg) |
In the theater of Alan Bennett, the playful interacts with the dreadfully serious. The Madness of George III found high comedy and tear-stained tragedy in the mental disintegration of the British king who lost the Revolution war to the upstart American colonies. The History Boys was both hilarious and thoughtful in its depiction of the relationship between a group of students and their magnetic professor. And his 2009 play, The Habit of Art, explores the flawed genius of composer Benjamin Britten (Stephen Boxer) and poet W.H. Auden (Matthew Kelly) through the prism of their posthumous biographer and the interactions of actors rehearsing a play about both men, who had known proclivities for underage boys (Britten) and “rent boys” (Auden).
In a small theater, a group of actors is set to rehearse Caliban’s Day, a play about Britten and Auden (the title based on Auden's belief that The Tempest needed an epilogue), in front of its beleaguered author, Neil (Robert Mountford), but not the director, who’s busy somewhere else. As they start rehearsing, the performers comment on the characters’ interactions, often questioning Neil about why something was included or not, and he responds with an interjection of facts that ingenuously allows Bennett to slip his own commentary about Britten and Auden into the proceedings, including the title of Bennett’s own play.
“The habit of art” is intoned twice by Auden and again at the end by Kay (Veronica Roberts), the stage manager who has seen it all and acts as a surrogate director. “The habit of art” first sounds like a pejorative, like something one needs to stop doing, like smoking, drinking—or having an interest in underage or “rent” boys. But for Bennett—and, obviously, for Auden and Britten—it is instead nurturing, life-affirming, necessary.
Bennet—who knows that their homosexuality was of great importance to both men’s art, with Britten adapting Thomas Mann’s latently queer novella Death in Venice as his new opera—conjures a fictional meeting between the estranged friends after many years, just as Britten embarks on composing Venice from a libretto by Myfanwy Piper, who worked with Britten earlier on the operas The Turn of the Screw and Owen Wingrave. (Britten had earlier set several Auden texts to music in several song cycles, the 1941 folk opera Paul Bunyan and, lastly, the 1944 choral work Hymn to St. Cecilia.)
Auden, ever the savage wit, tells Britten upon his arrival at Auden’s rundown flat—which is where the poet meets his rent boys for quick trysts—that he (Auden) should write the libretto since he is more sympathetic to Mann’s closeted homosexual tendencies than the heterosexual Piper, especially since Mann was once his father-in-law. (Auden and Mann’s daughter had had a marriage of convenience years ago.)
Britten feels Piper is up to the librettist’s job but he wants Auden to help make the opera—about an older artist with a secret yearning for young boys—less overtly autobiographical. Auden disagrees: “The closer you can steer it to yourself the better it will be.” The dialogue between the two men is imagined with precision and observed with sympathy by Bennett, who allows the men to speak frankly about themselves, often laced with biting humor. Discussing the youngster Tadzio in Death in Venice, whom Britten wants to age by a few years to make the relationship more palatable for audiences, Auden dryly says, “The boy Thomas Mann saw and took a fancy to was 11. Mann wrote him up as being 14. Now you’re suggesting 16. At this rate he’ll soon be drawing a pension.”
Hovering over this imagined meeting of the minds is the play-within-the-play’s narrator, Humphrey Carpenter (John Wark), who went on to write biographies of both Auden and Britten (as well as notables such as J.R.R. Tolkien) after their deaths. Humphrey, a conduit for some of Bennett’s illuminating observations about creativity and artistry, opens the play with these fitting lines: “I want to hear about the shortcomings of great men, their fears and their failings. I’ve had enough of their vision, how they altered the landscape. We stand on their shoulders to survey our lives.”
Philip Franks’ exuberant staging originated at the Original Theatre for a 2018 London revival and was supposed to make the trip over as part of 59E59’s Brits Off Broadway in 2020, but that was obviously canceled by the pandemic. It has finally arrived, and it couldn’t be bettered. The actors, who brilliantly speak Bennett’s magnificently quotable dialogue, are perfection, both individually and as an ensemble, with Matthew Kelly’s mordantly hilarious Auden and Veronica Roberts’ acidly amusing Kay leading the way.
Johanna Town’s magisterial lighting and Adrian Linford’s lovely scattered set that combines the cramped rehearsal stage and Auden’s cluttered flat—with such visual touchstones as an LP of a Vaughan Williams symphony conducted by Sir Thomas Beecham casually leaning against a turntable—also contribute mightily to the masterly effect of The Habit of Art, in which Alan Bennett once again shows he has few playwriting equals.
Broadway Play Review—“Good Night, Oscar” with Sean Hayes
- Details
- Parent Category: Film and the Arts
- Category: Reviews
- Published on Thursday, 11 May 2023 22:11
- Written by Kevin Filipski
Good Night, Oscar
Written by Doug Wright; directed by Lisa Peterson
Opened April 24, 2023
Belasco Theatre, 111 West 44th Street, New York, NY
goodnightoscar.com
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| Sean Hayes in Good Night, Oscar (photo: Joan Marcus) |
Does anyone remember Oscar Levant? A singular personality, Levant was a talented concert pianist who appeared in movies (An American in Paris, The Band Wagon) and as a sought-after guest on talk shows in TV’s early days. Appearances on The Tonight Show with host Jack Paar showed off Levant as a witty and personable raconteur who was unafraid to speak frankly about his own shortcomings—yet, because he was an endless font of hilarious one-liners (“this [show] and the psych ward...the only two places in the world I can still get repeat bookings,” he said), there was little consideration from others about his own mental well-being.
Thanks to Sean Hayes, who is simply spectacular as Levant, Doug Wright’s Good Night, Oscar (which was written for Hayes) is a must-see 100 minutes in the theater. The play, fictionalizing an appearance by Levant on Paar’s show in 1958, is based on real events: here, Oscar’s steely wife June—who committed her husband a month earlier because of his mental health struggles—signs him out of the institution for a few hours so he can be Paar’s guest. In the play, Wright introduces Paar (a game Ben Rappaport), who’s nervous about whether his unreliable guest will show up; NBC boss Bob Sarnoff (a furtive Peter Grosz), who’s incensed that Levant’s unstable behavior may ruin a live show; and Paar’s (fictional) assistant Max (an amusing Alex Wyse), who knows seemingly every detail about Oscar’s screen career.
With time to spare, Oscar arrives—after June (a fine but underused Emily Bergl) smooths things over with Paar and Sarnoff—along with his chaperone, Alvin (a solid Marchant Davis), who’s an orderly from the hospital carrying a valise filled with assorted pills for his patient. That triggers Wright’s most contrived episode in the play, as Oscar conveniently gets to the stash of pills from the otherwise careful Alvin with help from Max before going to talk to Paar in front of millions of viewers.
Wright’s script also awkwardly inserts the ghost of George Gershwin (a slick John Zdrojeski) into the proceedings, appearing as a figment of Oscar’s unruly imagination—Oscar had a complicated relationship with Gershwin, who was far more famous, beloved and wealthy than Oscar. The legend of Gershwin was burnished when he died far too young at age 38, while Oscar kept going, making money playing Gershwin’s greatest hits at the piano while ignoring his own ability to compose.
It’s not until Levant and Paar are seated in front of the TV camera trading quips that Good Night, Oscar finally stops pretending it’s more than a Sean Hayes vehicle. The pair goes back and forth about topics not suitable for late night TV in the late 50s, such as politics, sex and religion. (Oscar tells Paar that God “was my roommate” at “this swank sanitarium over in Del Rey.”) Hayes magisterially reminds us why Oscar was the perfect talk-show guest, funny but unpredictable, slightly nervous and even sad.
Director Lisa Peterson smoothly steers Wright’s bumpy but entertaining ride toward the play’s astonishing coup de theatre. Oscar reluctantly agrees to perform at the piano on The Tonight Show but insists he’ll play one of his own works. It is here that Hayes’ slow-burn performance—throughout, he has the nervous tics down and he imitates the unique-sounding voice with wondrous acuity, never resorting to caricature but instead making Oscar richly, sympathetically—and often uproariously—human.
Oscar sits down at the piano, fending off Gershwin’s taunting spirit with the sarcastic retort, “Oh, God...you’re my fantasy...I’m the one making up your lines.” He then plays the first chords of Gershwin’s classic Rhapsody in Blue. This is where Hayes—an accomplished pianist himself—takes his portrayal to an rarefied level. Not only does he perform Rhapsody in Blue in enormously impressive fashion (especially since he plays most of it with little or no orchestral accompaniment) but he plays it brilliantly in character as Oscar, a fiendishly difficult feat to pull off persuasively.
Hayes’ histrionically and musically powerful performance is topped by the ultimate showstopping number—the audience stands, for once appropriately, for a good long while after he finishes playing the piece—more so than anything in Sweeney Todd, Camelot or Funny Girl. Good Night, Oscar itself might not be a good play, but as long as Hayes is channeling Oscar, through his wit and while sitting at the piano, it’s the most welcome vehicle on Broadway.
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