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Film and the Arts

The Sounds of the Berlin Philharmonic Beomes Unstuck In Time

The Berlin Philharmonic Orchestra. Photo by Chris Lee.

At Carnegie Hall, amidst an extremely strong season of orchestral music, on the evenings of Thursday and Friday, November 10th and 11th, I had the exceptional privilege to attend two superb concerts featuring the stellar musicians of the celebrated Berlin Philharmonic under the expert direction of its Chief Conductor, Kirill Petrenko.

The outstanding first program was devoted to a finally stunning account of Gustav Mahler’s monumental, challenging and extraordinary Seventh Symphony. Program annotator Jack Sullivan comments that the composer thought this was his “best work” but adds that “it is his least performed and understood.” The first movement begins with a solemn if fraught Adagio that is soon overtaken by a turbulent Allegro; the opening funeral march periodically recurs, leading to a very brief, beautiful, song-like interlude and then a return to the gloomier musical world that preceded it. The ensuing, ingenious “Nachtmusik I” starts more playfully and acquires a more propulsive character which then becomes dance-like, and reverts to the music at the movement’s outset. The Scherzo that follows is also in a somewhat populist vein, although livelier to a degree on the whole, even joyful at times. The second “Nachtmusik” movement is unexpectedly charming—if eccentric—with a few mysterious moments. And the Rondo-Finale, the most cheerful of the movements, is initially exciting—even sometimes tumultuous—and builds to a glorious, affirmative conclusion. The artists deservedly received a very enthusiastic ovation.

Also terrific was the second concert which began with the Carnegie Hall premiere of contemporary American composer Andrew Norman’s arresting, brilliantly orchestrated Unstuck. I reproduce his note on the work as follows:

I have never been more stuck than I was in the winter of 2008. My writing came to a grinding halt in January, and for a long time this piece languished on my desk—a mess of musical fragments that refused to cohere. It was not until the following May, when I saw a copy of Kurt Vonnegut’s Slaughterhouse-Five and remembered one of its iconic sentences, that I had a breakthrough realization. The sentence was this: “Billy Pilgrim has come unstuck in time,” and the realization was that the lack of coherence in my ideas was to be embraced and explored, not overcome.

I realized that my musical materials lent themselves to a narrative arc that, like Vonnegut’s character, comes “unstuck” in time. Bits and pieces of the beginning, middle, and end of the music crop up in the wrong places like the flashbacks and flashforwards that define the structure and style of Slaughterhouse-Five.

I also realized that the word unstuck had resonances with the way that a few of the piece’s musical ideas get caught in repetitive loops. The orchestra, perhaps in some way dramatizing my own frustration with composing, spends a considerable amount of time and energy trying to free itself from these moments of stuckness.

Norman ascended to the stage to receive the audience’s acclaim.

The admirable virtuoso, Noah Bendix-Balgley, then joined the musicians for a marvelous performance of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart’s exquisite, almost Baroque, less commonly heard Violin Concerto No. 1. The opening Allegro moderato, for all its ebullience, is surprisingly serious, while the subsequent, even more remarkable Adagio is elevated, graceful and lyrical, and the brisk finale is vivacious and delightful. Abundant applause for the musicians was rewarded with a wonderful encore from the soloist: two traditional klezmer pieces—"Yismechu" and "Ot Azoy"—a genre in which Bendix-Balgley specializes.

Especially interesting, however, was the second half of the evening: a supremely confident rendition of Erich Wolfgang Korngold’s striking, seldom played Symphony in F-sharp, Op. 40. The work opens very dramatically with a tension that pervades the entire movement, although there are serene passages. The Scherzo that ensues is sprightlier, if not free from agitation, with elements of grandeur, and features a more somber trio section. More Romantic is the often impassioned, but also introspective, Adagio. The finale is strange and unpredictable, with some haunting episodes, closing triumphantly. The audience responded with intense appreciation.

I look forward to the return of these tremendous artists.

November '22 Digital Week II

Blu-ray Releases of the Week 
Lost Illusions 
(Music Box Films)
French director Xavier Giannoli—whose masterly 2003 debut, Eager Bodies, remains criminally unseen in the U.S.—turns his considerable talents to this sumptuous adaptation of a Balzac novel about a provincial young man, Lucien, in 1820s France whose affair with an older, married noblewoman, Louise, changes his life in ways he couldn’t dream of. Lucien eventually becomes one of Paris’ most popular (and feared) newspaper writers—and Giannoli perceptively shows the seductive parallels between yesterday’s yellow journalism and today’s “fake news.”
 
 
A superior cast led by Benjamin Voisin, Cecile de France, Jeanne Balibar and Gerard Depardieu, stunning photography by Christophe Beaucarne, and expert editing, costumes and sets, are harnessed by Giannoli on a large social, political and personal canvas that fills every one of his film’s 150 minutes with intelligent and grandly entertaining storytelling. The film’s luminous images look stunning on Blu-ray; too bad the only extras are brief interviews with Voisin, de France, and other cast members along with a superfluous short featurette showing off the cinematography.
 
 
 
 
 
Daisies 
(Criterion)
Czech director Vera Chytilova—who went on to make several good, and a few great, films in a  distinguished career before her death in 2014 at age 85—is best known for her 1966 debut feature, an unfortunately dated piece of empty surrealism and experimentalism, flashing its admittedly inventive colors, costumes, photography and editing at the service of a heavyhanded satire of materialism and feminist stereotypes.
 
 
That she got the poseurishness out of her system is the best takeaway from this clever but shallow film. There’s a stunning-looking hi-def transfer; extras comprise two early Chytilova shorts; an audio commentary; interview with programmer Irena Kovarova; featurette about Chytilova’s collaboration with her Daisies cinematographer and screenwriter; and a 2002 documentary about Chytilova.
 
 
 
 
 
Earth Girls Are Easy 
(Vestron)
Julien Temple’s fizzy 1988 musical is a colorful piece of lunacy about aliens coming to California and falling in with the manicurist (Geena Davis) whose pool they land in. Davis is as adorable as she’s ever been, Julie Brown provides the movie’s funniest lines and best music segments as her coworker and friend, and the aliens are amusingly portrayed by Jeff Goldblum, Jim Carrey and Damon Wayans.
 
 
The movie is mainly forgotten after it ends, but it has share of bright, loopy moments. There’s a terrific hi-def transfer; extras include new and archival interviews with Temple, Brown, Rocket and crew members, along with a commentary and deleted scenes.
 
 
 
 
 
Starstruck 
(Opus Arte)
Gene Kelly created the ballet Pas de Dieux for the Paris Opera Ballet in 1960, and now it’s been beautifully resurrected by the Scottish Ballet, which premiered its own version last fall in Edinburgh and newly choreographed by Christopher Hampson, which has been filmed for posterity.
 
 
This story of Greek gods has been set to the music of Gershwin’s Concerto in F and Chopin’s Les Sylphides, and the dancing is as physical and athletic as it is in such Kelly films as Singin’ in the Rain. The spectacular dancers are led by Sophie Martin and Christopher Harrison. There’s first-rate hi-def video and audio; lone extra is a making-of featurette.
 
 
 
 
 
Three Thousand Years of Longing 
(Warner Bros)
From a short story by A.S. Byatt about an intellectually rigorous but emotionally distant scholar whose encounter with a Djinn gets her three wishes in exchange for his freedom, director George Miller’s adaptation is, as usual, visually splendid and imaginatively conceived, but it remains as remote as its protagonist initially is.
 
 
Although the movie extols the virtues of storytelling through the Djinn’s many extravagant tales, it ends up dramatically inert, despite the best efforts of Idris Elba and Tilda Swinton in the leads. Of course, it all looks fantastic on Blu; no extras.
 
 
 
 
 
Streaming/In-Theater Releases of the Week
Black Notebooks—Ronit 
(Panorama Films)
Ronit Elkabetz, a remarkable Israeli actress and filmmaker who made several provocative works with her brother Shlomi, died of cancer in 2016 at age 51—a shocking and sad loss for the world of cinema.
 
 
Luckily, we can still savor her many multilayered performances, and we can also be grateful that Shlomi created this emotionally shattering love letter to his sister that shows them working on their last film together, Gett, along with promoting it around the world while knowing that her sickness was in the process of slowing her down. 
 
 
 
 
 
The Estate 
(Capstone)
It’s the most familiar of comic setups—family members battle among themselves to get on the good side of their dying wealthy old aunt—and if writer-director Dean Craig doesn’t go anywhere new with his clichéd, stereotyped characters, his cast is attuned enough to make it entertaining and even occasionally hilarious.
 
 
Kathleen Turner is a hoot as the bedbound rich aunt, Toni Colette and Anna Faris are first-rate as the scheming sisters, David Duchovny amusingly slimy as a desperate cousin, with Rosemarie DeWitt and Ron Livingston rounding out the droll ensemble—it’s recycled black comedy, no doubt, but it has moments of inspired hilarity.
 
 
 
 
 
Paul Taylor—Creative Domain 
(First Run)
One of the true giants of modern dance, Paul Taylor (who died in 2018) was a choreographer nonpareil, and Kate Geis’ 2014 documentary was the last time anyone would record how Taylor created his singular works from the ground up.
 
 
It’s a fascinating look at how art is brought to life, showing how Taylor painstakingly built a single dance through not only movement but also his observational genius, something that’s been dynamically filmed by Geis and renowned dance cinematographer Tom Hurwit.
 
 
 
 
 
Peaceful 
(Distrib Films US)
French actress Emmanuelle Bercot has also written and directed interesting films that closely study fraught relationships, including her latest, in which she chronicles the last months of Benjamin, an acting teacher with terminal cancer and how he deals with his illness, his students, his doctor and his domineering mother.
 
 
Although she goes full-blown sentimental—especially in an egregious subplot about a son Benjamin didn’t know he had—Bercot’s instincts are always unerring when it comes to casting: Benoît Magimel is phenomenal as Benjamin, and Catherine Deneuve (mom), Gabriel Sara (a real-life doctor playing Benjamin’s doctor) and Cecile de France (his loyal nurse) are as real and vital as he is. 
 
 
 
 
 
See How They Run 
(Searchlight)
In this harmlessly lighthearted whodunit that riffs on the popularity of recent Agatha Christie adaptations, Sam Rockwell and Saiorse Ronan play mismatched investigators of a murder onstage at Christie’s long-running mystery play, The Mousetrap, with no shortage of suspects.
 
 
Director Tom George and writer Mark Chappell are not as clever as they think they are, so the movie just ambles along to its preordained denouement, but it’s helped along by Rockwell, Ronan and a capable supporting cast including Ruth Wilson, Adrien Brody and David Oyelowo.
 
 
 
 
 
CD Release of the Week 
Tchaikovsky/Rimsky-Korsakov—Orchestral Works
(LSO)
Both Russian composers on this recording were brilliant orchestral colorists, as these splendid performances by the London Symphony Orchestra under conductor Gianandrea Noseda so excitingly demonstrate. Pyotr Tchaikovsky’s sixth symphony was his obvious masterpiece, and so the fifth symphony always suffers by comparison; still, it’s an attractive, absorbing and ultimately substantial work in its own right.
 
 
Meanwhile, Nicolai Rimsky-Korsakov is best known for his fantastical operas whose music is usually more memorable than the mythical stories they tell. While his magnum opus, The Legend of the Invisible City of Kitezh, is filled with beautiful melodies and exquisite orchestral tone painting, the four-movement suite included here distills three hours of Rimsky’s aural poetry into 21 exquisitely crafted minutes. 

Broadway Musical Review—“Almost Famous,” From Screen to Stage

Almost Famous
Book and lyrics by Cameron Crowe
Music and lyrics by Tom Kitt
Directed by Jeremy Herrin
Opened November 3, 2022
Bernard Jacobs Theatre
227 West 45th Street, New York, NY
Almostfamousthemusical.com
 
Casey Likes and Solea Pfeiffer in Almost Famous (photo: Matthew Murphy)


There doesn’t seem to be any compelling reason for Cameron Crowe’s Almost Famous to make the transition from screen to stage—the Broadway musical is basically just the movie enacted live for an audience. Scenes play out with identical dialogue and music cues, while Tom Kitt’s new songs intrude on the proceedings at various intervals, making the musical slightly longer than the original film.
 
Almost Famous—which tells Crowe’s own coming-of-age story in semi-fictional form—follows William Miller, a 15-year-old high school student living in San Diego with his mother and older sister. Miller has aspirations of becoming a rock journalist, so befriending infamous writer Lester Bangs gives him entrée into the rarefied world of musicians, particularly up-and-coming band Stillwater, which he joins on tour to write a cover story for Rolling Stone magazine. He also meets Penny Lane, the legendary leader of a group of groupies named the Band-Aids, and he soon finds himself maturing in ways he never would have imagined so far away from his protective mom back home.
 
Crowe’s semiautobiographical movie, which won him a 2000 Oscar for best original screenplay, is alternately amused and bemused by the excesses of the rock’n’roll lifestyle; William’s mom, Elaine, is a conventional counterweight to what she assumes are hedonistic goings-on. More mild than edgy, the film at least has an original point of view. 
 
The carbon-copy musical, however, doesn’t do much with the same material except regurgitate what worked—and what didn’t—onscreen. Even Kitt’s songs, mostly repetitive and interchangeable, aren’t a patch on the movie’s Stillwater songs or—most obviously—tunes from real artists of the era (Led Zeppelin, Lynyrd Skynyrd, Stevie Wonder) that are shoehorned in at crucial times. The film’s famous bus scene of arguing band members bonding while singing Elton John’s “Tiny Dancer” is actually used as the first act’s climax, where it misses the original’s resonance.
 
Even when one of Kitt’s songs has a chance to bust out of the constricted structure, it falls short. In the movie, as Elaine teaches her class, she blurts out, “Rock stars have kidnapped my son!” It’s a funny line that also contains a grain of truth, but Crowe wisely cuts to the next scene. Onstage, however, Elaine gets to sing “Elaine’s Lecture,” where she repeats the “kidnapped” line several times, to diminishing comic and dramatic returns. 
 
In two instances the musical improves on the movie. The movie’s Band-Aids—which, led by the unappealing Kate Hudson, seemed like naïve teens who were happy to hang out with rock stars, not enticing young adults—are more realistically sexualized onstage, especially as led by the magnetic and winning Solea Pfeiffer, whose Penny Lane is both wise older sister to and tantalizing love interest for William (the plausibly youthful Casey Likes) in ways Hudson never convincingly portrayed in the film. Pfeiffer also has thrilling vocal chops, which she radiantly uses to make all of Penny’s songs, like the mournful “The Real World,” highlights of the show. 
 
Also, Lester Bangs gets a larger part in the musical: he shows up for a few scenes in the movie, but onstage he hovers about far more as a sort of grungy guardian angel to his teenage protégé, providing snarky commentary on the commercialized rock world. Rob Colletti is a humorous Lester, but even more of his sardonic spirit would have greatly helped.
 
Director Jeremy Herrin and choreographer Sarah O’Gleby adroitly capture the onstage and backstage frenzy at rock concerts, but the more intimate moments elude their grasp. The crack band of design veterans—ace costumer David Zinn, lighting whiz Natasha Katz and scenic genius Derek McLane—conjures up a perfectly fizzy early ’70s atmosphere. 
 
As a musical, Almost Famous hits most of its marks, yet ends up like an OK cover version of a favorite tune: close but no cigar.

Broadway Play Review—“Walking with Ghosts” with Gabriel Byrne

Walking with Ghosts
Written by and starring Gabriel Byrne
Directed by Lonny Price
Through November 20, 2022
Music Box Theatre
239 West 45th Street, New York, NY
Gabrielbyrneonbroadway.com
 
Gabriel Byrne in Walking with Ghosts (photo: Emilio Madrid)

A generous and wise presence is Gabriel Byrne, whose one-man Broadway show Walking with Ghosts is based on his recent memoir of growing up in Dublin before becoming an acclaimed actor of stage and screen.

 
Unlike many solo performers, Byrne is often low-key and understated, which might be why his show has not been pulling in audiences (it was supposed to run until December 31 but now will close November 20). But there are pleasures to be had from Byrne’s approach, his laconic delivery, and his diverting if familiar storytelling.
 
Even if the show seems unstructured—the first act, comprising anecdotes of his childhood, bounces around pleasantly yet fuzzily, while the second act, in which Byrne recounts becoming an actor, is more sharply focused—Byrne remains resolute in his determination not to overdo, to overemphasize or to overact. The Irish gift of gab and charming accents continue apace, yet are grounded by his ability to make them serve his stories. 
 
If there’s little in the way of originality in these anecdotes of a young lad growing up in a working-class neighborhood and attending a far-off seminary to study, the warmly intimate family scenes are nicely sketched in—particularly his elation when he remembers going to the movies with his beloved grandmother—as are the mildly humorous descriptions of the real characters populating Dublin’s streets.
 
It’s the second act, when Byrne joins a third-rate theater company and learns how to act, where the memories get more pointed and even poignant. Somewhat surprisingly, he rarely drops the names of the many playwrights, directors and fellow performers he’s worked with. When he tells a particularly engaging story about one of his acting heroes, Richard Burton (with whom he starred in a 1983 TV miniseries about composer Richard Wagner), it becomes far more urgent when he confesses his own realization that alcohol took hold of him as easily as it did Burton himself.
 
That confession—along with earlier ones about the shocking drowning of a childhood friend and physical abuse by a priest who taught him at the seminary—is integrated somewhat awkwardly into the framework of chatty raconteur that Byrne and director Lonny Price have created. But that, too, is part of the actor’s onstage appeal: he is bright, witty, handsome—if not Brad Pitt level—someone you’d see in a pub, trading barbs with his buddies while kicking back a few pints.

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