Notes on Giselle

On Thursday evening I went to see the Paris Opera Ballet's performance of Giselle.  Unfortunately, the vast majority of everything I know about ballet I have learned some time in the last ten months by osmosis, so this is more a ramble than an actual review.  I have now reached the point where I can usually spot the big mistakes, of which there was one: the male lead stumbled badly during a variation in the second act.  The third male dancer with a solo (if you have a solo, but your character does not have a name, where does that put you in the hierarchy? I have no idea) also was somewhat unsteady during his pas de deux.

I still find it mildly confusing that ballets are often, if not usually, referred to as [choreographer]'s [ballet].  I realize that the dance is the main thing, but I am much more familiar in most cases with the music.  For instance, the Mariinsky will be in town in October with what I would have naively called Prokofiev's Cinderella, but the playbill calls it Ratmansky's Cinderella.

At any rate, Giselle's music was composed by one Adolphe Adam, a French composer who I happen to know now was almost exactly a contemporary of Berlioz, though musically less ambitious (and perhaps therefore less famous).  For the most part the score is good but not superb - fairly unremarkable, in fact.  However, at one point a climax of the dance of spirits in the second act is marked in the choreography by a repeated figure of what I will call a traveling arabesque.  Physically it is incredibly impressive; and the music here abandons its quiet eeriness for a dramatic build.   Unfortunately, Adam's score is here, if not actually in a major key (and I think it might be), still somewhat martial rather than ominous, making the effect somewhat comical, which breaks the mood rather thoroughly.  It was, true, not helped by the stage of the Kennedy's opera house, which registers every footstep, and thus had the effect of emphasizing the beat and therefore the marche of the music.  (I imagine that is a common problem though - I can not think there are too many stages anywhere in the world specifically designed to deaden the sound of pointe shoes.)

On the whole, though, the show was excellent.  The company struck me as a very technically focused one (where the Bolshoi, which did Coppelia a while ago, seemed more dramatic - though the ballets themselves are also very different).  The set was superb - I am still accustomed to college and community theater sets, so I find these fancy professional ones especially striking by comparison.  I particularly noticed the acting: while ballet acting is by necessity somewhat stylized, the "style" here was not overwhelming the story.  I imagine that there has to be some tendency similar to the actor who keeps trying to "do Shakespeare" instead of focusing on his part, but it was not evident here.

Review - Prometheus

Fans of previous Alien-franchise movies seem to be widely disappointed with this prequel, and I can make a guess why.  It is not really a horror-suspense film like Alien, or a basically straight up action movie like (I gather) the near-equally acclaimed Aliens.  In fact from what I can make out from vague memories of Alien (the only one I've seen) and recaps of other films, Prometheus has little to do with the franchise apart from being set it the same 'verse and featuring a Plucky Female Lead.  Calling it a "prequel" may even be misleading because I am fairly certain the events depicted in Prometheus virtually guarantee a continuity screw-up somewhere, if only in terms of what characters ought to have known "later".  So, for someone invested in the franchise, I can see lots of issues coming up.

Considered as a film standing on its own, though, it is a good one.  The only major problem is the final scene, which is an unnecessary continuity nod.  The visuals are superb; the scenario is intriguing; the conflicts are carefully set out; the resolution follows relatively well from the premises.  On the downside, the movie is disjointed in places, and will likely not be winning any awards (especially with Avengers coming out this year, unless we still have awards people insist on only giving to "serious movies").  Apart from the leads much of the acting is adequate only.  I would not be surprised to find out production was rushed: the end of the film relies more on impression than polish.  It also feels rushed, and I cannot tell whether this was an artistic choice to communicate characters' emotions, or forced on the director to wrap up in time.  If the former, it is less than entirely successful.

I consider my $11.50 well spent (and the extra four dollars to see the 3D likely would have been worth it), and would probably give the film an overall B or B-.

[Here There Be Spoilers]

The conflict in Prometheus really does not have anything to do with the aliens or the scientist's "Engineer" hypothesis.  The movie, in my interpretation, really follows the different reactions of Dr. Shaw, human archeologist, and David, android linguistics expert, to the unfolding discoveries and then disaster.  David, in fact, seems to sabotage the operation, whether from curiosity or malice - revenge?  Shaw is an odd combination of curiosity, determination, and faith - seemingly unable to see past the questions she wants answered, but also capable enough to be the only survivor.

The unfolding horror element of the film is a scenario, a setting to watch reactions.  A disturbing setting, which overshadows some of the more thoughtful elements and makes them lose their punch, unfortunately: fewer special effects and more "character time" would have improved the movie, if I am reading it correctly.  The movie seems to set out to explore the question, "What does it mean to create, or be created?" - but even though the discoveries overwhelm the philosophy, I do not think the intended message is, "Let well enough alone," as attested by the end: continue the search.

The plot, here, concludes; but the questions remain.  I find myself intrigued by this film, but unable to say exactly what my question is, even.

Notes from a Concert

Last night I went to the NSO concert, which began with Berlioz' "Roman Carnival" overture and featured the Cello Concerto in D minor by Lalo (recordings at the link are filed by composer's name).  But the "second act", and the real reason I went, was the performance of the 5th Symphony of Tchaikovsky, of which I will speak in glowing terms to any and all interested or uninterested parties.

The Berlioz was a typical Berlioz piece: which is to say, beginning (fairly) quietly, dramatic in spades, and carrying an air of being unfinished: perpetually in action and therefore incomplete.  Given a hint from Barzun's biography of the composer, I have been noticing that Berlioz' work often features the flute, his own instrument, prominently; much more prominently than I would have suspected from his violently romantic reputation, as I tend to think of the flute as a more sedate instrument.

The cello concerto I had not heard before; in fact I am completely unfamiliar with Lalo's work apart from his famous Symphonie Espagnole, otherwise known as "one of the staples of the violin concerto repertoire".  Like the Symphonie, the cello concerto features the solo instrument prominently, being in fact almost entirely cello-with-accompaniment, a thing in my knowledge more common in shorter sonata works.  While a solid piece, I did not find it particularly striking.  The third movement features a slow introduction leading to a fast and elaborate conclusion, but it seemed to me poorly handled: whether the composer or the interpretation was to blame is beyond me right now.  Since I haven't bothered to go find five other recordings to listen to, that is.  At any rate, the concerto's chief claim to fame seems to be in being one of the first concerti written for the cello.

Tchaikovsky's 5th is my favorite symphonic work.  I do not say it is the best; even the composer's own 4th is, I think, more technically excellent.  Other composers mastered the expectations of the form in its Beethovian re-incarnation much better: Beethoven himself, of course; Brahams despite his humility; maybe others.  Others, pre-eminently Mahler, took the form in other directions consciously, rather than emulating Tchaikovsky's habit of writing unusual third movements, so the story goes, not for artistic reasons but because he was never happy with his scherzos.  At any rate this performance was excellent, despite the unfortunate oboe player who decided to test his reed during a rest.  The only particular note I will make is that, hearing the performance live for the first time - and this after the Lalo concerto - I noticed that the first movement of the symphony is practically a bassoon concerto: the instrument gets little rest and is featured prominently.

In fact the performance, perhaps partly due to being the last of the weekend, earned a standing ovation which provoked a double encore; the first was - I believe but am not sure - a part of Georges Enescu's 1st Romanian Rhapsody - the fast part at the end, of course, but the whole is good.  The second was Johann Strauss, Jr.'s Thunder and Lightning Polka - a childhood favorite!

Review: John Carter

My roommate has a friend who has a fast car and (apparently) too much free time, so the two of them and myself and my other roommate and another friend who was visiting went off last weekend to see John Carter at a movie theater farther from where I live than was strictly necessary.  In case you have not heard yet, John Carter is a terrible movie (this is objectively true) based on the first of Edgar Rice Burroughs' badly dated books (this is my opinion), A Princess of Mars, about John Carter (surprise?) and his adventures mostly on Mars.

There were things I liked about the movie anyway.  The visual character and setting design was mostly well done - and shamelessly true to the spirit of the book, for whatever that is worth.  The alien aliens, not to be confused with the aliens-who-are-actually-human-(sort of) are also done reasonably well.  In fact, for about the first half hour, I admit I was thinking, "Huh, this might actually be better than the original book."

That feeling did not last, and the many reasons why can be summed up by saying that the filmmakers have no idea how to tell a story - specifically, no one told them that trying to tell two types of story in the same movie takes serious skill and is incredibly hard.  On the one hand, the story is one more variation on Rescue the Maiden Fair; on the other hand, the villains are being egged on - even controlled - by the Ancient Conspiracy.  It is clear that someone involved knew this was not going to work, because while the first plot is resolved the second plot (er, ha) is neither explained in terms of character (any apparent motivation on the part of the behind-the-scenes schemers is nonexistent) or resolved in terms of story.  And yet they are still there - maybe it was somebody's pet brainstorm.  As far as I can tell, the second angle exists only as a sequel hook, but a word to the wise: sequel hooks are bad ideas if the movie is terrible.  (On the other hand, if they had removed the characters in the Big Bad Conspiracy from the movie, but left the Superweapon they give the bad guys, the movie would have been about 500% better and it would have a sequel hook.  Did no one suggest this?)

The end result is a chaotic mess: the moral of this review is not to see John Carter, if it is even still playing in a theater near you (it was a flop and will almost certainly end up losing money, so I suspect it may be out of many theaters, especially with that other movie everybody is talking about...)

Thoughts on The Hobbit Trailer

I have things to say (or else why write?), but I suppose you might want to see the trailer, in case you have not yet done so:

Are we ready? Set? Good.

I was initially tempted to call this a review, but that would be too grandiose for the reality of blathering about a two and a half minute series of scenes, some of which may not make the actual movie.  On the other hand, there is more than enough material here to blather about, in some detail.

My major concern is that Peter Jackson simply does not appear to be able to leave well enough alone.  I have written on this subject before in discussing his films of The Lord of the Rings, though in that post I focused on his understanding of character.  Here the problem seems to be a misconception of plot and genre.  He intends, clearly, to tie this film into his previous Lord of the Rings project.  Tolkien, you may remember, did the reverse, and without particularly bothering to make the connections formal in the later work.  True, The Lord of the Rings is clearer for having read The Hobbit: clearer, but the story seems to me perfectly clear without it.  In fairness I should probably say that I did read The Hobbit first, so I could be wrong.  At any rate, there are these two facts: the stories are independent as books; and The Hobbit is first.  Jackson is thus incidentally approaching the project backwards, and in approaching it backwards seems to have fallen into an error of regarding The Hobbit not as a prologue but instead as what we of recent years have dubbed a prequel.  This leads, probably, to two further errors.

In the first place, The Hobbit is not epic in scale.  It is, obviously, something Bilbo would tell Frodo about.  It is equally a story which might, if we can imagine Middle Earth for a moment without the genius of Tolkien to tell its stories in full glory, have been told years later in embellished summary and in simple sentences, with the rain pouring down outside and the children wrapped up in an afghan by the fire.  Or if we allow for Bilbo the novelist (or here autobiographer), a book read in similar circumstance.  It is a novel, an adventure story, even a fairy tale.  Jackson either does not realize this, or is not content with this, and instead appears to be bringing in all the elements which Gandalf, when questioned, left out, as if Tolkien were pointedly reminding us of the nature of this story.  There indeed – and back again.

Which has, in fact, somewhat neatly touched on my second objection.  If the plot of The Hobbit is self-contained, and (but for the Ring) connected only tangentially to anything within the wider world of Arda, the characters drawn in the book are, in comparison to The Lord of the Rings at least, simply and brightly drawn.  The Hobbit is filled with characters which are in places more nearly caricatures.  Bombur does not particularly have Character: he is The Fat Man.  Thorin is the King – or the Exile.  Balin as counselor, or wise man.  Gandalf is a wizard: wizardry is his thing, I am tempted to say his hat.  Even the orcs of the later longer book receive names and characterizations: in The Hobbit they are cut-rate stage-prop villains (except possibly not cut-rate, since Tolkien was, after all, a great author) with two names given between the horde of them.  Yes: at the end of the quest we see a glimpse of greater depth and the wider world – and Bilbo is neatly removed from it, except for the scene of Thorin's death (which provides the moral of the story, if there is one besides that of any adventure), so as not to spoil the tone.  In this I am in fact somewhat encouraged: Jackson is at least capable of understanding levity and humor and the value of breaking an overloaded chair.  At the same time, by dragging in, as he seems to intend, the events of the White Council, he will be unable to retain the simple characterization at least of Gandalf: and the heavy tone of Gandalf's lines given here about the result of the adventure seem to lack the underlying humor found in Tolkien's few similar lines – and to be emphasized in a way almost directly opposed to how Tolkien downplayed that element.

As I noted at the beginning, it is a bit early and a bit silly to say anything purportedly conclusive about the movie, so I think for now I will end.  The score does at least give me one good sign: I think I will say that for now I remain hopefully pessimistic about the final result.

Review: the Coen Brothers' True Grit

After considering the subject for several hours and maybe getting a little sleep, I have come to the conclusion that it would be difficult to do anything properly resembling a "normal" review of True Grit.  As far as the important questions go: it was a fantastic film, and you should see it.  That recommendation given, I am going to ignore my usual rule of no spoilers and talk about some of the things which I found most noticeable.

The dialogue is the first thing that strikes most people and sticks with them.  The "Western" accent underlies it, but there are remarkably few contractions; surprising, to me, is that this is apparently authentic to the era (some time after the Civil War).  In my contemplations, I was reminded of a friend from Ohio who speaks with a similar odd 'formality'; I had always put it down to a personal quirk, but now I wonder if an older tradition of speech – dialect? – survives somehow in scattered areas.

The thing I find most remarkable is the precise casting of the lead.  The character is supposed to be a fourteen-year-old girl, and is actually played by a fourteen-year old (Hailee Steinfeld).  While she does an excellent job, one thing makes it work, cinematically: she is tall.  By tall I mean my brain automatically registered here as "obviously a younger girl but has to be sixteen or seventeen" – until she declares her age, at which point the mind automatically adjusts everything to account for that fact.  Still, she is involved in serious business, and I feel the main reason the movie can carry its serious tone is because of her height: it makes her simply look old enough to be taking things seriously.  Without that, we end up with too much of a "cute" reaction to a small girl who ought to be out of her depth.  That would damage the tone.

The last thing to mention – and I think this may be a theme with the Coens, given some similarities in nature to O Brother, Where Art Though?, the only other film of theirs I have seen – is that an ending which seems altogether satisfactory is muted by the sudden introduction of continuing challenges.  In a film fitting neatly into a classic genre, the effect is jarring, as suddenly all the conventions begin to unravel.  That there is supposed to be a message, or at least a truth, communicated by this is clear; what that exact moral might be is less so.  It could be mere nihilism: whatever the moment may bring, it does not last.  But if that is the case, it is not a sufficient description: there seems to be an acceptance that the 'moment' matters anyway.

Quick Review: The Three Musketeers

Somebody decided to make a new Three Musketeers movie.  I suppose in this day of rehashing old plots it's at least a good place to start.  I had seen the trailer, I forget why, and thought it looked suitably silly so last night I went and saw it.

I loved it.  Sure, if historical accuracy or any pretension thereof is your thing, you will end up twitching violently, but we're going to assume for the sake of argument you can deal with that if you know it's coming.  To give you an idea of the flavor, take the original book by Dumas, introduce it to the Foglios (of Girl Genius fame), and put Errol Flynn in charge of the whole shebang.

While I haven't read the novel for a while and disclaim perfect knowledge, one thing that struck me as significant is that despite some of the more creative licenses taken with the setting, the plot set-up and characterizations remain essentially identical to the original.  Of course, it's a well known story, so there are limits to what is practical to change, but still.

I admit I have a fairly low taste in movies at times.  But I tend to think of Dumas as one of the original action writers, so I'm even inclined to think he would have thoroughly appreciated this take on his story.

Review: NSO at the Kennedy Center

Last night I went to hear the National Symphony Orchestra conducted by Lorin Maazel play a selection of pieces by Romantic composers: the Overture to Benvenuto Cellini, by Berlioz; Ravel's orchestration of Mussorgsky's Pictures at an Exhibition; and, in between, the Grieg A minor piano concerto, played by one Simon Trpçeski, who is apparently Macedonian and whose name has an entirely different mark on the c (ˇ) but I can't manage to reproduce it and anyway it would probably still be unpronounceable. I mean, four consonants in a row? Seriously?

Ahem. Where was I? Right. The NSO was fantastic. "The Great Gate of Kiev" – finale to the Exhibition – was worth the price of admission by itself. The Berlioz was handled beautifully as well. On a side-note, however: the program informed me that a critic once said Berlioz' music contained no melody. While this is an exaggeration, I think it is a very insightful comment. Berlioz' music contains many themes, but few seem, to me, to reach a successful conclusion: instead they get lost in fantastic harmonies and variations. One moment is beautiful and the next is excellent and the motion is from brilliant moment to beautiful glimpse – but the melody is overwhelmed by the attention. His phrases are memorable; themes as wholes less so.

But mainly I want to talk about the pianist. The musical performance was superb. My impression is that his interpretation was noticeably slower than my recording of the piece (Phillip Entremont, with Ormandy's Philadelphia Orchestra), and the rests and ritards often seemed dramatically exaggerated.

However, his presentation was noteworthy. At first I thought he was a showman type, but I revised that opinion: he simply seemed to be lost in the music: during the orchestral sections, he nodded and motioned along with the most avid fans, with apparently no compunctions from self-consciousness whatsoever. At the same time, it was clear that he took a very personal approach to the music and his interaction with the orchestra. While the program notes said this was his debut with the NSO, Trpceski appeared on familiar terms with the orchestra – and especially maestro Maazel – during the performance. While I thought at times that Trpceski seemed to be deliberately exaggerating some sections to get a reaction from the conductor, I was most sure of it at the end of the second movement, when he repeated the final highest ornament three times: certainly twice. Although, I could be wrong that this was unusual – my only concrete reference is my recording and I can't find a professional review.

All in all, a highly satisfactory night – I also came away with Trpceski's recordings of Rachmaninov's four piano concertos, with the Liverpool Symphony Orchestra.