PERFECTION
The kitchen is clean, the dishwasher is running, Paula is back home, safe and sound and it is another sunny Spoletino morning. Am dwelling on the conclusion of the first act of Dominick Argento’s masterwork, Casanova, in which the true identity of a young woman, brought up as a male castrato so she can make a living on the stage, is discovered by our hero, who slyly asks if she has ever been “curious” about the opposite sex. She responds coyly, “I have often wondered about men.” Casanova puts out the last candle in the salon, gently offering, “Well then...?” as the scene goes to black, the principal motive echoing in the celesta.
I think, perfection. As satisfying, beautiful and well crafted a 1st act finale as has ever been written. Other brilliant Act 1 finales come to mind - poignant, as in Der Rosenkavalier, passionate, as in Madama Butterfly; thrilling as in Don Giovanni.
Do first act finales tend to bring out the best of an opera composer? Is that level consistently maintained in the following act, and if so, how? I mean really, how do you follow up on the Te Deum from Tosca? In fact, this transitional detail, often overlooked, is crucial to keeping the attention of an audience; great operas feature both a gripping conclusion and a continuation that is at least interesting, if not as compelling, and that brings the public back into the drama after an interval of socializing, tweeting, drinking or just lining up for the restrooms.
In the old days, it was perhaps easier, the convention having been established that the 2nd act would begin with a recitative summarizing the state of affairs at the conclusion of Act 1; think of Barbiere di Siviglia, or the start of Act 3 Figaro. Even in lyric bel canto and early Verdi, convention ruled, albeit a new one; Act 2 began with an extended scena (recitative-aria) for one of the protagonists. Often, the occasion is marked by extreme contrast; the intimate conclusion of Act 1 of La bohème is followed by a boisterous chorus scene (same in La Rondine, in fact). Act 2 of Rosenkavalier is a breathless sprint leading up to the Presentation of the Rose. The aforementioned Casanova introduces a new character of mystery and magic as its curtain rises on the 2nd act.
It is not my intent to catalogue systematically all of the notable Act 1 to 2 sequences and transitions (or Act 2 to 3, as in a work such as Figaro or Carmen, wherein the major dividing point of a four-act work is after the Act 2). It is perhaps to be reminded – to paraphrase Lao Tse - that, between what it contains and what form it takes, the usefulness of a bowl is defined by the space within, not by the object itself. The listener (and conductor, for that matter) may well take these moments in opera for granted, but the great works, of which I mention only a few, all feature an effective solution to this concern, conceived with much attention and care by the composer, be it the conventional – “Ella mi fu rapita” from Rigoletto – the narrative – “Ola Pang, Ola Pong!” in Turandot – or the “domestic” openings of Act 2 Butterfly and Manon.
Of the works mentioned above, I am especially interested in how Acts 2 of Giovanni and Tosca begin, for different reasons, of course. Giovanni’s little 3/8 ditty “Eh via, buffone,” may well grab the listener, but I find it gratuitous, if virtuosic. The descending three-note scale motive that sets up Act 2 of Tosca is among Puccini’s most intriguing inventions; both passages I find challenging to conduct and to render musically effective. And yet for the audience and in their function as part of their respective theatrical stories, they are both perfection.
Time to practice some Mendelssohn. It’s fun to write again, hope you will enjoy reading these missives from Umbria.
Mark Gibson
7/18/11
