Jon Jurgens in "The Picture of Dorian Gray" (photo: Kathy Wittman) |
The
Picture of Dorian Gray, Opus 45, was the semi-staged opera
recently presented at Jordan Hall by Odyssey Opera (in collaboration with the Boston
Modern Orchestra Project) under the company's Artistic Director,
Conductor Gil Rose. A two-act work in twelve scenes, it was composed
in 1995 by Lowell Lieberman, utilizing his own libretto, based on the
novel by Oscar Wilde. A relatively unknown work, it proved to be an
unexpected pleasure, with music that was approachable yet unusual,
especially in its use of instruments such as the celesta, which added
an air of mystery to the orchestration. The libretto, on the other
hand, quite faithfully followed the story arc of the original source
material, to the extent that almost all of the sung and spoken
dialogue was taken straight from Wilde's only novel. It's a variation
on the timeless and familiar Faustian tale of a bargain made with the
devil, though strictly speaking the devil never actually appears.
In 1890's London, acclaimed painter Basil Hallward (bass
Matthew Curran) is finishing a portrait of the handsome Dorian Gray
(tenor Jon Jurgens), while chatting with aristocrat Lord Henry Wotton
(baritone Thomas Meglioranza), who remarks he must meet the subject
of the painting. Dorian himself then arrives, commenting that the
painting will endure unchanged while he will only age. He wishes it
were the other way round, even if it would mean giving up his soul to
make that happen. He stops Basil from destroying it, saying that
would be murder. Lord Henry invites them to the opera. A month
later, Dorian tells Lord Henry he's fallen in love with a young
actress, Sybil Vane (soprano Deborah Selig). He meets with her
backstage. Dorian and Sybil sing of their mutual love. After Dorian
departs, Sybil's brother James (baritone David Kravitz), declares
that if Dorian ever hurts her, he will kill him. After a disastrous
performance on stage by Sybil, Dorian and Lord Henry enter her
dressing room to a chorus of boos from the theater. Dorian and Sybil
argue, and he leaves as she contemplates suicide. Subsequently
Dorian learns of her death and notes that the expression on his
portrait has changed to one of cruelty. He orders the picture removed
to his attic for storage, vowing to live a life of passion and
pleasure, unmoved by Sybil's suicide. Eighteen years later, Dorian
looks the same as ever, while Basil, visably aged, is disturbed by
rumors of Dorian's depravity. Dorian takes him to the attic and
reveals the now-bloodied and distorted portrait, then in a sudden
fury stabs Basil to death. Later that night Dorian frequents a
notorious bar where a whore (soprano Claudia Waite) calls after him
by his old nickname, Romeo. This is overheard by a sailor who turns
out to be James, who bribes the prostitute to tell him how to find
Dorian. On the estate of Dorian's friend Lord Geoffrey, during a
hunt, Dorian shoots at a hare, which turns out to be James whom he
has killed in error. Dorian, denying he knows the murdered James,
promises he will reform, and Lord Henry muses on what a wonderful
life Dorian appears to lead. In the final scene in his attic, Dorian
sees that the painting has again changed, showing a portrait of
hypocrisy and cunning. He stabs the picture, screams, and falls
dead, a knife in his own heart, as the portrait now looks as it did
when first painted.
Liebermann was on hand in person to give a
pre-performance lecture at Jordan Hall. In his talk as well as in
the program, he referenced a number of characteristics of the novel,
such as its “fragrance of decadence”, describing it as “most
moral of books”, as a “horror story...tragic romance, Victorian
morality tale...and philosophical examination of the amorality of art
and the question of appearances vs. reality” or form vs. content.
He further noted its “eclectic blend of romanticism, aestheticism
and classicism”. Alluding to the role of Basil as Dorian's alter
ego, he accused both of them of acts of blasphemy that, in Wilde's
view, must be punished. Each man, in fact, kills the things he
loves. Lieberman further stated that Henry's aphorisms are
meaningless, but cleverly and seductively expressed in two acts that
are fully sung in an unbroken symphonic span. The entire opera is
“based on a twelve-note row used in a tonal context...first heard
at the beginning in pizzicato cellos and basses, harmonized as
Dorian's theme, then the painting's theme”. As the painting
disintegrates and becomes corrupted so does its theme. Liebermann
sums up his entire work as one grand passacaglia, with ”tonal
structure generated by a non-tonal device...further metaphor for the
form/content divide in the novel”. As he has stated, the only
major character alive at the end is Lord Henry (Wilde's persona in
the book), “perhaps dismissing all with one final world-weary and
cynical aphorism”. It was a unique opportunity to hear a
composer's own voice.
The cast was also in great voice, especially Jurgens in
a very lengthy and challenging role. The two female roles, filled
exquisitely by Selig and Waite, were astonishingly impressive, and
the same could be said for the sinister Meglioranza, the mysterious
Kravitz and the conflicted Curran. Even the relatively minor roles,
Lord Geoffrey (Frank Kelley) and the Gamekeeper (Jeremy Ayres Fisher)
were superbly delivered, and, though brief, challenging in their own
right. They were expertly led by Rose with his typically commanding
conducting, with the orchestra of almost fifty players somewhat
tightly squeezed together in order to provide two playing areas for
the semi-staged work. The use of overhead projections to visualize
the picture's deterioration was extraordinarily well done. At times
one longed for surtitles as well.
Oscar Wilde himself should have the last word here: “Sin
is a thing that writes itself across a man's face. It cannot be
concealed”. This was at the core of both the novel and its
operatic adaptation, with application to our own time. Once again,
Rose has proven to be a master of rediscovery of undeservedly
overlooked music. It's a role that we should never take for granted.
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