The Tale of Two Operas – Otello in Berlin
Part 3: The Devil in the Detail (Act 2)
So, Act II:
Act II opens with the refugee camp in full bustle,
Andreas Kriegenburg showcasing
dozens of ways these displaced victims of war can show ennui,
psychological trauma, and emotional emptiness—although it must be
pointed out that not a single member of the refugee camp appeared to
be physically injured or suffering from malnutrition; nor was the
camp poorly maintained: food seemed plentiful, clothing adequate,
and libations free-flowing. Amidst the coming and goings, the
folding and building and massages and wanderings Iago and Cassio
hold a conversation, with an immediate telegraphing of good and
bad: Cassio brings candy for the children and delights when they
forage in his pockets for more, Iago tosses them money for their
attention and obedience. Iago counsels Cassio that the way to
regain ‘frivolous’ Bianca’s love is to beseech the ‘kindly soul’ of
Desdemona to intercede on his behalf with her husband, since
Desdemona is the ‘commander of our commander’ and all are aware that
Otello lives just for her. Cassio disappears to intercept Desdemona
and Emilia.
Now comes Iago’s powerful soliloquy, "Credo in un Dio crudel".
Not content to keep his philosophy to himself, Iago pays the
children to gather around him while he tells them of the cruel irony
of the universe: in war or peace, man is nothing, God is nothing,
death is nothing; man is evil because man exists. The words bring
no clarity to Iago’s actions, other than to underline his
psychopathic nature, and the children seem unmoved; they have
already figured out who is good and bad in this dark play and with
the insouciance of youth they will pit both against each other if
doing so benefits them. In this case, they simply continue to ask
for more coins until Iago angrily disperses them.
As Iago gloats that his strategy is working because Cassio is
talking with Desdemona, Otello arrives (back in his big overcoat) to
see them together—but of course, they cannot really be seen because
they are outside the camp proper. Otello settles in to do his
paperwork in an impossible work space; Kriegenburg somehow imagines
that a business office / command center should be dead center in the
middle of the camp, leaving important military papers open for all,
allowing private conversation to be made public, and permitting
constant interaction between the principles and the refugees. Iago
now begins to spin his web in earnest, his efforts to appear good
and noble showcasing him at his most evil and seduction. In short
order he has undermined Otello faith in both Cassio and Desdemona;
Otello is not fully convinced, however. He needs proof. Iago
admits that he has none, but cautions Otello to be watchful and
examine Desdemona’s words to assess guilt or innocence.
Desdemona now arrives, still dressed in her royal blue cocktail
dress, dispensing bags of clothes to the camp and plaiting the hair
of two little girls as the community joyfully serenade her; it is
clear that the members of the camp have rejected Iago’s nihilistic
beliefs and chosen Desdemona as a symbol of hope, faith, goodness,
and love. Even Otello rebuffs Iago’s suggestion that her affections
have strayed in such an outpouring of love and with such visual
confirmation of her affection.
But Iago has already planted seeds of doubts by urging Otello to
watch and listen carefully, and Desdemona words immediately raise
the specter that Iago is right—not because Desdemona says anything
wrong but because doubt always finds a way to re-enforce itself.
Desdemona’s character is the opposite of Iago’s: she lives the code
of chivalry and Christian goodness that the ensign despises and
Otello, with his history, simply cannot understand: having given her
word to champion Cassio, she is honor-bound to do so, even if it
means risking her husband’s anger, because it is the morally right
thing to do. She is also, unlike any other principle, unafraid to
approach her husband: she is strong and independent and
forthright. Conversely, Desdemona doesn’t understand that for her
husband, morality is a moving target, dependent on the highest
bidder and always underlined with suspicion: there are no absolutes
in the life of a mercenary. So while Desdemona seeks to fulfill her
obligation to a friend by speaking openly and without guile Otello,
now alert to the possibility of betrayal, ignores the surface truth
and seeks to find a deeper meaning: now that the war is over and
his military career behind him, does she see less of the hero and
more of the old, black man? He projects his doubts about his own
manhood and worth outward and assumes the worst.
Desdemona continues to plead for Cassio until Otello snaps his
pencil in two, symbolically representing something that snaps in his
mind. He tells her he has a headache but when she seeks to comfort
him, he rejects her efforts, rejects the treasured handkerchief, and
ultimately rejects Desdemona. Unfortunately, much of this nuanced
exchanged is diluted by the non-stop activity of the camp members,
including an awkward modernistic dance romance that plays out behind
Otello and Desdemona, with the woman sharing a coat (see Act 1 when
Desdemona puts on Otello’s coat) with a man who is not her mate as
her partner watches in growing anger.
Desdemona attempts to apologize by restating her love but Otello has
already moved inside himself, removing himself from the external
source of his doubt to find the internal source of fear and
self-loathing that is always raging in him.
His background as a slave, his lack of polish and sophistication,
his career choice of mercenary, his advancing age that puts his
glory behind him and his incipient frailty coupled with enervating
epileptic seizures, his love of a woman who has already betrayed her
father by marrying him (clear in Shakespeare, not Verdi) – all the
elements that churn within the man serve to isolate him. Now, in
the twilight of his career, at the very moment when he has achieved
all he has ever dreamed of, he is forced to confront his greatest
fears: in spite of all he has done he is still not worthy.
Desdemona’s recognition that her decision was the wrong one might
well drive her into the arms of the handsome, socially acceptable
and politically astute Cassio; who could doubt they were a better
match? Otello is not capable of hearing Desdemona’s words of love;
instead, he is lost inside his nightmare: ‘Perhaps because I am
declining/Into the valley of my years,/Perhaps because on my
face/There is this darkness, She is lost and I/Am mocked and my
heart breaks And I see my golden dream/Ruined in the mire.’
During the exchange between Otello and Desdemona, Iago has secured
the handkerchief from his wife Emilia while the refugee camp watches
silently.
Otello’s weakness is now laid bare: unaccustomed to give and take,
incapable of stepping outside an emotional situation to think
objectively, quick to make decisions and slow to reflect on their
efficacy, he wallows in self-pity in his
Ora è per sempre addio,
where he bids farewell to all the trappings of his military
successes but spares not a single word for a farewell to love:
Now and forever, farewell, sacred
memories,
Farewell sublime enchantments of my thought!
Farewell, gleaming troops, farewell victories,
Flying arrows and flying chargers!
Farewell holy, triumphant banner,
And trumpets blaring at early morning!
Sounds and songs of battle, farewell! ...
This is the end of Otello's glory.
Desperate to cling to his emotional security blanket as a successful
soldier as he senses failure in his personal life, Otello begins to
conflate the two. In assessing his life, he places all he has
accomplished in his military career on equal par with his short-term
relationship with Desdemona. The warrior that was is the man he is,
a man who forgot himself when he allowed himself to fall in love and
marry. Now he is facing betrayal that will destroy all that he has
been, and his regret is not for loss of love but for loss of glory.
Just as Desdemona feels honor-bound to defend Cassio, so Otello
feels honor-bound to protect his accomplishments, even if means
destroying the one who loves him most.
Still, in balancing the night of love in which he found no traces of
resistance or hesitation, Otello demands proof of Desdemona’s
betrayal, lending the opera a momentary note of hope that he might
still be convinced of Desdemona’s affection. He is confused,
uncertain, a shadow of the man who bounded onto the stage in Act I
to take charge of the melee. ‘I believe
Desdemona faithful, and I believe/That she is not; I believe you
honest, and I believe you disloyal . . . /I want the proof! I want
certainty!!’
The irony, of course, is that there are few things in life that can
be known with absolute certainty. Relationships are based on trust
or faith, something that Otello is unfamiliar with and which he now
shows he is incapable of either in regards to his wife.
Iago responds that there may never be tangible proof, but if
subjective evidence can be submitted, then perhaps an anecdote will
do. He proceeds to invent the story of Cassio’s dream of nights
with Desdemona, with Cassio in possession of the hankie that
Desdemona just used in an attempt to stay Otello’s headache. The
nuance washes over him as Otello feels the blood fever rise and vows
to avenge his slighted honor (Sì, pel ciel). At this moment
the tragedy is set: convinced that Desdemona has betrayed him,
Otello makes a sacred oath to exact revenge. In effect he renounces
his marriage to her and commits himself to Iago as they both kneel
in common vows, a new marriage between two men seeking destruction.
Without the proof he demanded, Otello has given himself over to the
paranoia induced by Iago.
Of course, this being an anti-war opera, Kriegenburg has to
introduce an extraneous moment of lethal tension: at one point Iago
pulls his service revolver and takes aim at a handful of children
sitting on a bunk, something that no military man would do,
especially in front of his commanding officer. After terrifying the
kids, he hands one of them the gun and walks off to continue weaving
his tale. Otello has not been blind: when he walks across the
stage he deftly scoops the gun from the hand of the boy – but the
action raises serious questions about Iago that should put Otello on
his guard. In fact, throughout the opera Iago is constantly acting
in ways that telegraph he is malicious and not to be trusted; he is
almost cartoonish in his overt evilness which makes it difficult to
believe no one picks up on his bizarre behavior.
On the plus side, there is a strong moment when Otello, having
tossed his work desk aside without effort, picks up the photo of
Desdemona and slowly walks across the stage with it in his hands,
his eyes never leaving the image. He sits in one of the gray
leather chairs, then lights the photo on fire, holding it as it
slowly disintegrates. Not only was this is tension-charged moment
but the intensity in José Cura’s face, its slow change as the flames
lick at the image, was one of the most compelling moments in the
opera. Bravo!
COMMENTS:
First, a couple of comments about the performance of the singing
actors. Zeljko Lucic’s Iago was
consistently well sung but the characterization of the nihilist was
frustratingly transparent to a point where it became difficult to
imagine anyone would believe anything this Iago said. This was a
rogue who operated outside of military protocol and whose words,
however compelling they may have been, were constantly undermined by
his over-the-top villain demeanor. All that was missing was the
stereotypical black cape and moustache to twirl.
Anja Harteros vocalized brilliantly but at times her
characterization of Desdemona seemed too reserved, almost icy. This
was a proud, almost regal Desdemona who manifested a chilling
quietness when she was not engaged; even the moments when she was
braiding the girls’ hair she seemed distant. Certainly the early
reserved served her well in the final act, when some of the ice
melted and her real fears emerged so perhaps this approach was
carefully thought through and purposeful.
José Cura was, as always, a titan in the lead role. Every muscle
in his body reacted as Otello’s would, every facial expression
telegraphed Otello’s emotional state of mind, every movement added
emphasis to the plot. He never spared himself (in spite of on-going
problems with allergens that affected his throat and lungs) vocally,
using a wide variety of tones and colors to capture the doubt,
discouragement, and final resolve. He was mesmerizing--I can't
think of a single tenor who can bring the same visceral excitement
or unflagging commitment to the role. If I have
the tiniest of nitpicks, it would be this: there is less tragedy in
the opera if we don’t care for Otello—if we don’t, why should we care if or how he dies in the
end? I understand Cura’s position that Otello is a bad man, a
murderer, a mercenary who fought his own people for money, but I
would suggest that even bad men are more complex than the label. In
my perfect world, I would love to see more of an internal struggle
between sanity and insanity, between the need to avenge and the need
to believe—we need to hold on to the hope that at some point, Otello
will realize Desdemona is a victim just as he has been a victim. I
could not and would not ask this of any other singing actor but Cura
is capable of creating magic on the stage. Gifting his Otello with
a smidgeon more humanity would allow us to find emotional
connection with him would added the last drop of depth to an already
splendid characterization.
The play: Act II was where, for me, the
Kriegenburg vision fails completely. More than 70 men, women, and
children prowl the stage, the distraction of bodies in motion
ripping at the fabric of the story without presenting a compelling
reason for their constant presence. Iago’s Credo, essential
to understanding the character, is swallowed whole by the phalanx of
children and the constant movement of the people in the bunks and on
the stage. Delicate moments of revelation are pitted against a
competing dance that telegraphs the tragedy--it seems more a
reflection on relationships as battlegrounds than a pitch for war is hell. Key plot development blend with background activity
that tell us nothing. There were moments of brilliance and
charm—Desdemona braiding the hair of two small girls comes to
mind—but even these moments are too often countered with Kriegenburg’s weighty message on the cost of war: a mother sits on a
bunk and assiduously picks lice from the head of her daughter.
Otello
is the story of a man trapped in his own world of betrayal and
jealousy and uncertainty. One of the primary reasons for setting
both opera and play on an island is to isolate these characters so
that, with nothing else to do, they prey upon each other; Otello’s
inherent doubts about who he is and his place in society is
concentrated and too easily becomes toxic is this small community;
his most moving moments is when he is alone and gives voice to his
fears. Iago frequently speaks in soliloquies and is adapt at
isolating characters (Rodrigo, Cassio, Otello) to manipulate them
into willingly entering the web of lies he spins. We identify with
Desdemona most closely while she prays alone in her room. Even the
structure of the play moves from outward to inward: the opening
scenes reflect the hustle and bustle of a community with all its
various sights, sounds and distractions but over the course of the
opera the activity draws inward, both physically and emotionally,
until it moves to a bedroom and, ultimately, a coffin. But it is
that very sense of self-isolation that Kriegenburg denies with his
teeming stage and constant movement.
If Kriegenburg’s theme is that war destroys all who touch it and
that Otello turns violent and kills because he suffers from the
horrible things he has seen and done, then a far better device (to
me, at least) would have been to turn the chorus into the ghosts of
those he had murdered. Such constant haunting (with far fewer
people) would have effectively advanced the theory that we never
recover from war, no matter how it may appear, and what we do in
life has consequences. Instead, we have a stage full of people who
are busy doing nothing, adding nothing, meaning nothing. In fact,
the distractions, excitement, and demands of the refugee camp would
have left little time for Otello to fall prey to Iago’s
machinations.
Last thought: the gun becomes a metaphor as it is first used to
threaten a child, then becomes a child's play toy, then becomes a lethal weapon
used to threaten--but nothing is ever made of the gun that invites us to reflect
on the violence of war. It is waved around ineffectually, perhaps as a
sign of Otello's impotence since he waves it most often and to no real purpose,
but in using this symbol to tell us Otello has become incapable of taking
action, Kriegenburg makes the weapon of choice for the warrior meaningless and
thus undermines his own theme.
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