By Steve Weinstein
By Bryan Bierman
By Lindsey Rhoades
By Chaz Kangas
By Ben Westhoff and Sarah Purkrabek
By Jena Ardell
By Jesse Sendejas Jr.
By Katherine Turman
Just as Mikel Rouse's 1996 Dennis Cleveland fused opera with the TV talk show, Buwalsky, by composer Mel Marvin and librettist Jonathan Levi, brings reality TV into the world of opera. (I saw the New York premiere October 2 at NYU's Skirball Center.) The TV show is curious: Its stars, Lada and her lover Franco, are on the lam for having killed a rich industrialist, yet they never escape the cameras. And in fact, any character in the opera who wants to be apprised of the whereabouts of his or her nemeses need only click the screen on with a remote, and there they are. Real reality TV should be so helpful.
Thus there were two planes of reality in Buwalsky: the video screen behind the singers, in which we watched segments from the all-day TV show Lada, and the live-actor action that took place in front of the screen. The Inspector (played by Wil van der Meer) hunts after Lada (Klara Uleman) and Franco (Charles Alves da Cruz), and apprehends Lada when dogs track her down. Buwalsky (Peter Michailov), a faithful Lada watcher, is already in love with her when he rushes to save her from the Inspector's clutches. When Lada sees on TV that the Inspector is capturing Franco, she commands Buwalsky, if he loves her, to go shoot the Inspectorbut Franco has disguised himself as the Inspector, and Buwalsky shoots the wrong man.
This was not Wozzeck's atmosphere of tragedy: Buwalsky was hip, self-conscious, postmodern by intent, often tongue-in-cheek. The music for the video sequences was prerecorded, that for the live singers played by an eight-member pit band of brass, strings, and percussion (Jan van Maanen conducting), and segues between the two were pulled off cleverly. Marvin underlaid much of the action with a film noir score of 1950s spy-music clichés, angular lines punched out by the saxophone over tempestuous grooves. He had the style down, and the vocal lines were admirably set for maximum communicability, even if the singers were punishingly forced to compete with saxophone and trombone.
Video production by Patricia Boogaart was interestingly continentalAmerican-style TV would have flattened the illusionand the singers were well cast. Uleman as Lada had a tremendously more powerful voice than her delicate face led you to expect; van der Meer was intended as a stock character and managed more depth; and Michailov was expressively inarticulate, even though his unaltered hands looked too quotidian to validate the fuss made over them in the libretto. What the opera needed, though, was a breadth of musical vocabulary to match its theatrical conceit. Aside from film noir references, Marvin tends to write in a well-orchestrated, propulsive idiom of monochromatic atonality. In one scene Buwalsky and Lada escaped to the countryside, where they pulled carrots out of the earth and shared them with a friendly horse; charmingly funny, this drew appreciative titters, but the background music incongruously shuddered on in Schoenbergian angst. It's refreshingly postclassical to see an opera that can laugh at itselfbut the music needs to be in on the joke.