Pablo Romero, Lyric Tenor

I would like to reflect a little upon one of my favorite characters in a Mozart opera– Don Ottavio. When examining the regular repertoire of Mozart tenors out there, the usual offerings are always musically satisfying, but often rather uninteresting as characters ( I have often commented that Tamino in Die Zauberflote is essentially rather gullible young man who ends up getting sucked up into a cult!)  However, there are also characters that are interesting, but are often dismissed under wrong assumptions concerning the nature of the character. One of these poor fellows is Don Ottavio:

Don Ottavio’s age is a crucial part of how his character behaves, the consideration of his effectiveness is at the core of his actions. From a historical perspective, it would be natural for Ottavio to be an older man in relation to Donna Anna- in fact, he could very well be close to the Commendatore’s age, or slightly younger.

This choice, as mentioned before, makes sense from a historical perspective (it is hard to conceive that Donna Anna would have had much of a say in the choice of her fiancé at this point in history and social rank) but also puts a contrast between Don Ottavio and the titular Don Giovanni. Giovanni is young, strong and full of energy, whereas Ottavio is no longer the young man he used to be: his actions are covered with the extra layer of caution one is likely to acquire with age (if not through more judicious thinking, then at least out of self-preservation.) He is far from being Don Giovanni’s physical equal and to confront him without solid evidence (which he gets at the end of Act I) is to take unnecessary risks.

Age also changes the perspective from which he attacks his two arias. “Dalla Sua Pace” sung by an older Ottavio must acquire a certain melancholy: he wishes for nothing in the world except for Donna Anna to be happy, and his happiness is directly tied to hers. He is an older man who now must be more than a future husband to his distraught fiancée, he must adopt a paternal position (Don Ottavio as an older man is reinforced in Act I, Scene III, No.2 where Ottavio says “lascia, cara, la rimembranza amara: hai sposo e padre in me” during their duet immediately after discovering the Commendatore’s body) and his first thought is not one of avenging Donna Anna, but a gesture of affection and a mature reflection on their intertwined fate.

“Il Mio Tesoro”, on the other hand, becomes the moment of redemption for Ottavio. In the face of all the atrocities committed by Giovanni (and which link him to the original crime- the Commendatore’s death) he can no longer be cautious or hesitant- it is time for him to finally awaken and bring much-delayed justice to bear upon Don Giovanni’s head ( with perhaps the best moment for a full dramatic awakening of the character happening on the “vado” of “a vendicar io vado!” which culminates on a held high F, and which descends down an octave.) This is the moment in which Ottavio passes from reasonable doubt to absolute certainty, and it should reflect in the character’s expressions and movement, his sense of resolve has shifted from protecting and comforting Donna Anna towards full retaliation. In truth, Ottavio’s turning was triggered at the Don’s party, but this is the first time Ottavio has an opportunity to have a moment all to himself, dramatically.

Ottavio’s heroic purpose is not insincere, but fortunately he is spared having to deal with the Don himself: his purpose and morals are noble, but we have already seen the Don is most capable in a fight, and we get the impression Ottavio wouldn’t survive a duel with Giovani. Rather, the Don finds death comes to visit him as a result of his own actions— leaving Donna Elvira to find closure, Donna Anna to mourn, and Don Ottavio to hope perchance to marry her someday.

If Don Ottavio is played as a young man, I think it would be important to play him as a younger man to Don Giovanni: whereas the older Don Ottavio is at a physical disadvantage to Giovanni, the younger Ottavio would be at a social disadvantage. As a younger man Giovanni’s ‘friendship’ to him would become more of an older man(mentor) to a young man recently introduced to society (and perhaps even add an extra layer of deceit and cruelty to Giovanni’s actions, since he essentially might have befriended Ottavio in order to get to Anna.) Having Giovanni be Ottavio’s mentor figure would explain Ottavio’s reticence to act from a different angle—Ottavio has grown accustomed to Giovanni’s front as an honorable man, and is loath to think that someone who has been such an important figure to him could be two-faced. Also, being older than Ottavio, Don Giovanni is more established a name in their society of nobility than the younger man, thus making the prospect of accusing someone with greater influence a daunting one.

In both cases Ottavio is cautious and needs proof before he acts, but in each case it comes from a different perspective (or end of the age spectrum, as it is.)

The other issue at hand is that of social rank: Giovanni and Ottavio are both equals in rank, though we don’t know exactly how powerful each truly is (who has a greater number of land, riches, etc.) The nature of their stratified society makes dealing with Giovanni a more difficult matter, since although nobles could adjudicate to lower classes, targeting someone in the strata of nobility was tricky. Frank E. Smitha writes that “In Spain the landed aristocracy was holding on to its powers, and many if not most Spaniards clung to the values of the aristocracy. They believed that business was fit only for Jews, Arabs and other foreigners. (…) Spain’s nobility was one tenth of its population. They spent some of their fortune seeking government office, and in government, it is said, were thirty parasites for every man who did an honest day’s work. Some of the nobility maintained customs barriers as a source of revenue, taxing commerce and driving up prices.”

It is clear that Giovanni has been getting away with his trademark conduct for some time, and that he has not come to an untimely death only to the possibility of his influence. No amount of influence, however, can eventually keep his misdeeds from coming to a head—Don Giovanni as an opera demonstrates what is possibly the worst day in the life of the Don, but also the breaking point of the privilege which has shielded him for so long—he has accumulated outrage after outrage and strung them up through his life like a collar of pearls. The end of the opera shows what happens when the string breaks and the pent-up hatred he has accumulated runs unchecked: his enemies gradually hound him to destruction. The true catalyst (in the opera) of Don Giovanni’s misfortune is Donna Elvira, whose mixture of insane devotion and righteous revulsion allows Ottavio and Elvira to find an ally, and sets the Don’s doom in motion starting at the end of Act I, with the Don’s apparent victory (by escape.)

Ottavio at his very core is a noble character. He is not ideally heroic, as his caution robs him of the opportunity to end evil before it can cause more harm, but he nevertheless does not waver when he knows that his course is true. To portray him in weakness is to mistake the nature of his character: he is not a dashing personality, his most natural impulse is to protect, and it is this impulse that he eventually must overcome in order to champion Donna Anna.

Not An Ordinary Sunday: The Essence of Sunday In The Park With George

I have often regarded Stephen Sondheim as one of the most gifted and theatrically-savvy Broadway composers in the mid and late 20^th century.  He has had brilliant successes (Into the Woods, Sweenie Todd, Company) and he has had failures (Anyone Can Whistle) ~ though most of his one-time failures have returned as favorites (Anyone Can Whistle is a brilliant score.) The thing that compels Sondheim is always the mind- there is a powerful intellectual drive in his composition; he seeks to integrate everything into a complete work of art.

Sondheim seeks to balance substance with glamour, but he never condescends to his audience—musical innovation is first and foremost, the demands of the libretto and the treatment of character and language never take second place to ‘what is popular.’  It is in this that Sondheim is immediately cast as the opposite of Andrew Lloyd Webber, whose approach is antithetical to Sondheim: Where Sondheim seeks interesting complexity and artistic nuance, Webber paints everything with almost caricature-like broad strokes, where Sondheim seeks to explore moral and psychological complexities, Webber has little use for character development (except for his first major popular work, Jesus Christ Superstar, which had a solidity never again reprised) and instead prefers spectacle over substance.

Stephen Sondheim has often been accused of being ‘unmelodic’ and ‘tuneless’- but nothing could be further from the truth. Sondheim is melodic- in the same way Johan Sebastian Bach is melodic: melodic entities are interwoven with rich counterpoint, so often there is not one predominant “tune” occurring during one particular scene but several smaller melodies that are craftily interwoven… with a “tune” emerging at moments of special significance. In Into The Woods, for example, the patter and frenetic Your Fault, which is a rapid-fire exchange between all of the main characters trying to place the blame on each other, builds up to the emergence of the Witch’s “tune”  The Last Midnight, her character’s exit song in which she exposes all of the moral fallacies of the other characters- the things they had tried to escape by shifting the blame.

The composer is no stranger to the leitmotif , a recurring theme, associated with a particular person, place, or idea- and his employment of it is another way in which he ties the psychological nature of his characters together. For example, in Into The Woods, Rapunzel’s seven-note vocalized leitmotif with which her character is inextricably linked is later shown to belong to the Witch, her adoptive mother, in the paranoid song ‘Don’t you know what’s out there in the world?’- showing the influence, mostly subconscious, that her constant message has had on her daughter. This eventually revisited and capitulated in the finale of the show by the Witch as she sings ‘Careful the things you say… children will listen’. The opening mini-leitmotif of “I Wish” (a sharp, rising major second interval) is both repeated and developed throughout the show at the same pace as the story explores the consequences of pursuing whims with thoughtless abandon.

A solid Sondheim musical is not something that is quickly consumed and thrown away as a divertissement, but often there are many things that are left to be discovered upon re-visiting the work.  One of Sondheim’s crowning achievements is his musical Sunday In The Park With George, which might be called his Capriccio. Operatic composer Richard Strauss created an opera called Capriccio , which poses the question ‘Which is the greater art, poetry or music?’ This question is dramatized in the story of a Countess torn between two suitors: Olivier, a poet, and Flamand, a composer- with the Countess eventually serving as the allegorical combination of both arts and a metaphorical personification of Opera itself. It was Strauss’ love letter to his art form, and Sondhein’s Sunday In The Park With George is his Capriccio, but with a wider scope: it is his homage to the creative process itself.

The plot of the musical centers around pointillist painter Georges Seurat and his quest to finish his painting  Sunday Afternoon on The Island of La Grande Jatte. Throughout the musical we are introduced to Georges’ relationships- his mistress (Dot), his mother, his ‘friends’, all of them exhibiting varying degrees of understanding (or lack thereof) concerning his burning obsession with his work: his mother does not understand him at all, his ‘friends’ (an artist and his wife) dismiss his work, the general public considers him an eccentric, whilst only Dot seems to realize the guise of his genius. Nevertheless, even Dot cannot cope with Georges’ constant battle within and without himself, a sort of self-motivated crucible to depurate his work to match his own standards of perfection. Dot feels ignored while Georges seems to focus on her solely as an object for color and light in his painting- and becomes patently upset with him when, instead of taking her out to the Follies one night, he recants with “… I must finish the hat…”

Georges’ hat is an example of the pull his vocation has on him- while reflecting on Dot’s abandonment of him for another man, he muses

I had thought she understood.

They have never understood, and no reason that they should.

But if anybody could . . . .

Finishing the hat–how you have to finish the hat.

How you watch the rest of the world from a window

while you finish the hat.

Mapping out a sky . . . what you feel like, planning a sky . . .

What you feel when voice that come through the window

go, until they distance and die

Until there’s nothing but sky.

He delves deeper into the process- for Georges, drawing a hat isn’t merely a matter of drawing a few lines, but of

Studying the hat

Entering the world of the hat

Reaching through the world of the hat like a window

Back to this one, from that.

Studying a face . . . stepping back to look at a face

Leaves a little space in the way, like a window

But to see . . . it’s the only way to see

The character isn’t simply copying what he sees. In fact, he is making his own recreation of reality, his own interpretation of the world he sees. Seurat, in Sondheim’s musical, is almost childlike in his capacity to be transfixed by the world around him, and transfixed by the light which makes all vision possible. Two women remark of him, “They say he prowls through the streets in his top hat after midnight- And stands there staring up at the lamps!”- to them it is an eccentricity that proves his insanity, but many who have studied painting recognize in this the first commandment of the artist: Look! This Seurat is fascinated with light, and so he studies it in all conditions.  In her journal, Dot writes of him “So much love in his words. Forever with his colors. How Georges looks. He can look forever. What does he see? His eyes so dark and shiny. So careful… so exact…”

We are treated to several scenes in which Seurat sketches different characters- and inhabits them, either imagining dialogues between them (such as with the stray dogs) or repeating things they say verbatim (such as the old sailor), the artist’s hand moves with his mind, embracing the whole of the world in his fascination for existence. Perhaps the most touching moment occurs in an exchange between mother and son, where she finally breaks down her barriers and laments that things change, that there are towers where there were trees, and things are no longer beautiful.  Georges replies like a true artist:

All things are beautiful, Mother.

All trees, all towers, beautiful–

That tower beautiful, Mother.

See? A perfect tree.

Pretty isn’t beautiful, Mother.

Pretty is what changes . . .

what the eye arranges

is what is beautiful!

The statement that “pretty isn’t beautiful- what the eye arranges is what is beautiful” is a powerful statement- prettiness is more often than not accidental. Beauty, Georges says, lies behind intention: what art seeks to communicate isn’t simply a pretty picture, but a deep philosophical statement that says ‘this is what matters, this is what must be!’. “You’re changing, I’m changing, I’ll draw us now before we fade” Georges tells his mother, his way of reaching in his own language—and she finally understands, saying “You make it beautiful.”

The power of artistic intention is stated at the very beginning of the musical, in the real Seurat’s own words: “White: A blank page, or canvas.  The challenge: bring order to the whole through design, composition, tension, balance, light and harmony.” This is the theme that haunts the musical throughout its course- the pursuit and achievement of uniqueness and intention, the acquisition of beauty.  It may be easy to think that for Georges, beauty is attained at the sacrifice of all of his relationships- but this is a false impression. Even though Dot and Georges’ relationship deteriorates to the point of her leaving him for the baker Louie, Dot never ceases to admire and love him.

Her departure comes from the realization that her self-esteem was derived from her relationship with Georges, whereas Georges was autonomous. His pursuit of his goal hurt Dot, because she was co-dependent. In her departure she says “No, you are complete, George, you are your own- I am unfinished, I am diminished with or without you.” The problem is not Georges’, it is Dot’s. Instead of choosing to face it, she leaves with Louie to America, carrying Georges’ child.  Georges’ mother eventually comes to understand him, even if his ‘friends’ do not- but it is irrelevant if they do or not, as Jules (the painter friend) clearly dismisses anything that is not fashionable and would never truly accept the artistic pursuit of uniqueness. Seurat would have gained nothing by attempting to pacify these ‘friends’ and work on conventional projects, and instead would have lost everything.

Seurat is thought to have altered the direction of modern art because of his extraordinary style. The painting at the center of the musical is a masterful application of color theory, in which tiny little dots of paint populate the canvas. Up close, they look like nothing more than a multicolored field of dots, but if you stand back the effect is breathtaking.  In his painting, complex colors are created by the eye blending basic colors placed next to each other. To some, it might suggest that the painting was created with an almost deconstructivist perspective, but in the context of the musical and of Seurat’s writings it seems to acquire an almost joyous exhuberance- the joy of a man who understands how light and color work, and who enjoys demonstrating it in his works through his prodigious skill.

The climax of act one occurs as all of the characters converge on the park, erupting into a massive argument and chaos. Surrounded and affected by this disorder, it is at this crucial moment that he states the values that embody his ideal of art, after his mother calls to him, saying “Remember, Georges!”:

“Order!” he calls out, and the characters stand at attention. “Design” he continues, going through his list of crucial elements and rearranging the characters into their specific positions. As  the list grows, and after “Tension”, an unresolved chord hangs over his recitation, increasing in stridence until he seals his list with the last word:”Harmony.” Sondheim resolves the chord into a peaceful repeated theme on the piano, and the chorus hauntingly sings the leitmotif that was heard at the beginning of the musical in the trumpet, now fully developed into the main ‘tune’:

“Sunday

By the blue-Purple-yellow-red water

On the green-Purple-yellow-red grass,

Let us pass through our perfect park,

Pausing on a Sunday…”

This is the completion of Georges’ quest, the achievement of beauty: his great work has been achieved. He joins into the song, singing triumphantly as if all struggles prior to attaining the Work were insignificant in the face of his achievement. The ensemble works itself into a grandiose crescendo, ending with

Let us pass

Through arrangements of shadows

Towards the verticals of tree

Forever

The goal of his quest is immortality: his painting, though initially lukewarm in its reception then, has now been assured of its timelessness- all of the characters, which are all of his relationships in one way or another, have become part of his masterpiece even when some of them had opposed it. Act one ends with a triumphant celebration of the intention of the artist, of his metaphysical statement.  Sondheim could have ended the musical there with a wonderful note. However, he is not done.

After a benevolently humorous interlude in which the characters of the painting comment on ‘being frozen up here, forever’ (the painting version of Jules says ‘I hope my cigar doesn’t bother you… unfortunately, it never goes out’) act two takes place in the United States, in the modern day. The protagonist is George- the grandson of Georges Seurat, and an artist also fascinated with light.  Unfortunately George has to deal with the red tape and the wrangling that plagues much of modern art nowadays- in which artists must become their own publicists, strike deals, bargain for commissions and connections, remarking “This is the state of the art, my friend.” Several chorus members also remark about the strange miasma that modern art has become, declaring themselves positively baffled by some of the trends. George himself has fallen victim to trends, with his “Chromolumes” having become repetitive incidents after the first original piece.  His grandmother Marie, Dot’s daughter and his only remaining relative, is concerned for him. Old and feeble, and in poor health, she worries what will become of George, and why he is so sad. In the opening of George’s most recent Chromolume, it is mentioned that he and Marie will visit La Grande Jatte, where his famous grandfather was inspired.

Unfortunately, Marie dies before the trip and George finds La Grande Jatte to be a barren industrial park, no longer having the distinctive, scintillating presence from Seurat’s painting. Reading a book Marie had left for him – Dot’s journal- George proceeds to unwind his own crisis, admitting to himself

See George remember how George used to be.

Stretching his vision in every direction.

See George attempting to see a connection.

When all he can see is maybe a tree…

-the family tree!

Sorry, Marie.

George is afraid. George sees the park. George sees it dying.

George too may fade, leaving no mark, just passing through.

Just like the people out strolling on Sunday…

This crisis brings up the spirit of Dot, forever associated with La Grande Jatte (she is the woman in purple holding the parasol with a monkey on her leash). She speaks to him as if he were his grandfather, asking him “Are you working on something new?” “No,” replies Seurat’s descendant, “That isn’t like you, George” Dot says.  George is so obsessed with finding the next new thing that he hasn’t truly delved within himself. His grandfather was a man consumed by a mission, because he found it deep within himself- George is yet to find that because he is too focused on the opinions of others and their judgment on whether his work is ‘new’ or not. Dot violently sings

Stop worrying if your vision is new.

Let others make that decision . . .

they usually do!

You keep moving on.

Look at what you want,

Not at what you are

Not at what you’ll be

Look at all the things you gave to me.

Just keep moving on.

Anything you do, let it come from you–

then it will be new.

Give us more to see!

George finally understands, and begins to read the words on the journal about his grandfather, “Forever with his colors…” he continues, as the characters of the painting emerge once more for a reprise of “Sunday.” All throughout the chorus, George reads the words left behind by Dot. However, this time the crescendo is different, and the characters retreat one by one until George is alone on the stage. He reads the final words on the journal:  “White… a blank page or canvas. His favorite.  So many possibilities.” He turns around to see that everything has become bleached into a white canvas, with the image of Dot disappearing slowly behind it. Whereas act one celebrated Seurat’s achievement of beauty, act two ends in a celebratory note to the spirit of future achievements, as George is faced with endless possibilities for his artistic endeavor- the horns repeating the interval belonging to the word ‘Sunday’ in salute and promise of the future.

I love Sunday In The Park With George because a masterfully created affirmation of the spirit of the artist, and the quest of all arts, and nobody else but Sondheim could have accomplished it so beautifully.