Naxos Blog

Jirí Kylián’s Car Men (2006)
A film by Boris Paval Conen and Jirí Kylián
Sabine Kupferberg, Karel Hruška, David Krügel, Giogonda Barbuto
Arrangements and additional music by Han Otten
Costumes by Stephanie Mariën
Also including additional ballets by Kylián: Silent Cries and La Cathédrale engloutie

2007 winner of the Grand Prize at the Montréal International Festival of Films on Art, Car Men is Jirí Kylián’s retelling of a timeless story of passion and ambition. The Czech-born choreographer retains four of the main characters from the traditional Bizet opera in his free-adaptation; the enticing Carmen (Sabine Kupferberg), the obsessed lover Don José (Karel Hruška), the philanderer Escamillo (David Krügel), and the good-hearted Micaëla (Gioconda Barbuto). Filmed in the inherent wasteland of an abandoned Czech coal mine near the German border, the piece uses only one large prop; a scrap car.

In the first moments of Car Men, one thinks that they are observing frolicking children, when the performers are actually from the Nederlands Dans Theater III, an ensemble created by Kylián in 1991 for experienced senior dancers over the age of 40. These performers, in combination with the use of the gloomy and desolate palate of the coal mine, allow Kylián to communicate metaphors of time and speed, movement and stillness, and youth and old age throughout the 27 minute piece. Reviewer Maggie Foyer of Dance Europe proclaimed that “Kylián’s Car Men is destined to become a later-day cult silent movie.”

Born in Prague in 1947, Jirí Kylián studied dance with his mother initially before beginning training at the ballet school of Prague’s National Theater at the age of 9. By the age of 26, Kylián had choreographed works for Noverre Gesellschaft, Stuttgart Ballet and Nederlands Dans Theater where he was appointed co-director in 1975. The esteemed choreographer became the sole artistic director of NDT in 1977 and remained there until 1999 when he departed to work on projects of his own, including Car Men. Silent Cries and La Cathédrale engloutie, the other two productions that comprise the DVD, were created during Kylián’s time as artistic director of NDT. Both pieces use the music of Claude Debussy: Prélude à l’après-midi d’un faune and Prélude No. 10 La Cathédrale engloutie respectively.
Filmed in black and white and mainly choreographed on site by Kylián, Car Men is superbly directed by Dutch filmmaker Boris Paval Conen with costume design by Stephanie Mariën. Arrangements of Bizet’s score as well as original music for Car Men are written by Han Otten.

The Bolshoi Ballet II (1989-1990)

Prokofiev: Ivan the Terrible (1990)
Irek Mukhamedov, Natalya Bessmertnova
Gediminas Taranda

Prokofiev: The Stone Flower (1990)
Nikolai Dorokhov, Lyudmilla Semenyaka
Nina Semizorova, Yuri Vetrov

Khachaturian: Spartacus (1990)
Irek Mukhamedov, Alexandr Vetrov
Lyudmilla Semenyaka, Maria Bilova
Gediminas Taranda

Glazunov: Raymonda (1989)
Natalya Bessmertnova, Yuri Vasyuchenko
Gedeminas Taranda, Elena Bobrova

Bolshoi Theatre Orchestra
Algis Zhuraitis and Aleksandr Kopilov, conductors
Yuri Grigorovich, choreographer

Arthaus Musik will release its second volume of productions performed by the Bolshoi Ballet, one of the world’s oldest and most well-respected ballet companies. Volume two includes Prokofiev’s Ivan the Terrible and The Stone Flower, Khachaturian’s Spartacus, and Glazunov’s Raymonda. Natalya Bessmertnova, Bolshoi Ballet prima ballerina and late wife of Yuri Grigorovich, appears in two roles that she originated at the Bolshoi: Anatasia (Ivan the Terrible) and the tile role in Grigorovich’s revised Raymonda. As with volume one, all of the productions in this four disc set were recorded at the historic Bolshoi Theatre and catalog the works of Yuri Grigorovich, renowned choreographer and director of the Bolshoi Ballet from 1964-1995.

A Film by Gösta Courkamp

Fazil Say’s international reputation continues to grow, and he has successfully made the step from child prodigy to highly successful international star. As the French newspaper Le Figaro put it: “He is more than just a brilliant pianist - he is set to become one of the greatest artists of the 21st century.” With his combination of extraordinary strength and absolute technical perfection, Fazil Say is the kind of unique character seldom found in the world of classical music. His incredible gifts and utter commitment to the music are irresistible, and he successfully unites East and West with his personality and musicality. The film shows Fazil Say making music with Turkish pop icon Sertab Erener and interpreting Bach and Beethoven in Istanbul. It also presents excerpts from his compositions Black Earth and Nazim - the latter filmed during a performance in the amphitheatre at Aspendos. BONUS: Paganini Variations & Concerto ‘Silk Road’ composed and performed by Fazil Say.

Little did I know that I had the makings of an Opera Fanatic — well, I’ve discovered that I do. I found myself watching the DVD version of The Opera Fanatic (the VHS version of this film has been available on Zucker’s Bel Canto Society website for some time; the DVD version is being released on Arthaus Musik at the end of May) with absolute fascination (twice now, probably a third time by the time I’ve finished this blog entry), despite the fact that Stefan Zucker (purportedly the highest tenor according to the Guinness World Book of Records and generally an annoying enfant terrible) is thoroughly outrageous and, in some cases, shockingly rude to an absolutely extraordinary grouping of true Divas. The chutzpah (not to mention bad taste) of asking legendary mezzo-soprano Fedora Barbieri about the sexual proclivities of mezzos boggles the mind, but then again, she offered—or threatened—to spank him for his naughty question. (Maybe there IS some truth to this rumor she so passionately denied?)

The Opera Fanatic is partly about Zucker’s quest for the answers to a question which cannot really be answered or quantified: what makes a singer thrilling and a performance moving? But it also is, in part, a memorial of his late mother, a soprano named Rosina Wolf, whose memory he evokes several times during the film. Most of all, however, it is about a group of great singers, many of whom have been forgotten (a few probably don’t even hit the radar for some younger opera-goers), and some whose careers were eclipsed by La Callas and Renata Tebaldi. However, one thing these larger-than-life women have in common can be put very simply: Star Power.

And that Star Power is wonderfully present in this film. Years after her career had ended, soprano Leyla Gencer still could demand that she be interviewed at La Scala (they acquiesced); Marcella Pobbe, a wonderful soprano from the 1950s, was suspiciously difficult to pin down for an interview time; yet another Diva was concerned that her maid would need to come twice (before and after the interview).

And some of the meetings went less than swimmingly. Poor Madame Pobbe, when the interview finally took place, fumed at Zucker’s questions (she called him “stupid”). He prodded her with queries like “What was the highest note you ever sang?” Her disdain was palpable, but not for reasons one might think. She wanted Zucker to properly introduce her and to explain her place in opera history first (DIVA). She did, eventually, answer the question about the note (in case anyone cares, it was a high “D” in Carmina Burana, with Zubin Mehta conducting). She was equally ticked off when questioned about canceling her 1959 MET engagement to sing Elisabetta. The cancellation was due to a quarrel with her then lover the great tenor Nicolai Gedda. She blamed Rudolf Bing for the incident. Heard that story before…

But despite occasional fits of pique due to scheduling mishaps and other issues, many of these singers offered fascinating insights into opera, character, and the art of singing. The luminous mezzo-soprano Guilietta Simionato, known for her riveting vocal portrayals of characters like Carmen, Azucena, and Eboli, among many others, spoke almost poetically about proper breath control: “… the cavity [mask] projects upwards or sound doesn’t rise. With the breath you have to make a circle. It’s not that the high note is a point of arrival. The breath has to raise it up and then bring it down again, that way the notes come down like pearls.” A clip from a 1961 Cavalleria Rusticana [OA0983D] showed her in absolutely gorgeous voice. But perhaps the most telling moment from her interview was her confession when asked what she would have done differently with her career: she said, almost without hesitation, that she would not have become a singer. She suffered greatly, and it took almost two decades for her to get her due as an artist. I, for one, am glad she was not given that opportunity.

Another legendary soprano Magda Olivero commented that “you must find the character inside. Every word, every note has to rise from the inside and go forward to the audience.” She clearly understood what that meant, as evidenced by a superb 1960 Tosca excerpt. She also talked about the difficulties for sopranos in Act II of Tosca, which she described as a soprano-killer.

Anita Cerquetti (a personal favorite) — who is a longtime cult figure among vocal folks for her astonishing voice, very short career, and yes, the funniest record covers in just about all opera history (except for the late British Wagnerian Rita Hunter) — had some interesting comments about opera performance: ” A singer cannot be compared to an actor. The singer has to sing. He has to stay motionless. When he sings a romance, he cannot walk up and down the stage, otherwise the voice shifts. A singer has to be an actor through his gestures, through his face, through his arms and hands, through his voice.” Now, I won’t mince words here, Anita is and was a very large lady (NO comments here, she was) and probably didn’t or couldn’t take a lot of stage direction (just a guess). Motionless is a bit, well, odd even for me. And, let’s face it, much has changed in opera productions since these women graced the stage. There is far more emphasis on physical acting now for example. But some of what she says makes sense: a singer is not an actor in the traditional sense. If anyone watched the MET broadcast of Il Trittico last season, the most moving aspect of Barbara Frittoli’s performance was her portrayal of the character of Suor Angelica, which she achieved almost entirely through her facial expressions and simple physical gestures. In my opinion, her singing was nothing special. And had I been in the opera house instead of at the movies, where I could really see what she was doing with the role, I’m not so sure I would have been so moved.

For me, there is something special about this entire era of singing which quite frankly, harkens back to a time when the voice reigned supreme and when singing conveyed such emotion that even on a bad day, it had, well, “soul.” (Just to clarify: there are many, many current singers I absolutely adore and couldn’t do without. But I must confess to a certain love of singers from the 1930s, 1940s, 1950s and 1960s.)

In addition to the great singers of the 1950s and 1960s, the film also goes a further back into opera history and devotes some time to the great Gina Cigna, who actually was French and born in Paris in 1900 (she died in 2001). Cigna came from a much earlier era than the other singers portrayed in the film and was 96 when Zucker went to visit her. She said, “If you don’t know how to breathe, you don’t know how to sing….Opera has lost spontaneity, beauty and freedom.” Her interview was very short as she was so very frail, but just her presence and the excerpts of her glorious voice were enough for me.

I’ve left off quite a few singers profiled in the film, for which I apologize. But if my word count is correct, I’m over 1000 words. Watch the film instead. It is really a film about soul, something which these Divas all have in abundance. (The Opera Fanatic, a film by Jan Schmidt-Garre, Arthaus Musik, 101813.)

On February 26, Naxos of America, distributor for Arthaus Musik, releases The Reichorchester: The Berlin Philharmonic and the Third Reich (Arthaus Musik 101453), a film by Enrique Sánchez Lansch.

In 2007 the Berlin Philharmonic chose to celebrate its 125th anniversary year by highlighting a previously unknown chapter in its history—the years 1933-1945. Financed by the German Reich and held accountable by the Reich Ministry for Popular
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