December the Eight is the feast of the Immaculate Conception, over here, and the first holiday in the Christmas season – when most people trim their Christmas tree and prepare their crèche. Not I – because, for several reasons, we have our own tradition of tree-trimming on Saint Lucia’s eve – but still. And yesterday was Sant’Ambrogio, marked in Italy by the opening night of the opera season at La Scala, in Milan. It’s a glittering musical and social event, broadcast nation-wide, and hugely followed and discussed… this is Italy, after all.
Well, last night we had a generally very good Madama Butterfly, directed by Riccardo Chailly, with good singers (minus the tenor), stunning visuals, and the first chance to hear the original version of the opera, never heard again after its near-disastrous première in 1904.
Later, after curtain down, we were discussing the opera with a bunch of theatre friends via Whatsapp and I said that, while liking it very much on the whole, I couldn’t bring myself to care much for the tenor, found the original version less effective than the revised one, and had my reservations about the ending, with the heroine Cho-Cho San committing suicide amidst a veritable crowd of her doubles, her maid, her son…
“There goes Brainy Clara again”, came from Gemma the Director. “Why can’t you just go with the feelings?”
Now, this is an ongoing argument between Gemma and myself. It’s been ongoing for the last twenty-five years or so: I was her teenaged drama pupil, and we were arguing the merits of logic versus feeling already… Gemma says that my analytical mind is at constant risk of being my greatest weakness, theatre-wise, and I insist that riding on feelings is good for the audience, but to elicit said feelings takes a good deal of analytical thought backstage and onstage… Which is, I dare say, why we work so well together, each providing an ingredient to the whole.
Still, I must make my point: Cho-Cho-San’s mime doubles were lovely to see for most of the opera. With their beautiful costumes, Kabuki-like looks and motions, they offered suggestive glimpses of the heroine’s imaginings and hopes, filled the huge space around the few characters, and gave a pictorial look to the whole. All very well until the end – where it all crashed for me. I’ve always imagined Cho-Cho-San’s final choice as a moment of terrible solitude. She sends child and maid away, as she proudly and heartbrokenly choses death. Puccini’s music is at its best here, and I think the solitary act achieves a tragic, sacrificial greatness…
But no, here we had a dozen weeping doubles, the maid and the (blindfolded) child attending. She wasn’t alone anymore – and what can I say? It felt weaker. Watered down. Emotionally wrong.
And look, I’m as happy as anyone to let Puccini pull at my heartstrings – which is exactly why my feelings lithobraked well before my analytical mind began to scream: Wrong! Wrong! Wrong!
And I don’t know, perhaps Gemma is right – at least up to a point – and in always thinking backstage I’ve lost the ability to just enjoy the show, forever calculating cause and effect… A kind of toy-maker complex, maybe? But still, I cannot help thinking that a solitary Cho-Cho-San at the end would have packed a more powerful emotional punch. I’m not terribly likely to end up directing operas – but, if I ever do, my Madama Butterflys will always die very much alone – and, after overanalysing last night, I’ll know exactly why.
Scribblings 
Emotionally wrong?
What about being culturally and historically wrong?
Apart from my usual thing about Puccini and his heroines (“Let’s kill the *itch! I’ll kill her! Kill her! Kellherkillherkillher!”), I always found the whole suicide thing at the end of Butterfly somewhat off.
And she can’t be alone.
You see, if this is a proper seppuku (and a funshi in particular, a suicide caused by indignation), Butterfly needs a faithful friend, somebody with a sword to cut her head. I was often surprised in seeing some very accurate details in some representations (the tying of the knees, the cut at the throat and not at the abdomen…) and yet no decapitation. Witnesses would also be good (in particular this death should be slapped in the unfaithful gaijin’s face), but a letter can do.
Granted, she’s been ostracized at the end of the first act (and cursed by a Buddhist monk no less!!!), so she’s already dead to Japanese society. But if so, why did she not kill herself right then?
Yes, I see, still two acts to go, we can’t make them about Cho-Cho-san’s autopsy…
LikeLike
I think you can safely lay most of the blame at the door of John Luther Long and David Belasco – but honestly, turn-of-the-century theatre and opera would hardly countenance an onstage decapitation, would they?
Last night, poor Cho-Cho San cut her own throat, if this is any consolation. Maybe, Suzuki was supposed to cut her head after the nosy Americans had gone?
As for being alone, faithful Suzuki does try to stay, but a suddenly imperious Butterfly orders her to go… Besides, the poor girl is distraught – and has been imagining herself an American for three years. Perhaps she can be excused in her cavalier handling of the matter? 😉
And, seriously: I doubt the think was ever meant to be terribly accurate. Sopranos die just before curtain down, not at the beginning, and besides, I’m afraid that, on an opera stage, dramatic effectiveness trumps ritual accuracy most days of the week.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I blame Pierre Loti first and foremost.
Loti is a good blaming target.
And Suzuki is a servant. The beheading bit should be done by a close friend or relation.
But I guess the real problem, for me, is I do not know why (as in, for what actual reason, with what purpose) she kills herself.
As for what opera-going audiences are ready to countenance… are we really talking about Giacomo “it’s-more-fun-when-the-#itches-kill-themselves” Puccini? (hell, but the guy really had a problem – dunno, like he was married to a soprano, or something)
LikeLike
I know Suzuki is a servant – but, then again, by the end of Act 2, I fail to see what close friends or relations Cho Cho San had left to perform the deed, anyway. Well, perhaps the very angry uncle in Act One would have obliged, but I’m not going to blame the girl for not asking him. Other than that… “Dear Mr. Sharpless, as the only person in the whole opera who has been consistenly kind to me (without being a servant), might I bother you to behead me?”
As for why she kills herself… Let’s see: the man she’s been lovingly waiting for these past three years turned up with his wedded American wife, ready to take away her child forever? The one certainty that held her together just dissolved in the most brutal manner?
I’m not saying that the cad Pinkerton is worth the killing of a cockroach – let alone oneself – but I see why a girl like poor Cho Cho San would rather die…
Besides, look: soprano characters show an alarming death rate, but also an utter lack of common sense – and often sparsely furnished brains. And on the whole, the same can be said of tenors. Did I ever mention that I have a weak spot for baritones?
(Oh, and you know, I can think of a couple of happy sopranos of Puccini’s: in Gianni Schicchi, young Lauretta gets the boy she wants – together with a sizeable inheritance, and in La Fanciulla del West, Minnie rides towards the sunset with the man whose life she repeatedly saved.)
LikeLiked by 1 person
I did not explain myself.
Seppuku must have a purpose. A broken heart is not a purpose.
Therefore Butterfly either kills herself out of indignation, basically to get at Pinkerton (but in that sense, she’d be doubly silly, because Pinky’s a shameless gaijin without a sense of honor anyway), or she kills herself to regain the face she lost with her people (possibly, as a way to make sure that her son will not be treated as an outcast – but he would anyway, because he’s mixed blood).
But this is just speculation, and we can blame Pierre Loti if the facts are muddled.
And I’m happy to learn there are sopranos left alive after the passage of Puccini: they are in the same league with pandas and white rhinos 😉
LikeLike
Well, it’s all very much filtered though Western sensibilities, and anyway, I wouldn’t try to pick at opera librettos for accuracy – or even sound sense… this way madness lies, believe me. 😀
(And you know, I’m not quite sure, but I don’t think Loti’s geisha commits suicide at all… I still think you should rather blame Long and Belasco for that.)
LikeLiked by 1 person
Anyone named Belasco has a bad guy role cut for him.
LikeLike