Monday, December 23, 2019

Favorites of 2010-2019: Bollywood and beyond


Leela Naidu in Anuradha.

The 2010s were the decade we began to more fully explore Golden and Silver Age Bollywood movies, and also the films of Satyajit Ray. The only Indian film from the past two decades that made my favorites-of-favorites list is a ringer: I first saw Kandukondain Kandukondain 15-odd years ago, but rewatched it with great pleasure for my Six Months with Jane Austen project.


Parineeta (The Married Woman, 1953): Bimal Roy's depiction of two lovers (Ashok Kumar and Meena Kumari) divided by the conflict between their families is humane and deeply sympathetic, and richly deserves its classic status. In "Chali Radhe Rani" (sung by Manna Dey) a street singer's lament seems to express the sadness of couple as they separate, perhaps forever.


Sadhna (1958): A blistering indictment of the exploitation of women and of social hypocrisy, B. R. Chopra's film features Vyjayanthimala's powerful performance as the courtesan Champabai. "Aurat Ne Janam" (sung by Lata Mangeshkar) portrays Champabai's sorrow at men's oppression and injustice.


Anuradha (1960): In Hrishikesh Mukherjee's wistful film the radiant Leela Naidu portrays a woman who sacrifices her art for love—and then discovers that perhaps she has made too great a sacrifice. "Haye Re Woh Din" (sung by Lata Mangeshkar) shows the dawning awareness of her husband (Balraj Sahni) of his blindness to his wife's needs.


Professor (1962): Watching Shammi Kapoor is just a joyful experience, and it was hard to pick just one of his movies as a favorite. In this comedy of disguise, romantic complications multiply when Shammi pretends to be an aged tutor to two young women chafing under the strict rules of their aunt. Out of disguise Shammi begins to court one of the nieces, while in disguise he is the object of the nieces' scorn—and of the aunt's rekindled romantic feelings. In "Yeh Umar Hai" (sung by Asha Bhosle, Usha Mangeshkar, and Manna Dey) the nieces (played by Kalpana in white and Parveen Choudhary in blue), living images of youth and possibility, mock the old man: "It is our era." The "professor" responds, "I too was young once. . .There was someone who used to love me; we thought it was our era too."


Mahanagar (The Big City, 1963). Satyajit Ray made three great films with Madhabi Mukherjee (the other two, Charulata and Kapurush (The Coward), could also have made this list). In Mahanagar a housewife (Mukherjee) discovers that Calcutta is a place of both danger and possibility when, in the face of her husband's and father-in-law's disapproval, she takes a job as a door-to-door saleswoman. Watch a trailer for Mahanagar from the British Film Institute.


Mamta (A Mother's Love, 1966): Bollywood films often employ time-honored tropes such as tragic courtesans, forbidden love, maternal self-sacrifice, endangered children, and unexpected reunions. Mamta combines every single one of these devices, and more, and adds great music as a bonus. In "Rehte The Kabhi Jinke Dil Mein" (sung by Lata Mangeshkar; song ends at 2:58) the courtesan Pannabai (Suchitra Sen) is unknowingly hired by her former fiancé (Ashok Kumar) who, when he realizes what she has become, rejects her in hurt and anger.


Teesri Kasam (The Third Vow, 1966): A minor-key masterpiece about the relationship between the nautanki dancer Hirabai (Waheeda Rehman) and the cart driver Hiraman (Raj Kapoor) hired to take her to her next performance. Teesri Kasam shows that sometimes, no matter how much we might wish otherwise, love can't conquer all. In "Sajanwa Bairi Ho Gaye Hamaar" (sung by Mukesh) Hiraman sings about estranged lovers, bringing up long-buried memories for his passenger.


Tere Mere Sapne (Our Dreams, 1971): A great cast (Dev Anand, Mumtaz, and a young Hema Malini) offers riveting performances in this story of an idealistic doctor who, crushed by the rich and powerful, loses his moral compass. "Jaise Radha ne mala japi" (sung by Lata Mangeshkar) depicts the early days of wedded bliss between Dr. Anand (Dev Anand) and Nisha (Mumtaz), and exemplifies how what is suggested can be so much sexier than what is shown.


Amar Prem (Immortal Love, 1972): Anand (Rajesh Khanna), trapped in an unhappy marriage, seeks solace in the arms of the courtesan Pushpa (Sharmila Tagore). The film remains radical 50 years later for suggesting that true families are those formed by love. "Chingari koi bhadke" (sung by Kishore Kumar) is a beautifully melancholy song of unfulfillable desire.


Kandukondain Kandukondain (I Have Found It, 2000): A delightful retelling of Jane Austen's Sense and Sensibility set in a contemporary India of tech start-ups, movie studios and militarized anti-terror campaigns, Rajiv Menon's film tells of the romantic travails of two sisters with very different personalities: the shy, wise Sowmya (Tabu) and the headstrong, impulsive Meenakshi (Aishwarya Rai). In "Kannamoochi Yenada" (sung by K. S. Chithra; song ends at 33:16) Meenakshi teases her sister about her budding feelings for her suitor Manohar (Ajith Kumar).

Other Favorites of 2010-2019:

Saturday, December 21, 2019

Favorites of 2010-2019: Movies and TV

The pop culture critic's existential crisis: who writes the roundup of the end-of-the-year rounduos

Cartoon by E. Black (caption slightly modified). Image source: New Yorker

It's been ten years since I began posting my year-end lists of the favorite movies, TV, music, live performances and books I experienced in the previous 12 months. Over the past decade I listed 35 narrative films from countries other than India, 27 films from India, 15 documentaries, 18 TV series, 49 recordings, 57 live performances, 39 works of fiction, and 32 works of non-fiction.

While I tend to be more interested in planning my next adventure than in reviewing past pleasures, I've gone back through all of the favorites lists of the past decade to nominate my favorites of the favorites, 2010-19.

One friend calls my lists "idiosyncratic." I'm sure it was meant kindly, but in fact it's the entire point. These are not intended to be "best-of" lists, nor are they driven by the commercial considerations that motivate most year-end listmaking. The movies, music, books, etc., that make my favorites lists are simply those I found most personally engaging in the previous year, whenever the works themselves were produced. They can be a universally acclaimed masterpiece, a hidden gem, or just something that perfectly matched my mood at the time. Your tastes may (and probably will, and probably should) vary.

NARRATIVE FILMS

Fully half of my ten favorite narrative films seen in the past decade are in languages other than English (and as usual Indian films are in their own category), and eight were produced more than half a century ago. Just missing the list: Her (2013), Mysteries of Lisbon (2010), and Today's Special (2009). Apologies to Jean Arthur, René Clair and Ernst Lubitsch, who were limited to one film apiece: otherwise Too Many Husbands (1940), Sous les toits de Paris (1930), and One Hour With You (1932) would also have been included.

À nous la liberté (Give us freedom! 1931): René Clair's great comic masterpiece, in which two free spirits try to escape the conformist, coercive worlds of prison, work and school.

Still from Trouble in Paradise

Trouble in Paradise (1932): "The Lubitsch touch"—witty, sophisticated comedy—is brought to a peak of perfection in this classic pre-Code romantic triangle.

Libeled Lady

Libeled Lady (1936): Speaking of witty and sophisticated comedy, it's delivered here with sparkling timing by a quartet of glamorous stars: Jean Harlow, Spencer Tracy, William Powell and a luminous Myrna Loy.

Still from Remember the Night

Remember the Night (1940): Four years before they appeared as the fatally attracted couple in Billy Wilder's classic Double Indemnity, Fred MacMurray and Barbara Stanwyck co-starred in this compelling Preston Sturges-penned Christmas noir.

The Devil and Miss Jones

The Devil and Miss Jones (1941): One of the best of Jean Arthur's comedies (which is saying a great deal), The Devil and Miss Jones offers heartfelt emotion and a pointed social message.

Tokyo Story

Tokyo Story (Tōkyō Monogatari, 1953): Yasujiro Ozu's masterpiece of restraint in which details of the characters' lives and emotions are slowly unveiled, as in a great novel.

Still from the Report on the Party and the Guests

A Report on the Party and Guests (O slavnosti a hostech, 1966): A party that everyone is forced to attend becomes a barbed analogy for political life under Communism in this brilliant parable by Czech New Wave filmmaker Ester Krumbachová.

Still from War and Peace

War and Peace (Voyna i mir, 1967): Epic in every sense, Sergei Bondarchuk's four-film adaptation of Tolstoy's great novel sets the characters' private dramas of sacrifice, betrayal, and reconciliation against the public catastrophe of Napoleon's invasion of Russia.

Frantz

Frantz (2016): Based on Ernst Lubitsch's Broken Lullaby (1932), François Ozon's Frantz follows the deepening emotional connection between a German war widow and the French soldier wracked with guilt over his role in her husband's death.

Julieta

Julieta (2016): In deciding the final entry for this list, I thought about which film I'd be most eager to rewatch. It was no contest. As with most Pedro Almodóvar movies, Julieta (based on Alice Munro short stories) is less about the twists and turns of the plot than about a series of emotion-packed moments rendered with the hyper-real acuity of a dream.

DOCUMENTARIES

Out of my 15 favorite documentaries first seen in 2010 or after I've selected five. Just missing inclusion were three performing arts documentaries, Every Little Step (2008), First Position (2011), and Pina (2011).

Cover of the Joni Mitchell album Blue

Joni Mitchell: A Woman of Heart and Mind (2003): Susan Lacy's documentary traces Joni Mitchell's life and work from her mid-1960s beginnings singing as Joni Anderson in Calgary coffeehouses, through her 1970s heyday and her subsequent fall from pop music favor. Even if you think you aren't interested in Mitchell or her music, her determination to explore her own path in the face of what seem at times to be insurmountable difficulties is compelling.

Viven Maier photograph

Finding Vivian Maier (2013) tells the fascinating and wildly improbable story of John Maloof's discovery of Maier's photographic archive at a storage space auction, his attempts to trace her identity and history, and his bringing her work to well-deservedfame. And it is filled with Maier's striking and sometimes unsettling photographs.

I Am Not Your Negro

I Am Not Your Negro (2016): Drawn primarily from James Baldwin's writings on the 1960s civil rights movement, Raoul Peck's documentary speaks just as urgently to the present moment. Essential viewing.

The Beatles

The Beatles: Eight Days a Week—The Touring Years (2016): In a matter of months in 1963 and 1964, to their own disbelief, the Beatles went from playing basement bars to sold-out stadiums filled with tens of thousands of screaming fans. It's an amazing story that never gets old, and Ron Howard lets us watch events unfold through footage shot at the time. Pure pleasure.

Joan Jett in concert

Joan Jett: Bad Reputation (2018): This documentary captures Joan Jett's onstage energy, her fierce integrity (which has survived four and a half decades in the music industry), and her delightfully raspy speaking and singing voice. A must for fans; if you aren't one, watch this movie and you will be.

TV SERIES

Unsurprisingly all of my favorites-of-favorites TV series are related to literary works. Just missing inclusion on the list were The Barchester Chronicles (1982), Daniel Deronda (2002), and Victoria (2016).

Middlemarch

Middlemarch (1994): Adapted by Andrew Davies, this BBC series features virtually every major incident in George Eliot's great novel of marital disillusion, a wonderful cast (including E & I favorite Rufus Sewell), and of course fabulous costumes and locations.

Still from Wives and Daughters

Wives and Daughters (1999): Another Andrew Davies adaptation, this time of Elizabeth Gaskell's best novel. Molly Gibson (the ethereal Justine Waddell) is a young woman who must deal with her unpleasant new stepmother (Francesca Annis) and her beautiful but emotionally manipulative new stepsister (Keeley Hawes). The cast also includes Michael Gambon, Barbara Flynn, Barbara Leigh-Hunt, and Rosamund Pike.

Still from Slings and Arrows

Slings & Arrows (2003-2006) follows the fortunes of a theater company that bears a striking (but surely coincidental!) resemblance to the Stratford Festival in Ontario. Each season centers on the production of a different Shakespeare play: Hamlet, Macbeth, and King Lear. But the other productions of the festival and the barely controlled backstage chaos provide an authentic backdrop for the mainstage drama.

Still from Cranford

Cranford and Return to Cranford (2007-2009): These Heidi Thomas-scripted Elizabeth Gaskell adaptations focus on the inhabitants of the fictional town of Cranford, and the challenges to their traditions posed by new social, political and economic changes. Dame Judi Dench heads an ensemble cast of excellent British actors such as Imelda Staunton, Barbara Flynn, Claudie Blakely, Lesley Manville, Jim Carter, Michael Gambon, and the serenely radiant Julia Sawalha.

Still from Lark Rise to Candleford

Lark Rise To Candleford (2008-2011) is the story of a young rural woman (Olivia Hallinan) learning to make her way in the wider world; the contrast between hamlet and town offers a microcosm of the social, political, economic and technological changes occurring in England in the late 19th century.

Other Favorites of 2010-2019:

Sunday, December 8, 2019

Favorites of 2019: Books

FICTION

My fiction reading in 2019 was dominated by two authors: George Sand, of whose vast oeuvre I sampled four novels representing different periods in her life, and Samuel Richardson, whose seven-volume Sir Charles Grandison was my summer reading project. I do notice that my alienation from contemporary fiction seems to be growing: books that didn't make the list included Trust Exercise by Susan Choi, Thus Bad Begins by Javier Marias (The Infatuations was one of my Favorites of 2013), and Grand Union by Zadie Smith (her essay collections Changing My Mind and Feel Free both made earlier favorites lists). As you'll see, all of my favorite fiction of 2019 was published in the 18th or 19th centuries. In the order read:

Marianne, by George Sand, edited and translated by Sîan Miles, Carroll & Graf Publishers, 1988; originally published 1876.
What's next for us? You, for sure, will produce desolation, while I will produce consolation. . .You make the people who read you sadder. As for me, I would like to make them less sad.
—George Sand to Gustave Flaubert [1]
Pierre, a shy bachelor approaching middle age, is asked by a former acquaintance to try to arrange a marriage between his artistic son Philippe and a young village woman, Marianne. The sudden appearance of a suitor for Marianne who is young, handsome and rich forces Pierre to recognize his own hopeless love for her. What he doesn't realize is that his inability to express his feelings may inadvertently drive Marianne into the arms of the new arrival. Marianne, though, has her own ideas about whom, or whether, she will marry.

Flaubert wrote to Sand,
Marianne moved me deeply and two or three times I wept. I recognized myself in the character of Pierre. Certain pages seemed to me fragments of my own memoirs, supposing I had the talent to write them in such a way! How charming, poetic and true to life it all is! La Tour de Percemont [published together with Marianne] pleased me extremely. But Marianne literally enchanted me. . .Anyway, this time I admire you completely and without the least reservation. [2]
Marianne inspired me to read backwards through George Sand's work, selecting novels that marked particularly notable relationships in her life: her thinly fictionalized portrait of the pianist and composer Frédéric Chopin in Lucrezia Floriani (1846), of the opera singer and composer Pauline Viardot in Consuelo (1842), and of Sand's early marriage in Indiana (1832); I also read Alfred de Musset's fictionalized version of their grand affair in Confessions of a Child of the Century (1836). For more on Marianne, including its connection to her late-life friendship with Flaubert and the bloody military assault on the Paris Commune, please see George Sand and Gustave Flaubert: Marianne.

Sir Charles Grandison, v. 1, by Samuel Richardson, originally published 1753.
'Sir Charles Grandison! That is an amazing horrid book, is it not? —I remember Miss Andrews could not get through the first volume.'
'It is not like Udolpho at all; but yet I think it is very entertaining.'
'Do you indeed! —you surprize me; I thought it had not been readable.'
—Isabella Thorpe speaking to Catherine Morland in Jane Austen's Northanger Abbey [3]
Isabella Thorpe was not the only one who thought Samuel Richardson's The History of Sir Charles Grandison (1753) unreadable. Samuel Johnson, a contemporary of Richardson's, said that "if you were to read Richardson for the story, your impatience would be so much fretted that you would hang yourself." [4] But Sir Charles Grandison was one of Jane Austen's favorite heroes, and this year I decided to find out why.

While over the course of its seven (!) volumes Richardson's narrative becomes increasingly repetitive, suspenseless and moralizing, the first volume is really quite gripping. It introduces us to the smart, witty, generous, wise and beautiful Harriet Byron. Harriet, in London visiting relatives, is abducted from a masquerade ball by an aggressive suitor, Sir Hargrave Pollexfen. He takes her blindfolded and gagged in his carriage, accompanied by armed servants on horseback, galloping down the road from London to his estate in Windsor. There on his isolated estate he plans to forcibly marry Harriet and then rape her. These, no doubt, are the scenes that Isabella Thorpe considers "amazing horrid."

But on the narrow road crossing Hounslow Heath outside of Windsor Sir Hargrave's carriage meets another one going the opposite direction, towards London. That carriage belongs to Sir Charles Grandison, who hears a woman cry out. . .

The first volume of Sir Charles Grandison displays Richardson's many virtues as a novelist, particularly his ability to create deeply sympathetic female characters and to render events with vivid emotional immediacy. These are clear reasons for Jane Austen's admiration. But as Jane's brother Henry wrote, "Richardson's power of creating, and preserving the consistency of his characters, as particularly exemplified in 'Sir Charles Grandison,' gratified the natural discrimination of her mind, whilst her taste secured her from the errors of his prolix style and tedious narrative." [5]

So while Volume 1 is one of my favorite novels of 2019, the prolix style and increasingly tedious narrative of Volumes 2 through 7 are my collective Biggest disappointment of 2019. For more on Sir Charles Grandison and its connections to Austen and her novels, please see Sir Charles Grandison, Volume 1: The abduction.
    Dangerous Liaisons, by Pierre Choderlos de Laclos, translated with an introduction and notes by Helen Constantine, Penguin, 2007; originally published 1782.

    After seven volumes of Sir Charles' relentless virtue I needed to wallow in some wickedness in the worst way. And where better to find it than in the company of the ruthless libertines the Vicomte de Valmont and the Marquise de Merteuil? Les Liaisons dangereuses is told in letters mainly between these two former lovers as they plot to debauch the innocent Cécile Volanges and the virtuous Madame de Tourvel; but of course they are also scheming against one another. The novel has lost none of its power to shock and seems only to gain in relevance with the passage of time. It was impossible to read in 2019 without thinking about recent public revelations of women's sexual exploitation by powerful men.

    Helen Constantine's translation uses a relatively modern vocabulary and is sometimes over-explanatory. The gain in clarity comes at the cost of some 18th-century elegance. I noticed only one misstep, but it was a major one: it changes the meaning of a key moment during Valmont's sexual coercion of Cécile Volanges. Here is Constantine's rendering of the Vicomte's letter to the Marquise after he has surprised Cécile asleep in her bed:
    As I had not come there for a chat, after calming her initial fears, I took a few liberties. Probably they did not teach her at the convent what different dangers timid innocence may be exposed to, or all she must protect so as not to be taken by surprise. For, bringing all her attention and strength to bear upon defending herself from my kiss, which was just a false attack, everything else was left undefended. How could I not take advantage! So I changed tactics, and immediately took up my position. . .One hand busy restraining [Cécile has tried to reach the bell pull to summon her servants], the other caressing. . .

    Finding me adamant to all entreaties, she was reduced to saying what she would and would not allow. [6] You may be thinking I sold my important position for a high price; but I promised everything for a kiss. It is true that, once the kiss was over, I did not keep my promise, but I had good reason. Had we agreed it should be taken or given? Through bargaining, we agreed upon a second. And that one, it was promised, would be received. So, guiding her timid arms around my body, I clasped her more amorously with the one that was free, and that sweet kiss was indeed received. . .

    All this trust merited some reward, so I immediately granted the request. Her hand withdrew. But by some extraordinary chance I found myself taking its place. . . (Letter 96)
    "Her hand": in Constantine's version Cécile withdraws her protective hand from between her legs, suggesting that she is consenting to some degree, or at the very least, remarkably unwary. However, this is a misunderstanding of what is happening that gives this scene a diametrically opposite meaning from the original. It is not, as Constantine has it, Cécile's hand that is wedged between her legs, but Valmont's.

    Constantine's confusion may have arisen because in French "hand" (whether it belongs to a man or woman) is a feminine noun: la main. Here is the original:
    Tant de bonne foi méritait récompense, aussi ai-je aussitôt accordé la demande. La main s'est retirée, mais je ne sais par quel hasard je me suis trouvé moi-même à sa place.
    P. W. K. Stone's 60-year-old translation, which Constantine's replaces in the Penguin Classics series, gets it right:
    So much good faith deserved its reward, and I immediately granted the request. The hand was withdrawn; but by some extraordinary chance I found that I myself had taken its place.
    "The hand": it is Valmont who is "in position," it is he that guides Cécile's arms around him (so she can't be guarding herself), it is he that has only one hand free, and it is he who is granting the request. The hand withdrawn from between Cécile's legs is his. What this means is that Cécile does not consent, tacitly or otherwise. When she agrees to a kiss she is bargaining with her rapist, who of course simply takes further advantage.

    Les liaisons dangereuses was the most compelling book I read this year. Not only for its urgent topicality, although the Marquise de Merteuil's account (Letter 81) of the stratagems she has learned to adopt in order to survive in a man's world is as searing today as when it was written. Les liaisons dangereuses is also brilliantly written and plotted. However, I suggest seeking out Stone's translation, which retains a bit more of the flavor of the prose of the period, and in which this key scene is accurately rendered.
    Orley Farm, by Anthony Trollope, originally published 1861.

    As ever, what is most interesting about Trollope's writing isn't his Victorian attitudes or the mechanics of his plots (although in this novel, as in the later The Last Chronicle of Barset, he wrings the maximum amount of suspense from the question of the innocence or guilt of a major character). Rather, it is his articulation of observed traits of character. Three examples:

    Of Joseph Mason, who is planning to bring a criminal action against his stepmother Lady Mason because he is convinced that his father's will, which left Orley Farm to his younger stepbrother Lucius, was forged. 
    There is nothing perhaps so generally consoling to a man as a well-established grievance; a feeling of having been injured, on which his mind can brood from hour to hour, allowing him to plead his own cause in his own court, within his own heart,—and always to plead it successfully. [7]
    Of Mr. Furnival, a barrister in late middle age, who takes on Lady Mason's case despite his uncertainty about her innocence because of her elegance, vulnerability and still-youthful beauty.
    The body dries up and withers away, and the bones grow old, the brain, too, becomes decrepit, as do the sight, the hearing, and the soul. But the heart that is tender once is tender to the last. [8]
    Of Lucius, Lady Mason's son, who wants to revenge the stain on his mother's reputation resulting from the lawsuit:
    Life did not come easy to him, and the effort which he was ever making was always visible. All men should ever be making efforts, no doubt; but those efforts should not be conspicuous. [9]
    Trollope himself recognized that character, rather than plot, was preeminent in his novels. In An Autobiography he wrote, "The plot of Orley Farm is probably the best I have ever made," but "the highest merit which a novel can have consists in perfect delineation of character, rather than in plot." [10] Trollope is right: his novels will continue to be read not because of the cleverness of his plots but because of his insight into character.

    NONFICTION

    Mary Astor's Purple Diary: The Great American Sex Scandal of 1936, written and illustrated by Edward Sorel, Liveright, 2016.

    Like many people, I know Mary Astor thanks to one role: her indelible performance as the devious Brigid O'Shaughnessy opposite Humphrey Bogart as Sam Spade in The Maltese Falcon (1941). But, as I learned from Sorel's book, Astor had a screen career that stretched over four decades, from the silents through the mid-1960s.

    Born Lucile Vasconcellos Langhanke in Quincy, Illinois in 1906, Mary Astor was a product of the Hollywood studio system. Her story was typical: exploited by ambitious parents, discovered while still a teenager, and chosen as a co-star and sexual partner by a much older and more famous actor (in her case, John Barrymore). In the mid-1930s, unhappily married, Astor made a bid for freedom. Her scandalous "purple diary," discovered by her husband and entered as evidence in a child custody case, detailed her many love affairs and became headline fodder for the newspapers for weeks during the summer of 1936.

    Sorel tells this story while also recounting his own early struggles as an illustrator, the failure of his first marriage, and meeting the woman who would become his second wife. He discovered the Purple Diary scandal while renovating his New York apartment in the 1960s: stuffed under layers of decaying linoleum were yellowed newspapers from thirty years earlier with screaming headlines: "ASTOR DIARY ECSTACY" [sic]; "G. S. KAUFMAN TRYST BARED." (Yes, that's George S. Kaufman, author of You Can't Take It with You.) Sorel is an engaging narrator (he terms Astor's travails a "screwball tragedy"), his illustrations are vivid, and he is very sympathetic to his not-always-well-behaved subject. The book makes a case for Astor as an underappreciated actress, and it will make you want to watch one (or more) of her many films. I had forgotten that she was in Red Dust (1932), The Prisoner of Zenda (1937), The Palm Beach Story (1942), and Meet Me In St. Louis (1944). And, of course, The Maltese Falcon.

    Totally Wired: Postpunk Interviews and Overviews, by Simon Reynolds, Soft Skull, 2010.

    Totally Wired is a byproduct of Reynold's earlier Rip It Up and Start Again: Postpunk 1978-1984 (Penguin, 2006). I didn't care much for Rip It Up, starting with its ridiculous periodization of punk (April 1976-October 1977, in case you were wondering), continuing through its narrow categorization or outright exclusion of bands, and ending with nearly 200 pages devoted to "New Pop"—synth-pop outfits that often included former members of punk bands, but were anti-punk in aesthetic: slick, glossy, commercial. Dave Rimmer's book about the New Pop band Culture Club was accurately titled (in terms of their sound, anyway) Like Punk Never Happened.

    But strangely, the interviews Reynolds conducted as research for Rip It Up end up being far more interesting than the conclusions he drew from them. While Reynolds isn't above asking leading questions of his subjects, the experiences of the people he interviews aren't as neatly pigeonholed as Rip It Up tries to make them seem. Also, as John Robb's Punk Rock: An Oral History proves, the voices of participants (even well after the fact) are much more engaging than journalistic retrospect.

    There are many expected names with practiced (but entertaining) stories here, including Mark Mothersbaugh (Devo), David Byrne (Talking Heads), John Peel (BBC Radio 1 DJ), and Tony Wilson (Factory Records founder). But there are also conversations with the less well known, such as Dennis Bovell (Dub Band leader and producer of The Slits and Linton Kwesi Johnson), Andy Gill (the brilliant guitarist of Gang of Four), Martin Brahmah (guitarist for The Fall), and Paul Haig (lead singer of Josef K.).

    Looking at the list of interviewees, though, makes starkly apparent that women are woefully underrepresented: only five of the 32 interviews included in the book are of women. To name them: Gina Birch (The Raincoats), Lydia Lunch (Teenage Jesus & the Jerks), Alison Statton (Young Marble Giants), Linder Sterling (Ludus), Ari Up (The Slits). Even if the punk and post-punk scenes often reproduced the sexism of the larger culture, they also opened up a space for women to step onstage or into the studio, and many seized the opportunity. Where are the voices of Gaye Advert (The Adverts), Ros Allen, Bethan Peters, and Julz Sale (Delta 5), Deanna Ashley, Mia Levin and Cecilia Lynch (Frightwig), Adele Bertei (Bush Tetras and The Bloods), Jane Crockford and Kate Korus (Mo-dettes), Ana da Silva (The Raincoats), Penelope Houston (The Avengers), Poison Ivy (The Cramps), Debora Iyall (Romeo Void), Sara Lee (Gang of Four), Marlene Marder and Klaudia Schiff (Kleenex/Liliput), Palmolive (The Slits and The Raincoats), Tessa Pollitt (The Slits), Sue White and Sally Webster (The Mutants), and Lesley Woods (Au Pairs)? Where is Poly Styrene (X-Ray Spex)? Or Kim Gordon (Sonic Youth)? I could go on, but I think it's clear: Totally Wired is enjoyable, but a book of interviews featuring women in punk and post-punk is desperately needed.

    Sounds and Sweet Airs: The Forgotten Women of Classical Music, by Anna Beer, Oneworld Publications, 2016.

    Speaking of woeful underrepresentation, in Sounds and Sweet Airs Anna Beer highlights eight women composers, from Francesca Caccini in the early 17th century through Elizabeth Maconchy in the 20th. If you're thinking "Who?" that's precisely Beer's point. Although not all of the composers featured in the book are forgotten women, as the subtitle has it—there are dozens of recordings of works by Barbara Strozzi, Fanny Mendelssohn and Clara Schumann currently available, to name just three of Beer's subjects—they are all under-performed and under-recorded with respect to their male counterparts.

    They also faced far greater barriers to success. Marriage and motherhood meant that women were expected to place needs of spouses and children ahead of their own. When she turned 18 Nannerl Mozart was no longer allowed to tour with her younger brother Wolfgang and was discouraged by her father from composing. Fanny Mendelssohn was lectured by her father: "Music. . .can and must be only an ornament, never the root of your being and action. . .You must. . .prepare more earnestly and eagerly for your real calling, the only calling of a young woman—I mean the state of a housewife." Alma Schindler had composed more than a hundred lieder before becoming the wife of Gustav Mahler; a few months before their marriage he wrote to her: "You have only one profession from now on: to make me happy!. . .The role of 'composer,' the 'worker's' role falls to me, yours is that of loving companion and understanding partner. . .You must give yourself to me unconditionally, shape your future life, in every detail, entirely in accordance with my needs."

    Beer's book offers fascinating short biographies of women composers who struggled to create despite such obstacles. Its only major flaw is that there are many other deserving subjects that Beer did not have the room to cover in detail in a single volume. Hildegard of Bingen, the Countess of Dia, Amy Beach, Ethel Smyth, Ruth Crawford Seeger, Mary Lou Williams, and many others deserve a sequel. For my full post, please see Sounds and Sweet Airs: The Forgotten Women of Classical Music.

    Handel in London: The Making of a Genius, by Jane Glover, Pegasus Books, 2018.

    George Frideric Handel was born in Saxony and as a young man travelled to Italy, but most of the works by which he is known today were written in London. The English capital was, as Jane Glover's subtitle has it, the making of a genius. Glover situates Handel's musical activities within the context of the political upheaval in Britain during the first half of the 18th century: riots, rebellions, and deep antagonisms within the royal family, all of which Handel had to negotiate without a misstep. Powerful aristocratic factions tried to foment rivalries between Handel and other composers, but he never allowed professional conflicts to become personal. His resilience in the face of the failure of two of his opera companies, and his ability to reinvent himself when disaster arrived, are truly remarkable.

    Glover is a well-known conductor specializing in the music of the Baroque. Her discussions of Handel's operas and oratorios offer insights that come from deep exploration, made accessible for readers (like me) who lack a musicological background. She makes the offstage drama affecting Handel's opera companies and the sometimes knotty politics of Hanoverian Britain admirably clear, but always keeps the focus on Handel's magnificent music. For my full post, including an aria apiece from the opera Rinaldo (his first London triumph) and the oratorio Jephtha (one of his last major works), please see Handel in London: The Making of a Genius.

    Recognition in Mozart's Operas, by Jessica Waldoff, Oxford University Press, 2006.

    It's rare that a book transforms my appreciation of a work, but Jessica Waldoff's Recognition in Mozart's Operas helped me hear his early opera La Finta Giardiniera (The Pretend Garden Girl) with new ears. In that opera the Count Belfiore, in a jealous rage, has stabbed his fiancée the Marchesa Violante and left her for dead. She survives, and in the disguise of a servant, "Sandrina," goes to work as a gardener at the mansion of the town's mayor, the Podestà. When the Count arrives at the mansion with his new  fiancée, the Podesta's daughter, the stage is set for an abduction, a mad scene, a sleep scene, and lovers getting mixed up in the dark. In the end, Sandrina confesses her true identity and is reunited with her would-be murderer for a happy (?!) ending.

    But Waldoff connects the libretto's seeming absurdities with the 18th-century culture of sensibility exemplified by the novels of Samuel Richardson. La Finta Giardiniera was a loose adaptation of another opera by composer Niccolò Piccinni and librettist Carlo Goldoni, La buona figliuola (The good daughter), itself an adaptation of Richardson's Pamela. Fainting and going mad were the ways virtuous women expressed profound emotion in novels (true also in Richardson's Clarissa and Sir Charles Grandison). By adopting these conventional manifestations of sensibility, Sandrina is paradoxically signalling the truth of her feelings.

    Although I picked up this volume at a used book sale for its discussions of Le Nozze di Figaro (The Marriage of Figaro), Don Giovanni (Don Juan), Cosi fan tutte (That's what they all do), and La clemenza di Tito (The mercy of Titus), it was the chapters devoted to an opera I didn't think I liked that wound up being the most memorable. A recording of La Finta Giardiniera conducted by Nikolaus Harnoncourt and starring Edita Gruberova as Sandrina was among my Favorites of 2019: Recordings.

    Honorable mention, nonfiction
     
    Boswell's London Journal, 1762-1763, edited by Frederick Pottle, Reprint Society, 1952.

    In November 1762 the 22-year-old James Boswell came to London from his native Scotland. He and his father were at odds: his father wanted him to become a lawyer, and Boswell wanted to be an Army officer. To gain a military commission without purchasing it outright aristocratic patronage was needed, and Boswell set out, unsuccessfully, to cultivate it. His father gave him an allowance of £200 a year, but for a young man on his own in London and whose habits were not very abstemious this amount did not go far (Boswell was constantly running out of funds before his next installment).

    And this raises one of the issues with Boswell's journal: Boswell himself is not a particularly attractive figure. He's ambitious for fame but wants to get by on as little actual work as possible. He tries to ingratiate himself with established literary figures, with mixed results. He pursues sex with married women, actresses, and prostitutes, and gets the clap from one of his conquests. He shows up at the first night of a play with a group of friends determined to heckle the actors and get the play cancelled (they failed). He is constantly making resolutions—to drink less, to be more pious, to avoid prostitutes—and then breaking them only days, or hours, afterwards. In short, he's a typical 22-year-old. Except that he grew up to write one of the great biographies in English: The Life of Samuel Johnson.

    Other favorites of 2019:


    1. The George Sand-Gustave Flaubert Letters, translated by Aimee L. McKenzie, Boni and Liveright, 1921, Sand to Flaubert, 18th and 19th December, 1875. Translation slightly altered. http://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/5115/pg5115-images.html.
    2. The George Sand-Gustave Flaubert Letters. Flaubert to Sand, Friday evening [14 April?] 1876. Translation slightly altered. http://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/5115/pg5115-images.html
    3. Jane Austen, Northanger Abbey, John Murray, 1818 [published December 1817], Vol. I, Ch. VI.
    4. James Boswell, The Life of Samuel Johnson, Oxford University Press, 1965, p. 480. 
    5. Henry Austen, "A Biographical Notice of the Author," Northanger Abbey and Persuasion, John Murray, 1818. 
    6. This sentence is an example of Constantine's tendency to explain too much. The original reads "Les prières me trouvant inexorable, il a fallu passer aux offres." Stone's rendering catches the tone much better: "Entreaties found me inexorable and she was reduced to making offers."
    7. Anthony Trollope, Orley Farm, Chapman and Hall, 1862, Vol. 1 Ch. VIII.
    8. Orley Farm, Vol. 1 Ch. XXVI.
    9. Orley Farm, Vol. 1 Ch. XXVII.
    10. Trollope, An Autobiography, William Blackwood and Sons, 1883, Ch. IX.

    Friday, November 29, 2019

    Favorites of 2019: Live performances


    Ars Minerva Artistic Director Céline Ricci. Photo: Martin Lacey Photography. Image source: sfgate.com

    On this Thankgiving weekend I'm grateful for the amazing live performances we've seen over the past year. Our favorites in the categories of opera, concert and recital, and dance:

    OPERA

    Ermelinda. Libretto by Francesco Maria Piccioli, composed by Domenico Freschi. Nikola Printz (Ermelinda), Sara Couden (Ormondo/Clorindo), Kindra Scharich (Rosaura), Justin Montigne (Aristeo), Deborah Rosengaus (Armidoro). Period-instrument orchestra conducted by Jory Vinikour; stage direction by Céline Ricci. ODC Theater, seen November 24, 2019, produced by Ars Minerva.


    Nikola Printz as Ermelinda. Photo: Valentina Sadiula. Image source: SF Examiner

    My idea of heaven is a Baroque opera where all the leading roles call for voices in the mezzo-soprano or contralto range; watching Ermelinda I was in a state of sheer bliss. The latest discovery of Ars Minerva director Céline Ricci, Ermelinda may have been the group's best production yet.

    Composer Domenico Freschi wrote Ermelinda to be performed at the villa of the powerful Contarini family near Padua in the Veneto, where Marco Contarini had built two orphanages and a large private theater. Like the famed Ospedale della Pietà in Venice, Marco's orphanages took in girls who were foundlings—often children born out of wedlock, sometimes to noble families—and provided them with musical training. (Given what we know of the behavior of rich men towards vulnerable young women, we have to wonder whether Marco also had motives other than the musical for his benevolence.) Ermelinda, performed at the Villa Contarini in 1681 for a visiting Polish prince, has no tenor, baritone or bass parts because it was likely sung by an all-female cast drawn from the orphanages. More than three centuries later, Ricci found the score in the Contarini music collection, now housed in the Marciana Library in Venice; the San Francisco performances were likely the first since the work's première.

    The story features disguise, feigned madness, star-crossed lovers, imprisonment in chains, false reports of death, attempted suicide, and a happy ending snatched in the final moments from the jaws of tragedy. In other words, Ermelinda has all the elements of a typical Baroque opera. But what was far from typical was Ricci's inventive direction and the inspired work of her superlative cast, which made it all work brilliantly onstage.

    Prince Ormondo of Phoenicia (contralto Sara Couden) travels to the remote countryside in disguise as the rustic "Clorindo" in search of his lover Ermelinda (mezzo-soprano Nikola Printz), who has been sequestered there by her suspicious father Aristeo (countertenor Justin Montigne). "Clorindo" encounters a nobleman, Armidoro (mezzo-soprano Deborah Rosengaus), who invites him home. Armidoro himself is in love with Ermelinda, and his sister Rosaura (mezzo-soprano Kindra Scharich) is quickly smitten with "Clorindo."

    Scharich offered a scintillating comic turn as the lovelorn Rosaura. Her gorgeous voice and compelling stage presence were known to me from previous Ars Minerva productions such as The Amazons in the Fortunate Isles and La Circe as well as from her superb lieder recitals and recordings, but I had no idea that she was such a terrific comedienne. Her reactions were priceless, as in Act I where she is beginning to bemoan the "madness" of "Clorindo" and to her annoyance is prompted (or mocked) by the orchestra with famous laments from later operas by Handel and Gluck. It's a moment in which director Ricci signals that Rosaura is both genuinely distressed, but also getting secret pleasure from watching her own performance of her feelings.

    This is the sort of theatrical duality that is a key to Baroque opera, where stock situations give rise to real emotions. Ricci and her singers and musicians skillfully enhanced the opera's humor but also gave due weight to its genuine pathos. The sorrowful arias sung by each member of the central love polygon in the second half were affecting and beautifully performed. Freschi's music is filled with striking melodies, and the many musical pleasures of this score were showcased by the fluent playing of the musicians under the leadership of harpsichordist Jory Vinikour.

    Every element of the production enhanced the whole; special mention has to be made of Matthew Nash's costumes (especially Rosaura's flamboyant gown, a visual correlative to her flamboyant personality), Entropy's scene-setting projections, and Thomas Bowersox's lighting, which created distinct spaces and moods with minimal means.

    In Ermelinda Ricci unearthed a true gem. But its rediscovery was only the first step in realizing this delightful production. The success of Ars Minerva's Ermelinda was due not only to Ricci's painstaking archival research, but to her unerring eye and ear, her highly imaginative staging that turned what might have been limitations into virtues, and her ability to pull together singers, musicians and a creative team who were wholly committed to her vision. Ermelinda was a triumph.

    Rusalka. Libretto by Jaroslav Kvapil, composed by Antonín Dvořák. Rachel Willis‐Sørensen (Rusalka), Brandon Jovanovich (Prince), Kristinn Sigmundsson (Vodník, the Water Goblin), Jamie Barton (Ježibaba), Sarah Cambidge (Foreign Princess), with the San Francisco Opera Orchestra and Chorus conducted by Eun Sun Kim; production by David McVicar. War Memorial Opera House, seen June 23, 2019, produced by San Francisco Opera.


    Rusalka (Rachel Willis‐Sørensen) and her father Vodník, the Water Goblin (Kristinn Sigmundsson) in 
    San Francisco Opera's production of Rusalka. Photo: Cory Weaver. Image source: San Francisco Opera.

    Complaining about San Francisco Opera is an irresistible pastime to which this writer isn't immune (see "Pounding us over the head with Tosca"). However, in the 2018-19 season General Director Matthew Shilvock programmed three great but rarely-performed operas, Richard Strauss's Arabella, Handel's Orlando, and Dvořák's Rusalka. All offered excellent singers and magnificent music, but Rusalka had the added bonus of a generally well-conceived and visually striking production by David McVicar. Note to Shilvock: more operas beyond the "twelve chestnuts," please!

    CONCERT AND RECITAL

    Tallis Scholars: Music Inspired by the Sistine Chapel. First Congregational Church, Berkeley, April 4, 2019. Produced by Cal Performances.


    Photo credit: Clive Barda. Source: Cal Performances
      By my count this concert was the seventh time the Tallis Scholars had appeared at Cal Performances in the past 10 years, and they will appear again next May. I confess that sometimes when seeing them listed in the season brochure I've felt a twinge of Tallis Scholars fatigue (I know, this is the sort of problem that many people would love to have). The Early Music series usually only features three or four groups, and it feels as though one slot is almost always reserved.

      But every time I attend a Tallis Scholars concert I am amazed anew by their sound, which is both extremely precise and beautifully blended, and by the sheer aural magnificence of their chosen repertory. This program featured music inspired by the Sistine Chapel, including compositions by Palestrina, Festa, Carpentras, Morales and Josquin written to be performed in it (often the composers were members of the choir themselves; in 1998 a worker discovered Josquin's name carved into a Sistine Chapel wall).  And of course, the concert 's peak was the performance of best-known work associated with the chapel, Allegri's Miserere:


      Iestyn Davies and Thomas Dunford: England's Orpheus. First Congregational Church, Berkeley, May 19, 2019. Produced by the San Francisco Early Music Festival.


      Image source: SFEMS.org

      Iestyn Davies' sweet-toned countertenor was ideal for this program of songs by John Dowland, Henry Purcell, and George Frideric Handel, accompanied by Thomas Dunford's lute. The second half of concert was especially striking, when Purcell's "Music for a while shall all your cares beguile" was followed by Dowland's "Come again, sweet love doth now invite," Purcell's "O solitude, my sweetest choice," Handel's "Oh Lord whose mercies numberless" (from Saul), and Purcell's "An Evening Hymn." The movements from Bach's Cello Suite No. 1 that Dunford played between songs seemed out of context, as though they belonged to a different concert program, but they had the virtue of separating and highlighting each of Davies' superb performances. The last encore (of three!) was a special surprise, suggesting an affinity that none of us had suspected (especially those of us who had never heard the song before):



      Vocalists and Orchestra from the American Bach Soloists Academy: Bach, Lotti, Handel. Elijah McCormack, soprano, and Allison Gish, mezzo-soprano, with the Orchestra of the ABS Summer Academy conducted by Jeffrey Thomas, San Francisco Conservatory of Music, August 9, 2019. ABS Festival & Academy.


      Image source: SFCV.org

      The ABS Festival & Academy is a wonderful two-week-long event every summer that gives audiences the opportunity to see young players and singers showcased in repertory that's often performed nowhere else. This concert featured some beautiful sacred music in the first half: J. S. Bach's unusually scored "Trauerode" (Mourning Ode) for the Electress of Saxony, and Antonio Lotti's celebratory "Mass for Three Choirs," featuring elaborate vocal and instrumental effects.

      But the best was saved for the secular second half: Handel's Terpsicore, a prologue written for the 1734 revival of his opera Il Pastor Fido (The Faithful Shepherd). Terpsichore is the Muse of Dance (as viewers of the Rita Hayworth movie Down to Earth know well), and Terpsicore's many dance interludes were designed by Handel to highlight the innovative skills of the French danseuse Marie Sallé. Alas, there was no room on the stage at the SF Conservatory of Music for a dancer, but the interludes were brilliantly performed by the young musicians. Even better, though, was the musical dialogue between Apollo, the god of music and dance (Allison Gish), and Erato, the muse of lyric and erotic poetry (Elijah McCormack). Gish's rich mezzo-soprano and McCormack's brighter soprano were well-matched. Both were capable of handling florid runs, but could also bring out all the emotion in the slower music. The words they sang together in praise of dance applied just as well to their own performances: "Col tuo piede brilla Amor, e fa l'anima goder! Co' tuoi giri incanti 'l cor stupefatto dal piacer." Or, "With your steps Love shines, and makes the soul rejoice! Your every turn enchants the heart stupefied with pleasure."

      Voices of Music: Concerto delle donne. Sophie Junker and Sherezade Panthaki, sopranos, with Voices of Music directed by Hanneke van Proosdij and David Tayler. St. Mark's Lutheran Church, San Francisco, seen October 12, 2019. Produced by Voices of Music.


      Sophie Junker (left) and Sherezade Panthaki. Image source: Voices of Music

      Speaking of being stupefied with pleasure, that was pretty much our state after this program of music written for or influenced by the concerto delle donne. The Consort of Women, a group of virtuoso singers at the court of Duke Alfonso II d'Este of Ferrara in the last decades of the 16th century, was renowned for its performances of "secret music" (musica secreta). The music was secret in multiple senses: it was private, and only those invited by the duke could hear it; and because it was in a new style, it was kept closely guarded (it was only published after the duke's death in 1597 ended d'Este rule). The music featured ornate vocal lines and vivid word-painting with expressive dissonances at key moments, and much of it was written by the court composer Luzzascho Luzzaschi. Other composers came to Ferrara from across Italy to hear the group, write music for them, and take back these innovations to their own courts (one such visitor was madrigalist and murderer Carlo Gesualdo). Soon the style that Luzzaschi had pioneered became the seconda practica, or "new [second] practice," adopted and developed even further by Monteverdi and other composers from the generations that followed.

      In the program note Voices of Music implies that composers of instrumental music also took up the seconda practica, writing pieces with "'dueling' treble parts with competitive imitations and ornamentations." To perform these virtuosic pieces by composers such as Salomone Rossi and Dario Castello the Voices of Music continuo group of Hanneke van Proosdij on harpsichord and organ, David Tayler on archlute and baroque guitar, and Elizabeth Reed on viola da gamba were joined by Elizabeth Blumenstock and Alana Youssefian on violin. Youssefian visibly responded to the sounds she and Blumenstock were producing with a wide-eyed wonder that was shared by the audience.

      The instrumental music alone would have made this concert one of our favorites of the year, but even better were the vocal pieces by Luzzaschi and later composers such as Monteverdi, Marco Uccellini and Barbara Strozzi, performed by sopranos Sophie Junker and Sherezade Panthaki. Panthaki has appeared often with early-music groups such as the Philharmonia Baroque Orchestra; Junker, who performs largely in Europe, was a voice new to us and a wonderful discovery. In the surpassingly beautiful duets their voices were exquisitely intertwined.

      From the concert, Salomone Rossi's  Sonata quarta 'l'arie di Ruggiero':



      DANCE

      Mark Morris Dance Company: Mozart Dances. Mark Morris Dance Company with Inon Barnatan and Colin Fowler, pianos, and the Berkeley Symphony conducted by Fowler.   Zellerbach Hall, UC Berkeley, seen September 22, 2019. Produced by Cal Performances.


      Image source: Cal Performances

      I wrote about the "austere (but often quite beautiful)" movement in Mark Morris' Mozart Dances when it was new (it was only the eighth post on E & I). Seeing it again after more than a decade confirmed my initial impression that this is one of Morris' strongest works. While in the allegro sections Mozart's music has a bright and sunny quality, the dancers repeat movements that express supplication, rejection, and pain. As I wrote in 2007, "in many places in Mozart Dances the music is suggesting one thing while the dance is telling us another. For a choreographer who is sometimes accused of slavishly illustrating musical structure, Morris has done something striking here: he uses the structure, but alters the emotional meaning." Many thanks to Cal Performances for bringing this modern masterpiece back to Berkeley.

      Other favorites of 2019: