"King Arthur"
Music by Henry Purcell; Libretto by John Dryden
Directed and choreographed by Mark Morris
New York City Opera
New York State Theater
New York, NY
March 7, 2008
by Susan Reiter
copyright © 2008 Susan Reiter
A group of men in very workaday clothes -- jeans, fatigues -- enter one by one and sit in a cluster of folding chairs places center stage in front of a plush red curtain. But one wears a plumed helmet, another has a breastplate. So begins Mark Morris' sometimes perplexing, often beguiling production of this "Dramatick Opera," which in this version is not especially dramatic and has more the feel of an inventive, celebratory pageant than of an opera. By now, Morris has scaled such heights of wonder and beauty with his adventures in the realm of Baroque vocal music that one instinctively trusts him, and certainly his belief in this score is well-founded. Glorious music poured forth, as the venerable Jane Glover (a veteran of his "Dido and Aeneas" and "L'Allegro" productions) led the orchestra, several baroque instrumentalists, seven solo singers and chorus through Purcell's wondrous array of fanfares, limpid melodies, boisterous choruses, and sequences so vivid that the music itself conjured up plenty of drama.
"King Arthur" features together nearly all (16) members of the Mark Morris Dance Group, who frame, encircle, sometimes comment on, and sometimes intermingle with the seven vocal soloists, who are not assigned specific roles. The two-hour enterprise often has the air of a makeshift frolic, radiating the enthusiasm and imaginative vigor of kids putting on a show, giving life to their fantasies with whatever materials are at hand. It has its reflective, or melancholy, moments but generally the stage is bustling with set pieces being reassembled, props being rearranged, and the dancers breezing happily through charming circles and chains, pairing up for earthy coupling.
Morris cheerfully jettisoned the extensive blank verse spoken text by Dryden that formed the original spine of this 1691 work -- whose plot concerned the King's efforts to unify Britain and rescue his betrothed, Emmeline, from the clutches of the wicked Oswald. "I chose to discard the spoken text (which I don't like) and keep all of the music (which I do)," Morris cheerfully states in his brief, direct program note. We see no king or sorcerer or others from the original dramatis personae (although a large crown is present, being moved from scene to scene, to stand in for Arthur, and at least one dancer sports a sweatshirt with a big "A" on the front). Instead, we have the dancers, whose blithe doings and always-potent ensemble energy embody the spirits, nymphs, gods and shepherds evoked in the Dryden lyrics.
You can sense the giddy delight with which Morris must have created his stage pictures, tossing in unlikely juxtapositions and delicious anachronisms, following no set rules just as the work in this shape does not fit into any standard conventions, or expectations, of opera. As one stunning piece of music follows another there is no effort to suggest dramatic follow-through or any logic beyond that which the music -- liberated from Dryden's original densely plotted structure - provided. Morris, whose program note also describes this production as a "vaudeville" -- is just inviting us to tune into his fanciful wavelength, and let our own response to the music meet up with his. Some of the time, the playfully carefree way the dancers inhabit the music and allude to the work's themes and settings -- such as the procession in which they pull wooden sawhorses during the introductory battle scene -- is persuasive.
There are also moments of great beauty that are pure Morris -- as in the Act Three, Scene Two dance in which you can sense the warmth returning to the dancers following the cheeky, effective frost scene (in which "snow" falls steadily thanks to a hand-pulled contraption from which the "flakes" tumble). It is one of the few times when the space opens up and breathes. Wearing simple beige and tan practice clothes, they seem to float through a rondelay of airy lifts and juicy, resilient phrases. This approaches the kind of magic Morris created in "L'Allegro," but most of the time "King Arthur" does not ascend to those transcendent heights, nor does it aspire to the profundity of Morris' enduringly brilliant other Purcell work, "Dido and Aeneas."
This one remains a jolly good show -- never has the term Morris prefers to use in identifying his works seemed more appropriate. It can charm, and divert, but it also tires too hard to be cheeky. Like the divertingly motley array of costumes Isaac Mizrahi has provided (and which must keep the dancers quite busy whenevr they are offstage), it is stuffed with clever ideas, but its impact is less than enduring. The dancers have few individual moments, although Michelle Yard and Julie Worden are enticing sirens at the start of Act Four, at first visible only from the waist down as their legs slink through the shimmering streamers that represent the "aged stream." And Elisa Clark is amusing as a rather gawky, mopey romantic ballerina who seems to have wandered into the final act.
The singers were very game, too, particularly the charming, Mhairi Lawson, whose mellifluous soprano rang out in several of the most beautiful numbers, and who seemed quite caught up in the amiable "let's put on a show" flavor of it all. The final scenes -- with a deft, spirited maypole dance performed by 12 dancers in assorted red, white and blue get-ups that evoke music-hall entertainments, and a giddy conclusion featuring Chinese streamers and soaring paper airplanes before the final tableau -- are hard to resist, especially since by then we understand not to seek out logic. "King Arthur" is Morris lite, but his choice of music is, as ever, unassailable, and thanks to him we have this gleaming Purcell score before us in all its glory.
Photo by Carol Rosegg