How many people these days remember Baldassare Galuppi? A handful, I should think. But he was once famous, and his fame was used by Robert Browning in a wonderful poem On a Tocatta of Galuppi'. He envisioned the 18th-century Venetian composer at the clavichord accompanying night-long dissipation, with his music tacitly asking what would happen to all the revelers "when the kissing had to stop."
In a fine archival DVD, Arturo Benedetti Michelangeli plays a sonata of Galuppi's towards the end of a concert dedicated largely to Beethoven. It's interesting to hear a sample of a composer probably now better known to poetry enthusiasts than to musicians. As Browning implied, his music's a mixture of nimble-fingered charm and melancholy. But the real strength of this DVD — featuring a pianist of whom relatively few live video recordings were made — is the Beethoven, particularly the Sonata No. 32, one of the great masterpieces of writing for the piano. Michelangeli plays this with enormous dedication and seriousness, and it's given pride of place on this DVD.
The film itself, of a concert given in Turin in 1962, is very evocative of its period. It's in muted black-and-white — more a range of subtle grays — and is characterized by shots often lasting several minutes. The camera angle remains unaltered, and nothing changes except for the use of an extremely slow zoom. The effect is deeply meditative, and beautifully suited to the profound and questioning music you're listening to.
Black-and-white film is famous for lasting without deterioration over many decades, while old color film tends to fade. This is no longer a problem with color DVD technology, but it does mean that old black-and-white footage retains a special atmosphere. This is a DVD that becomes addictive the more you watch it.
After the jokingly up-dated and often absurd Wagner Ring from Stuttgart [reviewed in Taipei Times on Dec. 14, 2006], it's interesting to see how other opera productions from the same theater look. Stuttgart's version of Mozart's Seraglio (Die Enthuhrung aus dem Serail) dates from 1999 and is also far from being a literal version, straying from the composer's intentions almost as much as the Wagner near-fiasco was later to do.
The main strategy of director Hans Neuenfels is to have two people on stage for each character, one singing and the other doing most of the talking. (In reality both often share the spoken lines that characterize this German-language work). This is, of course, completely unhistorical, and also serves to complicate unnecessarily what are often simple situations. In addition, the director plays fast and loose with the libretto, re-writing it with abandon, and even closes with a totally unrelated poem about death that the character supposedly "found in his dressing-room." Fortunately it's rather a good poem, but it's a bizarre procedure nonetheless.
At times it appears the director is clutching at straws. Sado-masochism and pedophilia are hinted at in places, possibly in response to the reputation Middle Eastern harems had in the 18th century. But the audience laughs infrequently, recalling the celebrated occasion at the NSO's Taipei Falstaff production when someone shouted out "This isn't funny" — twice. There are few things more embarrassing that the efforts of actors to make people laugh when they have in reality nothing comic to offer.
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