Opera Double Bill: The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat and Marilyn Forever

RCS, Glasgow - 29/10/22

The Opera Studio at the Alexander Gibson Opera School is an intimate theatrical performance space at the end of a labyrinthine odyssey through the corridors of the Royal Conservatoire of Scotland in Glasgow, and a perfect venue for chamber operatic productions.  Such it was on the evening of 29th October, in a double bill of one-act chamber operas, featuring the MMus students at the School, contrasted yet subtly thematically related through the idea of the decline of sense of self.  Michael Nyman’s ‘The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat’, with libretto by Christopher Rawlence, based on a book of the same name by neurologist Oliver Sacks, charts the latter’s emergent insight into the nature of visual agnosia, now known to be a form of Alzheimer’s disease.  Gavin Bryars’ ‘Marilyn Forever’, with libretto by Marilyn Bowering, explores the contradictions between Marilyn, a self-created very public artificial persona that thrives on the limelight and craves adulation, and the insecure Norma Jean, who experienced abuse and abandonment in childhood and both craves and fears attachment.  There was a pre-performance Q&A with Gavin Bryars in the Fyfe Lecture Theatre, where the composer spoke of his own journey into composition, the plot of ‘Marilyn Forever’, his views on the current state of opera and its place in modern cultural life, and some words of guidance to the composition students who were a significant portion of his audience.  Some of his remarks were dismissive of the work of other composers, including Nyman (no argument from me) but also Puccini (erm … hold on a minute), so I could not number myself among those who would hang on his every word.  Nonetheless, it was a worthwhile experience. 

The set (design: Finlay McLay) for the Nyman had three distinct spaces: front of stage right for Dr S the neurologist (William Searle) to narrate and soliloquise, behind that his surgery with a couch (and, of course, a hatstand); the rest of the space devoted to the apartment of Dr (of music, Ross Cumming) and Mrs (Marie Cayeux) P, a singer and music teacher and his wife (and carer), originally Viennese, with an armchair, a breakfast table and chairs and a Bösendorfer piano, Dr P’s own paintings chronologically charting his mental decline ranged behind.  A screen, back of stage centre, occasionally showed projections of what characters were “seeing”, while supertitles followed lyrics and dialogue.  The narrative follows the development of a scientist’s understanding, from cold impersonal observation, through struggle with puzzlement to epiphanic realisation achievable only through empathy.  Dr P’s eyes function perfectly as organs.  He can analytically describe visual features of (especially) the left side of objects in the minutest detail.  But he cannot recognise them; he cannot synthesise the separate visual elements into an understanding of function – a 5-lobed container is a mystery object, not his own glove.  Yet he retains his musical skills (he performs Schumann’s ‘Ich grolle nicht’ from ‘Dichterliebe’) and appears to function in his daily routine, dressing and feeding himself.  Dr S’s eureka moment occurs when he realises that these mundane actions are always accompanied by humming – the unforgettable music is carrying the will of the dementia-sufferer and driving the action.  In the absence of body image, he has body music. The eventual prescription: more music!  But there is also the poignant realisation that sooner or later the music will stop.  The visual elements in this production, especially design, acting and direction (Caroline Clegg), were uniformly excellent.  Aurally, the singing and playing of the small chamber ensemble were also exemplary.  To my personal taste, however, Nyman’s minimalism is uninvolving and leaves me cold, and the best I can say about it is that it is inoffensive sonic wallpaper.  I loved the Schumann quotations, though.  I find it more than a little bizarre that an opera about the healing power of music applied to a disorder of the mind’s eye should rely so heavily on the visual elements of the production. 

The set for ‘Marilyn Forever’ features a number of black platforms serving different functions, notably a low square one which serves first as a bed covered with bedclothes and later as a sound stage.  An opera about the uneasy doomed co-existence of two incompatible personalities in one person, and with multiple references in the text to “mirrors” (in which the two confront each other), allows freedom with how these “mirrors” are manifested visually.  In this production, there are multiple masks of Marilyn with a forced posed ‘Warholesque’ smile and a blonde wig, on stands dotted around the stage.  The action opens with a row of black-coated black umbrella-carrying male “onlookers” with their backs to the audience obscuring the view of the stage.  As they disperse, we see Marilyn’s corpse on a bed with an empty champagne bottle and an empty pill bottle.  Attempts to rouse her fail.  Then, in what I am sure Mr Bryars would not thank me for describing as a ‘Suor Angelica’ moment, the dead Marilyn (Megan Baker) gets up and walks slowly into, presumably, the afterlife.  When she returns, it is into the first of the flashbacks that form the rest of the opera, a rehearsal of a song with the two other ‘Tritones’ (James McIntyre and Ryan Garnham).  Ross Cumming returns to the stage, here as a rehearsal director, but in a role termed ‘The Men’ (in Marilyn’s life), later including Joe DiMaggio and Arthur Miller, in what were impressively fine characterisations, both vocally and dramatically.  Megan’s performance, in a role demanding at least two characterisations, was equally impressive, not least in capturing the essence of the gestures, stage presence and iconic way of moving of Marilyn Monroe, but also and equally, vocally. The music inhabited a different sound world to that of Nyman.  The instrumentation, with no treble instruments and a strong bias towards the bass, held greater attraction for the attentive ear and included bass clarinet, bassoon, horn, vibraphone and tenor sax.  There were attractive smooth jazz episodes to relieve the dramatic tension.  But the vocal writing never seemed to deliver an actual song, always demonstrably more than recitative, but never anything describable as an aria, so I began to naively thirst for one.  Thus, my ear wearied and, despite both libretto and score being full of interesting elements, their fusion presented a dramaturgy with more than a few elements of longueur.  All the performers brought undeniable artistry to the performance but delivered in an ultimately flawed vehicle. 

Excellence in the performing arts is alive and well in Scotland and it can always be found at the Royal Conservatoire.  And I am glad to have had the opportunity to experience these two examples of the chamber one-act opera genre.  But I won’t be eagerly pursing a second opportunity for either of them.