After Babel

I went into the English National Opera without knowing what to expect of L’Amour de Loin. I didn’t know that much of Saariaho’s music, but had heard some positive comments on the lead-up to the performance. The subject, that of impossible love and based on Occitan courtesan love poetry of the Middle Ages –a literary tradition entwined so strongly with my Catalan forefathers-, was pregnant with interesting possibilities of re-interpretation, of translation of its symbolism, of actualisation of a subject –that of loving the impossible- which has been experienced by humans for thousands of years, indeed since humans became humans.

The libretto, written by Lebanese author Amin Maalouf didn’t want –nor even tried- any of that. In complete discordance with the praxis of other –more interesting- contemporary authors like Borges, Bioy Casares, etc, Maalouf seemed content with just re-issuing the Thousand-and-One-Nights bestseller yet again. His text and the way the action is set don’t help to de-contextualise those mediaeval verses on which the libretto is based at all –and which by the way, are very dear to me-; so we only got, to put it in modern parlour, yet another period drama.

In truth and to be fair, this is more than a criticism to Maalouf a statement of my own Aesthetic stand, and therefore shouldn’t be held against Maalouf, nor Saariaho. Nevertheless, if the intent was a recreation of that ideal setting for an idealistic plot of ideal love and the personal, intimate journey that such feelings might inspire, the endeavour failed dramatically. The direction of the drama was constantly stopped for no reason with one after another ‘reflective arias’ and the key moment of the whole work, the hiatus between the love from afar and the final meeting of the two lovers with the subsequent death of its protagonist, that crucial moment of transformation which sat in the middle of the dramatic timeline –the journey when the main male character falls ill while sailing to meet his loved one, only to die when meeting her- was completely brushed under the carpet, dispensed with without attention in a surprisingly short time and with, possibly, the least elaborated music of the night. Thus, the whole action was rendered stale, as the two halves of the drama –lovers in the distance and lovers united- were juxtaposed without a proper elaboration on the reasons for such a tragic ending, which the audience was presented with without further comment.

This said about the actual libretto, I have to admit that I am not entirely sure that the responsibility for the lack of direction, of transformation of the characters, that the stale nature of the boat/life journey can be thrown upon Maalouf’s shoulders alone. On the contrary, I believe that most of the lack of direction, contrast and transformation came from the terrible lack of all of those in the music.

Saariaho seemed to me the worst advocate for the story at hand, since she misunderstood the idealistic, idyllic setting for a dazzling fable with composing a musical backdrop so lush all along and so hypnotically regular in its continuous change, that after the first act ended one wondered if the barman had slipped some drugs into the wine one had before entering. Overall, the huge sense of disappointment and, literally, of feeling one had just been hit over the head with a brick, was only counteracted by the wonderful, creative display from director Danielle Finzi. Always colourful, always on the move, always imaginative and captivating, Finzi’s efforts and displays were almost the only thing worth following on stage.

Still, Saariaho’s music has a wonderful sparkling, glittering quality to it which could have made for a brilliant ten-minute orchestral piece, but turned into a self-induced torture when elongated to the two hours and a half that L’Amour de Loin lasted.

Filed under: Art, In English, Music by admin