Don Giovanni: The Ultimate Opera

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Mozart’s masterpiece about the famed libertine of Seville still remains one of the most beloved operas even today. Certainly, one must give equal credit to the brilliant librettist Lorenzo da Ponte whose choice of language, pacing, and structure make the opera a seamless work that flows with nary a glitch. It is possible to put forth the idea that Don Giovanni was da Ponte’s way of publicly flogging himself or atoning for his lifetime of misdeeds and romantic transgressions, for da Ponte’s own life was as colorful and scandalous as, if not more so than, the title character’s. The opera is exciting and engrossing because it is simply over-the-top: blood, lust, vengeance, love, seduction, violence, murder, infidelity, passion, celebration, abundance, humor, class struggles, suspicion, betrayal, and even a ghost in statue form are all packed into roughly 3 1/2 hours. This is the very essence of opera; it is and must be something out of the ordinary, something unreal and larger-than-life. It helps us transcend the experience of our mundane daily lives—-paying the bills, cooking the pasta, making a logical case for something at the office. Don Giovanni is unmistakably Italian in its aesthetic and character. It is carnal, sensual, expressive, passionate, robust, beautiful, lyrical—-and Catholic. It does not ask why or try to make rationalizations in the Anglo-Saxon manner; it puts the viewer right into the heart of the story, entwined with each character’s motives and vengeant objectives, with a pervasive yet delicious sense of sin and immorality. We know from the beginning that what Don Giovanni is doing is absolutely wrong, but it is precisely the fact that he does not get caught until the very end that makes the story so enticing: we delight in his unabashed lack of repentance and consequences. The superlative, magnificent finale serves as our justification for watching, for if he were not caught and sent to hell, we would somehow not be satisfied deep within. Ultimately, If Americans do not appreciate or “get” Don Giovanni, it is because He Who Does Not Understand Italy Cannot Understand Don Giovanni.

Also interesting to explore about Don Giovanni is the question of interpretation, for the opera lends itself to a variety of nuances of characterization, stagings, etc. Fundamentally, of course, there must be the idea of Don Giovanni paying the price for all of his sins with women and murder, of being punished for his large living and excesses (the Salzburg Festival’s 2011 appalling production of the opera was an example of what not to do, the very perversion of the opera). One must also observe the careful ideas put forth by the remarkable and precise text, for da Ponte was a master of the Italian language (he was the first professor of Italian at Columbia University, having moved to New York from Europe!) But there are a number of choices that can be made. Is Donna Anna truly raped at the beginning? Was she indeed enamored of the nobleman? How much or little will Donna Anna be attracted to Don Ottavio, and would she truly choose him if he had not been her shoulder to cry on after her father’s murder? What are Donna Elvira’s motives for going after Don Giovanni—-simply his broken promise to marry her, her lack of other male prospects, or a pregnancy? How old is she? Is she a relatively young woman who is furious at herself for having lost her virginity to Don Giovanni? Or is she older, aware that time is running out for her to make a suitable marriage? How envious a sidekick is Leporello of his master’s sexual conquests? Is Zerlina a natural flirt, or is she simply caving into the momentary seductions of the Don who is exercising his droit de seigneur? What setting other than the conventional plaza and balconies in Seville can also work? New Orleans (as was used by the University of Michigan School of Music’s recent production)? Italy? Venice (as in the visually beautiful Joseph Losey film)? Or a minimalist staging, for the characterizations and music are so strong that they can carry the opera by themselves? Is the entire opera set in the last day of Don Giovanni’s life, or is it a culmination of the events presented in the opera that leads him to burn in hell at the end?

Thus it is obvious that the opera also requires a brilliant director who can shape a production that emphasizes the necessary elements of the story and yet conveys something unique of its own. And each of the performers must be masters not only of technique (Mozart is notoriously difficult to sing, for it is so pure and reveals the naked voice), but also of interpretation, creating three-dimensional characters so as not to reduce the opera to a mere Commedia dell’Arte. This is not to say that opera does not draw upon certain tropes from that tradition or Southern European literature. The Zerlina character of the earthily sensual, shrewd peasant or lower-class woman has been seen from La Serva Padrona all the way to Sophia Loren films. But a good opera singer must make the audience feel that his or her character is a flesh and blood human being who has a raison d’être similar to that of individuals through time. Mozart has carefully delineated each character through his choice of music and key signatures (think of the rapidly shifting keys to represent Donna Elvira’s moods in “Mi Tradi’ quell’alma ingrata”). The integration between the composer and librettist in this opera is simply stunning.

Don Giovanni has already been popular for centuries, and undoubtedly will be popular for many more. Mozart and da Ponte were certainly a match made in heaven—-not hell!

The French Sensibility

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(Author’s apologies for missing accents due to formatting issues)

When we think of France, what do we think of? A sense of graciousness, delicacy, wittiness, and light. There is a reason why the French have long dominated the visual arts and that which is related to the image. Beginning with the aptly named Lumiere brothers, the French were pioneers in filmmaking and recorded visual images. Perhaps one has to back up and credit first the early photographers such as Niépce and Florence (who was French-Brazilian) and Daguerre, who made significant contributions to the embryonic art. The Lumiere brothers certainly were not the only inventors to be credited with the development of the motion picture, but their name is synonymous with film and certainly a great source of pride for the French. Georges Melies, another early filmmaking pioneer, is the subject of Martin Scorsese’s visually beautiful film Hugo, which re-creates the magic of Melies’s filmmaking process. The French “New Wave” filmmakers, such as Jean-Luc Godard, were known for their striking black and white images and jump cuts, creating new methods of telling a story other than the traditional narrative. And the brilliant Oscar-winning film “The Artist” pays tribute to Hollywood in a completely non-verbal, entirely visual mode, where the silent film is reinvented so successfully by Michel Hazanavicius.

One need only spend time in France to appreciate the importance of light in their culture. There is a beautiful summer light in the Paris area that creates a feeling of “douceur” or gentleness that permeates their art. The Impressionists harnessed this light, revolutionizing the tradition of realism; playing with the viewer’s cognitive and optical perceptions through their constructions of images based on light, color, shadows, and their unique spatial perspectives. One does not see what is. Rather, one sees an impression of what is, filtered through the artist’s sensibility, and the results are simply stunning. Naturally, one must also pay heed to the pointillists like Seurat, who perhaps were the inventors of the concept of pixels, creating a whole by focusing on the miniscule parts. If one goes back earlier, to the work of painters like Jacques-Louis David, one cannot help but be impressed by his use of beams of light on his subjects, tableaux that were the only visual representation of reality before the advent of the camera.

France’s aesthetic sensibility, one could argue, is iconic. That is, the importance of particular pictures or images drives the perception of art. From the national symbol of the “Marianne” to the classic Chanel or Dior silhouettes, the Tricolor flag, the Eiffel Tower, the love of comics and cartoons, the style of screen symbols like Bardot or Deneuve, the cars like the inimitable Citroen DS, the classic Louis Vuitton luggage and bags, the sleek design of the Concorde—-the list is endless. The French still seem to have an admiration of American icons, such as Marilyn Monroe, Manhattan, the Grand Canyon. The visual element also extends into the French culture’s love of wordplay. One can see on the page (as well as hear), for example, the driving forces of the opera Carmen by Georges Bizet—-“l’amour” (love) and “la mort” (death)—-that the doomed heroine sings in contrasting moments of the opera when she knows her position with regard to Don Jose. The linguistic-visual wit can also be seen in the Belgian painter Magritte’s classic painting “Ceci n’est pas une pipe” (This is not a pipe), in which the viewer knows and yet knows not that the painting of a pipe is not truly the real object.

It is a culture of the symbol, the image, the visual. What one sees is of great importance: consider the variety of words and phrases to express the action of looking. Other cultures might be more auditory and kinesthetic (like the Italians), more philosophical/inner-reflective, more intuitive, more contextual, or orally transmitted. And each culture’s sensibilities contribute something beautiful to our artistic consciousness. France’s gift is what it gives us to see.

Science and Unreason: Richard Dawkins

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This week, I had the opportunity to see renowned British scientist Richard Dawkins speak as part of his new book tour (his book is aimed at children and teens, and is quite creative and appealing). Dawkins is one of the most prominent thinkers in 20th-21 first century biology and natural sciences, and certainly, his contribution is indeed remarkable. But Dawkins is notoriously pro-science and anti-religion, to which I say—-why the schism? I myself am the daughter of a Hindu scientist, and am a very serious spiritual practitioner with a background in biological anthropology (though my degree was in Anthropology: Social Sciences). Why does he overlook the religious traditions that are pro-science, such as Buddhism?

Perhaps one of the most pro-science, high profile individuals in the world today is HH Dalai Lama, the great leader of (the Yellow Hat branch of)Tibetan Buddhism. He himself has said that, “If scientific analysis were conclusively to demonstrate certain claims in Buddhism to be false, then we must accept the findings of science and abandon those claims.” His Holiness has done much to assist with the field of neuroscience and the scientific study of the brain and mind; one need only do a Google search with the words “Dalai Lama” and “science” to see the plethora of articles on the interconnectedness of Buddhism and science. The basis of Buddhism is impermanence and change, the evolution of thought, and seeing what is—-all concepts that relates well to the fundamentals of modern scientific thinking and scientific methodology.

Dawkins fails to clarify that “religion” as he uses the word really refers to “Judeo-Christian” religion as well as more basic or fundamentalist types of ideas from any world religion. His thought processes reveal a narrow-mindedness that is a common process in any system of thought or philosophy or religion that bills itself as the ONLY way of thinking without any room for input from the opposite side, a dogmatism that one can see in fundamentalist Islam, Judaism, Christianity, Hinduism, politics, or any culture. It is rather ironic that Dawkins himself is rather caught up in a rather emotional, dogmatic campaign to promote his brand of scientific rationality as the only answer.

Also frustrating about Dawkins is his mission to eliminate non-scientific explanations of natural phenomena. It seems a bit like the schoolyard child with the pin trying to pop your balloon. There is nothing wrong about myths or non-scientific explanations to explain the wonders of nature; they simply need to be contextualized as such, and not taught as- and confused with scientific truth. And vice versa: scientific truth is (if we look at it very, very simplistically), a method-tested, results-repeatable, quantitative, analytical, logical explanation for the wonders of nature. It is a tool which has allowed us to manipulate the world to a degree deemed impossible for centuries if not millennia. It has allowed us to make exponential progress (and, if we look at the state of the environment, regress) and achieve advances in technology that have changed the course of human history in a very short time. Science and myth/religion/storytelling are perhaps two sides of the same coin, quantitative and qualitative explanations for life.

No, we cannot let the religious right prevent us from teaching evolution in schools. Yes, our politicians are generally very misinformed and fearful of science and scientific rationality. Yes, faith often gets in the way of rationality. But we cannot throw out the baby with the bathwater and completely dismiss religion as though it is all irrational, emotional, extremist poppycock. And for those of us not from the Judeo-Christian tradition, we cannot continue to allow the faith vs. rationality schism to persist.

Differences between Postcolonial and Macedonian literature—-Guest Post

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By Kalina Maleska-Gegaj, PhD

We have seen that postcolonial and postcommunist literatures have certain characteristics in common. There are, on the other hand, significant differences between them as well. One of the differences certainly comes from the geographical locations – whereas the postcolonial countries in general are situated further away from the Western countries, on continents other than Europe and North America, the postcommunist countries are direct neighbours of the developed nations of the West. Therefore, Macedonians feel more as part of Europe. The geographical locations have certainly contributed to different historical contexts, so that Eastern Europe has never been colonized by the more developed Western states.

After Macedonia’s independence, what is noticeable about its literature, especially the literature produced by writers who speak English, French, German or another of the Western European languages, is a relation of acceptance of a literary expression which is a combination of Macedonia’s own culture and the culture of the Western world. This relation is very different from that which exists between the postcolonial nations and their colonizers.

In this context, it is important to emphasize that Macedonia has never been a formal colony in the sense in which India, Kenya or Nigeria have been. Therefore, there is no strong criticism and definite rejection of foreign culture in Macedonian literature or literary criticism, although there may be some exceptions. It can be said that there are more similarities with Rushdie’s procedures than with the more stringent approach of Achebe. Therefore, the response of Macedonian postcommunist literary theory and practice is quite different from the response of postcolonialism.

Although Macedonia does not display such a strong hostility towards the foreign domination, it does face certain dilemmas in trying to find its own identity. Those dilemmas are: to what extent the foreign influence can be a creative stimulation, and when it begins to represent an obstacle for the growth of one’s own literature. How much does the cultural variety from abroad enrich and how much does it deny one’s own culture? Should authors create their works following theoretical and critical Western framework or should they find their own individual expression?

The answers to these questions can be largely ambiguous. In the colonial countries, there seems to be much stronger rejection of the Western European (formerly imperial) states than in Macedonia. In the Balkan context, Macedonia is aware of the discrepancy between itself and Western European countries, which view the Balkans as a less civilized and wilder place. Thus, on the one hand, Macedonia may and partly does identify itself with the colonized states, while, on the other hand, it advocates the Western values, as it has always been geographically part of Europe. Besides, it is a fact, proven by many surveys, that its citizens in the beginning of the twenty-first century tend to be part of EU, and the Macedonian writers certainly feel as European, which is very different from the case of the postcolonial writers.

Dr. Kalina Maleska-Gegaj, Ph.D. is an Assistant in English Literature at Blaze Koneski Faculty of Philology
Ss. Cyril and Methodius University, Skopje, Macedonia

Mama Africa

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This post is a sort of counterpoint to the previous one, I suppose. A couple of years back, in order to get myself out of a bad mood, I decided to search online for some information related to poverty, as my status as a well-educated American is certainly a very enviable one, globally speaking. I happened upon some Human Development Index (HDI) charts, and they brought me to tears. At the bottom of the list were the nations of sub-Saharan Africa. I think Niger was at the bottom of the list. And it struck me, as it has struck me many times before—–
Why is it that the darker the skin, the poorer the man?
Why is it that the poorest countries have the darkest-skinned people? Or,
Why is it that, in every country (even in populations where everyone is dark-skinned), the poorest people or the people at the bottom of society are the most dark?

The negative effects of this are numerous. Not only is there the obvious issue of racial discrimination, but also issues of public health, education, political access, and economics. The causes are also numerous: colonialism, capitalism gone wild, internal strife/civil war, the interaction of genetics and culture (social Darwinism), the caste system (in India; caste means “color,” but it also relates to labor and one’s particular social group). People of non-white cultures will most certainly freely admit that there is discrimination among them, and lighter-skinned people are considered “better.”

But when this issue is on such a continental scale, when the poorest nations are all centered on one continent, one cannot help but ask why this is so, and why more effective efforts are not being done? What is it about the intertwining of capitalism and race that has led to such social stratification? One person alone cannot provide all the answers; even governments and institutions struggle with this and have been struggling with this for centuries.

Perhaps part of it begins with those of us in the developed world examining our perceptions, or shall we say, misperceptions of Africa as all one monolithic place. The continent is a conglomeration of many races, religions, languages, and cultures. Over 50 countries comprise the continent countries which can be perceived as various regions, such as Egypt and the Maghreb (the Muslim north); the Saharan countries which are so sparsely populated and often nomadic; Western Africa, from where American blacks trace their ancestry, with oil-rich Nigeria; the cradle of human origins in Eastern Africa, mountainous regions as well as plains; Central Africa, former colonies which are still undergoing much political strife as well as being developed for harvesting natural resources, and the world’s poorest country, the Democratic Republic of the Congo; Southern Africa with its ever-continuing legacy of European settlers and high rates of AIDS. These are but crass generalizations, but it is imperative that people see Africa as a continent with great diversity connected through geography, history, and, sadly, poverty and a lack of development.

It is not simply fashionable, leftist rhetoric to raise these questions and correlate poverty with skin color; the statistics speak for themselves. This is the beauty of the social sciences, to be able to connect theories about society with the hard data that backs it up. We must examine the manifestations of poverty in each of our societies and communities in which we live. We must be willing to ask the hard questions and examine the hard answers. Yes, it may be ugly. But so is the reality that billions of people all over the world, not just in Africa, are facing.

In Defense of the Canon

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Why the disturbing trend over the past couple of decades toward secondary sources and a dislike of, or sometimes, hatred of the Canon?  Yes, virtually all of it is by Dead White Men, a cohort of individuals whose life experiences were indeed limited and shaped by their particular geography and Judeo-Christian values.  But what is ironic is that even the greatest post-colonial writers or ethnic minority writers, such as Nobel laureates Derek Wolcott and Toni Morrison, are themselves extremely well read in the classics and the Canon, and it informs and influences their works.  Without the Canon, one’s scope is limited, as is one’s understanding of history, classic literary themes, tropes, motifs, allusions, et cetera.  There is a certain “flatness” to the work of many scholars and writers of recent times, for it smacks of excessive self-absorbed individuality or literary disconnect.  In my opinion, this reflects the underlying problem of a general lack of historicity in many people’s perspectives in American academia.  American culture places such a high value on individualism and the now that context—-and along, historical context of hundreds if not thousands of years—-seems to have no importance in shaping one’s mind.  I find literary scholarship and criticism often very guilty of this, with reading into earlier works from a current perspective:  really, shouldn’t Elizabeth Bennet have earned her own living as an investment banker and just hooked up with Darcy on weekends?   Shouldn’t Madame Bovary have just gotten some therapy and a divorce?  But seriously, scholarship based purely on feeling or an individual’s psychological needs reads as somewhat juvenile.  (There are those who maintain that Americans are the teenagers of the world.)  Needless to say, those scholars who have no exposure to non-white, non-Western, colonial and post-colonial works or ideas are just as bad—-they come across as living in some bizarre sort of time warp, dinosaurs of an academic age that is long past.  (I myself suffered through a couple of these professors during my graduate studies).  Aren’t they missing out on Rushdie’s pastiches of literary genius?  Pamuk’s tremendous insight into Turkey’s position between East and West?   Scholars who come from cultures and civilizations that are 10 times as old as their American one?  But for any writer, my feeling is that the Canon is a must.

Willa Cather: The Grande Dame of American Letters

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My inaugural post is a tribute to my favorite American writer, Willa Cather.  To me, she is the Grande Dame of American letters, highly underrated and much-ignored.  We scarcely find her works read or discussed in academia, her novels have still not claimed her rightful place in the academic canon.  Why not?  She is incredibly intelligent, and, like Tolstoy, very sympathetic, warm, and caring for her characters.  There are some writers in whom the reader can immediately sense an element of misanthropy; this is not the case with Cather, who takes a tender view of the individuals who populate her books.  She knows all the great classics of the Western canon, is highly literary (just look at the numerous cultural references throughout The Song of the Lark), and very cultured.  Despite all her knowledge of European high culture, her writings reflect a uniquely American sensibility, for Cather is careful to distinguish between the Old World and the New, and is able to recognize what the latter can offer—-the strength of America’s people, who are all virtually immigrants.  Her aesthetic eye is strong; she has a keen sense of beauty, an appreciation of the finer things in life.  There is always a tension in Cather’s lead characters, because they seem to embody the Oscar Wilde quote that “All of us are lying in the gutter, but some of us are looking up at the stars”; they are aspiring to something better than what their circumstances can provide.  Cather’s writings frequently use an omniscient narrator, one who is worldly, gracious, and wise.  Like Tolstoy, she is a social critic, for she sees the follies of humanity, the petty sides of human nature, but yet tries to find something beautiful in human nature that is beyond that, something bigger in life.  There is always a touch of humor in her works.  Cather is like a wise, old, kindly aunt, who, after years of experience, is gently recounting her tales for you.  Or, perhaps, she is more like a seasoned, old professor whose vast erudition keeps the listener spellbound at her feet for hours.  Her compassion, wisdom, culture, humanity—-these are the qualities that make Cather such a joy to read.