Disney and Netflix deal

Back in 2012 Netflix struck a deal with Disney to have exclusive rights to stream new films from Marvel, Pixar, LucasFilms, and Walt Disney Animation Studios. The deal will go into effect this September.

What does this mean for the company, and for us consumers? Basically it will mean that all new films in 2016 from this point forward will only be released on Netflix. If you want to find anything from Captain America: Civil War to The Jungle Book to Rogue One: A Star Wars Story will only be found on Netflix. According to the contract it cannot be found on any other streaming platform. Further, new content will not be found on cable channels, and it won't be available on premium pay channels and networks.

Poster for the 54th NY Film Festival

The Film Society of Lincoln Center has announced the poster for the 54th New York Film Festival. It was designed by film director Apichatpong Weerasethakul. The following is an excerpt from a press release sent from the Film Society:

Apichatpong Weerasethakul is more than just a ‘logical’ choice to do our poster—he’s one of the world’s greatest filmmakers and he works in the visual arts,” said New York Film Festival Director Kent Jones. "I knew that he would send us something extraordinary: a beautifully wrought, self-contained little world. The more you concentrate on the image, the more detail you see, and the further your dream extends. The NYFF has had many great posters designed by a long list of great artists, but this is one of the very best."

The renowned Thai filmmaker and artist, whose works deal with memory and subtly address personal politics and social issues, has had a fruitful relationship with the New York Film Festival for over a decade. Four of his films have been selected for the official NYFF lineup: Tropical Malady (2004), Syndromes and a Century (2006), the Palme d’Or–winning Uncle Boonmee Who Can Recall His Past Lives (2010), and Cemetery of Splendor (2015). In 2002, Apichatpong’s debut narrative feature Blissfully Yours won the Un Certain Regard prize at the Cannes Film Festival.

Along with his features, Apichatpong is known for his short films and art installations. His work has been featured in exhibitions across the globe, including solo shows at the New Museum in New York, the National Museum of Modern Art in Paris, the Irish Museum of Modern Art, the Munich Film Museum, and many more. His art prizes include the Sharjah Biennial Prize (2013), the prestigious Yanghyun Prize (2014) in South Korea, and the Thai Ministry of Culture’s Silpatorn Award (2005)."

Elektra at the MET

If Finnish conductor/composer Esa-Pekka Salonen were eying the job of Music Director at the Metropolitan Opera, recently vacated by James Levine, the current production of Richard Strauss's Elektra would serve as a successful audition. Not that he would need one, mind you. These performances just serve as a reminder that he is one of today's great conductors; a superstar in the tradition of Leonard Bernstein, comfortable leading an orchestra, composing a concerto, as well as promoting Apple's iPad Air and thus providing a positive look at classical music, something that rarely happens in the mainstream media. The MET would be crazy not to hire him.

This production of Elektra will go down in the annals of the MET as one of the high points of Peter Gelb's tempestuous tenure at Lincoln Center. Directed by the late Patrice Chéreau, with a cast that includes Adrianne Pieczonka (Chrysothemis), Waltraud Meier (Klytämnestra), Eric Owens (Orest), and in the title role the great Nina Stemme. One can travel far and wide and not find this collection of talent on any operatic stage.

This staging started life at the Aix en Provence Festival in 2013 with Mr. Salonen conducting. Evelyn Herlitzius played the title role, and Ms. Pieczonka and Ms. Meier originated the roles that they are reprising currently at the MET. That performance was captured on film and is available on Blu-Ray/DVD.

Mr. Chéreau's concept updates the Sophocles play to the present, making it the story of a truly dysfunctional family, which in many ways is exactly what the original drama really is. Clytemnestra sore that her husband Agamemnon sacrificed their daughter Iphigenia so that his ships could sail to Troy, kills him upon his return from the Trojan War. Elektra now mad at her mother for having killed dad, dreams of the day when her brother Orestes will return home, kill their mom and her new lover and thus avenge her father's death. The Waltons it is not! But if you want to experience some powerful cathartic moments, this one has it in spades.

In the opera, the character of Elektra promises in her great opening monologue ("Allein! Weh ganz allein") that she will dance once her mother has been killed, and in this production Ms. Stemme attempts to kick up her heels, but she just can't.  It's as if the character had suffered for so long that her joints are stiff. Just one of the many innovative moments in Mr. Chéreau's wonderful re-imagining of this work.

The Metropolitan Opera Orchestra continues to be the well-oiled machine that James Levine created, and they played magnificently. This has always been one of my favorite scores which, like the earlier controversial Salome, can go from crashing dissonant chords to the sweetest most beautiful melodies. The stamp of the 20th century is definitely on this Strauss work, but scratch its surface and the Viennese waltz is there throughout the entire work.

Roberto Devereux at the MET

After missing my original date to go to see Roberto Devereux at the Metropolitan Opera as a result of being in the hospital, I finally attended another performance of this Donizetti opera on April 11.  The production by Sir David McVicar, utilizing a unit set and no curtain unfortunately gets old pretty soon. The Palace of Nonsuch, Sarah's apartments and the lower depths of the Tower of London all look the same, giving no specific feeling for different settings. It's a shame because the plot almost pleads for the scenic designer (also Sir David) to take flights of fancy with this Tudor story. Where the production truly excels is in the costume design, which in the hands of Moritz Junge brings to life the Elizabethan court. In particular, the women costumes are gorgeous, especially those designed for Sandra Radvanovsky, who in Act I is the embodiment of Gloriana, as pictured in the famous Ditchley Portrait at London's National Portrait Gallery.

But this production is not about the sets or the costumes, it is all about this season's MET third leg of the Sandra Radvanovsky royal trifecta that will surely earn her place in the operatic history books. The arc is now finished, and the performances that began early in the season with Anna Bolena, and this winter's great Maria Stuarda have come full circle. Ms Radvanovsky's performances have earned her the critical and audience accolades that she deserves. Roberto Devereux is the crowning glory. A tour-de-force that earned Beverly Sills her place in the pantheon when she attempted the three operas at the New York City Opera in the 1970s.

Ms. Radvanovsky was truly remarkable.  Her voice has been compared to that of Maria Callas, and it is true that, like that fabled artist, her instrument goes beyond just sheer beauty. In doing so, she is able to penetrate the inner soul of her character, a feat that is key to singing Elisabetta correctly. She is lucky to have as a co-star the brilliant Elīna Garanča, whose young, traditionally beautiful tone was the perfect foil to the aging queen. Add to that Matthew Polenzani, who has never sung better, in my opinion, and the evening was complete. Unfortunately baritone Mariusz Kwiecien was indisposed that night, his understudy sang with conviction and ringing tone, but regretfully I sensed that he was quite nervous, and he managed to bark most of his role. Conductor Maurizio Benini led an assured performance, making us realize that Donizetti's score contains not just beautiful music, traditional of his time, but also attempts to probe into the psyche of his characters.  After all, this score was written two tears after Maria Stuarda and Lucia di Lammermoor, and the composer was at the heights of his powers.

As Anthony Tommasini noted in his review in the New York Times: "Met audiences can rightly complain about a company that lavishes such attention on five Donizetti operas in a single season, during which the newest work on the boards is Alban Berg’s Lulu, first performed in 1937. Still, completing the Tudor trilogy is an achievement for the house, and a triumph for Ms. Radvanovsky."

Arthur Miller's The Crucible on Broadway

The Crucible, Arthur Miller's powerful 1953 drama, about the hysteria that sent twenty people to their deaths accused of being witches, is a play that most of us read in high school, and very few of us understood. Although its setting is the historical 1692 Salem witch trials in Colonial Massachusetts, what the author wants us to consider is that a witch hunt is a phenomenon that can occur anywhere and at any time. It was happening in America once more in the post World War II period. HUAC was busy blacklisting famous Hollywood screenwriters and directors, the so-called "Hollywood Ten" for their participation in the communist party, a sign that these individuals were dangerous to the well-being of the nation during the Cold War. Meanwhile some notable actors and directors, such as Elia Kazan, Lucille Ball and Ronald Reagan accused some of their colleagues of being "reds," and won favor with the government and with the film industry. On the other hand, the careers of those who refused to cooperate with the committee were destroyed. The era of McCarthyism was an ugly eyesore in American history, and this seething cauldron was the inspiration for Miller to write this play. The communist hysteria that Joseph McCarthy fueled in the Cold War era was analogous to the theocracy that ruled seventeenth century New England, where the belief in the Devil and witchcraft was very much alive.

I've always wanted to see a production of this play done in the 1950s so that Arthur Miller's true intent in writing this work would shine through clearly for audiences. Now The Crucible comes to Broadway in a visionary production by the gifted Belgian director Ivo van Hove, who is no stranger to Arthur Miller's oeuvre having previously brought to the New York stage from London his Young Vic's production of A View from the Bridge. Once again, the director has removed the work from its historical setting and placed it, not just in the 1950s, but in seemingly modern times in a school room setting.  A chilling reminder that education can also become a breeding ground for intolerance. In this current election year, where presidential candidates are spewing anti-Islamic hatred, the cauldron is boiling once again, and Mr. Miller's play is more relevant than ever.

At first, you might think that Ben Whishaw is not your typical John Proctor (played in the original production by Arthur Kennedy), but his powerhouse performance assures us that the role is definitely his. He has a match in the incredible Sophie Okonedo, whose Elizabeth is a study of unrestrained emotions. The other two names above the title are Saoirse Ronan as Abigail (last seen on the big screen in the film Brooklyn) and Irish actor Ciarán Hinds (Governor Danforth), who was King Claudius in Benedict Cumberbatch's recent production of Hamlet. Is easy to criticize Mr. Hinds's performance as being stodgy, a bit stagy, even two-dimensional, but he leaves a lasting impression on the viewer getting the most he can out of the part. Ms. Ronan, with her pale face and those marvelous eyes in a fixed stare, is a powerhouse on stage. A star performer who nevertheless knows how to integrate herself to this ensemble cast.

The rest of the cast is particular strong, filled with many notable character actors. Chief among them is Irishman Jim Norton, whose Giles Corey is one of the most memorable creations in the ensemble. This is the fifth time that Mr. Norton and Mr. Hinds have been in a play together (they both appeared at the National Theatre with Mr. Cumberbatch in Hamlet), and it is great to have such talent available on both sides of the Atlantic.

Driving the drama forward is Philip Glass's minimalist, almost subliminal score, written especially for this production. Mr. Glass once again proves that less is more, and his music expertly accentuates the on-stage drama.

In such an avant-garde production it is somewhat comforting to find the proverbial kitchen sink upstage (is this a joke?), as well as a surprising cameo from an "actor" who I'm sure has a stage name, but whose real identity is Canis lupus. His appearance will startle and chill you to the bone. I was happy to see that a current production of a play still utilizes a curtain, but even that traditional standby of the theater in Mr. van Hove's hands is used in a very special way. The final curtain call is handled in a manner that speaks volumes about how the events in the play do not just cease, they go on. The director has crafted a Crucible for our time, and the play itself continues to serve as a warning of what can happen when intolerance gets the best of us. This production aims to show us where America might be heading once again.

Wagner's Tristan und Isolde will open the 2016-2017 MET Season

The Metropolitan Opera will open next year's 2016-2017 season, celebrating the company’s fiftieth anniversary at Lincoln Center, with a new production of Richard Wagner's Tristan und Isolde, and will go on to present the premiere of Kaija Saariaho’s 2000 opera L’Amour de Loin, as well as new stagings of Rossini’s Guillaume Tell, Gounod's Roméo et Juliette, Dvořák’s Rusalka and Strauss's Der Rosenkavalier. 

The season will open on September 26, 2016 with a production of Tristan und Isolde conducted by Sir Simon Rattle and directed by Mariusz Treliński.  Soprano Nina Stemme, who in a few weeks will sing the title role in the new Patrice Chéreau production of Elektra, will join Stuart Skelton as Tristan; Ekaterina Gubanova as Brangäne, and René Pape will sing the role of King Marke.

Here is Mariusz Treliński on his new production of Tristan und Isolde.

Antonin Scalia dies while a child murderer is on the prowl!

I learned of the death of Antonin Scalia while sitting in theater 2 at The Museum of Modern Art (MoMA) waiting for a showing of the film El Vampiro Negro (The Black Vampire) to begin. The 1953 Argentinian film, recently restored by UCLA, was inspired by Fritz Lang's seminal film M, the story of a deranged serial killer on the prowl, murdering the hope of the future: the children of a claustrophobic, Expressionistic metropolis. The South American film, directed by Román Viñoly Barreto, and starring a very creepy Nathán Pinzón, forgoes Lang's often detached approach and gets down to a very typical, and very melodramatic take on the tale of the Vampire of Dusseldorf. It is a gritty film, complete with wondrous film noir cinematography by Aníbal González Paz, which takes us from dirty sewers (perhaps a homage to Carol Reed's The Third Man) to seedy nightclubs to the stately steps of a criminal courthouse and right inside an ornate court room where this child murderer is being tried by a group of judges. I could not stop thinking of Justice Antonin Scalia.

Nathán Pinzón is no Peter Lorre, the star of Lang's film, but he is excellent at portraying a deranged mind, perhaps once brilliant, but now unable to control himself. Director Viñoly Barreto and screenwriter Alberto Etchebehere supply the character with a fully-rounded back story worthy of the German film. Teodoro Ulber, is just as deranged as Hans Beckert but he can also be as gentle as a lamb; in particular when he is teaching English in front of his students who call him "El Profesor." He is quite fond of classical music as well. His whistling of Edvard Grieg's "In the Hall of the Mountain King" however is melodic, on-pitch, and lacking the breathy off-key obstinacy heard in the German film (Lang himself whistled the famous tune when he found out that Lorre did not know how to put his lips together and blow). Ulber's take on Grieg's tune even has a melodious tango lilt. What is remarkable about the Argentinian film is that it adds up to be a portrait of an exceptional mind gone terribly wrong.
Justice Antonin Scalia was valedictorian at Xavier High School, graduated first in his class at Georgetown University, and was magna cum laude at The Harvard Law School. Although educated by the Jesuits, in a recent 60 minutes interview on CBS he denied that his logical mind was molded and shaped by the religious order which provided his high school and college education. His association with his high school Alma Mater, a military academy when he graduated in 1953, was severely affected when, during the height of the Vietnam War, the school decided to make the once mandatory JROTC military program optional. Thereafter, he often refused to attend alumni gatherings, although the school honored him by naming him to its Hall of Fame. In 2011 a group of JROTC students at Xavier invited him back to his school, and he accepted the invitation, speaking at a JROTC award ceremony. He was clearly unhappy that his old school had abandoned the military program, but he chose to remain faithful to those students that had chosen to be part of the program with which he had been involved during his four years at the school.

When I left the screening of El Vampiro Negro and ventured out into a New York night pounded with below zero wind chills, I thought of Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg, who had lost her major adversary on the bench, but also her best friend and classical music buddy: they often attended operas and concerts together after the day was done, and they had hung up their justice robes. How many times did they listen to "In the Hall of the Mountain King" together, I wondered? And then, as my face was slowly getting numbed  by the cold weather, my mind slowly turned to Henri Becque's almost forgotten 1882 realist play The Vultures (Les Corbeaux), where the family of a deceased man hover around his decaying body in a bitter struggle for his inheritance. At that point, I knew the winter months would last for a long, long time.

South Pole - At the Bavarian State Opera

Tonight was the premiere of South Pole at the Bayerische Staatsoper. This new opera is by composer Miroslav Srnka with a libretto by playwright Tim Holloway. The work recounts British explorer Robert Falcon Scott and Norwegian adventurer Roald Amundsen’s parallel quests to become the first to reach the South Pole. Rolando Villazón stars as the ill-fated Scott opposite Thomas Hampson as Amundsen. Hans Neuenfels, who directed the controversial Lohengrin (rats!) at the Bayreuth Festspielhaus  directs this production, which is conducted by Kirill Petrenko and also stars Tara Erraught and Mojca Erdmann. The premiere was broadcast live on the ARTE network. The production runs at the Bavarian State Opera through February 11. 

Welcome Jaap van Zweden

 Dutch conductor Jaap van Zweden has been named the new music director of the New York Philharmonic. He will start his full-time tenure in New York City during the 2018-2019 season.

Check out this video of Jaap van Zweden in action as he leads Igor Stravinsky's Le Sacre du Printemps.

The Hateful Eight: 70mm Roadshow Edition

According to the program of the roadshow edition of Quentin Tarantino's latest film, The Hateful Eight, the last time a film was shot in Ultra Panavision 70mm was in 1966 ... Wait a minute... Program? Panavision? What the hell is a Roadshow? That's right! Tarantino has ensnared us in a "Back to the Future" situation using his considerable Hollywood clout to present his latest film in the same format that he loved as a kid when he was discovering the great epics of the 1960s. Over 90 cinemas in the US, able to project 70mm, will treat audiences to a nostalgic throwback. There will even be a free program that goes along with the presentation (and modern sticker shock at the $22 ticket price to remind us that in 2016 we have to pay extra to run actual film in a movie house). Still, It might be years before a major release in the US will be projected in any kind of film format again.

This is Tarantino's second attempt at a western.  His previous film, Django Unchained riffed on one of the lesser-known works of the "spaghetti western" canon, but he derailed his own tribute by fusing the western story to a racial (and some will argue racist) homage to an even lesser-known film: 1975's Mandingo -- a blaxploitation movie that should have remained forgotten, except for its brilliant tagline which I remember from my own youth: "He's more than man, he is mandingo."

With The Hateful Eight, Tarantino returns to a West devoid of the legacy of John Ford, Howard Hawks or Anthony Mann. He's back inside the spaghetti western, but this time he goes straight to the main source, the director that best exemplifies all things spaghetti: Sergio Leone. His The Good, the Bad and the Ugly and Once Upon a Time in the West revealed an elliptical, operatic Old West that forever changed the look, feel, and sounds of the genre. Tarantino has even used Leone's favorite composer, Ennio Morricone to score this film. And of course, he's used the widescreen and the length of the film (the roadshow version clocks in at 187 minutes) to resurrect the spirit of the Italian westerns of the maestro. But at the same time, Tarantino has admitted that the true inspiration for the film lies in the many westerns that played on TV during the 1960s.

Ironically, even though 70mm lends itself so well to outdoor vistas, 80% of the film is confined to Minnie's Haberdashery, a rugged, frontier stagecoach lodge that is a stopover before reaching the town of Red Rock. Cinematographer Robert Richardson does wonderful work whenever he has the opportunity to use antique Panavision lenses in order to capture fleeting but beautiful panoramic shots in wonderful snowstorms. But the heart of the film takes place indoors in a claustrophobic setting that thanks to the 2.76:1 aspect ratio never manages to feel claustrophobic.

It's the performances, driven by Tarantino's customary strong script, that drive this violent tale, and there are so many excellent stand-outs in this film. Samuel L. Jackson offers his customary Tarantino performance, which is to say that he nearly steals the show. Kurt Russell (it's nice to see him back on the screen) is no slouch either, at times reading his lines with a John Wayne cadence to his voice. And Jennifer Jason Leigh is a trooper, starting the movie with a black eye, and ending it with a face full with so much blood and gore that she reminded me of Linda Blair in the last reels of The Exorcist.  Other great performers in the cast include Demián Bichir as a laconic Mexican, Tim Roth as a derby-wearing Englishman, and Bruce Dern as a grizzled confederate general. Quentin Tarantino wisely stays put behind the camera, but offers his talents as a cynical narrator.

It's a western, it's a homage to a forgotten genre, it's an attempt to revive careers, it's even an Agatha Christie mystery. But truth be told, it is a Quentin Tarantino film, and that's all you need to know. Attending the roadshow version will allow you to see more of the film, and to enjoy it (if that's the right word) in a format that, like the western itself, is destined to become a dinosaur.

Bryan Cranston in TRUMBO

When I was in grammar school, I remember one of my classmates got chewed out by one of my teachers because he was reading the novel Johnny Got his Gun, the 1938 anti-war novel by Dalton Trumbo, better known as one of Hollywood's greatest screenwriters and one of the infamous blacklisted "Hollywood Ten." It was the early 1970s, the Vietnam War had stretched out to Cambodia and Laos, and Trumbo, a communist who had been to prison for not cooperating with the House UN-American Activities Committee (HUAC), was still persona non grata to many conservative people in this country.

Most people my age, myself included, did not know anything about him. I was fascinated by the name I saw in my friend's book (which had a picture of a soldier running against a hand doing a victory sign -- which to us in the 1970s was a peace sign). I did not know anybody called Dalton or Trumbo, for that matter. I'm sure my classmate, a tall, lanky boy with buck teeth named John O'Toole, was reading the book because it had been reissued in paperback as a result of a film having been released in 1971 (with a screenplay by Trumbo himself). And I'm sure he was curious about its lurid content. In the early 70s, the story of an American soldier, horribly deformed as a result of a mortar shell explosion in World War I was a thinly veiled anti-war comment on our involvement in Southeast Asia.

The film Trumbo feels as if its creators also had little knowledge of the man and the period. The film doesn't really feel like it was written, but more like it was cut and pasted from Wikipedia articles. Somehow, this biopic should have been told as a theater piece, and not as a movie. Film is too inquisitive and too exacting. Actors can bring to life such luminaries from the silver screen as John Wayne and Edward G. Robinson onstage, aided by the magic of theater.  However, film puts up a roadblock whenever well-known icons have to be represented.  As a result the attempt to recreate Hollywood in the late 1940s and 50s fails to persuade us. It feels like a sendup of Hollywood and not a loving recreation. Bryan Cranston's performance as Trumbo has its moments, but often he opts for an over-the-top approach. And unfortunately, it is also very clear that there are scenes that have been included only to make sure that he has a chance to garner a Best Actor nomination.

Only John Goodman as scumbag producer Frank King, and Helen Mirren as Hollywood's power broker Hedda Hopper survive the superficial approach this film takes. Christian Berkel as Otto Preminger and David James Elliott as John Wayne create minor caricatures, while Diane Lane, playing Cleo, Trumbo's wife, is just another person that we want to get to know better, but the film does not allow us to do so.

I learned a few facts about Mr. Trumbo but the film does not get under the man's skin, which is what any successful biopic must do. In many ways I was reminded of myself back in grammar school, a boy who did not know who this Dalton Trumbo was even though I had just been with the man for over two hours.

Lulu at the Metropolitan Opera

Alban Berg's last, unfinished opera Lulu (completed by composer Friedrich Cerha in 1970) came back to the Metropolitan Opera last week in a new production by William Kentridge. Arguably the greatest and most famous work to emerge from the so-called serialist, twelve-tone compositional system devised by Arnold Schoenberg, the work is based on two plays by Frank Wedekind that relates the rise and fall of a black-widow siren who seems to violently terminate the life of any man that comes into her orbit. It served silent film star Louise Brooks with her greatest vehicle in G.W. Pabst's Pandora's Box.

The complete Lulu was first presented at the MET in 1980 with Teresa Stratas taking on the challenging title role and James Levine conducting the angular, expressionistic, taxing score: a musical revelation for those of us that were lucky enough to be present at those performances. In this go-around, Mr. Levine was supposed to take up the challenge of conducting once more, but unfortunately it seems that his failing health has not allowed him to do so. I'm not sure if given his current health issues he would be able to take up the challenge of conducting this complex work. Last month I noticed that his Tannhäuser was lackluster. Some might argue that Mr. Levine is mellowing with age; that might be true, but what I heard coming from the pit was a lack of energy, not a deepening of musical ideas. His choice to step down for this production was a wise one, since German conductor Lothar Koenigs, who is a specialist in 20th century music, led a vibrant reading of Berg's score. His conducting was sinuous and sultry at times, and he trusted the forces of the Metropolitan Opera Orchestra enough to let go of their reins and allow them to make some earth-shaking sounds during the dramatic moments of the score.

Taking on the title role in this production is German soprano Marlis Petersen, who has made a career playing this role (and who will put the role to rest after this production). She has no problem bringing this heroine to life: her strong soprano is able to sail the high tessitura that the role demands, and her sexy body conveys the erotic side of the character (is there another side?) beautifully. On a personal level, I am glad that she is putting this role to sleep. Too much twelve-tone singing and pretty soon you will find yourself without any legato! She will play Rosalinde in Die Fledermaus at Munich's Bavarian State Opera. I'm sure that will be a much more "pleasant to the ear" and it will sit in her voice beautifully.

Johan Reuter playing the dual role of Dr. Schön/Jack the Ripper was strong of voice and proved to be a gifted actor. Susan Graham made deep impressions as Countess Geschwitz (perhaps the only decent character in this story) and Paul Groves as the painter and the African Prince was vocally memorable.

 Mr. Kentridge's production is a marvel, following the tradition of his earlier production of Dmitri Shostakovitch's The Nose.  Projections appear and disappear before our eyes, commenting, sometimes slyly on the going-ons on stage. It is a hyper-kinetic approach that helps the audience through the difficulties of the score. I'm sure that some members of the audience who find the complex score a sonic puzzle stayed through the end, just to see what the production would bring.  Key to this are the solo performers Joanna Dudley (who uses an onstage grand piano like some use a Bowflex Max Trainer) and Andrea Fabi who plays a butler in a twisted, expressionistic style worthy of the somnambulist Cesare in the silent film The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari.

Although it might not be for everybody (I saw a lot of young kids with their parents last night -- I hope their parents tried to explain something about the music to them!) this production of Lulu is not to be missed. Just go in there with an open mind, and chances are that your perception of what music can be, and what it can be achieved will be challenged. After all, that's what good opera should be doing through every performance.

Spotlight: the Best Film of the Year

Spotlight, the story of how a group of Boston Globe reporters exposed the cover up of sexually abused children by pedophile priests. The film is a hard-hitting newsroom drama in the style of Network, The Insider, and All the President's Men. It is a gripping work with a superlative ensemble cast, and the words "Academy Awards" emblazoned all over this amazing film.

When Martin Baron (Liev Schreiber), a Jewish newspaper editor arrives in Irish Catholic Boston from the Miami Herald he encourages a small group of reporters to dig into the labyrinthine world of the Boston archdiocese, which at that time was headed by Cardinal Bernard Law. As New York Times critic A.O. Scott noted in his fine review of this film, Cardinal Law's opinion that "the city flourishes when the great institutions work together," is the major reason why the sexual molestation of thousands of children was covered up by the powers that be. Mr. Scott added that "when institutions convinced of their own greatness work together, what usually happens is that the truth is buried and the innocent suffer." Truer words were never spoken.

The incredible cast is headed by Michael Keaton and John Slattery as Boston Globe editors, and it features Mark Ruffalo, Rachel McAdams, and Brian d'Arcy James as Globe reporters. Stanley Tucci and Billy Crudup give memorable performances as attorneys, and Len Cariou is chilling as Cardinal Law. To watch this amazing cast at work is to marvel at the power of great filmmaking. The script by Josh Singer and director Tom McCarthy is a marvel of economy, deserving of all the praise that it will receive come award season.

Is it possible that Hollywood has awaken from its horrid summer slumber and is once again producing films for adults featuring three dimensional characters and issues of real importance? I hope that Spotlight serves as the game changer, and that it heralds a new generation of smart, thought-provoking cinema.

NYFF: Steve Jobs

Steve Jobs, Danny Boyle's new film, from a screenplay by Aaron Sorkin, is a series of extraordinary scenes, most of them acted out backstage before some of Apple Inc's fabled announcements of their new products. This is the second film that screenwriter Sorkin has written about technology. David Fincher's The Social Network, which brought to life the genesis of Facebook, earned Sorkin a well deserved Oscar. This time around his screenplay focuses on the relationships between the man and various people around his orbit. A large percentage of the script is composed of conversations between two people, making the film a very private, inside look at Steve Jobs. The only public scenes are those when Jobs steps on the stage of an auditorium, to rousing cheers, as an expectant public drools at the mouth in expectation of the latest miracle from Cupertino. It is not a typical biopic of the genius who revolutionized the way we interact with technology. Far from it. The film begins with the introduction of the first Macintosh, meanders through Jobs's failing venture away from Apple, with the NeXT Cube, and concludes with his return to Apple and the unveiling of the first iMac. Towards the conclusion of the film he promises his estranged daughter that one day she will be able to throw away her walkman, and carry a thousand songs in her pocket, but the iPod is barely a dream as the concluding titles of this film roll.

As usual, Michael Fassbender morphs effortlessly into the title character, giving a subdued performance where he balances the Zen-like public Jobs with a private man who is acquainted with personal demons. Kate Winslet is also brilliant in her role of an Apple executive who is part lion tamer to Steve Job's beast, and part unfulfilled love interest.  Jeff Daniels as Apple's CEO, Michael Stuhlbarg as a member of the original Macintosh team, and Seth Rogen as Apple co-creator Steve Wozniak give memorable performances.

At the heart of this film is Steve Job's rocky relation to Chrisann Brennan (played by Katherine Waterstone), Jobs's high school girlfriend, and his daughter Lisa, who throughout the film grows to a college-age student, and is memorably played by Brazilian newcomer Perla Haney-Jardine.

Behind the scenes, Alwin Küchler's cinematography runs the gamut from grainy filmstock for the 1980's scenes, and switches to digital as the story progresses, and Daniel Pemberton's score has a driving, subliminal beat. Danny Boyle's direction is surprisingly subdued, as is required by this very subtle script.

NYFF: The Walk

Robert Zemeckis loves to take us back to the future; his films recreate the past with his brilliant use of cutting-edge technology. He is a master at dressing up the events that he portrays with incredible accuracy and adding a showman's flair that sanitizes the events for the audience. In Forrest Gump, he took us through a cavalcade of American history through the eyes of a singular, memorable Everyman; and in Who Framed Roger Rabbit? he celebrated the heyday of American animation while pushing the technological envelope when it came to human-toon interaction.

In his latest film, The Walk, he takes us to the gritty, graffiti-filled New York 1970s, when the buildings of the World Trade Center were just the tallest structures in the world, far from the symbols of nostalgia and grief that they would become. The plot of the movie tells how an obsessed French aerialist came to be absorbed by the structures. Philippe Pettit could not help himself when it came to setting a high tension wire between the two buildings so he could walk across them, and although the film might glorify his soft-shoe 1974 routine high above the skyline of New York City, the film is really a paean to the lost Twin Towers, which Mr. Zemeckis recreates with a loving touch.

When a movie focuses on such a mythic, colossal structure, it's hard to squeeze in memorable performances. Joseph Gordon-Levitt manages to bring Mr. Pettit to life, but just barely, by donning an outrageous accent along with an equal histrionic manner. Subtle acting, it is not. In many ways, his performance mirrors Mr. Zemeckis's approach to the whole story. At the outset, for example, the director portrays Paris in a busy half black-and-white which tries to remind us of the French New Wave. Here Mr. Pettit runs into street musician Annie (Charlotte Le Bon), and it's love at first sight. But their boy-meets-girl fairy-tale story has no middle or depth as it leads to its nostalgic, predestined separation conclusion. Ben Kingsley, as Papa Rudy, a mentor figure, is a memorable Yoda character, but his wild eastern European accent (it's suppose to be Czech) is reminiscent of some of the foreign accents heard from Laurence Olivier towards the end of his career.  I guess when the movie is all about recreating a building something's gotta give.

Still, the movie is worth seeing from the technical point of view. Not Since Martin Scorsese's Hugo have we seen a better use of 3D. Mr. Zemeckis is a born showman, and he is not afraid to pull all the stops when it comes to using this technology. He knows that the audience likes to have objects come flying at them when they go to see a 3D movie, and of course he's not shy in giving it to us. But beyond the stereotypical effects, it is in the creation of a marvelous sense of depth and dizzying sense of vertigo that The Walk excels. And although a homage to bygone days is primarily at the heart of this film, it is the brilliant use of technology that at the end leaves us with the most satisfying cinematic moments.

Pope Francis is finally in the Americas

 Pope Francis is finally in the Americas. He just landed in Havana, Cuba, where he has once again urged in his opening speech that relations between the island and the United States return to normal. Pope Francis is the architect of this new dawn in political relations between the two countries.

New Documentary About Jackson Heights

The Film Society of Lincoln Center has announced that as part of the 53rd New York Film Festival a new documentary by Frederick Wiseman's will focus on my neighborhood: Jackson Heights.  Here is the information as I received it today in a press release.

"In Jackson Heights"
Frederick Wiseman, USA, 2015, DCP, 190m
Fred Wiseman’s 40th feature documentary is about Jackson Heights, Queens, one of New York City’s liveliest and most culturally diverse neighborhoods, a thriving and endlessly changing crossroad of styles, cuisines, and languages, and now—like vast portions of our city—caught in the gears of economic “development.” Wiseman’s mastery is as total as it is transparent: his film moves without apparent effort from an LGBT support meeting to a musical street performance to a gathering of Holocaust survivors to a hilarious training class for aspiring taxi drivers to an ace eyebrow-removal specialist at work to the annual Gay Pride parade to a meeting of local businessmen in a beauty parlor to discuss the oncoming economic threat to open-air merchants selling their wares to a meeting of undocumented individuals facing deportation. Wiseman catches the textures of New York life in 2015, the music of our speech, and a vast, emotionally complex, dynamic tapestry is woven before our eyes. A Zipporah Films release.

A Sneak Peek at the MET's New OTELLO

According to the Metropolitan Opera, rehearsals are well underway at the house for opening night, which will premiere the company's new production of Giuseppe Verdi's Otello. This new staging directed by Bartlett Sher will feature sets by Es Devlin, costumes by Catherine Zuber, and lighting and projections by Donald Holder and Luke Halls. The principals: tenor Aleksandrs Antonenko (Otello), soprano Sonya Yoncheva (Desdemona), and baritone Željko Lučić (Iago) are scheduled to sing on opening night. The principal conductor of the Philadelphia Orchestra, Yannick Nézet-Séguin will conduct this new production.

 As these pictures reveal, this new staging will feature stunning projections, and while the costumes seem to be somewhat in period, (from the sketches the MET has published) the settings offer no specific time frame. Undoubtedly, it is a production that fits the current modernistic trends of the opera house under the leadership of Peter Gelb.   

Lately, director Bartlett Sher has had an impressive number of successes: from the original Lincoln Center production of The Light in the Piazza in 2005, to his stunning revival in 2008 of South Pacific, and this year's megahit production of The King and I. His opera productions at the MET, ranging from The Barber of Seville to The Tales of Hoffmann have rapidly become audience favorites.  I am sure that Verdi's supreme Shakespearean tragedy is in good hands, and I am looking forward to being there on opening night. 

Mary Jo Heath: The New Voice of the MET Broadcasts

It has been announced that Mary Jo Heath will become the new Metropolitan Opera radio host. She replaces Margaret Juntwait, who died earlier this year. In the history of the MET broadcasts (at one time sponsored by Texaco, and currently by Toll Brothers) there have only been four hosts. Milton Cross was the voice of the MET for four decades, and he was followed by Peter Allen, who had a twenty plus year run. Heath has been a producer for the broadcasts, and she replaced Ms. Juntwait when she fell ill. Heath will officially assume her new role with the first Sirius broadcast of the season, the opening night performance of Verdi’s Otello on Monday, September 21.

Written on Skin at the Mostly Mozart Festival

When George Benjamin, the composer of the opera Written on Skin, was a teenager he traveled to Paris to study with Olivier Messiaen. The great composer/organist was very much impressed with his young pupil, even comparing him to Mozart. It is totally apt, therefore, that the American premiere of Benjamin's tour-de-force opera occurred last night in New York during the yearly summer homage to the boy genius from Salzburg.

The libretto of Written on Skin, by playwright Martin Crimp, takes us back to medieval days to recount an episode in the life of the legendary Catalan troubadour Guillem de Cabestaing. As the story goes, he falls in love with his patron's wife, and when the husband finds out about their infidelity, he kills the troubadour, rips out his heart and cooks it. That evening at dinner the husband forces his wife to eat her lover's remains. After she realizes what she has done (and wanting to preserve the taste of her beloved on her lips forever) she commits suicide by throwing herself from a balcony. In the opera the troubadour is turned into an itinerant artist whose specialty is illuminated manuscripts. Weaving in and out of the medieval story, characters in modern dress called angels reenact the story, entering into the medieval part of the set from their fluorescence lit contemporary space which resembles a laboratory, a place where perhaps illuminated manuscript might be in the process of being restored.

Both the libretto and the music travel back and forth in time and space. Mr. Benjamin's score freely mixes twentieth century thunderous dissonance with elements of contemporary tonality. His use of instruments such as a glass harmonica (a Benjamin Franklin invention favored by both Mozart and Gaetano Donizetti) as well as claves, pebbles, sleigh bells, and sandpaper offer a history of what is accepted as musical. The sounds coming out of that pit last night were exciting and mysterious. The audience is kept guessing as to the nature of those cryptic sounds. At the same time, the music is dictated by the dramatic events onstage. It never feels like the musical inventions are overwhelming the drama. Meanwhile, the libretto offers lines like “Strip the cities of brick . . . strip out the wires and cover the land with grass” which transcends the notion of time and space.

Most of the principal singers, as well as the musicians (The Mahler Chamber Orchestra) performed this work at its world premiere at the Aix-en-Provence Festival in 2012. The new kids on the block were countertenor Tim Mead, and conductor Alan Gilbert. Reprising the roles they created were baritone Christopher Purves and soprano Barbara Hannigan. All of them deserve much praise for their incredible work.

Written on Skin is a landmark work. I have no doubt that its score will be on the reading, and future performing lists of many conservatories. I am also sure that audience raconteurs will delight (or bore) later generations with tall tales about how they were present at the premiere. Consider yourself lucky if you were able to snatch up a ticket to the three performances being presented in this year's Mostly Mozart Festival.