Before I experienced Pascal Dusapin’s Faustus, the Last Night in the flesh, I suppose I knew what to expect better than most – as I’d already seen a DVD of the opera (more about that one later). Having found the recording rather disturbing, I approached the real thing with a mixed sense of foreboding and fascination. But I wanted to like it so bad. And the remarkable music wouldn’t let go of me. So, like a small boy helplessly drawn to horrific spectacle against his will, into the Sottile I slunk last week for the opera’s second performance.
My intent here is not to offer a blow-by-blow review, regurgitating the plot or the laundry list of performers. That’s already been done: you can find Fernando Rivas’s carefully considered, but distinctly unfavorable account here. And I won’t dispute his negative view, either – especially since I understand where he’s coming from, and agree with much of what he had to say. Let’s just say that I don’t share the depth of his discontent. Still, I’m driven to tell you how it made me feel: and that was … not very good. But that’s also the reason I admire it. Read on.
As both a musician and former student of German literature, I’ve always been fascinated by the Faust legend. I wrote seminar papers in grad school on the dozens of musical treatments of it – but that was all about the German slant, a-la Goethe. So the proffered emphasis here on the Marlowe version promised interesting contrast. Not only that, but the multi-national literary allusions in the libretto piqued my strong interest. And I liked Dusapin’s multicultural approach otherwise: a French composer setting an English text and premiering it in Berlin. Oh, LORDY, I really wanted to like it.
But after seeing it – both in person and on DVD – the whole thing boiled down to something of a waking nightmare for me. It was like when you’re lying in bed, sick and feverish, having one of those miserable half-waking dreams where you’re caught in some surreal dilemma that you just can’t find your way out of (just like Faustus couldn’t). You’re vaguely aware that you’re dreaming, but it’s still hopeless: one of the most chilling and fearfully unpleasant sensations you could ever experience. It’s what I imagine a true out-of-body experience must feel like (and no, I did not go into this chemically assisted). Even after it was over and the ugly dream faded, I left the theatre feeling depressed, and in a mental dither that kept me stewing about it off & on for days: an emotional hangover of sorts. Bad opera? Or just an unpleasant one?
Stop and think. Must there not be something very special about music and staging that, between them, have the power to drag you – kicking & screaming – to such an altered state? Even if it’s a negative one? Who says great art has to be pretty, pleasant or uplifting? And can there be anything that’s uplifting in a production where one of the major characters (Togod), at the end, faces the audience and declaims, “Repeat after me: there is nothing”? Rampant French nihilism is nothing new, so that was hardly surprising. Even while admitting that this opera effectively whisks you to another dimension, you don’t necessarily have to enjoy the experience. Hmmm … did Dusapin actually want us to??
Staging aside, I found the music itself to be un-pretty, but impressive; tense and horrific, but supremely evocative. It’s a very complex score, but a fascinating one that drives its musical and emotional points home. Performances were likewise laudable: the singers were really terrific, and the orchestra was simply spectacular. Conductor John Kennedy held it all together beautifully. Pretty? Ha! Effective? Well, didn’t it have to be, if it made me suffer and sweat in a waking nightmare? Eargasms? Just let it never be said that I faked one of those here (Hey, eargasms are supposed to make you feel good). But that exploding angel was definitely the festival’s major EYEgasm for me.
So, would I ever watch it again? Sure – like many complex, multi-dimensional works of art, this one begs repeat exposure. I’m even considering buying the DVD. It’s very well done, but a radically different production where the action takes place on a huge, moving clock-face. But whether I attend it again someday or simply spin the DVD, I think I’ll take a tranquilizer first.
