LA GIOCONDA
Amilcare Ponchielli (1934 - 1886)
Opera in four acts in Italian
Libretto: Arrigo BoitoPremièr at Teatro alla Scala, Milan – 8 April 1876
19†, 22, 27 September, 01 October 1967
War Memorial Opera House, San Francisco
WAR MEMORIAL OPERA HOUSE, SAN FRANCISCO
Opening Performance
Conductor: Giuseppe Patanè
Chorus master: Vincenzo Giannini
Stage director: Lotfi Mansouri
Designer: Eugene B. Dunkel
Costumes: Golstein & Co.
Choreographer: Thomas Andrew
La Gioconda a ballad singer LEYLA GENCER soprano
[Role debut]
La Cieca her blind mother MAUREEN FORRESTER mezzo-soprano
Alvise Badoero one of the heads of the State
Inquisitions ARA BERBERIAN bass
Laura his wife GRACE BUMBRY mezzo-soprano
Enzo Grimaldo RENATO CIONI tenor
Barnaba a spy of the Inquisition CHESTER LUDGIN baritone
Zuane a boat man ALLAN MONK bass
Isepo a public letter-writer L. D. CLEMENTS tenor
A monk CLIFFORD GRANT
A steersman RICHARD STYLES
First singer JOHN BEAUCHAMP
Second singer WILLIAN BOOTH
A voice JONATHAN HUIE – EUGENE LAWRENCE
Solo dancer
Solo dancer
SANDRA BALESTRACCI
DAVID COLL
DIANA MARKS
JOAN DE VERE
Time: Seventeenth Century
Time: Seventeenth Century
Place: Venice
† Recording date
Photos © CAROLYN MASON JONES, San Francisco
Photos © DENNIS GALLOWAY, California
 |
| With Governor Ronald Regan, Nancy Reagan and Grace Bumbry |
 |
| With Lotfi Mansouri, Stage Director in her dressing room |
RENO GAZETTE JOURNAL
1967.05.19
SAN FRANCISCO EXAMINER
1967.08.09
THE TIMES
1967.08.09
 |
They will be working with Welsh baritone Geraint Evans (from London), American soprano Jane Marsh (From New York), American soprano Jeanette Scovotti (from Germany), British tenor Stuart Burrows" (from London), and American bass Thomas O'Leary (from Germany) and the rest of the east. Two California artists of international repute, Jess Thomas (from Bayreuth) an Irene Dalis. Opera stars from all parts of the globe are in rehearsal for the 1967 San Francisco Opera which opens its ten - week season on September 19. On hand to rehearse the opening night's "La Gioconda'' are Turkish soprano Leyla Gencer (flying from Verona), American mezzo Grace Bumbry (from Salzburg via Newport) Canadian contralto Maureen Forrester (from Pennsylvania), and Italian tenor Renato Gioni (from Milan). These artists will be having their first musical run - throughs with the dynamic young Italian conductor Giuseppe Patane (from Germany) and staging with Lotfi Mansouri (Geneva via Santa Fe) The German team of Horst Stein and Paul Hager, conductor and stage director, respectively, who teamed together for last, season's successful new "Tannhauser," are together again for the company's new tub Sack.
SAN FRANCISCO CHRONICLE
1967.08.14
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1967.08.15
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1967.08.15
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1967.08.16
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1967.08.17
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1967.08.20
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1967.08.20
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1967.08.20
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1967.08.22
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1967.08.25
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1967.08.27
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1967.08.31
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1967 September
UNKNOWN NEWSPAPER
1967 September
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1967.09.01
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1967.09.03
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1967.09.03
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1967.09.04
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1967.09.04
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1967.09.06
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1967.09.07
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1967.09.08
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1967.09.08
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1967.09.09
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1967.09.10
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1967.09.10
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1967.09.10
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1967.09.11
SAN FRANCISCO GUEST BOOK
Leyla Gencer of La Scala
OPERA STAR Leyla Gencer breaks away from rehearsals for "La Gioconda" to stroll in Huntington Park, above, or to don a Pirovano of Milan frock for a visit to Alexis.
Photos © Seymour Snae
Diva Superstitious,
And So Beautiful
Opera diva Leyla Gencer is a Byzantine beauty who
jetted in from Milan with the tiny, jewelled hands of Fatima on her ears and a
bundle of superstitions in her pocket.
On Sept. 19 when the San Francisco Opera opens its 45th season with Miss Gencer in "La Gioconda," she'll leave her Nob Hill hotel right foot first, decorate her Opera House dressing room with photographs of her favourite Italian conductors and directors, then enter the stage right foot first.
"This will insure success," said the soprano tossing her long glossy raven locks. "The Turkish are very superstitious. See this blue pearl," she displayed another jewel. "It will protect you from the evil eye," her voice was serious, but her big brown eyes were twinkling.
Here because of another singer's illness and an emergency appeal from general director Kurt Herbert Adler who said, "Of course you can learn the role in two weeks," the La Scala star accepted the challenge, packed her good luck pieces, then added, "I must have a good prompter."
She'll also have, in spirit, her vast Italian fan club which opera hops around Europe with her. The Gencer group waved her off to San Francisco, sadly, because their budgets don't match their devotion.
Istanbul-born but Italian-trained and acclaimed, the singer expressed her delight at being back in San Francisco after nine years. Her feelings were reciprocated. At that moment, a bellboy delivered a bouquet of orchids so large he could hardly get it through the door.
Miss Gencer looked at the card, her vivid natural colour heightened, and she smiled a true "La Gioconda" smile. "Ah, it is good to be welcomed," said the soprano who made her American debut in San Francisco in 1956 in the title role of "Francesca da Rimini."
Since then, she has expanded her repertoire by 64 roles. "I added five new ones this year," explained the singer. "I don't like doing the same roles over and over. I prefer the excitement of creating something new. And this 'La Gioconda' is just for San Francisco."
After her three performances here, she'll pack her two bags and rush back to her home in a Milan palazzo. "As I increased my repertoire, I decreased my luggage. The last time I was here I had 15 bags!"
Miss Gencer exhibited a wardrobe of Italian, French, English frocks, selected a lavishly beaded short green chiffon dress as suitable for the Middle Eastern background of Alexis restaurant, then a featherweight aqua mohair coat to go over her black wool shift for rehearsals.
The soprano, who now specializes in the difficult roles of the old operas, said, "I like all those historical queens." History is one of her off-stage interests also. Archaeology was her first choice as a career, but because of her unusual voice she was urged to study with the Ankara Conservatory. She made her debut in 1951 in the Ankara State Opera, had a meteoric rise in European opera.
Although La Scala has to share her with Covent Garden, Rome, the other major houses of Europe, she said, "I am very normal in my life when possible.'
Her banker husband has headquarters in Zurich. Her friends come largely from the Italian intellectual circles. She collects antique Turkish jewellery the diamond and ruby Fatima earrings are family heirlooms - and antique English and French furniture, tours museums between operas.
"The last time I was here you had the Van Gogh collection. Now I understand there are many new things I must see." [Mildred Schroeder Hamilton]
On Sept. 19 when the San Francisco Opera opens its 45th season with Miss Gencer in "La Gioconda," she'll leave her Nob Hill hotel right foot first, decorate her Opera House dressing room with photographs of her favourite Italian conductors and directors, then enter the stage right foot first.
"This will insure success," said the soprano tossing her long glossy raven locks. "The Turkish are very superstitious. See this blue pearl," she displayed another jewel. "It will protect you from the evil eye," her voice was serious, but her big brown eyes were twinkling.
Here because of another singer's illness and an emergency appeal from general director Kurt Herbert Adler who said, "Of course you can learn the role in two weeks," the La Scala star accepted the challenge, packed her good luck pieces, then added, "I must have a good prompter."
She'll also have, in spirit, her vast Italian fan club which opera hops around Europe with her. The Gencer group waved her off to San Francisco, sadly, because their budgets don't match their devotion.
Istanbul-born but Italian-trained and acclaimed, the singer expressed her delight at being back in San Francisco after nine years. Her feelings were reciprocated. At that moment, a bellboy delivered a bouquet of orchids so large he could hardly get it through the door.
Miss Gencer looked at the card, her vivid natural colour heightened, and she smiled a true "La Gioconda" smile. "Ah, it is good to be welcomed," said the soprano who made her American debut in San Francisco in 1956 in the title role of "Francesca da Rimini."
Since then, she has expanded her repertoire by 64 roles. "I added five new ones this year," explained the singer. "I don't like doing the same roles over and over. I prefer the excitement of creating something new. And this 'La Gioconda' is just for San Francisco."
After her three performances here, she'll pack her two bags and rush back to her home in a Milan palazzo. "As I increased my repertoire, I decreased my luggage. The last time I was here I had 15 bags!"
Miss Gencer exhibited a wardrobe of Italian, French, English frocks, selected a lavishly beaded short green chiffon dress as suitable for the Middle Eastern background of Alexis restaurant, then a featherweight aqua mohair coat to go over her black wool shift for rehearsals.
The soprano, who now specializes in the difficult roles of the old operas, said, "I like all those historical queens." History is one of her off-stage interests also. Archaeology was her first choice as a career, but because of her unusual voice she was urged to study with the Ankara Conservatory. She made her debut in 1951 in the Ankara State Opera, had a meteoric rise in European opera.
Although La Scala has to share her with Covent Garden, Rome, the other major houses of Europe, she said, "I am very normal in my life when possible.'
Her banker husband has headquarters in Zurich. Her friends come largely from the Italian intellectual circles. She collects antique Turkish jewellery the diamond and ruby Fatima earrings are family heirlooms - and antique English and French furniture, tours museums between operas.
"The last time I was here you had the Van Gogh collection. Now I understand there are many new things I must see." [Mildred Schroeder Hamilton]
THE TIMES, CALIFORNIA
1967.09.12
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1967.09.15
BILLBOARD
1967.09.16
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1967.09.17
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1967.09.17
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1967.09.17
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1967.09.17
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1967.09.17
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1967.09.17
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1967.09.17
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1967.09.17
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1967.09.18
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1967.09.18
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1967.09.18
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1967.09.19
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1967.09.20
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1967.09.20
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1967.09.20
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1967.09.20
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1967.09.20
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1967.09.20
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1967.09.20
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1967.09.20
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1967.09.20
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1967.09.20
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1967.09.20
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1967.09.20
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1967.09.21
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1967.09.21
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1967.09.21
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1967.09.21
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1967.09.21
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1967.09.21
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1967.09.21
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1967.09.22
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1967.09.22
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1967.09.23
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1967.09.24
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1967.09.24
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1967.09.24
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1967.09.24
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1967.09.25
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1967.09.25
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1967.09.25
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1967.09.25
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1967.09.27
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1967.09.27
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1967.09.28
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1967.09.28
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1967.10.12
RADIOCORRIERE.TV
1967 October 15 - 21
THE SACRAMENTO UNION
1967.10.15
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1967 December
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1967.12.25
SAN FRANCISCO CHRONICLE
1968.10.10
THE SAN FRANCISCO OPERA 1922 - 1978
1978
ARTHUR BLOOMSFIELD
From Arthur
Bloomfield’s book The San Francisco Opera 1922 – 1978
(1978 Comstock Editions)
……. Francesca project stemmed
from the fact that Tebaldi was learning the role for Maggio Musicale in
Florance. When that the Festival dropped the work, she was less interested in
doing it for San Francisco. It was more feasible for Adler to go ahead
substitute soprano than a substitute opera – the production was already built
when the unwooable Tebaldi made her decision – so Leyla Gencer, a Turkish
soprano with Italian opera experience, was imported. She turned out to be an
exceptionally interesting if uneven artist. Her physical beauty at the time was
marked, her poise sure, her pianissimi exquisite, her voice in general, when
well-projected, remarkably warm in tone. Whether she made more or less of
Francesca than Tebaldi might have done is one of history’s little question marks. ……. The report continued with a statement
of the position of the San Francisco Opera, which was, not surprisingly, that
Madam Callas was fired, and that a complaint, furthermore, was being sent off
to the American Guild of Musical Artists. The fact that a recording of
Cherubini’s Medea was on the ailing Callas’ September schedule – sessions took
place from 12th to 19th – did not sit exactly well with
Adler and Miller. Nor the fact that she “rested up” by going to an early
September ball tossed for her in Venice by Elsa Maxwell. Callas had wired Adler
September 1 that he should have a sub on hand “in case”. Bul Callas’ logical follow-up,
in Adler’s estimation, would have been either come on schedule and try to
perform, or to cancel outright, and stay home. Most subscribers felt Adler and
Miller were to be commended for their uncompromising action, and after Leonie
Rysanek’s Lady Macbeth and Leyla Gencer’s Lucia – both highly successful –
Maria Callas was, if not forgotten, hardy missed. ……. Gencer’s Lucia was not of the pretty-pretty
pyrotechnical variety. Here was a warm spinto soprano who simply happened to
have coloratura flexibility as well. The riches of her voice which, like Callas’,
has a certain sonic sex appeal, helped produce an adult Lucia. Also, vivid
acting: she conveyed a real sense of derangement in the Mad Scene. All in all,
this was the most memorable portrayal offered in San Francisco by a sometimes-remarkable
artist. Her success in the part indicated that another reengagement was in order,
and she returned in 1958. Her other assignments were Violetta and Liu, the latter
only in Los Angeles. ……. Mezzo Irene Dalis
appeared first in one of her best roles, Eboli in Don Carlo. She swung into it
with a fiery regality and sang it warmly, winning friends who would welcome her
back in many seasons to come. She shared to honours in the first two
performances with Tozzi, whose limping, swaggering Philip certainly one of the
best all-around characterizations her offered through the years of personages
more interesting than the stock Ramfis and Zaccaria types. Frank Guarrera was a
vivid Rodrigo, Piero Miranda a so-so Don Carlo. No soprano has ever known
better than Leyla Gencer how to stand about looking noble, but her vocal projection
in the role of Elizabeth was spotty. …….
Opening Night
1967 brought a revival of Gioconda, not seen nineteen years. Adler had waited
until he had the whopping sort of cast that can make this over-climaxed irresistible
warhorse run. Up through the summer of ’67 there were problems, two of his choices
agreeing the job and then backing off. Crespin was to do her first Gioconda,
and she had coaching with Zinka Milanov in Yugoslavia on her agenda, but
indisposition made it impossible for her to learn the role in time, and Peter
Glossop defected from Barnaba for Fallstaff with Sarah Chadwell’s American
National Company which toured the U.S. in the wake of the prematurely hatched
Met National troupe. Crespin was ably enough replaced by Leyla Gencer, absent
for nearly a decade from San Francisco scene. For Barnaba there were the
parched tones of Chester Ludgin, a man-of-all-work baritone who was encountering
vocal problems especially inconvenient for such a draftable singer. With Patané
exceedingly crisp, cultivated man on the podium. Grace Bumbry an ideally
handsome, mellifluous Laura, Maureen Forrester (a rare figure on the operatic
stage) a plummy Cieca, and Cioni a pingy Enzo, this was, despite problems, a
Gioconda lineup not to be dismissed. Gencer’s dramatic handling of the title role
made one respect her artistic integrity even as one worried over instances of
vocal abandon. Espaccially after the opening night, a traditionally troublesome
time for voices, she achieved a fairly even effect, always using her voice,
according to her habit, as a piece of highly charged equipment. There have been
more brilliant-sounding sopranos of the Gioconda type, but none more
resourceful. Gioconda being sort o character whor turns up from everybody’s
woodwork, she tends to be more than a bit tiresome, but Gencer put you on her
side.
MAUREEN FORRESTER ON
GENCER
1986
FROM HER BOOK "OUT
OF CHARACTER, A MEMOIR"
That same year I accepted the role of La Cieca, the
blind mother in La Gioconda, which Lotfi Mansouri was staging with the San
Francisco Opera. It was the first time I had worked with Lotfi, but it wasn't
his first exposure to me. It turned out that he had been in the audience the
night of my Town Hall debut in New York years before. He told me that he had
wept at that concert, unable to believe a young unknown just starting out could
put so much feeling into such a difficult repertoire.
La Cieca was my first part as an old woman since my role in The Consul, and Lotfi knew I was insecure about how to approach it. "Now, I want you to be a big success," he said, "so do anything you want to feel comfortable in the role." But he made me think about what it must be like to be blind. I remembered how sightless people never really focus on anything in a room; their eyes stare straight ahead, blank. I played it that way, but it was more difficult to do than it sounds. By the end of the performance, my eyes would absolutely ache from fighting back the blinks.
One day I showed up at rehearsal even though I hadn't been scheduled, and Lotfi looked shocked. "Oh, darling, I'm so sorry. did you think you had a rehearsal this afternoon?" he asked.
"No," I said. "But I don't know the opera, and I thought I'd come to learn it." Lotfi loved that so much that apparently, he now tells all his students that's how a pro learns an opera. But in fact, I adored the rehearsals, and I learned a lot watching- not only about La Gioconda. Leyla Gencer, a soprano with a fabled ego and temperament, was singing Gioconda and Laura was being played by Grace Bumbry, who had studied with Lotte Lehmann and was then one of the hottest of the rising young stars. At that point, Bumbry felt she had to have all the trappings of a diva, so she was always buying herself Lamborghinis and arriving in limousines a block and a half long. She must have spent all her fees on that kind of window-dressing. When Bumbry arrived in San Francisco, the rivalry between her and Gencer was palpable. They would never look at each other in a performance or take bows together. It would have been terrible if it hadn't been so comical.
One afternoon I was sitting in the audience at rehearsal beside Gencer. Bumbry was on stage singing and she was spectacular, prowling the boards like a sinewy black cat. She had an innate sexiness when she moved. "Doesn't she look just like a gorgeous sleek panther?" I said to Leyla.
"A panther?" said Leyla. "Oh, no, darling. I think of her more a spider." She paused. "A black widow."
Opera provides a field day for egos. But those star turns don't go down very well with me. I've never resented anyone else's success. As far as I'm concerned, you can't be the best; you can only be the best you can be. Everyone's voice is different and there's no point in wishing that your voice was like someone else's. Still, sometimes you overlook prima donna behaviour when you thrill to a really marvellous performance.
La Cieca was my first part as an old woman since my role in The Consul, and Lotfi knew I was insecure about how to approach it. "Now, I want you to be a big success," he said, "so do anything you want to feel comfortable in the role." But he made me think about what it must be like to be blind. I remembered how sightless people never really focus on anything in a room; their eyes stare straight ahead, blank. I played it that way, but it was more difficult to do than it sounds. By the end of the performance, my eyes would absolutely ache from fighting back the blinks.
One day I showed up at rehearsal even though I hadn't been scheduled, and Lotfi looked shocked. "Oh, darling, I'm so sorry. did you think you had a rehearsal this afternoon?" he asked.
"No," I said. "But I don't know the opera, and I thought I'd come to learn it." Lotfi loved that so much that apparently, he now tells all his students that's how a pro learns an opera. But in fact, I adored the rehearsals, and I learned a lot watching- not only about La Gioconda. Leyla Gencer, a soprano with a fabled ego and temperament, was singing Gioconda and Laura was being played by Grace Bumbry, who had studied with Lotte Lehmann and was then one of the hottest of the rising young stars. At that point, Bumbry felt she had to have all the trappings of a diva, so she was always buying herself Lamborghinis and arriving in limousines a block and a half long. She must have spent all her fees on that kind of window-dressing. When Bumbry arrived in San Francisco, the rivalry between her and Gencer was palpable. They would never look at each other in a performance or take bows together. It would have been terrible if it hadn't been so comical.
One afternoon I was sitting in the audience at rehearsal beside Gencer. Bumbry was on stage singing and she was spectacular, prowling the boards like a sinewy black cat. She had an innate sexiness when she moved. "Doesn't she look just like a gorgeous sleek panther?" I said to Leyla.
"A panther?" said Leyla. "Oh, no, darling. I think of her more a spider." She paused. "A black widow."
Opera provides a field day for egos. But those star turns don't go down very well with me. I've never resented anyone else's success. As far as I'm concerned, you can't be the best; you can only be the best you can be. Everyone's voice is different and there's no point in wishing that your voice was like someone else's. Still, sometimes you overlook prima donna behaviour when you thrill to a really marvellous performance.
REGINE CRESPIN ON
GENCER
1997
FROM HER BOOK "ON
STAGE, OFF STAGE: A MEMOIR"
I should have been in San Francisco in September, but
I wasn't ready and had to ask Mr. Adler to replace me. He wasn't at all happy,
of course, because it was the season opening. But that time he didn't get angry
and asked only that I be there for the rehearsals, probably to make sure I
would sing Rosenkavalier, which was next on the schedule. I accepted willingly
and because of that made the acquaintance of Leyla Gencer, whom I admired very
much and who had replaced me in Gioconda.
We hit it off immediately. A woman full of health, of life. And what technique! I watched her rehearse with great interest, and when she sang "Enzo adorato" at the end of the first act with its pianissimo B-flat it took my breath away. She laughed at my enthusiasm, saying, "But it's not difficult."
"For you, maybe. But how do you do it? Where do you place it?"
"There, in the buttocks," she said, giving herself a great slap on the area in question.
She took me to a restaurant, where she drank a considerable amount of vodka, to my surprise, and her beautiful face glowed with vitality.
At a dinner one night at the home of mutual friends, she pulled out a cassette and asked proudly, "Do you want to hear a high E-flat that I did?"
"It's Mission Impossible time," I said, meaning a television series I watched faithfully because it had more action than dialogue and I could understand enough to improve my halting English.
We hit it off immediately. A woman full of health, of life. And what technique! I watched her rehearse with great interest, and when she sang "Enzo adorato" at the end of the first act with its pianissimo B-flat it took my breath away. She laughed at my enthusiasm, saying, "But it's not difficult."
"For you, maybe. But how do you do it? Where do you place it?"
"There, in the buttocks," she said, giving herself a great slap on the area in question.
She took me to a restaurant, where she drank a considerable amount of vodka, to my surprise, and her beautiful face glowed with vitality.
At a dinner one night at the home of mutual friends, she pulled out a cassette and asked proudly, "Do you want to hear a high E-flat that I did?"
"It's Mission Impossible time," I said, meaning a television series I watched faithfully because it had more action than dialogue and I could understand enough to improve my halting English.
REGINE CRESPIN ON
GENCER
1997
FROM HER BOOK "A LA SCENE, A LA VILLE"
Je devais être à San Francisco en septembre mais je
n'étais pas prête et dus demander à M. Adler de me remplacer. Il n'était pas
heureux bien sûr car c'était déjà l'ouverture de la saison. Mais cette fois-là,
il ne se fâcha pas, me demandant seulement d'être présente pour les
répétitions, voulant probablement aussi être sûr que je viendrais chanter les
Chevalier à la rose qui suivaient. J'acceptai volontiers et c'est ainsi que je
fis la connaissance de Leyla Gencer que j'admirais beaucoup et qui me remplaça.
Nous tombâmes en sympathie tout de suite. Quelle femme pleine de santé, de vie ! Et quelle technique ! Je la regardais répéter avec grand intérêt et quand elle chantait le "Enzo adorato" de la fin du premier acte avec un si bémol pianissimo à vous couper le souffle, j'en tombais pâle ! Elle riait devant mon enthousiasme, disant :
Mais ce n'est pas difficile !
Pour toi peut-être. Mais comment tu fais, où tu le places ?
-Là, dans les fesses bien serrées, répondait-elle, en se donnant une grande claque sur l'endroit en question !
Elle m'entraînait au restaurant où elle buvait force verres de vodka, à ma surprise, et son très beau visage éclatait de vitalité.
Je me souviens d'un dîner chez des amis communs où, sortant une cassette, elle s'écria, toute fière : "Vous voulez entendre un contremi bémol que j'ai fait ?" Mais comme c'était l'heure d'un feuilleton télévisé que je suivais avec assiduité car il y avait plus d'action que de dialogues, ce qui facilitait l'amélioration de mon anglais encore hésitant, j'annonçai à la cantonade, sans réaliser la cocasserie de la chose : "Moi, je vais voir Mission impossible !"
Heureusement, elle a ri !
Je chantai ma série de Chevalier à la rose avec un très beau succès, malgré un petit chien qui, au premier acte où l'on présente à la Maréchale des tas d'animaux, faisait régulièrement pipi sur ma robe, à la grande joie du public ! Je repartis à Marseille pour chanter... La Gioconda ! Mais grâce à Leyla cette fois j'étais prête. Je revins en 1968 pour une autre série de Troyens et de Walkyrie (que nous reprîmes en 1969 à Los Angeles). Je me souviens de mon émotion lorsque Lotte Lehmann vint me voir après une Walkyrie (elle s'était tant illustrée dans ce rôle de Sieglinde qui nous était cher à toutes deux) et ses compliments me touchèrent au cœur. La photo que j'ai de cet instant m'est précieuse.
Je ne reparlerai pas de cette année 1970, bien oubliée cependant car il m'est naturel de ne pas revenir sur le passé. Je maudis souvent ma mémoire capricieuse, mais lorsqu'il s'agit de mauvais souvenirs, je ne déteste pas cette faculté qui m'est bienfaisante.
Nous tombâmes en sympathie tout de suite. Quelle femme pleine de santé, de vie ! Et quelle technique ! Je la regardais répéter avec grand intérêt et quand elle chantait le "Enzo adorato" de la fin du premier acte avec un si bémol pianissimo à vous couper le souffle, j'en tombais pâle ! Elle riait devant mon enthousiasme, disant :
Mais ce n'est pas difficile !
Pour toi peut-être. Mais comment tu fais, où tu le places ?
-Là, dans les fesses bien serrées, répondait-elle, en se donnant une grande claque sur l'endroit en question !
Elle m'entraînait au restaurant où elle buvait force verres de vodka, à ma surprise, et son très beau visage éclatait de vitalité.
Je me souviens d'un dîner chez des amis communs où, sortant une cassette, elle s'écria, toute fière : "Vous voulez entendre un contremi bémol que j'ai fait ?" Mais comme c'était l'heure d'un feuilleton télévisé que je suivais avec assiduité car il y avait plus d'action que de dialogues, ce qui facilitait l'amélioration de mon anglais encore hésitant, j'annonçai à la cantonade, sans réaliser la cocasserie de la chose : "Moi, je vais voir Mission impossible !"
Heureusement, elle a ri !
Je chantai ma série de Chevalier à la rose avec un très beau succès, malgré un petit chien qui, au premier acte où l'on présente à la Maréchale des tas d'animaux, faisait régulièrement pipi sur ma robe, à la grande joie du public ! Je repartis à Marseille pour chanter... La Gioconda ! Mais grâce à Leyla cette fois j'étais prête. Je revins en 1968 pour une autre série de Troyens et de Walkyrie (que nous reprîmes en 1969 à Los Angeles). Je me souviens de mon émotion lorsque Lotte Lehmann vint me voir après une Walkyrie (elle s'était tant illustrée dans ce rôle de Sieglinde qui nous était cher à toutes deux) et ses compliments me touchèrent au cœur. La photo que j'ai de cet instant m'est précieuse.
Je ne reparlerai pas de cette année 1970, bien oubliée cependant car il m'est naturel de ne pas revenir sur le passé. Je maudis souvent ma mémoire capricieuse, mais lorsqu'il s'agit de mauvais souvenirs, je ne déteste pas cette faculté qui m'est bienfaisante.
FROM THE BOOK ŞİRİN
2003 March
ŞİRİN DEVRİM
Yazan:
Şirin Devrim
©
Şirin Devrim, 2003
İngilizce aslından çeviren: Seçkin Selvi
Türkçe
yayın hakları: © Doğan Kitapçılık AŞ
Birinci
Baskı / Mart 2003 / ISBN 975-293-082-4
Bu
kitabın 1. Baskısı 2000 adet yapılmıştır.
Kapak
ve kitap tasarımı: DPN Design
Part 17
Stanford-Pittsburgh
days
Pages
167, 168
lstanbul'da güzel bir yaz tatili geçirdikten sonra sonbaharda San Francisco'ya uçtum. Havaalanında tiyatronun iki başoyuncusu beni karşıladı. Arabayla Stanford Üniversitesi'ne gittik. Orası bir cennet. İspanyol, daha çok da Fas tarzı bir mimari ... San taş yapılar, sütunlar, kemerler. Masmavi gök, pırıl pınl güneş, her yanda en az yirmi metre boyunda palmiyeler, renk renk, biçim biçim çiçekler. Bir de Ravenna'dan getirilen mozaiklerle döşeli Bizans tipi koca bir kilise. Kiliseye giden yolun iki yanında sıralanan palmiyeler. Bir çevreme baktım, bir de Pittsburgh'a ilk gittiğim günü düşündüm. Ne tezat ama!
Araba
kullanmadığm için kampüs ve tiyatroya yakın bir evde bana bir oda tuttular.
Bir doktorun evinin ikinci katında, ağaçlara bakan ferah bir oda Yine de beni
arabayla alıp işe götürüyorlar, işten sonra da eve bırakıyorlardı.
Kaliforniya’da araba kullanmıyorsanız, kötürümden farkınız olmaz.
Stanford
Tiyatrosu'nun 1967 sezonu açılış oyununu seçtim. Korkumdan iyi bildiğim bir
oyun seçmeyi tercih etmiş ve Carnegie'de öğrencilerle sahnelediğim Anouilh'in
Mağara oyununda karar kılmıştım. Başrollerden biri olan aşçıyı da ben
oynayacaktım. Bu kararım herkesi şaşırttı. Amerika'da rejisörler, bizdeki gibi
sahneye koydukları piyeslerde rol almazlar. Zaten yönetmenlerin çoğu oyuncu da
değildi. Yönetmenlik ve oyunculuk iki ayrı meslek dalıdır.
Sendikanın
kurallarına göre, günde sekiz saat prova yapıyorduk. Oyuncu kadrom iyiydi, ama
yine de provalarda hayli sıkıntı çektim. Öyle ki, kimi zaman eve gider,
sinirden kusardım.
O
güne kadar yalnızca Türk oyuncular ve Amerikalı öğrencilerle çalışmıştım.
Amerikalı profesyonel oyuncuların çalışma yöntemi bambaşkaydı. Türkiye'de
rejisör bir tür diktatör gibi hareket eder. Oysa Amerika'daki oyuncular,
istedikleri sonuca varana kadar bir sürü deneme yapmak istiyorlardı. Onlara
nasıl oynamaları gerektiğini söylediğiniz zaman da kızıyor, hırçınlaşıyorlardı.
Çoğu kez, "Ben sonunda sizin görüşlerinize varacağım; ama lütfen hangi yoldan
gideceğimi ben bulayım. Bana neyi nasıl yapacağımı söylemekten vazgeçip, ne
istediğinizi söyleyin, bunları kendim çalışayım" diye çıkışırlardı.
Üç
hafta boyunca tam anlamıyla canım çıktıktan, yüreğim ve bedenim yıprandıktan
sonra oyun açıldı. Çok şükür, San Francisco eleştirmenleri oyunu beğendiler.
Rejiyi, oyuncuları göklere çıkardılar. Ben de rahat bir soluk aldım. Piyes
beğenilmeseydi, çok zor bir duruma düşecektim. Herkes, "Bu Türk yönetmende
iş yok, Hollandalı çok daha iyiydi" diye verip veriştirecekti. Provalarda
bana içerlemiş olan oyuncular, eleştirmenlerin oyunu beğenmesine adeta
üzüldüler. Ama başarı baldan tatlıdır. Sonunda bana karşı tutumları değişti.
O
sırada Leyla Gencer, San Francisco Operası'nda Norma’yı oynuyordu. [Not: Gencer 1967 yılında SF Operasında La Gioconda ile
açılışı gerçekleştirdi. Sanırım burada operalar karışmış] Gidip
seyretmeyi çok istiyordum, ama nasıl gidecektim? Ehliyetim yoktu, ama
direksiyon dersi almaya başlamıştım. Ev sahibim olan doktora, "Operaya iki
bilet alsam, beni götürür müsünüz?" diye sordum. Doktor teklifimi kabul
etti ve "Operadan sonra da ben sizi yemeğe davet ediyorum" dedi. Onun
arabasıyla operaya gittik. Leyla Gencer her zamanki gibi harikaydı. Oyundan
sonra makyaj odasına gittim, sarılıp öperek kutladım. İçimden, "Ahh, şimdi
çarşaflı ecdadımız bizi görse" diyordum. Bir Türk kadım San Francisco
Operası'nda başrol oynuyor; bir diğeri Stanford Tiyatrosu'nda başarılı bir
piyes sahneye koyuyordu. İlk Müslüman Türk kadın oyuncu Afife Hanım 1919' da
sahneye çıktığı zaman, polis tiyatroyu basmıştı. Atatürk'ün sayesinde,
kadınlarımız az zamanda ne çok şey başardı.
TRUE TALES FROM THE MAD,
MAD, MAD WORLD OF OPERA
2012.10.30
BY LOTFI MANSOURI / MARK HERNANDEZ
THE CURSE OF THE
JOYOUS WOMAN, PART I
When it comes to my own brushes with operatic madness, Amilcare Ponchielli's La Gioconda is unusually well represented. My curse with this rarely performed work began in San Francisco in 1967, when I directed a production starring the Turkish soprano Leyla Gencer and the African American mezzo-soprano Grace Bumbry. What I was not aware of was that these singers had had a bad experience together at La Scala. In other words, they hated each other. They even refused to speak directly to each other, channellings all communication through me. In rehearsal, even if they were holding hands, Grace would turn to me and say, "Lotfi, is she going to do it this badly on the night of the performance?" Or Leyla would ask, "Lotfi, is she ever going to learn her role?" or "Is she going to cross in front of me right in the middle of my high note?"
One evening I was called into Leyla's dressing room. "Maestro Mansouri," she intoned in a syrupy voice, “please talk to La Grace. She is a ve-e-rr-y nice girl. She has got a big talent, so she doesn't need to put her hands in front of me when I am singing. And she doesn't need to step on my feet. She's ve-e-rr-y nice, you understand, but tell her it is unnecessary to do these things. You must tell La Grace these things, maestro. I cannot because, you see, in Turkey we were taught never to talk to the black servants." Needless to say, I never told Grace about this little conversation.
I had previously worked with Gencer on a production of Simon Boccanegra. And I had known Grace for ages. Back when we were students of Lotte Lehmann at the Music Academy of the West, I had even done scene work with her, singing Manrico to her Azucena in excerpts from II Trovatore. Back then she was brash and down-to-earth. But now, as a world- renowned artist, she had adopted the trappings of the archetypical diva. In fact, she had become a grande dame. She had taken to driving around in a white Mercedes, and she had acquired a trophy husband, a tenor from somewhere in Eastern Europe. I remembered this gentleman from a production of Otello in Basel, Switzerland, where his talents had enabled him to attain the position of third cover of the role of Cassio. Fortunately for him, his exceptional looks made up for his lack of singing ability. One day, during a rehearsal, she turned suddenly and said, "Look at that bastard!" Her husband was sound asleep in the auditorium. I asked Grace why she married him, and she replied, "Honey, he looks great carrying my luggage."
Mezzo-soprano Maureen Forrester, who played La Cieca, provided a much-needed dose of normal behaviour, and the fireworks between Leyla and Grace fascinated her. One day I saw her sitting in on one of the rehearsals even though she was not called. When I told her to go home and enjoy the rest of her day, she answered, "Are you kidding? Just watching this is a good time. I wouldn't miss it for all the world."
The curtain calls received as much attention as the performance - maybe more. Everybody from the administrative offices, including General Director Kurt Herbert Adler, would race down to see them. La Grace would sweep out - to hell with Gencer - and take a grand bow. She was a superb, statuesque lady with a wonderful physical presence - her legs got to centre stage a full minute before the rest of her. Then dumpy little Leyla would stomp out for her curtain call, only to have Grace sweep in front of her. Finally, just as she was exiting, Gencer would subtly step on Grace's train. Every night there was a variation on this sort of thing. It was the best show in town, and nobody wanted to miss a moment of it.
On opening night, following the eventful curtain call, Mr. Adler asked me to call the cast back to the stage to greet California's then- governor, Ronald Reagan, and his wife, Nancy Davis. Grace refused. It had nothing to do with politics; she simply didn't want to. She had given a fine performance, the audience had showered her with applause and flowers, and as far as she was concerned, her night was over- no matter who was in the house. I knew her well enough to coax her to the stage. The Reagans went down the line, shaking hands and having a few words with each artist. When they got to Grace, her eyes blazed through them and her smile barely concealed her displeasure at what was to her an imposition. I was standing at the end of the line, and the instant the Reagans passed her, Grace looked down the line and yelled, "Can I go now, Lotfi?" The Reagans graciously pretended not to notice as I melted in embarrassment.
JOYOUS WOMAN, PART I
When it comes to my own brushes with operatic madness, Amilcare Ponchielli's La Gioconda is unusually well represented. My curse with this rarely performed work began in San Francisco in 1967, when I directed a production starring the Turkish soprano Leyla Gencer and the African American mezzo-soprano Grace Bumbry. What I was not aware of was that these singers had had a bad experience together at La Scala. In other words, they hated each other. They even refused to speak directly to each other, channellings all communication through me. In rehearsal, even if they were holding hands, Grace would turn to me and say, "Lotfi, is she going to do it this badly on the night of the performance?" Or Leyla would ask, "Lotfi, is she ever going to learn her role?" or "Is she going to cross in front of me right in the middle of my high note?"
One evening I was called into Leyla's dressing room. "Maestro Mansouri," she intoned in a syrupy voice, “please talk to La Grace. She is a ve-e-rr-y nice girl. She has got a big talent, so she doesn't need to put her hands in front of me when I am singing. And she doesn't need to step on my feet. She's ve-e-rr-y nice, you understand, but tell her it is unnecessary to do these things. You must tell La Grace these things, maestro. I cannot because, you see, in Turkey we were taught never to talk to the black servants." Needless to say, I never told Grace about this little conversation.
I had previously worked with Gencer on a production of Simon Boccanegra. And I had known Grace for ages. Back when we were students of Lotte Lehmann at the Music Academy of the West, I had even done scene work with her, singing Manrico to her Azucena in excerpts from II Trovatore. Back then she was brash and down-to-earth. But now, as a world- renowned artist, she had adopted the trappings of the archetypical diva. In fact, she had become a grande dame. She had taken to driving around in a white Mercedes, and she had acquired a trophy husband, a tenor from somewhere in Eastern Europe. I remembered this gentleman from a production of Otello in Basel, Switzerland, where his talents had enabled him to attain the position of third cover of the role of Cassio. Fortunately for him, his exceptional looks made up for his lack of singing ability. One day, during a rehearsal, she turned suddenly and said, "Look at that bastard!" Her husband was sound asleep in the auditorium. I asked Grace why she married him, and she replied, "Honey, he looks great carrying my luggage."
Mezzo-soprano Maureen Forrester, who played La Cieca, provided a much-needed dose of normal behaviour, and the fireworks between Leyla and Grace fascinated her. One day I saw her sitting in on one of the rehearsals even though she was not called. When I told her to go home and enjoy the rest of her day, she answered, "Are you kidding? Just watching this is a good time. I wouldn't miss it for all the world."
The curtain calls received as much attention as the performance - maybe more. Everybody from the administrative offices, including General Director Kurt Herbert Adler, would race down to see them. La Grace would sweep out - to hell with Gencer - and take a grand bow. She was a superb, statuesque lady with a wonderful physical presence - her legs got to centre stage a full minute before the rest of her. Then dumpy little Leyla would stomp out for her curtain call, only to have Grace sweep in front of her. Finally, just as she was exiting, Gencer would subtly step on Grace's train. Every night there was a variation on this sort of thing. It was the best show in town, and nobody wanted to miss a moment of it.
On opening night, following the eventful curtain call, Mr. Adler asked me to call the cast back to the stage to greet California's then- governor, Ronald Reagan, and his wife, Nancy Davis. Grace refused. It had nothing to do with politics; she simply didn't want to. She had given a fine performance, the audience had showered her with applause and flowers, and as far as she was concerned, her night was over- no matter who was in the house. I knew her well enough to coax her to the stage. The Reagans went down the line, shaking hands and having a few words with each artist. When they got to Grace, her eyes blazed through them and her smile barely concealed her displeasure at what was to her an imposition. I was standing at the end of the line, and the instant the Reagans passed her, Grace looked down the line and yelled, "Can I go now, Lotfi?" The Reagans graciously pretended not to notice as I melted in embarrassment.
Photo © Carolin Mason Jones
Leyla Gencer and Grace Bumbry in La Gioconda, 1967.
SAN FRANCISCO GATE
2015.09.18
This column originally appeared in The San Francisco Chronicle on Sept. 4, 1967
Les folies bourgeoise, Herb Caen, 1967
The annual Hairdressers’ and Dressmakers’ Costume Ball, with incidental music by Amilcare Ponchielli, opened Tuesday night at the Opera House, and, except for occasional interruptions by a traveling band of minstrels, the evening was pronounced a signal success — the principal signal being a strangled, “Hey, bartender, where’s that drink I ordered an hour ago?” As the beginning of the fall season it was the absolute end, and the flower and glory of our metropolis was there in full drag, madly playing the great game of Very San Francisco, the men done up to their false teeth, the women with every false hair in place, the false smiles being worn bravely from 5:30 p.m. till 3:30 a.m. If you get the idea that it was something less than culture’s finest hour, you could be right. However, as couture’s finest hour it was something else again. “An exotic and irrational entertainment,” as Dr. Sam Johnson, who wasn’t there, once put it.
The trouble with opera openings in this town is that they start rather obscenely in broad daylight, providing the unique spectacle of men wearing white tie, tails and sunglasses. Then there are all these black limousines speeding down Van Ness, as though to a gangster’s funeral (it’s a great night for the Chauffeurs’ Union). I used the family Rolls-Royce, a seven-passenger limousine boasting a TV set in the rear compartment (when I say the family Rolls, I don’t mean my family’s. I mean Kjell Qvales’s family at British Motors). As dear departed Lucius always maintained, there is something special about a vintage Rolls. As we approached the carriage entrance, mere Cadillacs sank to their knees. It was the first time I ever saw a traffic cop uncover himself and tug his forelock.
En route to this twi-night doubleheader I sat back in that smashing car, turned on “Garrison’s Gorillas,” and browsed through Kobbe’s Complete Book of the Opera, which devotes seven full pages to the evening’s bon-bon, Signor Ponchielli’s “La Gioconda.” Like most librettos, this one makes no sense at all (“When he has gone, Gioconda, who anticipating the fate that might befall the woman who has saved her mother, has been in hiding in the palace, hastens to Laura and hands her a flask containing a narcotic that will create the semblance of death” — and like that). Keeping one eye on “Garrison’s Gorillas,” I riffled to the last page, anticipating that Gioconda would stab herself in the end, and she does. Now that I knew that, I could relax and enjoy the show.
Lord Chesterfield said the opera is “a magic scene contrived to please the eyes and the ears at the expense of the understanding.” Right again, Chesty. It is indeed a magical moment when the lights dim in the great opera house and the golden curtain glows, every patch showing. As you settle back, tails folded primly across your lap, the orchestra plays the National Anthem and you struggle to your feet again for another magical moment: tails caught in seat. This accounts for the half-crouched position you may have noticed. At the end of the Anthem, half a dozen wags hooted, “Play ball!” and everybody giggles. It is thus that the overture begins, interfering only slightly with the conversations in the audience. The curtain rises and there is Mme. Leyla Gencer, the Turkish soprano who sings like — well, a Turk (I expected “Dardanella” any minute). And there’s Renato Cioni, who sings North Beach tenor, mainly from da t’roat, wearing a neo Shriner’s outfit and Adler elevator booties (this is not one of Kurt Herbert Adler’s sidelines, so far as is known.) Anyway, the book was right, except that Mme. Gencer didn’t stab herself in the end. She went for the ribs.
The between-the-acts activity was considerable. Two guards were stationed at Gov. Reagan’s box, prompting a Democratic lady to observe nastily, “Why all the fuss? There are plenty more like him where HE came from.” The mezzanine bar, where people have been known to claw each other to death for one lousy drink, has been refurbished. It now has a soundproof ceiling, to keep the music from seeping through, and a longer bar, placing the bartender farther away than ever. Surveying the glittering scene, I observed “This is the grownups’ New Year’s Eve.” “Halloween,” corrected Maryon Davis Lewis, darkly eyeing a woman wearing more falls than Niagara and false eyelashes that flies could use as a landing field. Joan Hitchcock walked in with her heroic cleavage and Melvin Belli. “They make a lovely trio, don’t they?” inquired Tony Hail. Those cultured titans from the south, Norman and Buffy Chandler, sat out the second act and well into the third, rushing back to their box for “Dance of the Hours” (“Hello, fodda, hello mudda,” as Allan Sherman sings it). Anyway, it’s nice to know what the culturati really dig.
Style note: Whereas the ladies all have to have new gowns for the opera, it’s a source of pride among men to boast about the age of their tails — a nice example of reverse snobbism. David Dibble, for instance, wears his grandfather’s tails, made circa 1911; they are positively green with age, turning the rest of us ditto with envy. John Rosekrans, Jr., was wearing his late father’s white waistcoat (it was John Sr., at an opera opening, who once coined the classic complaint about champagne: “You get full before you get tight.” As for my tails, they date back to 1951 and only now are getting suitably frayed. Tucking some between my legs, I fled the scene, reflecting that whereas Kurt Adler had succeeded in reviving “La Gioconda” in four hours, revising this particular audience would take considerably longer.
COMPLETE RECORDING
1967.09.19
Recording Excerpts [1967.09.19]
O cor dono funesto Act I Scene IX
E un anatema Act II Scene VII
Suicidio! Act IV Scene II
