This article first appeared in THE WEEKENDER

26th April 2008

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Puccini, Verdi, Mozart, Bizet and Bach are not to everyone’s taste. At the same time, opera purists don’t like to see these and other cherished operatic icons sexed up, dressed down, parodied or performed in a contemporary, globalised idiom. So in conceiving and creating OperaMania, a visual and musical extravaganza that is part rock opera and part mock opera, Andrew Botha is walking a fine line. But Botha, probably best known in South Africa for his Queen at the Opera, has found a cast and crew who are willing to walk that line boldly (even brazenly) and, for much of the time, with their tongues planted firmly in their cheeks. This attitude is infectious, and it will be hard for those who see the show – opera buffs and the anti-opera brigade alike – not to be carried along by the production’s sheer iconoclastic energy.

The show begins in neo-classical vein, with columns, pillars and other Greco-Roman flourishes setting what seems to be a grand and severe tone. It soon becomes clear, however, that the divas (Angela Kilian, Katherine Henderson and Andrea Shine) and the divos (Robert Finlayson, Cobus Venter and Reinhardt Nel) don’t take themselves too seriously – or, at least, within the mini-narratives of the early scenes, they aren’t allowed to take themselves seriously because they are repeatedly undermined in their interaction with the production’s scantily-clad troupe of dancers (Yaron Blasbalg, Danielle Mann, Sibusiso Radebe, Ebrahim Medell, Anton Labuschagne and Janine Bowers).

It’s difficult to interpret the over-the-top sexiness of OperaMania. On the one hand, it seems to be an earnest modernisation of the sexual intrigue, deceit and lust that is latent in so many of the great operas. On the other hand, it seems to be gratuitous and anything but sincere: simply an attempt to poke fun at the angst-ridden romances typical of opera, and at the assumptions about masculinity and femininity on which these romances are built. The women in this show are mostly brassy sexual predators; the men are often camp or comical in their unconvincing machismo.

An ambivalent approach to the characteristics of opera as an art form is sustained throughout OperaMania. The costuming is rich in anachronistic detail, the set design is grand in scale (deceptively so – flat printed screens produce a 3D effect), stage levels are constantly changing and backdrops morph moment by moment. The visual and textural sensuousness associated with opera is thus endorsed.

Yet the show also distances itself from operatic hyperbole, imaginative excess and pretension through regular intrusions of “low culture”. The dancers mimic erotic go-go routines, or portray kinky cupids rather than innocent cheribs. Many of the songs and arias themselves are delivered with a light-hearted incongruity: at one point, Finlayson sings “Voi, che sapete” from The Marriage of Figaro as a Frank-N-Furter-type transvestite and is then joined by others in the cast for a rendition of “Bobbejaan klim die berg”.

To be fair, this – along with an extract from Meatloaf’s “I would do anything for love” – is the only piece that doesn’t have its roots in European high opera. On the whole, the musical standards of the show match those of “orthodox” opera, as one would expect from a cast and crew who regularly perform in such productions. I felt that, on opening night, there were a few uncertain moments (perhaps to be expected when the first number is “Der hölle rache” from The Magic Flute, a particularly taxing aria) but the vocal range and strength of each member in this highly-rated cast became manifest as the show continued.

Also increasingly evident in the latter half of OperaMania is the remarkable ability of Charl-Johan Lingenfelder to create unique arrangements of well-known pieces of music – to make the familiar strange, and in so doing to challenge the listener to appreciate the complexities of over-worn arias and librettos. Two items from Madame Butterfly are introduced with a combination of Japanese traditional instrumentation (missing from Puccini’s compositions) and haunting electronica. In the final act, Verdi and friends are reworked against the throbbing base of house music to match an innovative setting for numbers from La Traviata, Aida, Carmen, La Boheme and Rigaletto: “Hell”, an underground club in which the protagonists embark on a hedonistic, drug-induced journey that leads to the inevitable operatic climaxes of broken hearts, death and damnation.

In between these two is a scene that owes as much to Delhi and Mumbai as it does to Vienna or Milan. Part Bollywood, part opera, this is another visually impressive scene, with a huge blue cloth used to create a turbulent sea. It’s difficult, however, to take it seriously with a title like “Imagination sous-marine exotique (Exotic underwear fantasy)”. That should probably read “underwater fantasy”, but it doesn’t really matter; the point of the faux Italian/French/German titles listed on the programme, along with false translations, is that OperaMania does not have the kind of elaborate plot found in most operas. In fact, it does not have any plot at all.

This is not to say, however, that it simply reproduces a series of “opera hits” without paying attention to the context of the story in which each piece has its origin. In fact, for those who really know their opera, quite the opposite may be true. Not being an opera fundi myself, I had the feeling I was missing out on opera in-jokes and cross-references throughout the show. Knowing chuckles around me suggested that there were nonetheless quite a number of these allusions.

Ultimately, however, neither the form nor the content of OperaMania is meant to be taken as seriously as “serious” opera. This does present a potential pitfall to Botha and his colleagues: although the overall mood of the production is light, the sounds and sights are clearly meant to astound the audience. But, after the descent into bathos early in the show, it is difficult to evoke pathos; or, to put it another way, once you’ve laughed at the ridiculous, the sublime remains elusive – having said which, I was deeply moved in the final scene as Venter led the cast through a powerful version of “Nessun dorma”.

It will be interesting to see how audiences react to this inventive, daring show.