SFist Goes to the Opera: Dr. Atomic
Writing an opera on the subject of the atomic bomb is a risky endeavour. For the sheer difficulty of the task, of course, but also because it unleashes the easy metaphors: will it be a dud, a fizzle, or a bang? We will say: a big bang -- but while we were blown away by the music, our appreciation is relativized by some other wrong decisions with the set direction.
The opera focuses on the last days leading to the explosion of the first atomic test bomb, in June and July 1945. It is centered about J. Robert Oppenheimer (1904-1967), the scientific director of the Manhattan project, and the founder of the Los Alamos research lab. Let's get some local pride going: Oppie was a member of the Berkeley faculty, as many of the top scientists at Los Alamos (the UC still runs that lab in New Mexico). He lived in the same east bay hills as John Adams, the composer of the opera. We hear that the UC is now considering adding Opera spots to the Nobel parking lot, in case another member gets the honor.
Photos by Terrence McCarthy- SF Opera
The test is crucial, as success means not only that the US will have the most potent weapon first, but also that humanity has eventually acquired the power to destroy itself. Staring into the apocalypse is not a comfortable experience, yet it is exactly the subject the opera tackles. Because of the title similarities, it is hard not to think of Dr. Strangelove (we should mention the Dr. in Kubrik's title is loosely based on Herman Kahn, not Oppenheimer). Kubrik chose, however, to take a step back, and bring some levity to the topic. Adams and Peter Sellars, the director and librettist, eschewed the off-beat take and decided to hand the story back to their characters. Each line sung in the opera virtually comes with a footnote indicating its source: diaries of the protagonists, reports, and write-ups from the historical record. When no paper trail was available to re-enact, say, the bedtime conversation of Oppie and Kitty, or the inner turmoils preceding the blast, Sellars and Adams turn to texts of the Bhagavad Gita, or the poetry of Baudelaire or Donne, all favorites of Oppenheimer. They also insert poems of Muriel Rukeyser, a contemporary of Oppenheimer who attended school with his brother.
It is hard to sum up the narrative arc in the story which weaves around Oppenheimer; two other physicists, Edward Teller and Robert Wilson; the general overseeing the Manhattan project, Leslie Groves; Oppenheimer's wife Kitty; a weather man; and one single fictitious charater, a baby-sitter. It is in part due to the collage aspect of the libretto: dialogues are not really meant to match, nor provide a strict linear progression of the story. Mostly it is due to the fact that Adams and Sellars chose to pace the libretto according to its final countdown, expanding time as the end nears, in a pacing that could be called relativist. While the first act sets up the protagonists and gets the Gadget –the nickname for the bomb- hooked and raised in the test tower, the second act brings us to the night and morning of the test, and focuses on the different ways the protagonists kill, well, time. The general eats chocolate, the scientists bet on the outcome of the blast (some bet on the power to be delivered by the bomb; some bet on whether or not the blast will ignite the atmosphere and destroy all life as well, although we are not too sure what winning the bet would mean to those who pick apocalypse), Kitty gets drunk, etc. Menial tasks take a different color when a bomb is hovering over them.
And hovering it does: we thoroughly enjoyed the beautiful music, but were profoundly annoyed by the staging. The bomb, a life-size recreation of the orginal hangs up there all throughout Act II. The sword of Damocles symbolism was a tad too heavy-handed, to say the least. At one time, a crib is placed below the bomb, which then starts to ominously descend, as if to crush it. It ends up backtracking, but we get it: the end of the world is near. The set is very bare, as if to place humanity without shelter against the atomic gadget. But Sellars for some reason felt the need to fill it with movements which do not make sense. At some point, an industrial aluminium pipe the width of the stage comes down and back up right away for no reason at all other than saying hi. Lab employees push vertical poles in and out, or the background –a cut out of the mountain line in Los Alamos- goes up and down, only inducing sea sickness and confusion. Another device to fill the empty space is the use of dancers. Most of the times, they only distract or worst, look ridiculously out of place: we were thinking of the dance/fight scenes in West Side Story, our previous milestone for the failure of choregraphy to express threat or fear.
That we enjoyed the opera in spite of these is a testament to John Adams' music. He created an oppressive atmosphere, with an omnipresent darkness. The tension is palpable all throughout, with an orchestra split into high and low registers, and little in the middle. Musically, we were reminded of Stravinsky's The Rake's Progress for the textures or the predominance of the male voices. Adams' melodic lines are very horizontal, very close to a recitative (there is no recitative per se, but again there is little action to move forward). The orchestra as well expresses itself not as much through melodic or tonal variations, but rather through percussive and rhythmic variations. When the orchestra gets in a chromatic groove in the first interlude of Act II, we felt that the pacing had changed, that time was jumping ahead through the night. The music changes mood significantly twice, at the end of each act, each time for a master piece.
At the end of Act I, Oppenheimer, sung by Gerald Finley, has a last hesitation. Adams put Donne's Holy Sonnet XIV, "Batter my heart, 3 person'd God," to a wonderful aria. Oppenheimer named the test site "Trinity" because of this poem. Adams and Sellars make it the Faustian bargain that Oppenheimer makes with God, pleading Him to "bend Your force to breake, blowe, burn, and make me new," before crossing to the other side, into a gate of light. This aria, with its haunting melody, stayed with us long after the show was over.
The end of Act II too enthralled us. This time it was the orchestra performance which impressed. Conductor Donald Runnicles masterfully drove the complicated score all night, but the final count-down involves a progression of different tick-tick-ticks which end up going out of phase. It starts with the string pizzicato, adds some brass, then some bells and gongs, in some controlled mayhem which kept us on the edge of our seat.
As for the singers: Gerald Finley impressed us in the first act, but somewhat disappears in the second act. His role somehow fades away as well (and Oppenheimer, an average sized man, did physically fade himself too, weighing 95lb at the end of the war). Tenor Thomas Glenn sings an engaging Robert Wilson, but lacks a bit of power to survive amongst all the basses. The same is true of Kristin Jepson, as Kitty. Her role is difficult as one of the two female characters outside of the choir, the only character to whom Adams gave some vocalizes. She did not stand out as much as she could. Bass Eric Owens as General Leslie Groves conveyed perfectly with his voice the power and authority of the military. The choir, which opens and closes the opera, sung perfectly, but one chorist was always out of sync in his gestures, seemingly looking at his mates to figure out what to do in the finale scene.
For all the nitpicking, it is a very powerful opera, and we highly recommend it. There are few opportunities to attend the unveiling of a new opera and this one is not to be missed.
Dr Atomic
SF Opera
301 van ness avenue
861-4008.
Tickets from $25 to $245.
Remaining shows: 10/5; 10/7; 10/9; 10;/11; 10/14; 10/16; 10/18; 10/20 and 10/20.
Standing room tickets available for $10.