Top 10 most recognizable opera pieces used in film

You probably know more opera music than you think you do. If you like to watch TV or go to the movies, you’ve undoubtedly heard music from operas used in ways the original composers could never have even imagined. We’ve raided the Seattle Opera archives to put together a playlist featuring some of opera’s greatest hits—tunes you may already know because you’ve heard them in the cinema.

#1: From Apocalypse Now: Ride of the Valkyries (Die Walküre)

Francis Ford Coppola used the “Ride of the Valkyries,” famous music from the second opera of the Ring cycle, not for Wagner’s Norse goddesses of death but for American helicopters dealing out death from above in Vietnam in Apocalypse Now. It made for a brilliant, chilling moment—opera music used not just for emotional effect but as part of a film’s story.

Sung by Wendy Bryn Harmer, Jessica Klein, Suzanne Hendrix, Luretta Bybee, Tamara Mancini, Sarah Heltzel, Renée Tatum, and Cecelia Hall, with the Seattle Opera Orchestra conducted by Asher Fisch.

Western Fantasies of the East:

Orientalism at the Opera

The Pearl Fishers at Seattle Opera in 1994
Photo by Greg Eastman

Nowadays in the United States, the terms “Orient” and “Oriental” are well known as dated, racist labels for Asian peoples and cultures. But when we’re talking about opera and European art from the past, “Orientalism” has a much broader meaning. Orientalism referred to a white European fascination with Middle Eastern, Asian, and North African societies. Often, Orientalist operas depict friction between the dominant culture and an exotic, untamable “other.”⁣⁣ Orientalist works of art such as The Pearl Fishers, Carmen, Djamileh, Lakmé, Madame Butterfly and others helped European viewers fulfill fantasies about “exotic” people. These works also helped to justify ideas of superiority that fueled imperialism and colonialism. ⁣⁣

Historically and artistically, Orientalist operas occupy a curious position. These works were created during a period of enormous western imperial expansion, when European powers were racing each other to establish colonies all over the world. The folks back home had plenty of curiosity about the non-western world, but their access to real information was extremely limited. Thus, when we enjoy these works today, we also hold all the complexity of what they represent: Storytelling from a limited worldview. Narratives that often fail to represent non-white cultures with dignity and humanity. One can still enjoy a work of art, or beautiful music—while recognizing its limitations.

"I've been torn my entire life as an Indian American who conducts opera and orchestral rep," said Maestro Viswa Subbaraman, on the Seattle Opera podcast. "I see an opera like Lakmé, with its many religious themes, and I find this depiction of Hinduism to be quaint. But I'm also an advocate for not throwing the baby out with the bathwater. We look at these pieces through the realm of history. The music is beautiful, and the plots are difficult to deal with now. So I think we need to find ways to contextualize these pieces for our audiences without throwing out some real masterpieces." 

With musical examples from the Seattle Opera archives, here are some basic characteristics of the Orientalist opera genre:

Breathtaking beauty.

Madama Butterfly at Seattle Opera in 2012
Photo by Alan Alabastro

Fantasy worlds tend to be prettier than the real world, and the reason these Orientalist operas are still so popular is they’re really beautiful, both in terms of the visuals and the music. Often, the stories are actually about beauty, or how we react to it. The character of Vasco da Gama, in Meyerbeer’s L’Africaine, speaks for the audience in his aria, “O Paradis”: “O paradise, emerging from the sea, sky so blue, so clear, you ravish my eyes, you belong to me!” The Pearl Fishers is about the effects of beauty: the plot begins when best friends Nadir and Zurga both fall madly in love at first sight with an incomparably lovely woman, just as Puccini’s Turandot concerns a woman so irresistible any man who sees her will eagerly lay down his life for her. Among fictional western beauties, only Helen of Troy could compete.

Here’s a famous passage from an Orientalist opera whose only raison d’être is its beauty: the duet for the priestess Lakmé and her mezzo friend Mallika, from Délibes’ Lakmé (1883). Apart from indicating that the two young women are gorgeous, this duet doesn’t advance the story of the opera one bit. Yet it’s the beauty of this duet that makes people buy tickets for Lakmé.

Huguette Tourangeau and Joan Sutherland as Mallika and Lakmé at Seattle Opera in 1967
Photo by Des Gates

The “Flower Duet” from Délibes’ Lakmé, sung by Sutherland and Tourangeau, conducted by Richard Bonynge

Heightened, fantastical religion.

Nabucco at Seattle Opera in 2015
Photo by Philip Newton

Religion is of course a loaded topic. If the composer/librettist team placed the story in Europe, religion was handled very carefully. But through Orientalist works, these European creators went wild in dreaming up highly exaggerated or laughably inaccurate scenarios. Whether the characters are worshipping Baal (as in Nabucco), Dagon (in Samson et Dalila), or Diane (in Iphigénie en Tauride), the cults in these operas are always big on superstition and human sacrifice, and led by power-hungry fanatics. In The Pearl Fishers, not only do the grim priest Nourabad and his people worship easily irritated weather gods using the names of Hindu deities, they do so with extremely Catholic music. For the big choral hymn to Brahma, Bizet recycled music he had originally written for a Te Deum. You can all but smell the incense in the aisles of Nôtre Dame as Bizet’s pearl fishers pray for the gods not to smite them with lightning.

In an Orientalist opera written a few years later, a more experienced composer found a clever way around the question of how to write music for an invented religion and culture. For Aida (1871), Verdi invented a strange musical world full of pungent harmonies and curling arabesques to give the offstage chanting of his high priestess its eerie character:

Prayers to Ptah from Verdi’s Aida, Act 1 Scene 2, sung by Priti Gandhi, conducted by Riccardo Frizza

Unrestrained sensuality

Elizabeth Zharoff (Léïla) and Anthony Kalil (Nadir) in Seattle Opera's 2015 Pearl Fishers. 

While European religious culture encouraged uptight attitudes about sexuality at home, Orientalism eroticized the "ethnic" body, and these fetishistic narratives contribute to the hyper-sexualization of People of Color today. In Orientalist works, we see femme fatales who suck men dry and then toss the empties aside (see Bizet’s Carmen); enslaved young women lusting for their cruel masters (see Bizet’s Djamileh); and studly men devoting their lives to each other, eschewing the company of women (see Bizet’s Pearl Fishers). Dance, not always obligatory in opera, plays a big role in Orientalist works, because it brings sensuality so vividly onstage. Can you imagine Samson and Dalila without its orgiastic bacchanal, or Prince Igor without its provocative Dance of the Polovtsian Maidens?

We could have put together a whole playlist of famous dance sequences from French Orientalist works, but instead here’s an excerpt from a German opera, the famous Dance of the Seven Veils from Salome by Richard Strauss (1905). Based on a play by Oscar Wilde, this opera, which sweats in a sultry atmosphere of homoeroticism, nymphomania, incest, pedophilia, and necrophilia, went on to inspire generations of film composers when Orientalism continued through Hollywood.

Dance of the Seven Veils from Richard Strauss’sSalome, conducted by Gerard Schwarz

Cruel tyrants.

Aida at Seattle Opera in 2008
Photo by Rozarii Lynch

What’s an escapist fantasy without an over-the-top villain, a Darth Vader or Magneto or Wicked Witch of the West? In Orientalist opera, the bad guy tends to be a fearsome despot of legendary cruelty. The early days of the genre coincided with the vogue for “Rescue operas,” so in Mozart’s Abduction from the Seraglio the tenor rescues his soprano from a Turkish pasha’s harem, foiling the lust of the villainous bass, while Rossini’s Italian Girl in Algiers rescues her tenor from slavery, escaping the lust of another villainous bass. But those are both light-hearted comic operas, with bad guys who are really pretty silly. Nabucco, Attila, Turandot, and Rodgers & Hammerstein’s King of Siam are more serious threats, while stern religious fanatics like Lakmé’s father or Madama Butterfly’s uncle are just plain bad news.

Here’s a wicked tyrant from an opera predating the glory days of orientalist opera: Tolomeo, Cleopatra’s vicious little brother from Handel’s Giulio Cesare (1724), who greets Caesar upon his arrival in Egypt with the severed head of Pompey the Great. At least, here’s how Caesar describes Tolomeo, telling the audience all we need to know about this lascivious eastern villain: “I will say you are wicked. Get out of my sight! You are cruelty itself. A king is never harsh, and always knows mercy.”

”Empio, dirò, tu sei” from Handel’s Giulio Cesare, sung by Ewa Podles, conducted by Gary Thor Wedow

Incomparable splendor.

The Magic Flute at Seattle Opera in 1999
Photo by Gary Smith

Realistic art, in nineteenth-century Europe, took as its subject the everyday life of poor people. But Orientalist fantasy celebrates the opposite: lifestyles of the rich and powerful, drowning in wealth and enjoying outrageous adventures on the other side of the world. In addition to all the fun Arabian Nights stuff—lucky shipwrecks, wealthy caravans, sumptuous harems, and pirate treasure—these operas revel in scenes like Aida’s triumphal march, where the conquering army shows off all the treasures they’ve looted; or Herod’s long aria from Salome, in which the tyrant tries to tempt the girl with every item of value in his kingdom.

Here, from Puccini’s Turandot (1926), is a glorious musical processional into the sumptuous throne room at the heart of the legendary Forbidden City. Puccini had much more access to authentic Chinese music than earlier composers in this tradition; for this passage he stole some traditional tunes, invented others, and put it all together to powerful dramatic effect.

Interlude from Act Two of Puccini’s Turandot, conducted by Asher Fisch

Staff Chat with the Turandot Percussion Section

In a Turandot performance, there is no missing Puccini’s enthusiastic use of percussion—particularly the gongs—to evoke the atmosphere of his Chinese fairy-tale kingdom. So for this issue’s Staff Chat, we spoke with three members of Seattle Symphony’s percussion section: the section’s principal, Michael Werner; Ron Johnson; and Michael Clark. Each spoke about the challenges of percussion and of the pleasures of playing for an orchestra that involves both the symphonic and opera repertoire.

Turandot’s percussion section is robust (and busy). By comparison, Madama Butterflycalls for three players who play at the same time for about five minutes. In Turandot, five percussionists play together for about half the opera. The instruments are as varied as the gongs and snare drums, chimes and a tam-tam. The players will be arranging 12 tuned gongs on racks, running backstage to play in the banda, and performing a technically challenging four- mallet glockenspiel part.

Playing in the percussion section involves a number of unique challenges. First there is the problem of space, the sheer number of instruments that need to fit in the pit, with enough room for the percussionists to maneuver around each other and the instruments. Moving from one instrument to the next without bumping into one another requires a level of athleti­cism and teamwork unique to their section of the orchestra.

Michael Werner, who came to Seattle after 13 years at the Metropolitan Opera, likes that percussion keeps him on his toes. “The wind players go into the pit with their clari­net in their hand and they sit down and that’s what they play,” he says. “We go in and we’re maybe playing on the vibraphone and maybe someone else has to play that vibraphone later. So it’s more of a shared approach.”

Ron Johnson, a native of Seattle and longtime car racer, has been with the orchestra since 1966, when he was 18 years old. He loves opera, Puccini’s in particular, and he notes how opera requires a different method of playing than symphonic music: “The opera audience is really concentrat­ing on the singers and the visual [elements] going on onstage; they’re not really listen­ing to the music directly. We have to play in such a way as to invade their subconscious. We have to get in under their defenses, so to speak. A symphony orchestra audience is after something more subtle. They listen with completely different ears. In opera, if it isn’t ultra dramatic, if every note doesn’t have a life of its own, then it’s boring.”

Composers sometimes also throw percus­sionists the additional curveball of includ­ing an instrument the musicians have never heard of before, or the occasional special effect. Sometimes an instrument isn’t avail­able and the section has to find a way to make the same sound called for in the score. For instance, Puccini created a part for a bass xylophone, an instrument that was unavailable, so Michael Clark will play the part on marimba instead.

Clark, also a Seattle native, remembers needing a ride from his father to get his union card when he first started with the orchestra at age 15. He joined the orchestra full time in 1991. In addition to the marimba, he’ll be playing the tam-tam, crash cymbals, and triangle, though his favorite Turandot sounds come from the bass drum. “The bass drum notes in Turandot make you feel like you wrapped yourself in a warm blanket,” he says.

-Jessica Murphy
Photo by Elise Bakketun
This Staff Chat first appeared in Seattle Opera’s program for Turandot in August 2012.

Meet MARCY STONIKAS, Who Sings Today's Matinee with RIC FURMAN

At today's matinee performance of Fidelio, soprano Marcy Stonikas in the title role will be joined by American tenor Ric Furman in the role of Florestan (right, photo of Stonikas and Furman by Elise Bakketun). Speight Jenkins, General Director of Seattle Opera, originally engaged Furman to cover Clifton Forbis in the role. Says Jenkins, “Florestan is one of the most taxing roles ever written for tenor. But Ric Furman has proven himself up to the challenge, so I asked him to sing the role at today's performance.”

Recent roles for Furman include Don José in Carmen (Springfield Regional Opera), Tito in Mozart’s La clemenza di Tito (Opera Company of Brooklyn), and Camille in The Merry Widow (Muddy River Opera). A graduate of the University of Cincinnati College-Conservatory of Music and Western Illinois University, Furman is a former young artist with Cincinnati Opera and Opera Omaha. He sang his first Wagner role in 2010, as Augustin Moser in Cincinnati Opera’s Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg, and last year sang a concert of music from Wagner’s Ring with Kentucky Symphony Orchestra.

We hope to check in with Furman this coming week. For now, let's hear from former Seattle Opera Young Artist Marcy Stonikas, who today makes her second big role debut with us this season: two months ago she sang her first Turandot on our stage.

Welcome back! Before we talk about Fidelio, let’s go back to Turandot. How was that experience for you?
It was awesome. I had a really wonderful time, and loved every minute of it. It’s not very often you get to watch an opera you’re actually in, and I got a lot of experience watching it. I think that probably informed my own performance a lot, because I got to see everybody else’s mojo going on, and then got a really good sense of the big picture, so I was able to figure out how I fit into that puzzle. Turandot was a huge, beautiful, awesome-looking thing and it was really cool to be part of it.

Marcy Stonikas sings an excerpt from Seattle Opera's Turandot

Marcy Stonikas as Turandot in Seattle Opera's production this summer.
Photo by Elise Bakketun

Now, in Fidelio, you get the challenge of portraying a woman pretending to be a man. Have you ever performed a role in drag before?
I did a student-written opera when I was in undergrad at Oberlin, in which everyone was in drag. All the guys were women, and all the women were men. It was a very short and small opera, but I remember distinctly that I had even penciled on a mustache or something, and no one had any idea I was a female until I started singing, and then I watched every head go woosh!

How has the rehearsal process for Fidelio been?
It’s been great. I’ve worked with Stage Director Chris Alexander before [in 2011’s The Magic Flute], and I’ve worked with Conductor Asher Fisch because he conducted Turandot, so I felt comfortable coming into this situation.

Anya Matanovič (left) as the First Lady, Marcy Stonikas (center) as the Second Lady, Lindsey Anderson (right) as the Third Lady, and John Tessier (on the ground) as Tamino in 2011's The Magic Flute. Three of these singers are reunited in Fidelio: Matanovič sings Marzelline, Stonikas sings Leonore on October 14, and Tessier sings Jaquino.
Photo by Rozarii Lynch

In some ways, Leonore is bachelor Beethoven’s fantasy of the ultimate woman/perfect wife, instead of a well-drawn fictional character. Do you find her three dimensional?
I definitely think there are realistic traits to her, but I have to agree to a certain extent with your statement, because I told my husband I feel like Fidelio is a Disney movie. It’s all sad and filled with tension and conflict and then there's a happy glowing storybook ending at the end. But as far as Leonore goes, I would hazard to guess she is what every wife wants to be. Or maybe that’s just me; I would love to be perfect. I would love to think that if my husband were gone for two years, I wouldn’t just sit back and think that he was gone or that he’d left me or that he died, and that I would go out and find him. But I don’t know. It makes me think of Castaway with Tom Hanks. Helen Hunt’s character goes on and gets married again, because he’s been gone for so long. That’s sad. You want to believe that you’d wait and have that happy reunion.

I guess you never know ‘til you’re in that sort of situation yourself.
Yeah, I mean I’ve very grateful that up to this point I haven’t been! [Laughs]

It’s often pointed out by many people that this is a tough role to sing. Have you found that to be true?
Yes, I definitely think that’s true. I have moments of panic here and there, because the second act, except for Florestan’s aria in the beginning, has Leonore on stage for the entire time. And she’s singing the entire time, pretty much. And I’ll think, “Oh my gosh, I have to make it through this song and then I have to go into this other song right after! What am I going to do?!” But it’s all about pacing yourself, and that’s something you have to do in general when you sing the kind of rep that this is. When you sing any Wagner, Verdi, Strauss, any long operas, these are things that you run into.

Ric Furman (Florestan) and Marcy Stonikas (Leonore) sing the Sunday matinee of Fidelio on October 14.
Photo by Elise Bakketun

Do you have a favorite moment in Fidelio?
I really love the music in my first number, the quartet. It’s really brilliantly woven. It starts with Marzelline and then Leonore gets added in and then Rocco gets added in and then Jaquino gets added in. And it’s just really Beethoven. It’s really simple but beautiful and I think it’s touching every time. So far, that’s my favorite.

We also know you have a one-year-old son named Henry; do you ever find yourself singing to him? I do! I sing lullabies to him, predominantly, like kid songs you probably got sung as well. What’s interesting is you have to remember those songs after so many years and that’s hard! My mom came to visit and she sang a song to him that I’d forgotten she used to sing to me, and it was one of my favorites, so now it’s in my repertoire. [Laughs] We have our lullaby repertoire, and he also likes nursery rhymes.

Is he an opera fan yet?
As far as opera goes, he heard five operas in utero, because I was in five shows while I was pregnant—which is crazy when I think back on it. So he’s pretty attentive, actually, when I sing, but I think I’m really loud in general, and I think sometimes I’m shockingly loud to him. He puts his head on my chest so he’s below my mouth, and then I’ll put my hand on his other ear, so he can hear the vibrations. I think he likes that; it’s probably similar to what it was like in the womb. I was at Wolf Trap this summer and there was a bass that would carry him around and hum, and Henry would nuzzle up to him, he loved hearing the bass.

Marcy Stonikas as Leonore in Seattle Opera's current production of Fidelio.
Photo by Elise Bakketun

Sounds like he might wind up being a musician himself.
I know, but I kind of hope he doesn’t. Obviously, I want him to be a good musician—but I also hope he doesn’t choose it as a career. Lord help him! It’s so hard! But I just want him to be happy. And my husband is an actor, so he’s doomed.

Maybe he’ll rebel and become a botanist.
Ooh, that would be good! Or he could be an engineer. We’re already giving him lots of science-y things, and every toy is a tool. [Laughs]

Turandot Broadcast Night Q&A with Speight Jenkins

After every performance, General Director Speight Jenkins hosts a free Q&A session in the lecture hall at McCaw Hall. Listen to this live recording as Jenkins candidly answers the audience's questions after the Saturday, August 11, performance of Turandot. This Q&A session was also broadcast live on KING FM and can be found on their 24-hour Seattle Opera Channel.

Meet Our Singers: LUIS CHAPA, Calaf

Mexican tenor Luis Chapa made his U.S. debut with Seattle Opera last season, as Don José in Carmen, and he's back now to sing Calaf in Turandot (pictured right, photo by Elise Bakketun). Today we ask Chapa about his role, and find out what motivates Calaf and why we should root for him. We also learn why Chapa wasn't impressed by "Nessun dorma" the first time he heard it!

Chapa sings one more performance of Turandot, this Sunday, August 12. For more information, visit seattleopera.org/turandot.

Welcome back to Seattle! What have you been up to since making your U.S. debut here last October as Don José?
Well, I have had quite a few interesting productions. I did my first Tannhäuser, which was a great success, I did a few Otellos, and quite a few concerts. And then took three months off, which I needed to do after working nonstop for the last three years. I stayed at home in London with my wife and my daughter, went to the gym in the mornings, did scales in the afternoon, and relaxed. And now here we are.

Luis Chapa as Don José in Seattle Opera's 2011 production of Carmen.
Photo by Elise Bakketun

And now you’re back for Calaf in Turandot. Have you sung this role before?
Yes, I’ve done it in Poland and also in the UK. But I have to say this one in Seattle is one of the most interesting productions of Turandot I’ve done. The concept is fantastic.

What sets it apart from other productions?
That it’s not the standard stand-and-deliver. There is so much care for the details here and the human relationship between Turandot and Calaf is brought to the forefront. It’s about the people. It should always be like that, but it’s not always the case—so thank God we have this director [Renaud Doucet].

Let’s talk about Calaf. Do you like this character, or relate to him?
Well, you know, when I prepare a role, I don’t try to like him. I try to study the character and to merge into the parts of his personality I can interpret the best. He’s a prince—a deposed prince, but still a prince—so he’s a person who sees the chance to regain a kingdom, and he considers himself at the same level of any princess or queen. So he goes into the riddles as if he were Turandot’s equal. He’s very confident, but without being cocky. He knows he belongs there, and that he can win the challenge.

Luis Chapa (Calaf) and Marcy Stonikas (Turandot) in Seattle Opera's current production of Turandot.
Photo by Elise Bakketun

Of course, Calaf is most famous for singing “Nessun dorma.” Do you remember the first time you heard this aria?
Well, obviously, the Three Tenors concert, that goes without saying. That was the first time I heard it, and I have to say it didn’t have much of an impact on me. I thought it was a nice song, but it only really started to interest me when I heard it within the context of the whole opera, because it represents the credo of Calaf. He’s somebody that believes he’s going to win in whatever he does, and when I heard “Nessun dorma” in the opera, I said, “Ah. That’s it!” With all the power of the opera behind it, it’s climactic and so good. But when I hear it on its own, it’s just a nice tune.

Do you ever get nervous about singing an aria so beloved and anticipated?
No, not nervous. But I get very excited. It’s like driving in a race with a very good car. This is a super production, the staging is formidable, the acoustics in McCaw Hall are some of the best, so if I’m going to sing this piece—and, yes, most tenors make or break with this particular aria—I’m being provided here with the very best tools. If I were singing it with just an orchestra and in a very bad theater, I’d be nervous. But in this situation, I’m excited.

You can hear a clip of Luis Chapa singing "Nessun dorma" HERE.

Peter Rose (Timur) and Luis Chapa (Calaf) in Seattle Opera's current production of Turandot.
Photo by Elise Bakketun

What motivates Calaf? Is it really love, or is it something else?
I think he wants to be back in royalty. That has to be his first motivation. In the process, he gets bewitched by Turandot’s beauty. And that’s a great passion that becomes very human in the end, but his first motivator is to regain a kingdom. It has to be, otherwise it’s not real—unless he takes a potion, an elixir de amor, you cannot make that work.

So you’re saying he wouldn’t risk his life only to win someone’s love.
No, because if he were to do that, he would do it for Liù. If he were that kind of man, he would do it for Liù. The motivator is the kingdom.

Since you bring it up, how does Calaf see Liù?
You see, if I’m honest, everybody will hate me. [Laughs] That’s why I don’t identify with the character. He’s a prince, she’s a slave. Within this context, there’s a separation. Obviously she saved his father, so he’s very grateful to her and her commitment, and he’s very moved by the sacrifice she made. But kings, queens, princes, they expect people to die for them. But Liù is a formidable character and I think if she were to live and the story were to develop, she could be a princess somewhere else, with her fortitude, her character. But it is how it is.

Grazia Doronzio (Liù) and Luis Chapa (Calaf) in Seattle Opera's current production of Turandot.
Photo by Elise Bakketun

Why should the audience like Calaf, then? What do you want the audience to see in him?
A human being, born into royalty, who has a mission in life. Obviously, in times of crisis, we don’t tend to think about the rich, but rich people who lose their fortunes also suffer—in a different way, but they also suffer. Suffering and pain is not particular to a certain social status. So, Calaf is somebody who lost absolutely everything. He thought his family had been killed, but it turns out his father had become a beggar. Calaf was in exile, and perhaps he was a beggar himself. And then he sees his chance to regain a kingdom and to, at the same time, fall in love with a princess. He’s lost everything but he fights his way back. It’s very comfortable to stay in the position of a victim, and he refuses to do that. There’s valor in that.

Turandot - The Hair & Makeup Challenge

Watch time-lapse footage of the Seattle Opera Hair & Makeup Crew as they prepare over 100 "People of Peking" in just 1 hour.



Learn more about Turandot on the Seattle Opera Website

Meet Our Singers: GRAZIA DORONZIO, Liù

Last Sunday, Italian soprano Grazia Doronzio made her Seattle Opera debut as Liù in Turandot. As a tortured slave with a giant heart, Liù stands in contrast to the the cold Princess Turandot, and we speak to Grazia about this wonderful character and her music, below.

Grazia will also sing Liù in tonight's performance, and for a final time on Sunday, August 12. To learn even more about Grazia, visit the Made in Italy Mall blog, which recently posted an in-depth interview with the soprano.

For more on Turandot visit seattleopera.org/turandot.

First, welcome to Seattle Opera! Could you tell us a little about your background?
Well, I’m from Stigliano, which is a small village in Matera, in the south of Italy. I started to take voice lessons when I was about 15 or 16 years old, and then I went to the Conservatorio Rossini in Pesaro, and then to Rome, to the Accademia Nazionale di Santa Cecilia. After that, I did the Lindemann Young Artist Development Program at the Metropolitan Opera.

What have been your favorite roles to sing, so far in your career?
I think, at the very top of my list, there are three favorite roles: Liù, Mimì, and Susanna.

Grazia Doronzio as Liù in Seattle Opera's current production of Turandot.
Photo by Elise Bakketun

What do you like so much about Liù?
I think Liù is real. She’s the right combination of strength and sweetness. It’s a real human being in this character. She is very strong, but she’s also fragile and sweet and very helpful. She wants to take care of everything. But she also struggles with being insecure about her situation, because of course she’s scared.

Also, she loves. That’s so important for me to remember when I think about Liù. In this opera, she’s the one most capable of love.

The audience tends to like her as much as you do! Sometimes she overshadows even Turandot.
[Laughs] Well, I think this could also be because of the beautiful music Puccini wrote for Liù. Of course, in Turandot, everyone knows “Nessun dorma,” maybe the most famous tenor aria. But I think that the music Puccini wrote for this young girl is such special music. I think the public loves Liù also because of her music.

Which of her arias is your favorite?
I have three beautiful arias, so it’s hard to decide! I think the most moving aria is the first one, “Signore, ascolta!” and I think the reason is because it’s the first moment—well, aside from a small phrase she says earlier—when she finally finds courage to tell him to listen to her. I think in that aria, Liù talks to Calaf not only for herself, but on behalf of Timur.

Marcy Stonikas (Turandot) and Grazio Doronzio (Liù) in Seattle Opera's current production of Turandot. Both sopranos sing their roles for the final time in this production on Sunday, August 12.
Photo by Elise Bakketun

Don’t you just wish Calaf would forget about Turandot and fall in love with Liù instead?
I think probably everybody in the audience hopes this! [Laughs] But it’s impossible, because of her status. Liù is a slave, Calaf is a prince. She cannot even think of it. She wouldn’t have ever dared to talk to him—so when she finally does talk to him, she knows it’s already too much. There is no hope that they could be together, considering both their statuses.

So, how would you describe the relationship between Liù and Timur? She’s his slave, but there also seems to be a real affection there.
It’s interesting. Timur is a king, even if he lost his battle and is in trouble now. He’s still a king. But he also needs help, and he found in Liù the only help available. She really takes care of him. She wants to help and make sure everything is fine, and she knows she’s the only one who can help him. She brings with her everything they have—the few things, the few bags—and she carries it all, and even helps Timur to walk. He is blind, so he can’t go anywhere without Liù. So this changes their relationship, because at this point she becomes a human, and not just a slave. We can actually see a huge difference in the behavior between Liù and Calaf and Liù and Timur. With Timur, she’s a person. With Calaf, she’s a slave. It’s so immediate.

Peter Rose (Timur) and Grazia Doronzio (Liù) in Seattle Opera's current production of Turandot.
Photo by Elise Bakketun

Do you think Timur knew all along that Liù was in love with his son?
I would say probably not. I think the first big revelation is at the beginning of the opera, when Timur says to Calaf, “She’s been helping me all this time when you were not with me, because I thought you were dead. She was my only support and my guide.” And Calaf is surprised and talks to Liù—suddenly, for the first time, he notices this slave—and says “Why did you do this? Why did you suffer with him?” And she says, “I’m doing this because you once smiled at me.” I think it’s at that moment that Timur understands.

Meet Our Singers: MARCY STONIKAS, Turandot

Making her role debut today as Turandot is Marcy Stonikas, one of the incredible singers who has come through Seattle Opera’s Young Artists Program. Operagoers of the Pacific Northwest first heard Marcy’s thrillingly warm, lush, soprano in 2010, when she sang Ariadne in the YAP production of the Strauss opera; she returned the next season, for Donna Anna in the YAP Don Giovanni, and made her mainstage debut a month later as the Second Lady in The Magic Flute. She’s ready now for even greater challenges, taking on the demanding title roles of Turandot and Fidelio—and one new role which is more important than any other.

Marcy, since we heard you in those Mozart roles last year, you’ve become a mother!
Yes, last September. Of course that’s been amazing. It’s really funny, people always say “It changes your life!” “It’s the best thing that will ever happen to you!” “You’ll live through your kid,” and I’m like, “Yeah, yeah, yeah...” But everything they say is true. Henry, my son, is so much like my husband and I, in some strange, funny ways.

And we, the Seattle Opera audience, know your husband, Brian Simmons...
That’s right, because he played the Sherriff in Porgy and Bess last summer.

So what is it Henry does that’s reminiscent of Brian and you?
He furrows his brow exactly the way Brian does. And a ten-month old baby furrowing his brow is hilarious. People say his eyes look like mine...when he smiles, they say he looks just like me. Also, and he’s like me in this: when Henry gets hungry, you need to feed him immediately, or he becomes very difficult to handle. My husband is a pro at this!

And do you sing to him?
I do. A friend was visiting the other day, and Henry was cranky, he needed to go down for a nap, and I was rocking him and singing...

What were you singing?
“Toora loora loora,” this Irish lullaby. And Ilga, my friend, thought it was funny because his feet, which were tense, like this [demonstrates], the second I started singing they went limp, his whole body relaxed, and he fell asleep! And she said, “But has he ever REALLY heard you sing?” And yes, first of all he heard me sing five operas in utero. And he heard me sing Donna Anna again this summer, and heard me coaching Turandot a bunch. He listens very acutely to me, when I’m singing, he focuses, ‘vwoop!’ [demonstrates] and smiles...

Good audience!
Yes, very good audience. So long as he’s well-fed.

Marcy Stonikas as Princess Turandot
Elise Bakketun, photo

You can hear a brief clip of Marcy Stonikas singing Turandot HERE.

Just like all of us. Now here at Seattle Opera we've got you back-to-back singing Turandot and Leonore in Fidelio, both huge roles, and quite different. What’s most important about the difference, to you?
The tessitura, the range of notes where your voice will live all night, is quite different, so you have to warm up a bit differently. I don’t have to go up to a high C a bunch of times for Leonore, like I do for Turandot. But I do have to sing down, in my middle voice, a lot for that role. So I don’t work on them on the same day—I don’t want to warm my voice down, if I’m singing Turandot, and I don’t want to get things too high, if I’m singing Leonore. But technically, you sing everything with the same instrument: I breathe the same way, I approach the notes the same way...

The orchestras are quite different: Beethoven’s orchestra is not as noisy as this humongous Turandot orchestra. Does that affect your work?
No...I don’t think about it that much until I’m with the orchestra, to tell the truth.

Both these roles are considered big, hochdramatisch, ‘laser-soprano’ roles, unlike, say, the lighter Mozart roles you’ve sung for us. But it’s the same game, so far as you’re concerned?
Yes, the idea with singing dramatic soprano roles is keeping the beauty you’ve (hopefully) attained singing Donna Anna, or more lyric things. People expect you just to be loud, singing these roles, but you take it to the next level if you can make it sound pretty at the same time. That’s my goal.

Who are your favorite dramatic sopranos?
Jane Eaglen is my teacher, I idolize her; Nilsson, obviously, who’s amazing and I listen to her every recording like crazy; I love Christine Brewer, and Deborah Voigt...

People who are able to sing with the requisite size of voice, the royal majesty for these roles, and also still be beautiful.
I think so. That’s what makes me want to listen to them.

Marcy Stonikas as Ariadne in the 2010 Young Artists Production, with Joanna Foote as Naiad, Jennifer Edwards as Echo, Jenni Bank as Dryad, and Vira Slywotzky as the Composer
Chris Bennion, photo

What roles will you be singing in five years? We heard a young dramatic soprano here not long ago as Isolde...
Seattle Opera is a big house for such a challenging role. I probably won’t be ready for that so soon.

Have you looked at it?
I’ve performed Isolde’s “Liebestod” before, with orchestra. But that’s at the very end of Tristan und Isolde. You have to be able to sing straight for 2 ½ hours before that! And there’s that long love duet, it’s crazy, depending on the conductor it can be 40 minutes or so...

The part where Jane Eaglen absolutely used to devastate me wasn’t even the “Liebestod,” it was the passage right before that, the “Klage,” where she laments her lover’s death, you know, “How could you leave me here like this?”
Oh, I know. When I was in college my best friend and I traveled six hours from Oberlin, Ohio to Chicago to hear Jane Eaglen and Ben Heppner sing that opera, it was a necessity.

And other roles you’ve got your sights set on?
There will be Wagner: Senta, Elisabeth...

Have you been learning all those arias?
I know them...but I don’t necessarily know the entire the role. Some things don’t need to be rushed into. But the role of Sieglinde, I would learn the whole role right now.

Not just the two arias, “Der Männer Sippe” and “Du bist der Lenz.”
Yes, those I already know. I’d be happy to learn the rest of the role, because I could sing it today. But Elektra? That will have to wait. Salome, maybe, but Elektra, Isolde, Brünnhilde...for those I would wait.

And Die Frau ohne Schatten?
I would do the Empress—not the Dyer’s Wife—in the next five years.

We’re talking about a lot of Wagner and Strauss roles; anything else you’re looking forward to?
I’m happy to work; the goal is to have constant work. I hope that happens, but with these big operas it’s challenging, given the economy.

Turandot condemns the Prince of Persia in Act One
Elise Bakketun, photo

What is on Turandot’s mind at the beginning of the opera? When you come out to condemn the Prince of Persia to death, you don’t have any lines...what are you thinking in that scene?
At the beginning she’s annoyed that this 14, 15 year-old kid, the Prince of Persia, has come to bother her, and had the nerve to think that he could be the Emperor and answer these riddles correctly. You know, Turandot has a difficult position in society: as the Emperor’s daughter she’s a vessel, not even a real person. She has to marry the next Emperor, that’s her main function.

Turandot appears in the Emperor's Throne Room in Act Two
Elise Bakketun, photo

And as a result she resents the Prince of Persia.
Yes, she resents the fact that she has to cut off his head. It’s not that she enjoys it. I really don’t think she enjoys the consequences of these people not knowing the answers to the riddles. It’s a double-edged sword. Of course she doesn’t want to be with someone who she doesn’t want to be with; but she it’s not that she likes killing people.

How did this situation even get set up? Did you figure out the backstory?
Good question. My father says, “Un giuramento atroce mi constringue...” (An atrocious oath constrains me).

Personally, my theory is you danced the Dance of Seven Veils for your father the Emperor, Peter Kazaras, but first made him promise he’d give you whatever you wanted: “If I do this you’ll sign this document that says I can cut off any guy’s head?”
That’s a different opera.

But the point is, it’s like Brünnhilde on the rock surrounded by fire. This set-up with the riddles was supposed to protect Turandot. There wasn’t supposed to be this flood of idiots attracted by the challenge...it was supposed to scare them off, and it doesn’t seem to be working.
Clearly it’s not working, they’re attracted, like moths to a light. Maybe the Emperor just took pity on me because I’m his daughter. I probably said to him, “Come on, dad, seriously...I’m not going to marry just some yahoo who walks in off the street. We have to set it up so we know this person really deserves to be the next you.” Maybe I manipulated the situation a little...

You sang “O mio babbino caro” to him, wrapped your daddy around your little finger like that...
I do!

“Oh, daddy, come on, please!”
That little arietta I sing, after the riddle scene...

Oh, you’re right!
I’m totally whining there. That’s my “O mio babbino caro” moment.

That’s interesting, I’d never noticed that before. Because that [Gianni Schicchi] was the last opera Puccini wrote, right before Turandot. Now, do you worry about the audience sympathizing with Turandot?
Yes. Before I got here that was one of my main concerns, because sometimes it’s not staged that way. The word that comes to mind is ‘Black Widow;’ that’s the way people often perceive her. I was hoping to make her 3-dimensional. So I was very happy when I came here and [Stage Director] Renaud [Doucet] said, “If she’s not 3-dimensional, not sympathetic, not a real person, then what’s the point?” I completely agree, and I was so grateful to hear that from him...I breathed a big sigh of relief, because I didn’t know how I was going to do it. This is my first time singing this part. So now, every other time, even if I’m directed differently, I can know in my mind where she’s coming from.

When you say ‘3-dimensional,’ or ‘not a real person,’ what is it about Turandots you’ve seen before that hasn’t connected?
She’s just evil! Manipulative, an ice queen and that’s it. I didn’t want to go there.

Turandot (Marcy Stonikas) asks riddles of the Unknown Prince (Luis Chapa)
Elise Bakketun, photo

Why does she sing “In questa reggia” [the aria in which she explains her vendetta against men] to Calaf?
She always sings that. If you notice, Ping, Pang, and Pong yawn at the beginning of the aria—that’s because they’ve heard it so many times before. It’s the story she’s been told all her life, and she has so identified with Princess Lo-u-ling she’s kind of singing about herself. The need to protect herself, to maintain a strong boundary when all these princes come a-knockin’.

So what’s different about Calaf? And when do you realize that something is different about him?
First of all, he’s a good-looking man.

The Prince of Persia, in our production at least, looks very young...
I’m not marrying a 15 year-old kid. And secondly, I respect the fact that Calaf answered all these questions correctly. And there’s an element of compassion I see when he is outraged at Liù’s death. That’s the real transformation for Turandot. She certainly doesn’t like having to torture Liù, but she doesn’t have any other options at that point, except to give up control and, I don’t know, go enter a convent. She wants the answer, but certainly doesn’t mean for it to go so far. The hardest part is making sure that my reaction to Liù’s death is very strong, as strong as it needs to be. That’s where the character really becomes 3-dimensional.

Turandot (Marcy Stonikas) and the Unknown Prince come to terms with the death of Liù
Elise Bakketun, photo

Turandot: Preview

Our new preview video of Turandot dress rehearsal footage (complete with full orchestra & chorus) showcases the stunning pageantry, memorable melodies, and passionate performances of this monumental new-to-Seattle production.



Learn more about Turandot on the Seattle Opera Website

Meet Our Artists: ANDRÉ BARBE, Set and Costume Designer

The other night, I was fortunate to be able to pull Set and Costume Designer André Barbe, left, out of Turandot rehearsal and to speak with him about this production and the career he shares. Barbe & Doucet make their Seattle Opera debut Saturday night with Turandot. We talked about such subjects as Ping, Pang, and Pong’s top hats and martinis; about the meld of North American and European influences on his work; and about his remarkable partnership with our stage director and choreographer Renaud Doucet (right).

Let me first ask you the same question I asked Renaud, in a separate interview; could you tell us a little about how your partnership works? It’s unusual in being exclusive—often, designers who do new productions like to work with people they’ve worked with before, but in your case you ONLY work together. For instance, he doesn’t direct shows that aren’t designed by you.
No, not since 2000. We are partners in life, as well as crime, and this business can be difficult because so many people end up going on the road and missing their family, their children and spouse and wife and boyfriend. So we said, why don’t we do a partnership and work together. I was working a lot in television at the time, doing my own thing, and he was doing his own thing, and we had to cut off some of the artistic relationships we had with other people, at a time when it was working quite well. But it ended up being a good decision. At the time, I was working a lot in television and theater, in Montreal, and suddenly reality TV started up and people decided there was no need for sets anymore. So the timing was perfect. After twelve years, now we realize it was the best decision we ever made.

But at the time it seemed like a risk—you would be turning down work.
It was a gamble. The thing is, we’re very different, we’re complementary. Renaud is from the south of France, and I’m from North America. Our language is similar, but it’s not the same. I think that’s our strength; I think the two of us together are stronger than me by myself or him by himself. Renaud is a Taurus, he will bang on doors and open them, and I’m a Pisces, I will be a little bit more in my mind. He’s fire and I’m water, what’s great is that together we can make water boil. But the water shouldn’t put out the fire, and the fire shouldn’t make the water evaporate. It’s a question of balance, and I think we’ve found it.

You mention you’re personal partners as well as professional partners.
Yes, we are. We aren’t married but that’s something we want to do, we believe in it.

And legally, as Canadians, you’re allowed to.
Yes!

Here in Washington, we’re working on that. In any event, tell us more about the Chinese imagery, the symbols that have influenced your designs for this production. The circles, for instance...I was just noticing in there [points towards auditorium], you’ve created this series of circles as multiple prosceniums, so it ends up forming a kind of tunnel leading your eye to the back of the stage, where there’s this little box.

Production photo of the Barbe & Doucet Turandot taken at Pittsburgh opera
David Bachman photo

It starts with the moon. There’s this big circle onstage at the beginning of the first act, when they sing about the moon, which is the symbol of Turandot. And inside the moon there’s a box in which she and the Emperor, whom they call figlio del cielo (son of the skies) both appear. He’s literally carrying the sky on his shoulders, and he’s tired of doing this. He wants his daughter to marry and give him a grandson, some future. I think what Turandot is about is that you have to learn who you are to be truly happy. Her status as a princess has certainly kept Turandot in a certain situation...did you see that wonderful film by Bertolucci, The Last Emperor, about Pu Yi, who became the Emperor of China when he was 3 years old...

Yes, yes, I loved it. Interesting, that film is totally in the tradition of Puccini’s Turandot, a grandiose Italian spectacle about China.
Yes, of course with Turandot we’re not doing the “real” China, we’re doing an Italian version of it. Puccini never saw what real China was. But in terms of the symbolism, the circle is an important figure in Chinese iconography, and everything in the set is a circle: the platform, the arches, the flowers, this shape of the disc which she wears in her costume—and we gave it to the Emperor and the chorus too, the soldiers and the wise men. Also, in a production like this, when you have to move a lot of people very quickly, it’s more interesting when it’s circular; it draws you in and brings people together. That’s what we wanted to do, with the set.

And you mix time periods, too, in the design.
Well, we used different eras of Chinese history; we wanted to make the Emperor have the look of an older dynasty, with Turandot a younger one, and with Ping, Pang, and Pong being more toward the beginning of the twentieth century.

Costumes designed by André Barbe for Emperor Altoum (left) and Ping (right)

They really belong in that Bertolucci Last Emperor, the bureacrats with cigars, who are beginning to westernize things...
Totally, and they are a mixture. The opera was created in 1926, but originally these are characters from commedia dell’arte. They’re a little bit like cabaret singers. One is wearing a top hat, another a bowler, and they’re all wearing spats, and they do a dance...

Costume pieces designed by André Barbe for Ping, Pang, and Pong

Sort of 1920s vaudeville.
They’re drinking martinis and smoking cigarettes. It may not be from the vocabulary of a fairy-tale Chinese court, but that’s not the only thing the show is about. These three want to do their job, but Turandot is preventing them. One is overworked by doing too many funerals, the other wants to do a wedding at last.

The decapitated heads of Turandot’s former suitors are actually woven into her cloak, which we see during the Riddle Scene. How did you come up with that idea?
This year is the 60th anniversary of Queen Elizabeth on the throne, and they’ve been showing the footage of when she was young, when they put this huge crown on her. She was so little and fragile, and you saw this heavy weight of responsibility on her head. We were trying to find something equivalent. Of course that’s how royal costumes work in any civilization; when you see it, you need to be impressed with the look, the costume, the pageantry. But Turandot is often called an “ice princess.” So we said, why not put the heads, the frozen heads of the suitors, in her royal coat, to impress the people who try to answer her riddles. In a way she’s asking them, “Are you sure you want to do this?”

When Turandot opens her arms we see the lining of her cloak, weighted down by the frozen faces of her former suitors; costume design by André Barbe

“Look, this is where you’re head’s going to end up!”
Or chemically reduced to this state. We wanted something more than her headpiece, her jewels, her glamorous look. As she’s singing “In questa reggia,” she suddenly opens her arms and we see the weight of her responsibility, it’s frightening. And she takes off that coat when Calaf answers the riddles.

Glancing through pictures of many of your productions, you seem drawn toward the fantastical and wild. Have you ever designed for historical or romantic realism?
Not really. Since Renaud and I have been working together, we haven’t done much standard repertoire...and I don’t think we would do something like that, even if it were a verismo opera. We created a Cavelleria Rusticana & Pagliacci; it wasn’t that crazy, but there was symbolism in it.

It wasn’t just a village in Sicily.
No. It took place in a baseball field, under an electrical lamppost with lots of wires going through it. The communication circuits were overcrowded, and you knew there was going to be an explosion at some point. So you see, we used a metaphor, but it was still a realistic place. We want the audience to understand the intentions of the composer perfectly. But we also understand that we are talking to a twenty-first century audience. So we’ll give them something they can understand, as well as a second and third and fourth degree for the people who are really into it.

Production photo of the Barbe & Doucet Cendrillon
Thierry Ha photo

How do you make sure you’re addressing both levels?
It depends on the audience. For instance, we did a production of Cendrillon, and because it was for a European house they wanted us to speak more about our culture than about French castles and princesses. We set it in the ‘50s in North America, but in a dream-world. The fairy godmother came from the TV, she was a sort of Lucille Ball character. And Cendrillon was cleaning up this big kitchen with electrical appliances. At one point in the fairy-tale they go to a magic oak tree, so here it was a drive-in theater, “La chêne enchantée” (The Enchanted Oak), we called it, and they were watching films of princesses such as Princess Grace or Queen Elizabeth II. They were sitting in a huge ‘50s car, and we wrote on the license plate “JM 1899,” just a little tidbit for those who knew Jules Massenet wrote that opera in 1899. Little details like that, not important so you haven’t missed anything if you don’t pick up on it, but it’s fun for those who are paying close attention.

“Easter Eggs,” they call them, when you hide special features on DVDs. On another topic, who are your mentors and biggest influences, as a designer and person of the theater?
My influences are a mixture of North American and European designers. As a child I used to watch a lot of musical theater films; those were a big influence on me, certainly, in terms of color. But traveling in Europe—I never lived there, but I travel a lot and always go to theater—I picked up more of a European flavor. I studied at the National Theater School of Canada, in Montreal, where you have people coming from all over Canada, and foreign countries, and classes in both French and English. My teacher, François Barbeau, a famous French-Canadian costume designer, who had worked with everybody, he was probably the biggest influence on me. He wanted us to learn to see things with different eyes: how do French people see, how do Americans see, why do they see this way, what’s important in this society. And Renaud and I have always taken this lesson to heart. If we’re asked to do a production of Turandot in the United States, it will be different from a production we do for Europe.

Because you know the audience will see it differently.
Yes, their backgrounds are very different. If you’re doing a rarely-done opera in the U.S. and it’s the first time most of the audience will have seen it, it’s most important for them to get to know the piece. But in Vienna, with The Magic Flute...there are three major theaters, each with their own current production of Magic Flute, and lots of previous productions. The people are born with it. I saw a little boy, 7 years old, listening to Magic Flute in Vienna and conducting it at the same time, and I knew: this boy has been raised with it. So they are ready for different approaches. They can go to the Staatsoper and see a traditional one, they can go to the Volksoper and see a wacky one...but sometimes when you present a piece here in North America it’s the only time it’s going to be presented.

André Barbe in the Seattle Opera costume shop, with photos taken at costume fittings for each member of the 70+ person chorus

Turandot, for example. We haven’t done Turandot here in Seattle since 1996.
Imagine, some people will be coming to see this who weren’t even born then. Our goal is to bring people to the opera. We don’t want to frighten them; we want to stimulate them. I love opera. Unlike Renaud I’m not a musician. I don’t play music, though I can read a little bit. But I’ve loved opera since I was a child, ever since my grandparents introduced me to it. It gave me goosebumps. It feels good when I listen to it, and I want it to feel that good for the audience. How many art forms today, when you listen to music or watch something, give you goosebumps? Not many. But here, in a live performance, with a hundred people onstage, 75 people in the pit, it’s fantastic. I’m pinching myself every day, saying, “Look at that! How lucky are we?”

Meet Our Artists: RENAUD DOUCET, Stage Director and Choreographer

Time now to hear from Renaud Doucet (right), the brilliant young director and choreographer who is making his Seattle Opera debut with this Turandot, jointly envisioned and created by Doucet and his partner André Barbe (left), our Set and Costume Designer. The world first saw this extraordinary co-production last year, in Pittsburgh; jointly owned by opera companies in Pittsburgh, Seattle, Minneapolis, Cincinnati, and Utah (Salt Lake City), the production will eventually entertain and delight opera-goers all over America. We’ll check in with André soon; first, let’s find out a little about Renaud’s approach to theater as discovery, how he avoids having to make artistic compromises, and his unique entry into the world of Wagner.

Renaud, you’re making your debut here as a director, but this isn’t the first time you’ve worked with Seattle Opera! Can you remind us of your previous association with our company?
Yes, I had the pleasure to come to Seattle to assist Bernard Uzan, and to choreograph, the production of Rusalka in 2001.

Renaud Doucet in rehearsal
(Alan Alabastro, photo)

Since then, you’ve done your own Rusalka.
Yes, I love that opera. We did a new production for the Volksoper in Vienna 2010. It played last spring and it’s going to play again in the fall. It’s a great show; we developed a new technology for playing video on fabric with a German firm. It’s very interesting.

Barbe & Doucet's Volksoper Rusalka
(Stefan Liewehr/Art for Art photo)

You say “we,” and I know you’re referring to yourself and André Barbe, because the two of you work together exclusively as a director/designer team, offering opera companies complete packages with every detail worked out carefully in advance. Tell us a little about how your unique partnership—which is both personal and professional—got started.
It began at Opéra de Montréal, with Bernard Uzan, who was the head of the company at that time. He introduced us to each other. In fact André was asked to do a production of Kat’a Kabanova with Bernard, and I had seen the drawings and thought they were fabulous. And André said, “The story of Kat’a reminds me of Pélleas et Mélisande.” And Bernard said, “Yes...do you like Pélleas?” And André said, “I love it!” So he took him to my office—I was Assistant Stage Director at the time—and he told me “Renaud, here is your designer for Pélleas et Mélisande.” But at the time, Bernard hadn’t yet told me I was directing Pélleas!

So Pélleas was the first opera you collaborated on?
No, actually. That was the first offer, but we ended up doing another opera first, in Wexford, in Ireland, Si j’étais roi by Adolphe Adam. That was our first official production, in 2000. It’s an absolutely fantastic opera, very beautiful, and we did it with Joseph Calleja and a wonderful cast.

And then Pélleas for Montréal.
Yes. I think we’re now at show number 30, or something. I don’t remember exactly how many productions we’ve done together.

How long does it take you jointly to envision a production?
It depends on the show, and on what else we are doing at the time. We never work on only one show at a time. At the moment, we have six operas in mind that we are designing. Sometimes we talk about an opera for a year and a half before André even raises his pencil. Since we’ve been in Seattle we created—in 24 hours—a new production of Massenet’s Thérèse, for Wexford. We’re very lucky to be in the luxurious position, with Wexford Festival Opera, of the General Director trusting us enough to say, “Which opera would you like to do?” Wexford is specializing in rare repertoire and next season we're doing Massenet’s Thérèse and La Navarraise for the festival, where we also created a new production of Pénélope by Fauré there, a gorgeous opera.

Plus the Adam Si j’étais roi, your debut. Lots of offbeat titles!
Yes. Really, we have not been offered much of the standard repertoire. We’ve done one Traviata, one Barber, one Carmen, as against seven productions of Thaïs and four Rape of Lucretias. I’d love to do some more standard rep: an Aida, a Butterfly. I’ve been offered Così , but I turned it down because I did not think that the solution that I had at the time, the dramaturgie, was interesting enough. Now I know how to do it.

Renaud Doucet stages a scene from Turandot with Peter Rose as Timur, Lina Tetriani as Liù, and Antonello Palombi as Calaf
(Alan Alabastro, photo)

Going back to your partnership, when did that become exclusive?
Right away. Our goal is to be able to travel together, to create together, and to go further as a team with each new production. The goal is not to need to speak, because we are in each other’s brain. Also, we don’t make compromises. We don’t accept anything that’s mediocre. So we have to be better each time. It’s more and more difficult. If you have a success, then the next time you have to have an even bigger success. The mountain you’re climbing gets higher each time.

But it’s cumulative...it must be easier in that you’ve worked out a shorthand, learning how each other thinks.
Yes, but then we also know what each other is capable of doing. Which means that there is zero compromise on quality. Neither of us allows compromise from the other. To arrive at the right idea...either you get it right on the first drawing, as with Pénélope, or you do eight models and throw them all in the garbage and start again because it’s not satisfactory.

Barbe & Doucet's Pénélope at Wexford
(Clive Bardas, photo)

So the point is the commitment. If you’re committed to it...
Committed, yes. We both need to value what the other contributes; it’s important that we appreciate it, and that it’s good.

Do you find yourselves swapping roles? You’re the director and he’s the designer, but do you ever make design suggestions? Or does he come up with suggestions for staging and movement?
Of course. The design is the result of a dramatic idea, and the staging is a result of the design. I am as much the designer as André is the director.

And Guy Simard?
Our lighting designer, yes, he is an exclusive part of our team. Sometimes, for example, at a summer festival the company may need to use the same lighting designer for all the productions. But for us, Guy Simard is absolutely part of the team. He was working with us in Montréal, and we’ve done all our productions abroad with him. The lighting is an essential aspect of a good stage presentation.

Renaud Doucet in rehearsal, with Seattle Opera's Assistant Director Fenlon Lamb
(Alan Alabastro, photo)

Now, you first designed Turandot for the Volksoper in Vienna, with a production that looks amazing (I’ve only seen pictures) set in the world of insects. How did you manage to find a completely different approach for this American Turandot?
With André we have four other Turandot productions ready to go.

Barbe & Doucet's Volksoper Turandot
(Dimo Dimov, photo)

In your brain.
And on paper! There is not one way of doing things, there are a million ways. The thing is to choose an angle, to follow it and be consistent from beginning to end. But why not another angle? That’s why I like doing multiple productions of the same opera: you discover new sides to the work.

Are there operas where you feel you nailed it the first time, so much that you aren’t interested in doing it again?
No, I don’t think like that. I don’t ‘nail’ a production. For us it’s a discovery each time, really. Perhaps there are operas I do not need to do. Lucia, for example, I’ve done Lucia...but it’s not the type of repertoire I appreciate, particularly. I like the music. But for me, to direct a traditional Lucia, it’s pointless. To do a wild Lucia that will REALLY go into the dark side and total madness of the opera would be fascinating.

In rehearsal, Renaud Doucet demonstrates a gesture for "In questa reggia" to Lori Phillips (Turandot)
(Alan Alabastro, photo)

Although there are some audiences that, maybe a traditional Lucia is all they could deal with.
Maybe, but then I think I am not the right director for that. We cannot do everything well. I need to know where I have something to contribute, and where I am in fact getting in the way.

What interests you the most about Turandot?
With all the characters, it’s about their personal growth, developing them from point A to point B. No one finishes this opera the way they began; and they all need each other to discover themselves. Each of them has an impact on the others. They each need all the others to grow. That’s the point of life, and of fairy-tales, each character planting seeds for the other characters. In the audience, we are part of that. That’s what’s fascinating.

Renaud Doucet shows ministers Ping (Patrick Carfizzi) and Pong (Joseph Hu) a move
(Alan Alabastro, photo)

You worked out the staging of this production long ago, even before Minnesota Opera built the sets and costumes to André’s designs, before you first gave it to singers in Pittsburgh. Has the staging continued to evolve, with our two casts?
Yes, because if you have two casts, you’ll have two totally different performances. The same story, the same action, but different people. Even from one night to the next you have a different show; each performance is unique. In terms of the different singers, their personalities are different, so they have different ways of filtering the information. Our two Turandots, for example, Lori and Marcy, are extremely different. It’s a role debut for Marcy, but Lori has sung the opera before. So they were starting from different places, even before we began rehearsing.

One last question: we’re all nuts for Wagner, here at Seattle Opera, and we hear that you’ve got an exciting new Wagner opportunity coming up! What’s all this about Die Feen in Leipzig and Bayreuth next year?
Yes, André and I are creating a new production of Wagner’s first opera, Die Feen, for the 200th anniversary celebrations, next February in Leipzig, where Wagner was born, and then in Bayreuth, at the summer festival he created. They are building the production right now. It’s interesting, they’re putting on the three operas of Wagner’s youth, Die Feen, Das Liebesverbot, and Rienzi. We’re very excited to be working with Christiane Libor, our Ada, who will come here to Seattle next to sing Fidelio for you.

Costume sketch by André Barbe for Ada, the heroine of Die Feen, which the team will create for Leipzig and Bayreuth next season

Die Feen (The Fairies) is based on another of Carlo Gozzi’s plays, La donna serpente (The Snake Woman). Does it have anything in common with Turandot?
It’s a fairy-tale, an encounter between the world of mortals and the world of fairies, and how do they cope with each other.

Renaud Doucet in rehearsal
(Alan Alabastro, photo)

Well, I know you’ll make something fantastical and wondrous out of it. Although Wagner can be a tall order: are you ready for it?
We’re starting Wagner at the beginning! As a matter of fact we’ve been offered the Ring twice, but both times we said no, because we don’t consider ourselves Wagner specialists. So it was interesting to be asked to do these: how can you refuse to do your first Wagner opera in a Bayreuth & Leipzig co-production? There are some things you just can’t say no!

Renaud Doucet and André Barbe recently took us for a look behind the scenes of our Turandot production: