[From Paris, via Brno and San Francisco]

   Janos: Just back in Brno from my Paris jaunt, where I saw some
   interesting films (Palestinian "Divine Intervention" which I daresay
   won't get wide US play - Beckett/Tati/Keaton as political deadpan
   sad-absurdities; James Mason and Danielle Darrieux in "Five Fingers"
   (L'affaire Cicero, in French - James the coldblooded money-hungry
   ohsosuave spy in Istanbul; DD the down on her fortunes baroness of
   suspect affiliations), and a strange documentary about people living
   in Brasil's Surtao), but the big hit was the Martinu opera "Juliette,
   ou, le cle des songes" - actually, this was the reason I went, and
   it fulfilled all expectations but one - I was really surprised to
   discover that sitting dead center back row of the 'balcon' (a slightly
   raised back portion of the parterre) the sound was most peculiar:
   snare drums sounded like they were just behind my right shoulder,
   piano often sounded over my *left* shoulder, and surprisingly loud,
   louder than most the singers. Other than that, though, it was a dream!
   (Literally, since that's the basic idea of the plot).

   You probably know the plot, and maybe even saw the film by Carne (I
   think it was Gerard Philippe's last film, correct me if I'm wrong -
   I'd seen it and completely both forgotten it or not connected it with
   the opera), so I'll skip the plot, but the staging was just what
   originality should be - both wonderful to note and not distracting
   either from the music or the essence of the piece.

   In this case the accordion player's instrument in act one is used as
   the motif: when the play starts we see a canted accordion on its side
   as the front drop (not a scrim, but it was at the front a la scrim -
   so what's that, a drim? Too close to dream for the present production),
   on its side, keys visible protruding from the right side of the stage.
   Once the young man has arrived in the village, the bellows slowly
   expand, sending the keys across the stage, the bellows then revealing
   themselves as the buildings of the town - suitably surreal, with a
   slight expressionist patina, but veddy French somehow. Act two's drim
   shows us a similar instrumental view, but with the buttons now showing.

   As the curtain rises, we see a forest scene (and this act had glorious
   lighting and shadowing throughout), bordered on both sides by the
   white folds of the bellows, thus we are now *within* the accordion.
   Act three, the bureau of dreams, shows the accordion lying on its
   back, keys to the fore, across the width of the stage. The bellows,
   partly expanded, curve up, back, and to the right, most of the folds
   exhibiting a place tag as in a filing cabinet (Rouen, Paris, Avignon,
   etc).

   The name inscribed on the case of the accordion almost invisible at
   the back and top - Juliette. The man in charge of the bureau sits
   within and atop the front case, and the portal to the dreams is one
   of the large button stops on the front of the accordion. Perfectly
   atmospherically appropriate, wonderfully inventive, and thank god not
   pushy.

   Though I saw the final performance of the first run (is it possible
   this wonderful and oh so French opera (ok, he's Czech, and apparently
   wrote it in Czech, from a French play, and it premiered in Prague in
   1938, but it's sooooooo French) has never heretofore been produced
   at the French Opera???  They say it is now "in the repertoire", so
   with luck others will have the opportunity to see this production.
   A gem, overlooked, and ready to be rediscovered, say I.

   Charlie Cockey

Janos Gereben/SF
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