New Zealand Opera presents:
The Monster in the Maze by Jonathan Dove, libretto by Alasdair Middleton.
New Zealand Symphony Orchestra, community singers and musicians
Cast: Maana Pohatu – King Minos of Crete
Ipu Laga’aia – Theseus
Sarah Castle – Theseus’s Mother
Joel Amosa – Dadaelus
Conductor: Brent Stewart,
Director: Anapela Polata’ivaom ONZM
Creative Producer: Stacey Leilua
Choreographer: Petmal Petelo
Production and Lighting Design:
Filament Eleven II – Rachel Marlow / Bradley Gledhill
Friday 12th September, St James Theatre (Wellington)
Until September 19 and 20 (Auckland).
Review by Peter Mechen (Middle C)
I took my six-year-old nephew to the St James Theatre in Wellington to see “The Monster in the Maze” – his first-ever opera experience! Of course, I was as excited as he was, expecting something completely and fascinatingly different to the usual operatic experience afforded by works such as “Carmen”, “The Magic Flute”, or “La Traviata”. For one thing, this production places as much importance upon its own unique style of presentation as it does on the story and its characters – the people on the stage ranged from opera “professionals” (a few members of the New Zealand Opera Company) to amateur singers, mostly young people who make up most of the 150-plus chorus members.
For another, the story is a simple, basic version of the age-old and well-known myth about the Greek hero Theseus and his plan to kill the terrible half-man, half-bull Minotaur who lived in a fearful maze called “The Labyrinth” on the island of Crete. And for a third, the situation which the opening of this production presents has resonances which are anything but distant mythological tales confined to the never-never land of fantasy – the cruel and barbarous regime of the King of Crete and his murderous plan to subjugate the Athenians he has just conquered bears an almost sickening likeness to the present genocidal situation in the Middle East being inflicted upon the Palestinians in Gaza by their remorseless Israeli oppressors.
In fact the opening scene of the production had enormous theatrical weight and dramatic menace, thanks to the spine-chillingly forceful energies of Maaka Pohatu (King Minos of Crete) who totally dominated the stage with his delivery of the words (clearly spoken rather than sung) and his brutally boastful presence. He was actually given surtitles of a kind inscribed on the archways, somewhat ironically, as he was the one character least in need of them for his intentions to be conveyed to his riveted audience! For this reason I found a good deal of what the other main characters sang hard to decipher – always a problem with opera, even when in English! I thought surtitles should have been continued throughout (though certainly NOT on cell-phones, as was suggested at one point – why would we go to opera only to have to read things on our cell-phones?)
Such was the power of Pohatu’s delivery of the pitiless proclamation we were stunned, almost as if we ourselves were under the King’s sway along with the Athenians. Certainly, the scenes involving the Athenian children required by Minos to be sacrificed (either every seven or nine years, depending on which version of the myth one reads!) by being put on a ship to Crete bound for the labyrinth in which they will be fed to the Minotaur had enormous poignancy – the children’s youth, beauty and innocence touching on feelings of pity, dread and horror, all exacerbated by a sense throughout the theatre of all-pervading “involvement”.
We were, of course, all buoyed up by the arrival of Theseus (variously lyrical and heroic of voice, and clear of diction) wanting to know what was “up”, and after being told the situation, determinedly announces that he will go with the children and with his machete put an end to the Monster! His mother (Sarah Castle) was, of course aghast at losing her son but Theseus was adamant – he will save Athens and its people from this oppression!
The set design was wonderful, broad-brush-stroke stuff, beginning with dark, starkly-lit pillars evoking King Minos’s forbidding palace as the king issued his proclamation from its depths, then withdrawing the pillars in favour of horizontal beams which rose and fell as requiring opening or more constricted spaces, then criss-crossing with the pillars when the children accompanied by Theseus enter the boat to take them to Crete, the ship’s progress atmospherically “plotted” on a series of horizontals along which the image “sailed”, slowly diminishing in size, the watchers sadly dispersing, led by the Mother, after the ship leaves.
As the ship approached Crete, we saw some of the inhabitants waiting, cast here as a quasi- oppressed group of people, darkly, almost militaristically dressed in near-combat attire, moving about a dim and dismal scenario, enacting a kind of reception-party. The children and Theseus disembarked, the set having formed a kind of criss-cross matrix of imprisonment with a small entrance, through which the visitors passed – though the walls, portals and columns were stylised, straight-sided matrices they readily invited the audience’s individual imaginations to flesh out their reality as the beginning of the labyrinth. The intended victims suddenly encountered a fellow captive, Daedalus (Joel Amosa), the actual designer of the Labyrinth (and who, in some versions of the legend, was himself lost in its intricacies) – whatever the mythic detail, the character was no friend of King Minos, and so helped the hero to find his way to the Minotaur, a manifestation whose appearance was not quite what one might have expected….
Theseus probed deeper as his fearful companions hid behind various outcrops or in secluded configurations – the colours became increasingly lurid (the lighting scenarios were magical in their evocative power) and the appearance on the stage of what seemed like an infernal band of brass musicians was a masterstroke of theatre, especially as the tension was mounting with the viscerally-frightening prospect of the Minotaur’s arrival! – to a blaze of rasping tones from the musicians the hero was confronted with his invisible but incredibly “present” enemy, on whom he fixed his gaze, while slashing and jabbing with his machete! – we were terrorised and fearful, convinced that Theseus was fighting for his life against an enemy we couldn’t actually see but KNEW was there! Theseus companions sang and shouted encouragement as the hero gave his utmost to the fray. By this time the lighting had soaked the setting’s textures in blood from which Theseus arose, machete aloft and triumphant! The devil might be in the detailing, but this unseen devil was now no more, and the way was now open to freedom, release and continuation of life! How more cathartic a feeling could have been conveyed than this one? It remained only for the sadistic Cretan King Minos to express his anger, grief and despair at the destruction of his plan for total subjugation of the Athenian people, thanks to the heroism of Theseus, who was triumphantly reunited with his family and his people!
More, much more, than a splendid depiction of heroism overcoming tyranny, this production spoke for a kind of power of involvement obviously leading up to and throughout the story which, by the end seemed to have resonated with every single person in the theatre. For those of us who were regular opera-goers the unbridled exuberance we found ourselves witnessing on the stage among performers and enablers of the production seemed no less than intoxicating! And people on either side of me in the audience whom I spoke with immediately afterwards (none regular opera-goers) seemed overwhelmed by what they had just seen and been themselves caught up with! As for my six-year-old nephew – he was most gratifyingly entranced by the whole show!
It made memorable the moment when everybody involved with the production, from director Anapela Polata’ivao, creative producer Stacey Leilua, choreographer Petmal Petelo, and the Filament Eleven II design team of Rachel Marlow and Bradley Glkedhill, together with conductor Brent Stewart and his onstage/offstage musicians, gathered together on the stage at the end to unite with the audience to enjoy the fruition of those expressions of mutual appreciation and communal achievement which in the words of NZ Opera General Director Brad Cohen, come from experiencing storytelling through the power of the human singing voice.