ENCOUNTERS by George Sturm
Colin Graham
The 1986 season of the Opera Theatre of St. Louis was
in full swing when its multifaceted artistic director, Colin Graham, paused
to reflect on the role of stage directors in general and on his life in particular.
It was a gloriously sunny Saturday morning on the banks of the Mississippi
and, as the leisurely conversation unfolded under the festival tent on the
sloping green hillside at Webster University, one might not have thought
that he would soon be supervising a matinee (Tales of Hoffmann) and
evening (Journey to Rheims) performance of two of his own productions,
attending meetings with delegates from the National Endowment for the Arts,
mixing and mingling with visiting press it was "press week" in
St. Louis and hosting a spray of social receptions. Unflappably low-key and
sharply articulate, Colin Graham sipped Coke and talked of his past, present,
and future.
He was born in Hove, England, in 1931 and studied to be
an actor at the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art. Says Graham: "At that
time I also wanted to be a dancer and a singer and a composer and a stage
director and the whole lot. And I'm glad I did, too, because it's all turned
out to be very useful." His family was fond of, but not involved in,
the arts except for his great-grandmother who had, for a short time, been
an actress. "But that was in Edwardian days when it wasn't really respectable
to be an actress, and when she got married she was removed from the boards
immediately." One year, while still a student, he got a holiday job
as an assistant stage manager at Covent Garden during a particularly exciting
season when Erich Kleiber was still holding forth in the historic house.
"That's what really decided me that opera was going to involve all the
things that I was interested in. When I went back to the Academy, I elected
to concentrate only on stage management so that I could watch the directors
at work." After graduation, he went off to be an actor for two years
to get some more performing experience, and then he wrote to all the opera
and ballet companies about getting a job as a stage manager. His first professional
engagement was the beginning of a 23-year association with Benjamin Britten.
Britten's English Opera Group proved to be a crucible for
the artistic consciousness of the young Graham. He loses no time in crediting
the great English composer with truly rare integrity, insight and imagination
and the model he provided was unforgettable. In turn, Britten must have recognized
Graham's gifts: all the opera premieres after 1961 were entrusted to the
director, who has staged every Britten opera with the exception of Billy
Budd . ("Strangely enough, that one has eluded me. I've been asked
to do it twice, but couldn't.")
At the beginning of his career, his work in opera and theatre
was evenly divided. "I loved working in theatre. It was very good for
me to have to, in a sense, conceive my own music, orchestration, timing.
And I miss it, but the fact is that one gets booked up years in advance for
an opera production, but only weeks in advance for a play. So whenever I
was asked to do a play, I had already been booked to do an opera. It's always
saddened me. I miss Shakespeare particularly. It makes you think much more
when you don't have the composer doing half the thinking for you. It's easy
to impose something on an opera because so much is already there. In a play
you can't just add another coat of varnish. You've got to get to the heart
of it and spring from that."
Adding coats of varnish is hardly Graham's approach to opera
either. "I learned so much from Britten. Above all, he said, you must
rely on the music. The fountspring must be the music, and if you're going
to start imposing other conventions on opera, you've got to be very sure
that you're not distorting the work." It is this total commitment to
the composer's vision that has made Graham such a desirable collaborator
to such contemporary figures as Richard Rodney Bennett, Sir William Walton,
Thea Musgrave, the American Stephen Paulus, and many others. But his scope
is very broad and, in addition to his collaboration with the composers of
his own time Graham has also contributed his own librettos to works by a
number of composers including Britten and Paulus the operas he has directed
range from Monteverdi through the standard repertory to Debussy and Janacek.
While he himself got into stage direction by way of his experience
as an actor, Graham does not know many directors who got started as performers.
Most, he says, get their start with university productions of either plays
or operas. Once they have earned professional reputations, they are taken
on by concert managers, just as performing artists are, and it is supposed
that these managers, in handling singers and conductors, know what opera
companies' needs are. But according to Graham it's very rare that directors
get engagements through management. "It's nearly always the grapevine,
people having seen their productions. Opera managements are not prepared
to take risks on stage directors because it's a very expensive risk. You
can afford to fall down on one singer, but in the case of a stage director
or designer, the risk is too heavy."
When Graham discusses the organizational structure of opera
companies, there is nothing ambiguous in his explanation. While the overall
responsibility of choosing directors, conductors, designers, and singers
may lie with a general director whose job it is to determine artistic policy,
it must be the stage director whose vision shapes every aspect of a given
production. "Once a general director engages somebody to do a show,
he has to put trust in them. The stage director has the initial concept which
he passes on to the designer and to everyone else. There are many types of
directors: some work on the purely pictorial side and are not terribly concerned
with what's going on inside the character. You also have those who feel that
it is their mission to reinterpret a work for the 20th century and make it
a sociological document which works with some operas and doesn't work with
others. (It becomes obtrusive when it doesn't work.) Composers sometimes
even express surprise when you have seen something which they themselves
had not seen in their work. Stage directions are important and bear examination,
but acting styles and conventions change in every decade. You'll find yourself
doing a rather old-fashioned production if you adhere too rigidly to some
stage directions. You can't make rules about these things. There are many
ways of presenting the same point. And tastes are always changing, the pendulum
always going back and forth."
Hearing Colin Graham discourse on concepts such as dualities,
time, and the multiplicity of perception, one becomes aware of his own many-sidedness,
always rooted in his profound humanism. "I have another side to my life,
you see. I'm studying for the Church as well, which is one of the reasons
that I'm now resident in St. Louis since my studies for that are here. So
when [founder and first general director] Richard Gaddes offered me this
"part-time job" with the Opera Theatre of St. Louis, it just seemed
to fit in very well. But I have to be very careful how much other work I
accept because it starts prejudicing my time." Except for the eight
weeks in the summer that he spends staging opera at the Banff Festival and
a mere few days each year in London, Colin Graham stays put in St. Louis.
"I've gone off big cities," he quips.
"I don't call it a conversion; that sounds too much
like a mid-life crisis. It was an awakening from a life which was entirely
self-centered. I was really involved only with success: my success, my reviews,
my position, my productions. It excluded everybody and everything else entirely.
One day, I realized that it didn't mean very much and that, whatever I was
going to do in the future, I needed to do for the sake of other people. At
that particular moment, God didn't enter into it (although He was obviously
working on me). That happened a couple of weeks later. I was working in Banff
at the time, in the winter. Those mountains are very conducive to deep thought
and I underwent a whole series of . . . supernatural experiences, really, which I
hate to use the phrase, it's always so misunderstood led to my being 'born
again."' But to do what in the Church? "I have a very great feeling
of responsibility inside this strange profession. There are a whole lot of
people who need comfort and guidance and counseling, particularly in this
country. So many people, especially when they're constantly touring, find
themselves really snarled up, thinking solely about success and career to
the exclusion of everything else. They lose touch with human relationships,
even with their nearest and dearest." There was no mistaking Graham's
unbounded sensibility and compassion, and his resolve to put his life to
the service of others was equally clear.
When Colin Graham speaks of audiences in New York, Paris,
London, the world's great centers as opposed to the sometimes less sophisticated
audiences of more provincial cities, he suggests that the metropolitan spectator
is at a distinct advantage, having more data available, constantly being
exposed to more (and often contradictory) stimuli and changing styles. "That
can be very difficult. One has no intention of playing down to audiences
with less experience than, say, a London audience, or reducing the quality
or intensity of what one is doing. At the same time, one must be aware of
the fact that they may not be as receptive to certain styles or concepts.
One must inevitably have the audience in the back of one's mind. The audience
is a crucial part of all this and if they resist, it's very difficult, and
when they go with it, it's wonderful.
"Britten was very consciously trying to reach to an
audience. He was more concerned with that than anything else, that's what
would upset his stomach every time there was a performance, whether the audience
was going to receive it. That was paramount to him." The intangible
but privileged communion between creator and receptor via the interpreter,
so central to Britten's values, is equally prized by Graham, contrasted to
certain (unnamed) contemporaries ("incestuous and masturbatory")
whose professed disdain for audiences is total. At a rehearsal of a new opera
with a particularly wordy and philosophical libretto, the orchestral cacophony
drowned out all semblance of comprehensibility. When the composer's attention
was drawn to the fact that no one knew what was happening on stage, he responded
"I'm not in the least interested in whether the audience hears the words
or understands what's going on or not. The only reason the words were there
was to inspire me to write the music." The anecdote illustrates where
Graham stands: he has little patience for a certain type of arrogance at
the expense of lay people who have done their best to tune in to the creative
mind.
Anecdotes and vignettes from his experience always charmingly
told provide further insight into Colin Graham's interests and tastes. He
tells, for instance, the story of obtaining permission from Ingmar Bergman
to base a libretto on one of the Swedish film maker's movies, provided a
suitable composer could be found. The English composer Nicholas Maw heard
about it and asked if he might be considered to write the music for such
a show. On getting back to Bergman with his choice, Graham learned that the
exclusive rights had just been assigned to a then-unknown American named Stephen
Sondheim. The film, of course, was Smiles of a Summer Night ; the
show, A Little Night Music . (Maw went on to write The Rising of
the Moon for Glyndebourne instead.) Graham will have his first opportunity
of directing the Sondheim classic at Banff next year, along with Cavalli's
L'Ormindo. "I do have very catholic tastes. I've always wanted
to do musicals because of this wonderful mix of the theatre, the spoken word
and the music. But I've done few in my time, having backed off when I discovered
the hideous circumstances in which new musicals are put on."
Producer-director-librettist-clergyman-humanist Graham
talks about his life with astonishing clarity and candor. In the middle of
a flourishing career, he has seized the reigns of his personal destiny by
asking himself some fundamental questions and, where he has felt it necessary,
starting over again. "The effect it has had on my work I no longer need
to focus everything on myself is that I now know that I trust the music much
more, that I do everything for the benefit of the work and the people
who are putting it on and the audience, rather than for my own gratification
and my own réclame." At least in St. Louis and in Banff, opera
goers are witnessing a fresh and unusual dimension in Colin Graham productions.
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