Showing posts with label Georges Auric. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Georges Auric. Show all posts

Tuesday 17 October 2023

The Takács Quartet at Cambridge Music Festival with Haydn, Hough and Beethoven (uncorrected proof)

The Takács Quartet at Cambridge Music Festival with Haydn, Hough and Beethoven

More views of - or before - Cambridge Film Festival 2019 (17 to 24 October)
(Click here to go directly to the Festival web-site)

17 October

The Takács Quartet at Cambridge Music Festival with Haydn, Hough and Beethoven (uncorrected proof)


Programme :

(1) Haydn ~ String Quartet in D Major, Op. 71, No. 2

(2) Hough ~ String Quartet No. 1

(3) Beethoven ~ String Quartet No. 8 in E Minor




Personnel :

On the stage of West Road Concert Hall, the players of first violin (Edward Dusinberre) and viola (Richard Yongjae O'Neill) had elected to sit on piano-stools, and at opposite ends, with Harumi Rhodes (second violin) to Dusinberre's left, and cellist András Fejér to O'Neill's right (and next to Rhodes).


First half :

* Joseph Haydn (1732 – 1809) ~ String Quartet in D Major (1793), Op. 71, No. 2 (Hob. III : 70)

1. Adagio - Allegro
2. Adagio
3. Menuetto : Allegro
4. Allegretto - Allegro


(1) Haydn opens this string quartet in a very gracious mood, with the instrumentalists passing the partitioned line between them as if in a relay, but, of course, The Takacs Quartet does so in an effortless way that belies the concentration and skill involved. It was likewise clear from their smiles, to each other or to themselves, as they read what was on the page (especially Harumi Rhodes), that they were enjoying his wit, and the risk-taking modulation near the Allegro's conclusion.


The Adagio is the movement that feels to be the emotional centre of the work, and in which it became apparent that the attention of the audience at West Road Concert Hall was rapt. We might also have become aware of hearing the viola as 'an outlier' to the harmonic background that was given by the other instruments.

That being said, there is a reversal towards its end, and it is then the first violin that gives the incidental detail. However, it also proves to be very nearly the final bar, by which point Haydn's sensitive writing and the quartet's playing had wrung all of us out – we, and they, too !


From the Menuetto's spirited and lively introduction we pass into an in-between world, where Dusinberre (vn) and O'Neill (va) were playing exceptionally quietly. In this composition for string quartet, as a whole, it is noticeable that there is such great economy, with Haydn writing absolutely no more material than is necessary.


As in the opening movement, there is good-natured writing and fragmentation of the melody-line between the parts in the Allegretto, and with dance-rhythms becoming more prominent in the Allegro section. Haydn appears to indicate a coda (since it might turn out to be a late set of variations – or even a false ending ?), and we came to the end of this well-received performance of a gem of a piece.



* Stephen Hough (b. 1961) ~ String Quartet No. 1 (2021), Les Six rencontres

1. Au boulevard
2. Au parc
3. À l'hôtel
4. Au théâtre
5. À l'église
6. Au marché


(2) As Joanna Wyld's programme-notes imply, which quote extensively from Stephen Hough's own comments on the character of the rencontres*, and the music suggests, this set of movements is of a very cinematic nature : filmic depiction, and juxtaposition rather than 'development', is its mode of operation, but it also features what we heard in the Haydn, where fragments that make one musical line are passed around between the players.


The vigorous and colourful sound-world of Au boulevard was followed, in Au parc by the evening's first use (?) of Pizzicato, alongside what felt to be more than a hint of moto perpetuo, and a genial mood, but one perhaps tinged with Hitchcockian unease ?

Without intentionally listening out for the style of Francis Poulenc, it was À l'hôtel that most obviously reminded of it and his approach to melodic and harmonic invention. Until it proved to have a definite end, it seemed uncertain whether it might have been played without a break between it and Au théâtre.

However, that was not the case, and the latter's slide or 'tap' notes straightaway set it apart - was this, maybe, in the spirit of Arthur Honegger ? In any case, it continued with evocations of 'hamming' or stage horror, much use of tremolo, before a more serious and sad section (Tragedy after Comedy ?), and, with the viola prominent, a quiet close.


À l'église had wistful and phlegmatic writing, which was patently moving the performers (in this work's 'emotional centre'), and which might have had resemblances to Georges' Auric's cinematic score for Cocteau (La belle et la bête (1946)). Au marché seemed to have an incessant quality (and no bars' rest for any of the players ?), but yet a finality about it, marking its conclusion with bell-tones and their peals.



Second half :

* Ludwig van Beethoven (1770 – 1827) ~ String Quartet No. 8 in E Minor (1806), Opus 59, No. 2 (the 'Razumovsky' set**)

1. Allegro
2. Molto adagio
3. Allegretto
4. Finale : Presto


Beethoven's moody and magnificent (3) quartet is very different from what went before, so it truly did need an interval beforehand, as well as nothing to follow it – although, at the end of a powerfully affecting performance (not to say, of course, evening as a whole), an encore was repeatedly called for.


In the Allegro that opens the work, the viola keeps the line going, and the musical ship afloat, with an alleviation of the other players' harmonies. Perhaps, for maximum effect, our performers allowed themselves distending the suspenseful rests per tutti, but they principally and aptly gave the writing its full due weight from pacing and their dynamics.

They fitly reminded us, too, by bringing them out, how the composer's dissonances might have been 'shocking' in Vienna in the early nineteenth century (as the embedded Tweets allude to).


Through having noticed it when a pianist, say, performs a complete set of Nocturnes or Études, the writer, at least, believes that there is largely more scope, in a less-familiar number within that set***, for deviating from what is expected in or from it : though simultaneously asserting that this movement is 'the emotional centre' in Beethoven's work, yet the Molto allegro's 'under-exposure', as it were, likewise gives more and / or different scope for individuation.


The Allegretto is, of course, very familiar, but this was glorious, and, with the playing of Rhodes and O'Neill to the fore, full of rich expectancy that led us on to the joyous fugato section, where we could again hear the delicacy of the viola's tones.

To come...


The Finale also sounded fresh and, and we could again see that the players had smiles at the writing's felicities. Those same elements could be heard, which had been there in the opening work, of fragmentation of the musical line : it is always a sign of good programming when compositions 'talk to' each other !

Entrancing and entranced, right up to the end that we knew was coming and which we were willing on, this was a fit conclusion to a compelling evening of fine music from The Takács Quartet.


End-notes :

¹ Although Hough refers to Les Six, it seems that the string quartet was commissioned and written for a recording by The Takács Quartet of works for string quartet by Ravel and Dutilleux (neither of them members of Les Six).

² All three works come to us through patronage, even if, in the case of Sir Stephen's composition, we now say that it 'was commissioned'.

³ Which, differently put, is to say that, unlike those that are often played solo, or with one or two others that have been excerpted from the set, one that is far more infrequently heard does not have a recording or performance practice that suggests how it 'should' sound. (The same principle applies to the excessively known or played sections of the Verdi or Mozart Requiems.)




Unless stated otherwise, all films reviewed were screened at Festival Central (Arts Picturehouse, Cambridge)

Monday 18 February 2019

Two Tweets in initial astonishment at the vividity and richness of image and meaning in Orphée (1950)

Astonishment at the vividity and richness of image and meaning in Orphée (1950)

More views of - or before - Cambridge Film Festival 2018 (25 October to 1 November)
(Click here to go directly to the Festival web-site)


18 February


Astonishment at the vividity and richness of image and meaning in Orphée (1950)





Jacqueline Pearce RIP (Servalan)


Épilogue :





End-notes :

* Seen at Saffron Screen (the community cinema on the premises of Saffron Walden County High School, Saffron Walden, Essex).




Unless stated otherwise, all films reviewed were screened at Festival Central (Arts Picturehouse, Cambridge)

Saturday 30 November 2013

Ma Bête !

More views of - or before - Cambridge Film Festival 2013
(Click here to go directly to the Festival web-site)


30 November

This is a review of La Belle et La Bête (1946), as shown at Bath Film Festival 2013 (@BathFilm) in a new BFI (@BFI) restoration (a trade-in for writing a Film Note for the festival)


99 = S : 17 / A : 17 / C : 16 / M : 17 / P : 16 / F : 16


A rating and review of La Belle et La Bête (1946)



S = script

A = acting

C = cinematography

M = music

P = pacing

F = feel

9 = mid-point of scale (all scored out of 17, 17 x 6 = 102)





Georges Auric, just on the showing of this score (though, amongst others, he worked his effect on such highly rated films as Passport to Pimlico (1948) and Roman Holiday (1953)), would be considered an insightful composer. He gives us, for example, a compact overture, builds to a finale to match the assumptive apotheosis, and, in between, has unresolved chords when a dark forest is being penetrated, tellingly uses the middle part of the oboe’s register at key moments, and transforms and modulates themes to suggest the transitional moods.

As one would expect of him, Jean Cocteau has produced in this film a work that resonates with literary, cultural and homosexual allusion and yields an almost overwhelming richness of meaning*. On one level, Adéläide (Nane Germon) and Félicie (Mila Parély) are the ugly sisters from Cinderella, except that they are not ugly beyond their attitudes and aspirations, but just that La Belle (Josette Day) is more beautiful in all of those things. (We also have something like the looking-glass from Snow White, hints of Goldilocks when the father enters La Bête’s domain, and Little Red Riding Hood with the perilous forest.)


Looked at differently, we have Shakespearean perspectives in La Belle’s father as Antonio in The Merchant of Venice, with Bottom’s becoming an ass, and with Lear’s division of the kingdom between his daughters, where La Belle asks but for a rose (as against a monkey or a parrot) and is blamed when plucking one (with all the rich symbolism of rose-picking going back to The Romaunt of the Rose) proves dire.

On the level of realistic narrative, a father looking to save himself at the suggestion that one of his daughter’s should die in his place seems monstrous, though little as monstrous as much in Lear, but it amounts to the same thing : which of the daughters loves him more than the others to take his place (with all the suggestion of Christ’s redemptive sacrifice) ? Link this with the insincerity of La Belle’s sisters, their scheming, and their desire to subjugate her and one has quite a bit more than the Prince Charming story.

What we must also have is inspiration for other filmic enterprises such as Pan’s Labyrinth (2006), The Elephant Man (1980), Sunset Boulevard (1950) and Edward Scissorhands (1990), but also wide influences from The Hunchback of Notre Dame (for whose film Auric wrote the music ten years later) and Nosferatu (1926) (those doors that open themselves) to the Wife of Bath’s Tale in The Canterbury Tales.


Names are important (though probably inherited by Cocteau, but he would have known what to do with them), with, beyond Belle = Beauty, ones that mean happy or lucky (Félicie), noble or honourable (Adéläide), fame or fighter / warrior (Ludovic), and pleasant or welcoming (Avenant) : link beauty with happiness and honour and you have a powerful trio, but, when being happy means selfishly seeking out one’s own comfort (even at the risk of another becoming a slave) and when it is only honour amongst thieves, one has a pair as corrupt and venal as Goneril and Regan.

The circumstances of shooting, so soon after the end of the war, mean that the privations that Chris Baker brings out in his festival film not only match those of this family wracked by debt by vessels being lost at sea (U-boats, etc.), but are also reminiscent of The Cherry Orchard, with so many people, other than the self-motivated sisters, failing to do anything beyond moping or spending the last pennies in the tavern to remedy the situation (and La Belle only incidentally does that by her holy tears of pity turning to diamonds). The requirements to be careful whom one trusted in war time, and who one’s real friends were, must have been raw topics at this film’s release.

With La Belle and La Bête, the polarity is more obvious, with him moaning Je sais que je suis horrible – she, who was a willing sacrifice, brings to him her goodness and faith, which he finds hard to receive, and is adamantly vocal that she should not kneel to him. At the start, with a clapperboard that was going to set things off interrupted by Cocteau’s written admonition read aloud by him (and, as in the credits, with a superscript five-pointed star), we are urged how to try to enter into this world. La Belle, likewise, enters into La Bête’s world, and, in return for glowing less with a kind of saintliness in her beauty **, takes on a different beauty that she can share with him, where La Bête can become Ma Bête.

As, in more senses than one, this is a tale of enchantment, I had a theory about La Bête (which turned out to be wrong), but I became more interested in his psychology, brought out wonderfully by Jean Marais both in his vocal tone, and his eyes, demeanour and gait. He did change, did develop before our eyes, and the side of him that exacted bargains from people on pain of death, humbled before La Belle, appeared to soften. He is a sort of Prospero, swearing a vengeance on his brother and other betrayers that he does not - cannot - carry out (which is where the Greenaway connection is), or a bit the man behind the illusion of The Wizard of Oz.

Cocteau winds up the story gradually, seeming to be an unmagical one until the branches part in the forest and the father finds himself in La Bête’s domain. When he enters, and the male hands holding a candelabra move and gesture, and the male faces watch and follow, we are conscious that he is a man amongst disembodied male features, and there is a homoerotic tinge (when the hand at the table lets go of the shaft (sic) of the candelabrum to pour the wine, the father jumps a mile) – later, when La Belle passes through, and, after that, describes how they brush her hair, they take on a different character. Striking imagery that could not have failed to say some to a film-maker such as Peter Greenaway, or a writer such as Samuel Beckettt.

Whatever meaning one tries to put on this film, no one will adhere, because it is, with music, words and the visual world, such a coherent piece of art that it is, as Chris Baker says was Cocteau’s desire, poetry, and demands to be watched over again.


End-notes

* Whatever its starting-point in the writing of Jeanne-Marie Leprince de Beaumont.

** I am not with Chris Baker in finding a Vermeer resemblance made out, not even to what is called Girl with a Pearl Earring, as hair swept back and in a headscarf is not an unusual look.




Unless stated otherwise, all films reviewed were screened at Festival Central (Arts Picturehouse, Cambridge)