Satyagraha

Gandhi Performance Art
The Met gets Weird

The Met has had a wild ride this year. With seven new productions, many revivals, and the problems that cursed the revival of Tristan und Isolde, I was a bit worried something would go wrong with the much hyped Philip Glass 1980 opera, Satyagraha. I knew it involved puppets, acrobatics, and the signature strange-yet-rhythmic Glass music. I was prepared for anything. What I got was most everything including amazement and disappointment.

Satyagraha is Sanskrit translated as "truth force" or "holding onto the truth." The opera is woven together via Gandhi supported by real and religious vocal parts that include Prince Arjuna, Lord Krishna, Miss Schlesen (Gandhi's secretary), Mrs. Naidoo (Indian co-worker), Kasturbai (Gandhi's wife), Mr. Kallenbach (European co-worker), Parsi Rustomji (Indian co-worker), and Mrs. Alexander (European friend). The three acts are titled Tolstoy, Togore, and King with each character taking physical claim to an elevated view on-stage. Glass and company obviously wanted the audience to focus on the sounds, rhythms, and feel of the libretto and music. To control this more, there were no subtitles. They decided to integrate translations into the performance by projecting them onto the stage, sometimes on the back, curved wall, on papers, and on other objects moved or created on set. I liked it. It reminded me of Greenaway's film Pillow Book.

Act I becomes a clash and dance of twigs, woven baskets, and rural materials versus more English and Western materials of newspaper, suits and ties. The materials move and shift, weave together and create new things, morphed things. This texture and layering works well with the meditative, trance-like movements in Glass's score. Scene 1 is The Kuru Field of Justice. Scene 2 has one of the cast climb up two stilt-walker to take Tolstoy's place, and grow old, in a window box above Tolstoy's Farm. Scene 3 returns the cast to a more Indian or neutral place to take The Vow. Overall the scenes flow and morph into wondrous moments. The technical and layers quality of the staging, sets, acrobatics, puppetry, movement, music, and chorus all serve each other well. I was completely engrossed in the production and couldn't take my eyes off anything for fear I'd miss something. And while some might claim the opera and music a reflection on minimalism, I'd say the opposite. This production has so much texture, so many layers, it is impossible to absorb it all. We end Act I with shoes - about 50 pairs of shoes lined up in such simplicity yet so movingly representing humanity in all its forms, for all the steps it takes.

Act II follows an arch for the Bengali poet, Tagore but it seems to start in England. Scene 1, Confrontation and Rescue, opens with some very ruffian men all lined up in their dark and drag clothing with the exception of spots of garishly colored hats, hair, sideburns, and shoes - spots of orange, fuschia, purple. They're all chanting in a soft yet threatening way, "ha-ha-ha-ha-ha." A woman, Mrs. Alexander, comes to Gandhi's defense. Unfortunately I wasn't impressed with Mary Philips voice as Mrs. Alexander. Scene 2, Indian Opinion, place Tagore up in his box and we continue the path towards freedom through the press. Scene 3, Protest, shows movement leaders jailed and the people assemble in protest to burn registration cards. Again, the movements and creatures who inhabit the stage compliment the work, music, and main voices, including a beautiful use of the chorus. Highlights in staging include hangers that take many, many coats up into the air, Ganesha appearing in one of the box windows, the registration papers floating down, and Gandhi lighting the fire pit - with actual fire! What an amazing spectacle!

But wait; then comes Act III, King. Yikes! The production derails. Where there was symbolism, beauty, poetry in the strange yet compelling opera thus far turns into a mess of bizarre actions, props, and tedious music and sound. King's back is to us most of the time. New Castle March is not a reflection of the courage and strength of the Civil Rights movement. In this production, it becomes a painful and disjointed fissure in the play. Was this to reflect our own halt in progress towards a more integrated, peaceful, and unified world? Who knows? King comes out of his box to preach from a pulpit, blue skies changing color and light, Gandhi at one point below him, perhaps reflecting on who's shoulders he stands on. The horrible score grinds, and with no help from the chorus, soon starts irritating. And what the heck was the tape for? lines after line of clear tape is stretched across the stage - left to right, right to left - creating a vibrating set of lines, perhaps reflective of the lines on a music sheet? But then someone, something grabs them and bunches them up creating a monster? man? thing? and finally a big ball of sticky tape? Strange. While all the materials, most of the symbols, and the movements in Act I and II supported the story and reflected the settings, I was lost in Act III. It was like being at a bad performance art piece. Why is he doing that? What could that mean? It was all too confusing.

So my reaction is mixed. Had I left after Act II, I would have thought this the most bold, daring, dramatic, and spectacular performance I've seen at the Met all season. Then came Act III. What the $%&? It left a bad taste in my head, yes, my head. And I don't think a production that ends with such residual mucky feelings can be called great. Had it wished to leave the viewer with questions to answer, disquieting doubts to ponder regarding the fate of a harmonious future, they could have worked on that more to clarify what to do next with that perspective. Instead all that is left is silence ... and nothing to hum and take into the night.