近距离内射合集

In George Frederic Handel鈥檚 鈥淩odelinda,鈥� an evil duke, Grimoaldo, has seized power in Milan, imprisoning Queen Rodelinda and her young son in a room in their own palace. Rodelinda鈥檚 husband, King Bertarido, is presumed dead.

In R.B. Schlather鈥檚 staging at the Santa Fe Opera, co-designed with Jiaying Zhang, the room is barren 鈥� no furniture and nothing on the cracked plaster walls except a few Italian sentences Rodelinda has scrawled in charcoal.

The sentences, I later learned, translate as, 鈥淏ertarido was king. He fled from Grimoaldo. May his soul find rest and his ashes peace.鈥� Not knowing Italian, all I could determine was that Rodelinda had written something as a desperate protest, like the Latin phrase Offred finds scrawled in her closet by a previously imprisoned handmaid in Margaret Atwood鈥檚 鈥淭he Handmaid鈥檚 Tale.鈥� I liked how it looked; I just wish they had printed the translation at the top of the program notes.

As it turns out, Bertarido is not dead. But when he returns to the palace to rescue his wife, Grimoaldo imprisons him, too, and both he and Rodelinda must figure out how to free themselves and regain their kingdom. In its broad outlines, the plot resembles many psychological horror films in which sympathetic characters are trapped in confined spaces by psychotic villains.

Having recently seen Kane Parson鈥檚 film 鈥淏ackrooms,鈥� which came out this year, and which I loved, I wanted to view Schlather鈥檚 and Zhang鈥檚 set in light of the burgeoning 鈥渓iminal horror鈥� genre. In liminal horror, characters get trapped in uncanny transitional spaces 鈥� endless mazes of storage rooms and empty hallways 鈥� and in 鈥淏ackrooms,鈥� the spaces become increasingly weird. Floors and walls interpose themselves at odd angles, sometimes with pieces of furniture embedded within them.

鈥淩odelinda鈥� never gets that weird, though. Apart from that one dismal interior, which later doubles as a dining room when a nondescript table and chairs are brought in, the only other sets are a plain black wall with a rectangular 鈥渨indow鈥� cut out and a plain black wall with no window. These ultra-minimal 鈥渘onplace鈥� sets are what we might expect from a black box production of a Samuel Beckett play. And since Schlather is quoted in the program as wanting to create 鈥渢he overpowering suspense and tension of a noir thriller,鈥� such stark, existential staging is appropriate.

Unfortunately, the same sets from Act I are carried into Acts II and III. The novelty quickly wears off, and, rather than feeling increasingly tense and claustrophobic, I felt like I was sitting around at the DMV or in a hospital waiting room 鈥� a 鈥渓iminal鈥� experience, but not a particularly horrific one. For that, the director would have needed to make the sets feel more disorienting.

The use of spatial disorientation as a horror device probably dates back to Robert Wiene鈥檚 1920 film, 鈥淭he Cabinet of Dr. Caligari,鈥� where the sleepwalking murderer is not nearly as unsettling as Wiene鈥檚 jagged, expressionistic sets. 

In an influential 2002 essay, 鈥淛unkspace,鈥� the architect Rem Koolhaas argued that ugly, poorly designed architectural spaces were rapidly proliferating, causing mass disorientation and angst. From parking lots to shopping malls, Caligari-like 鈥渏unkspace鈥� was everywhere. It was only a matter of time before those spaces made their way back into fiction in the form of liminal horror.

I appreciated Schlather鈥檚 desire to strip away the decorative frills we usually associate with baroque operas in favor of something bleak and eerie, but he didn鈥檛 push the aesthetic far enough. What if the walls literally closed in on the characters? What if he had made use of the trap door in the middle of the stage? There was one brief moment 鈥� I don鈥檛 want to spoil it, but it involved the fireplace 鈥� where Schlather displayed true genius. Otherwise, the set was inert.

The light and shadow effects Schlather created with lighting designer Masha Tsimring amounted to little more than a pastiche of cinematic clich茅s. I mean, one oversized shadow at a climactic moment is fine, but don鈥檛 put oversized shadows in every scene.

Schlather took a highly stylized approach to the acting, as well, getting his performers to bang their fists against walls on more than one occasion, for instance. Any glimmer of dramatic tension was snuffed out by the ham acting, which prompted frequent bursts of uncomfortable laugter. Were we supposed to be laughing? I couldn鈥檛 tell.

The idea of staging 鈥淩odelinda鈥� as a stripped-down psychological horror or noir thriller is a bit odd anyway, considering how stately and melifluous Handel鈥檚 music is. It鈥檚 too pretty to be scary. Handel is widely considered one of the greatest composers of all time, and everyone from Ludwig van Beethoven to Johann Sebastian Bach idolized him. But compared to those two, Handel is much more flowery. He can also be repetitive. From beginning to end, the singing in 鈥淩odelinda鈥� is a ceaseless cascade of vocal runs and roulades. When performed mechanically without deep feeling, it鈥檚 like listening to singers practicing their scales for three hours. Virtuosic, sure, but tediously academic.

The soprano Lucy Crowe as Rodelinda and countertenor Iestyn Davies as her husband, Bertarido, are both glorious, however. The rest of the cast sings flawlessly, but Crowe and Davies sing with the kind of emotional sincerity that pierces the heart. Countertenors 鈥� male singers with ethereal, high-pitched voices 鈥� are an exceedingly rare vocal type. So, it鈥檚 quite a treat to hear not one but two of them in 鈥淩odelinda.鈥� The flipside is that we鈥檙e bound to compare them. And while countertenor Hugh Cutting sings the role of Unulfo with great polish, Davies鈥� soulfulness reigns supreme.

Most people who love Handel probably love his graceful melodies. They probably love frilly baroque sets and costumes, too. Schlather鈥檚 production 鈥� so stark and depressing 鈥� might disappoint them. Sadly, it will also disappoint people like me who love expressionism. I wanted real thrills and chills, not winking allusions to thrillers. I wanted to be disturbed and unsettled. I wasn鈥檛.

But if you love great voices, you should go just to hear Crowe and Davies. They might be all the thrill you need.

Logan Royce Beitmen is an arts writer for the 近距离内射合集. He covers visual art, music, fashion, theater and more. Reach him at lbeitmen@abqjournal.com or on Instagram at .