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American Tragedians
This month’s world premiere of Tobias Picker’s An American Tragedy boasts one of the most potent collections of talent in recent Met history. MARTIN BERNHEIMER quizzes the opera’s principal players as they prepare for opening night.
Nathan Gunn, photographed in the lobby of the Palmer House Hilton, Chicago
The Metropolitan Opera is celebrated for many achievements. Producing new works isn’t one of them. The last world premiere ventured by the company was John Harbison’s The Great Gatsby, in 1999. Now comes Tobias Picker’s An American Tragedy. Provocative and demanding, this is a taut setting of Theodore Dreiser’s sprawling novel of 1925. With a probing libretto by Gene Scheer, the opera examines such delicate subjects as social inequity, class distinctions, religious zealotry, abortion, murder and capital punishment, all in relation to the rise and fall of an ambitious young man named Clyde Griffiths.
It is late summer, and the participants in the opera are immersed in the challenge. James Conlon, the conductor, casts an analytical eye on the literary source, and in the process on connections between word and music. “The novel is an important starting point,” he observes. “It is a masterpiece of American literature.”
For many, Dreiser’s ideas may be familiar as filtered through George Stevens’s film adaptation of 1951, A Place in the Sun. Montgomery Clift played the troubled protagonist, torn between his attachment to a simple working-class girl, poignantly played by Shelley Winters, and the lure of a gorgeous debutante, played by the eighteen-year-old Elizabeth Taylor. “The film,” says Conlon, “sparked Picker’s imagination. Yet each transformation is a new work of art. The opera may or may not be faithful to the original, but it will be judged on its own merits.”
Conlon finds the Picker–Dreiser union a stimulating challenge. “Consider the title in its two components — American and Tragedy. It is American in that it deals with the American dream — being able to rise in social class, to reinvent oneself, to trump history and begin anew. It’s American in its clear-eyed fascination with the glamour of wealth. It’s American in that sex is not sport. It has consequences. It’s American in that religion plays a powerful role in the psyche of its protagonist. It is a tragedy in that it has a hero who has a crucial choice, an irrevocable moment of decision. Once he makes the wrong choice, he must pay. In classical tragedy, there is also a necessity that the hero recognize his flaw and repent. Clyde does that. He is at a crossroads, like Oedipus. But fate in An American Tragedy is the way things are — social boundaries, the factory, the country club, etc. Fate is the reality we can’t change — money, power, time.”
Is the opera showy, theatrical? “The issues are those of grand opera — love and death — but the tone is contemporary. The lines sound real, natural but dramatic: ‘I did not want her to die, but I did not save her…. I could have saved her, but I did not.’ In a legalistic way, it may be morally ambiguous. Johnnie Cochran could have gotten Clyde an acquittal. But on a profoundly moral level he is culpable.”
The conductor bristles slightly when asked about Picker’s idiom. Is it progressive? Conservative? “I tend not to make value judgments according to whether a work is or isn’t avant-garde. In any case, conducting a new work is not more difficult than conducting Tosca — just different.”
 Susan Graham
 Patricia Racette
Francesca Zambello, director and sometime specialist in experimental theatricality, draws a line between An American Tragedy and A Place in the Sun. “Although the novel is the source for both,” she says, “each creates its own world, drawing on what is best about cinema or opera. The opera is true to the narration, style and spirit of Dreiser. The movie makes its own interpretation of the novel, as will the opera.”
Like Conlon, she admits a distaste for stylistic labels. “Modern? What does that mean? The opera has a strong narrative with very human characters set in the context of powerful social, religious and ideological issues. That probably means it is old-fashioned. If so, it is what I believe operas should be.”
Is the drama realistic? “The drama is as natural as it can be with people singing instead of speaking. This immediately takes things out of realism for me. In opera, time often stops. We are allowed to go easily inside people’s minds. No character is black or white. All have multiple dimensions. All, in their own way, I find both sympathetic and destructive. They are a complex lot, and each represents part of the American Dream.”
Zambello calls the libretto cinematic. “We all grew up with cinema and TV. Of course, these things are reflected in how we make music drama. Composers and writers should not worry about how we will get something on the stage. It is their job to create. It is my job to interpret.”
Nathan Gunn, the baritone cast as Clyde, is not overly concerned about literary or cinematic sources. “I’ve read the Dreiser novel,” he says, “but have chosen to approach the role solely by the characterization in the libretto. Theater art is very different from written art. It incorporates the visions of many people. If I were to remove myself from the structure, the game plan, and play by my own rules, I would cause more harm than good. A Place in the Sun is a wonderful movie, but I will not be using it as a model for the development of the character. Everyone can sympathize with Clyde. All the secret desires and fantasies he’s been cultivating have a chance to come true. He’s Tantalus, neck deep in water, and whenever he bends his head to drink, the water recedes just enough to frustrate his effort. Why does he continue to try? Because he must. He burns with thirst. We can all imagine what that is like, and we all want to be the one who succeeds.”
Gunn is concerned with dramatic tensions and emotional subtexts. “Clyde says, ‘I didn’t do anything wrong, I just didn’t want Roberta anymore.’ My job is to create a hint of doubt in the mind of the audience. Everyone wants him to get away with it. But in the end, if he doesn’t, they will separate from him in order to subdue their own sense of guilt. I want the audience to leave thinking, ‘He should have covered his tracks better,’ or ‘Maybe he just froze…. He’s just a young man…. We can’t all be heroes. Yes, he did lure her out there, but he couldn’t kill her, he had a change of heart.’”
The singer worries about conflicts inherent in word and sound. “There are challenges, vocally and musically. It’s not easy. The more I know the character through the music and the libretto, the more embarrassing I find Clyde. This is not because he’s ignorant of certain social subtleties. He has an earthiness that is very primitive, very powerful.”
Maestro James Conlon
Patricia Racette portrays Roberta Alden, the factory worker who becomes the victim of Clyde’s ambition. The soprano is fascinated by the implications — musical, historical and dramatic — of the challenge. “One must take advantage of the sources,” she says. “Research can also simply be an awareness of the human condition — the female identity in my experiences — a young girl’s real innocence juxtaposed with the harsher realities of coming of age. I love having the chance to tell ‘native’ stories that are pertinent to us not only as Americans but as human beings.”
At the time of our exchange, the challenge was not yet fully integrated. “I am definitely still mid-meal,” she suggests, “but my digestion should be complete by the first day of rehearsal.” She has no trouble, in any case, describing the nature of Picker’s idiom. “Roberta’s music is all of these things — neo-Romantic, dissonant and difficult. Tobias uses a wonderful variety of melodic styles to express the character and the scene — really great dramatic underscoring. As for the drowning scene, I cannot wait to see how it is realized. Tobias has written an amazing climax — high C-sharps.”
One wonders how the writing for the ingenuous Roberta differs from that of her fatal rival, the worldly and wealthy Sondra. “There is an innocent practicality to Roberta’s music,” Racette explains. “It really underscores her vulnerability, but also her strength and her hopefulness. The tragedy lies in the fact that there is only so much upward mobility she can ever hope to attain, despite the fortitude of her spirit and her true passion for Clyde. Sondra’s music, on the other hand, displays elegance — an elegance that in some ways simply exists because of the privileged life into which she was born. Tobias has done an amazing job of exposing the contrast of these two women. One of his great techniques is the use of particular themes that define each character and continually reappear to underscore identity.”
Susan Graham, cast as the other woman, agrees about the musical contrasts. “Sondra,” she says, “is less hysterical, more confident than Roberta. Sondra’s music is hard, especially the talky bits. She sometimes expresses herself all over the place. It’s tricky. Still, she’s essentially lyrical. She’s a romantic.”
Graham has thought a lot about the character. “She’s young. She should convey a sort of knowing naïveté. She’s early-twentieth-century. She’s a strong girl, full of complex social influences, and quite ahead of her time. She has a sexual foray, cares about Clyde yet doesn’t show her face at the trial. Still, she sends him that final letter.” Graham sees parallels between An American Tragedy and another genuine news story, the recent case involving Scott Peterson and the drowning of his pregnant wife. “But,” she qualifies, “I’m not playing Amber Frey.”
The mezzo-soprano, who previously created central roles in Jake Heggie’s Dead Man Walking and John Harbison’s The Great Gatsby, savors the challenge of the unknown. “It’s like breathing life,” she says, “and it’s fun to share the composer’s joy.” And is the music modern? “It sounds very modern to me.”
  Dolora Zajick
The secondary characters in An American Tragedy are vividly delineated. The relatively brief role of Elvira, Clyde’s deeply religious mother, is a challenge for none less than Dolora Zajick. “The character may be a zealot,” observes the mezzo-soprano, “but she really believes what she says. She certainly does not think of herself as a fanatic. Only at the end does she realize that she has failed her son, that he is going to hell. Her emotions are intense, concentrated. Elvira may be more pervasive in the novel. Here she is a subtle presence, always lurking in the background, yet a driving force behind her son.” And her music? “Not very linear, rhythmically complex, hints, I think, of Janácek.”
Zajick has been involved in only one other premiere during her distinguished career: in 1984, she appeared in Conrad Susa’s The Love of Don Perlimplin at the PepsiCo Summerfare. “It’s about time I did another,” she declares.
Jennifer Larmore, the stellar mezzo-soprano cast as Clyde’s wealthy Aunt Elizabeth, approaches her assignment with an urgent concern for musico-dramatic values. “I read the novel,” she says, “and found it compelling. But when an opera is based on a book, the characters come into play in a much different way. The story is adapted to fulfill musical requirements. Certain scenes may be elongated or shortened. I intend to give Elizabeth my own thoughts and will wait to see how the people I interact with will portray their characters. I am a reactor as an actress.” Is Elizabeth sympathetic? “Very sympathetic, but she’s worried about the way things look to others. She’s been brought up a certain way. Her outlook is colored by that upbringing.”
Famous for her Rossini heroines and Carmen, Larmore claims no qualms about taking on a cameo role. “I have only a few lines to sing,” she says, “but what there is is powerful, makes sense. It is close to how one would speak during a casual conversation.”
 Jennifer Larmore
 Director Francesca Zambello
 William Burden
 Richard Bernstein
William Burden is cast as Clyde’s cousin Gilbert, a conceited creature virtually from another social planet. “I have read the novel and seen the movie,” the tenor says, “and will take information from both, but only as background. In playing any character, it is important to the piece, and the audience, to stay with the libretto, and to use any other source materials as research. It’s great to have a strong idea about a character, but once faced with the libretto and a director with strong ideas, it’s most useful to be willing to start from scratch.”
The tenor is eager to make his character credible. “Gilbert is a golden boy, born to privilege, well educated and accustomed to getting his way. Faced with any sort of social competition, his response would naturally be surprise and, to some degree, derision. We might all think him a jerk, but probably a likable one.” And his music? “It has a wonderful balance of harmonic accessibility and angular edginess. It delineates the character — sometimes abrupt, almost petulant.” Richard Bernstein, the bass who plays Orville Mason, the powerful district attorney, is conscientious about homework. “I’m currently reading the novel,” he says, “also reading the Cliffs Notes, essays, material on the political and judicial environment of the time and, of course, the actual murder case. I did like Raymond Burr’s characterization and acting in A Place in the Sun.”
Having created a central role in Picker’s Thérèse Raquin at Dallas Opera, Bernstein approaches his current venture with the perspective of a veteran. “The music is challenging, exciting. There are no problems in range or dynamics. Tobias wrote the part with me in mind. I guess Mason’s being the only low voice in the opera helps give him authority and intensity.” Bernstein proclaims love for the score. “When I think of Brahms, I think warmth. When I think of Beethoven, I think strength. When I think Mozart, I think elegance. When I think Picker, I think passion.”
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