The Magic in the Flute

Legend says that the Prince Archbishop of Salzburg himself literally kicked Mozart out of his
palace - in truth it was his Grace's steward Count Arno who delivered the Episcopal drop kick.
In Emanuele Luzzati's drawing the young Mozart seems to enjoy the event.  But it seems some
little success and an admonishing Emperor Josef are awaiting his arrival in Vienna.

An article on Mozart's The Magic Flute by my friend David Nice over at I'll Think of Something Later led me (as David's writings so often do)  to do two things: download one of the great recordings of Mozart's masterpiece and search for one of several books I have on the work of Emanuele Luzzati as inspired by the genius that was Wolfgang A.

Never out of the catalogue since the day it was issued, the recording was produced by Walter Legge in Germany between November 8, 1937 and March 8th of the following year in Berlin's Beethovensaal. It featured the Berlin Philharmonic and the cream of Germany's operatic talent - or at least those who had not been forced to leave by the Nazis; but most surprisingly it was conducted by Sir Thomas Beecham.  Beecham had created some controversy in 1936 when he taken the London Philharmonic on tour to Germany and had agreed to the "request" not to include Mendelssohn's Scottish Symphony in their repertoire - though a convert to Christianity the Nazi government still regarded Mendelssohn as a "Jewish composer".  To the discomfort of the authorities even Der Fuehrer was not exempt from one of Sir Thomas's comments.  When Hitler showed up late for one of the Berlin concerts Beecham was heard, in one of those mutters of his that could fill a room, to observe "That stupid old bugger's late!"

A computer reconstruction of the Beethovensaal, home of the Berlin Philharmonic
before the Second World War.  It was destroyed in the Allied bombing raids.
It was the major recording venue for HMV between the two Great Wars.

Though not an Nazi sympathizer - Beecham refused invitations to tour Germany after 1936 - he nevertheless honoured contracts he had with the Berlin State Opera in '37-38.  For HMV Legge assembled an all-German cast (though Danish-born Helge Rosvaenge made his career in Germany and Austria) and it seems that he audaciously replaced a few "unacceptable" members of the Berlin Philharmonic Orchestra strategically with players from the Berlin State Opera Orchestra.  The Queen of the Night’s aria O zitt’re nicht, mein lieber Sohn (Tremble not, my dear son) was still unrecorded when Beecham left Berlin at the beginning of March and was recorded later that month with Bruno Seidler-Winkler conducting the Berlin State Opera Orchestra.

HMV's Mozart Opera Society issued four operas on 78s over the space of
several years. The First was the Glyndebourne Nozze di Figaro followed by
Cosi and Don Giovanni also from John Christie's country opera house. The
Beecham Zauberflote was the only non-British recording in the set. Along
with the Cosi it was to remain in the catalogue since its first issue and is
considered one of the great recordings of the 20th century.

Despite its slightly clouded history the recording was greeted with superlatives when it was issued on 19 double-sided shellac 78s as one of HMV's The Mozart Opera Society recordings.  As the LP era took over many other recordings were to appear but this pioneering effort was the one most frequently held up for comparison.   My own Flute of choice has always been the 1962 recording also produced by Legge under the baton of Otto Klemperer.  I recall hearing an LP transfer of the earlier Berlin recording and not being terribly impressed - it sounded as if it had been copied from the 78s clicks, pops and hisses intact.  But after several hearings of the 2001 remastering of Beecham's historical recording on Naxos I am inclined to place it very close second in my list of favourites.   Though the two conductors could not be more different in their approach they both capture the inspired lunacy of Schikaneder that is made magical by Mozart's music.   The surprise with Klemperer was always how jolly and warm, almost folk-like, the more comic moments sounded and with Beecham it is the sublime majesty of the more serious  - but then should I really be that surprised?  He was, after-all, a conductor of Wagner, Strauss and Delius.

Emanuele Luzzati's set model for the 1963 Die Zauberflote at Glyndebourne.  Ten
triangular screens, each manipulated by a stagehand hidden inside moved about
the stage under the direction of a stage manager using early wireless technology.

Luzzati's sketches suggest the positions he wanted for the screens and designs (each side had a
different colour and design theme) he wanted revealed for the various scenes as the opera unfolded.

That strange juxtaposition of the inane and the sublime has always been a problem both in the pit and on stage.  How do you reconcile the antics of Papageno with the proclamations of Sarastro; how do you handle that sudden switch of bad guys half-way through the first act.  How do you stage a work which, as Winthrop Sargeant observed, is often dramatically dull and where "in the last act - the Klu Klux Klan marches around and says "No!" while Tamino tries to become an Eagle Scout"? And Sargeant is right - it can all be very morally upright and lets admit it the stage is not really the place where moral uprightness shows to best advantage.  Often when stage directors have failed their designers have come through and found the magic in the Flute.   And an incredible array of designers have strove and in many cases found the balance between Mozart and Schikaneder;  amongst the more famous are Marc Chagall at the Met in 1967,  David Hockney at Glynedebourne ('78)  and the Met ('91),  Beni Montressor at the NYC Opera, William Kentridge at La Monnaie ('05) and La Scala ('11), Oskar Kokoschka, Maurice Sendak and again at Glyndebourne my beloved Emanuele Luzzati in 1963.


Every year, beginning in 1960, I ordered a copy of the Glyndebourne Programme Book and between those lavish publications and the marvelous recordings I had from the Festival (Le Comte Ory, Cenerentola, the 1936 Cosi)  I would armchair travel in tuxedoed splendor on the train from Victoria to the Sussex downs,  picnic by the HaHa, wander in the gardens and revel in Mozart or Rossini.  I first became aware of Luzzati's work when I opened that 1963 Programme Book.   I was immediately captured by his strange drawings - and remember wondering how on earth they were ever realized.  But I was even more intrigued by his use of 10 three sided screens maneuvered about the stage by a stagehand inside who took instructions from the Stage Manager on wireless headphones - how modern was that?  In subsequent years I was fascinated by Luzzati's designs for Don Giovanni, Macbeth and Die Entführung aus dem Serail.  All very different but all distinctively Luzzati.

I finally got to Glyndebourne in 1969, dined in the Nether Wallop and saw the new Luzzati-John Pritchard Cosi along with Pelléas and Werther.  But the following year was to be "the year" - as well as Janet Baker in La Calisto and Graziella Scuitti in Il Turco in Italia - I finally got to see that Magic Flute.  If in my memory book it takes second place to the Calisto (one of those truly great nights of opera that I can count on the fingers of one hand) it was still memorable for the performances of a young Illena Cortubas, Weishal Ochman and Hans Sotin - and the magic of Luzzati's designs.  At one moment dark and glittering, the next all bosky green and in a twinkling gleaming gold they perfectly captured the shifts from whimsy to wisdom that so intrigues in this silly-sublime final work of the equally silly-sublime Mozart.

Luzzati only designed that one production of The Magic Flute for the stage but he was to use the opera as the inspiration for designs of all sorts throughout his life.  Posters, playing cards, a full length animation and a children's book were all to give him opportunities to express the joy that the work so obviously gave him.  Though long out of print I was able to find that children's book online and decided that I'd make a short video combining those two things that my friend David had led me to search out:  Sir Thomas's recording from so long ago and Luzzati's interpretation for children - so different and yet often similar to his vision for the stage. 

Many thanks David - as always you led me to something wonderful.

May 4 -1919: May Fourth Movement: Student demonstrations take place in Tiananmen Square in Beijing, China, protesting the Treaty of Versailles, which transferred Chinese territory to Japan.

The Formal Dinner - Folies Bergère 1930s

Since many of my friends are in a celebratory mood, I thought I'd add to the celebration with a formal dinner. But not just any old formal dinner, but a dinner created by designer Freddy Wittop for the Folies Bergère in the 1930s.

Wittop was Dutch born and worked in all the grand music halls of Paris between the two great wars; like many of the designers of the period, he moved to the USA with the outbreak of WWII. After a stint in the U.S. army he led a Spanish dance troupe that toured North America but returned to his first career as a designer in the 1960s. His iconic red dress and spray of feathers first worn by Carol Channing when Dolly was welcomed back where she belonged won him a Tony.

Anyone who designed for the Folies found that the restrictions of the stage on Rue Richer - it is only 36 feet deep - meant novel solutions had to be found to produce grand spectacle. Like Marco Montedoro in his Restaurant italian that I featured in a posting last year, Wittop used only a small portion of the stage to present his Grande menu.

The chairs, candelabra and most of the table are a painted backdrop with perhaps a 12 foot wide platform as the front of the table. Fortunately the Folies also had a promenade around the orchestra pit so the action could be moved out - to the delight of the gentlemen in the audience.
The menu started with a serving of crayfish - apparently to serve something as a Buisson is to serve it in a pile. Being chorus girls, not the nudes, they would have kept their shells on.
The appetizer was followed by a parade of main courses featuring, amongst other dishes, salmon and pheasant. Perhaps this would have given a few of the danseuses nués a chance to shine.
At most French meals the salad is served after the main course and this one was no exception as the chorus girls took to the stage as lettuce and some rather saucy tomatoes. Most of the chorus girls were troupes of English dancers - the Tiller Girls and Bluebell Girls being the two most famous. There is still a troupe of Bluebells at the Lido de Paris.
Dessert would have started with the stately showgirls parading in feathered finery as Meringues. Very few of the girls were French though most of them learned to shout out "Oh La La" like female versions of Pepe Le Peu. Then the chorus girls - they sometimes had only minutes to make complicated costume changes - took over once again but this time as luscious Crêpes Suzettes.
And of course no meal would be complete without a bowl of fruit. One is tempted to say that there are apples and pairs on these plates!

The glorious frivolity of it all - and the incredible imagination.
22gennaio - San Vincenzo e Sant'Anastasio

Lunedi Lunacy

I first saw the work of Emanuele (Lele) Luzzati back in 1963 in a programme book for the Glyndebourne Festival. It would be another 6 years before I saw his magical designs on stage but in the meantime, through a few children’s and music books that were available in Canada, I became enamored of the child-like exuberance and musicality of his imagination. He was known throughout Europe as a stage designer, book illustrator, muralist, film director, animator (with partner Guilio Gianni) and designer of fantastic children’s parks and playgrounds. Still actively creating at the age of 84, his death in January 2007, left the world with one less source of joy, wonder and lunacy.



It's questionable if Rossini actually wrote the Cat Duet but god knows he heard enough caterwauling sopranos to give him inspiration.



Lele and Gianni were nominated several times for Oscars and amongst their noted animations where the titles for Brancaleone alle Crociate (Brancaleone at the Crusades) second in a series of Italian comedies featuring Vittorio Gassman as a hapless knight who becomes the leader of an army of rogues, cheats and liars. The first movie gave rise to the expression - often applied to Italian politicians: They're as bad as Brancaleone's Army!

11 febbraio - Nostre Signore di Lourdes