Director John Cox
A Conversation with Bruce Duffie
Cox has been at Lyric Opera of Chicago on several occasions, directing operas
of Strauss (Capriccio in 1994 and
Ariadne auf Naxos in 1998 and 2011),
Massenet (Thaïs in 2002), Puccini
(Tosca in 2004), and Mozart (Così fan tutte in 2006).
It was during his debut season that he agreed to speak with me about his
We met on the day before the opening night of Capriccio in one of the conference rooms
in the office suite of the company, which had posters from previous seasons
on the walls. Keep this fact in mind as reference for later in the
chat. Also, a few names he mentions are links, and they refer to my
interviews elsewhere on this website.
As we got settled in for the conversation, the topic turned to the use of
supertitles in the theater . . . . . . .
Bruce Duffie: Are you
in favor of having the translations there on the screen for the public?
John Cox: Yes, I am.
I’m most in favor of having text clearly sung to an audience in the language
that they understand. That’s what I’m most in favor of, but I know in
an imperfect world that is now a rare thing. From the experiences of
this house with The Rake’s Progress,
even in an opera in English it’s deemed advisable to have supertitles even
for that. That we don’t do at Glyndebourne. We have supertitles
for the foreign language pieces, but for Rake we don’t use them. I think
there the balance is good enough and the house is small enough. I would
hate to arrive at a situation where the singers began to think it wasn’t
necessary to project the text because the reception of the audience of the
supertitles made that unnecessary. That would be a great shame.
It would be a great loss to the art of singing and the art of opera.
BD: In the Rake
here, just a few weeks ago, I noticed that often times I would read the title
and then I would hear them singing those words since it was the direct set
of texts rather than a singing translation. I would hear those words
then coming out of the mouths, and I would start paying attention even more
closely to the text, which was a help.
JC: Yes, you preview
it and then you hear it.
BD: Almost like
JC: There were
a lot of very subtle effects of this, much more than I think its inventors
could ever have foreseen.
BD: The Italian
singers have told me a number of times that they will get two laughs
— once when the audience reads it and then when the audience sees them do
the gag on the stage. As a director, is there any way of anticipating
that or working with that?
JC: I wouldn’t
want to work with it. All I would want to do is encourage the people
who operate the supertitles to get it right! At the moment it is not
as subtle as it might be. For example, if you put a score in front
of a fiddle player or a wind player, you expect him to play the notes exactly
where they’re written, and sooner or later we directors I think are going
to insist that the supertitles operators get the words exactly where they
are spoken. At the moment, the technology is a little bit cranky.
It’s a little bit too undeveloped. For example, you have to trade letters.
I’ve been working very closely on these supertitles for this Capriccio, and the operator said he’d
love to use that other word but it’s one letter too long! Or he’ll
just have to split the line, or lament that it’s too bad that the character
says the first half of that line to one person and the other half to another.
Naturally I don’t think that’s a bad thing, but sooner or later they’re going
to have to develop means of being as subtle and as flexible as what’s being
said. I think that’s possible.
BD: I have seen
titles that have been divided so you have actually two titles, and they’re
over the appropriate person.
JC: That I think
must be very difficult. I can see it might be possible in a duet, but
of course I have an octet! [Laughs]
BD: The most I’ve
seen was three in Figaro.
There were three people singing with three texts, and the right person was
under the right amount of text.
JC: Well that’s
very clever, but then that’s exactly the kind of flexibility I’m talking
about. If we can ever get that, then fine. On the other hand,
I don’t want the audience to be spending too much time reading when they’ve
come to use their eyes in a different way basically.
BD: Do you find
that inhibiting at all, knowing that the audience’s attention is going to
be misdirected at times?
JC: Yes, there
are times, certainly. In a piece like Capriccio which is a relatively static
piece, it doesn’t worry me too much. But in a more frantic piece where
action is drama, there is clearly a risk that you might just be getting the
text and when you look down you ask, “My God, who killed her?” Or something
radical might have escaped your attention.
BD: One of my favorite
questions for everyone involved in opera is ‘the Capriccio question’.
Where is the balance between the music and the drama — not necessarily in
the opera Capriccio, but in all of
the operas that you direct?
JC: Of course,
the drama in a masterpiece. The drama is carried in the music.
There’s no denying that the composer will have been inspired by the text
as he got it, or the situation as represented by the text — not always by
the words, but sometimes by the situation itself. He will have been
inspired to write the music that we listen to, and in a great composer the
drama is contained within that tissue. I know that’s where it is, and
I know that on balance — to put it at its simplest — an opera to be great
has to have great music. A great text with poor music is not going
to survive, so I know where the balance is really.
BD: Do we find
that great music with poor text does survive?
JC: Yes, it does,
I’m afraid. [Laughs] But then directors have a job to do, and
one of the jobs we have to do is to provide strength where it’s needed.
I don’t admire directors who approach a piece by saying, “This piece has
certain weaknesses, and I’m now going to demonstrate them to the audience.”
My job is to conceal them and provide strength where strength is lacking.
BD: Can you provide
strength where there is nothing under the foundation?
JC: That’s a difficult
question. It’s not very often that one is invited to direct an absolutely
worthless opera. I think the odd occasion where I have been was for
brand new pieces where they’ve been commissioned and you don’t know what
you’re going to get in advance. Without naming names, one has found
oneself desperately trying to make bricks without straw, and I’m not claiming
to be a total magician, but occasionally one can provide a few odd tricks
from up one’s sleeve just to tie it over the really utterly worthless bits.
BD: Talking about
premieres, is it easier or harder or just different to work where you have
nothing to look at? If you’re doing Traviata, there have been thousands of
productions. Is that too much of a burden to come up with something
JC: It is a bit
of a burden. What makes it burdensome is the thought that there are
some people in the audience — especially critics — who will have seen these
pieces so many times that they are desperate for novelty.
BD: Novelty for
JC: They just don’t
want to board, like anybody else, but they start with a disadvantage over
someone who’s never seen it before. The thrill of seeing Traviata for the first time and not really
knowing what’s going to happen is something which I can barely remember,
but you know that it happened. One day it happened. I can remember
the first time I saw Faust because
it was the first opera I ever saw, and I remember going home in a total trance.
I was completely captivated by it. I’m not sure that I would be now,
but I remember that experience very well. I think when I come to direct
a piece, I do try to keep in mind that there are a lot of people who are
seeing it for the first time. I don’t want to betray those people,
nor do I want to betray the work. The work is what it is. It’s
the text. But you’re right to point out that in the performing arts
from the second performance of anything onwards, a piece has a performance
history. Then it starts to become a little bit like architecture.
It gets a ‘patina’. Bits get knocked off, bits get accreted, colors
change slightly, perceptions change of what makes a handsome building.
Victorians in, Victorians out! Richard Strauss is in, Richard Strauss
is out! This will happen because fashion is part of the perception
of art in any time in history.
BD: Is it your
job as the stage director to repaint the outside of the building, or to knock
down all of it to the steel and re-clothe it?
JC: I’m not such
a ‘deconstructionist’ because I know that’s the wrong word, but I don’t really
believe in really taking things totally apart to the skeleton and then re-fleshing
the skeleton. No, I’m more in the Frankenstein mold. I rather
prefer to breathe life into the monster and articulate it that way, rather
than re-assemble its parts.
BD: Then do you
decide if you will accept the assignment by whether or not you think you
can work with that particular monster?
There are certain operas — and I’m not going to mention one single one of
them [Both laugh] — which I really don’t want to do. Although, being
like any artist I am a little bit of a cynic and a little bit of an ironist.
I would probably say the fee would have to be enormous before I’d say yes
to them, and there are about half a dozen, and they’re all famous.
They’re all pieces, frankly, to which I feel I have nothing to bring, and
they do not simply press the button in me.
BD: Has that list
changed over the years? Are there some things that were on the list,
and all of a sudden you realize, “I’ll take that off the list and do it?”
JC: Yes, of course
that does happen. It happened with Frau ohne Schatten — not because I detested
it but because I didn’t understand it. I really didn’t understand it,
not in a superficial level but in a level of what it was doing within itself.
BD: Let me turn
the coin over. Again, without naming names are there works that you’ve
done that you’d say, “Never again!”?
JC: [Matter of
factly] Yes. [Seeing a poster on the wall of the conference room]
I’m looking at the name of one now, and it’s called Tannhäuser. I find Tannhäuser a deeply dishonest piece
of work. I hope it wasn’t me. Maybe it was my understanding.
BD: Maybe it was
your long conversation with Jon Vickers! [Both
JC: I wasn’t the
unlucky one doing that production, but I know what colleagues have had that
* * *
BD: You are now
the artistic director at Glyndebourne?
JC: No, I was director
of productions at Glyndebourne. I was artistic director for Scottish
Opera, and I was director of productions Covent Garden until last August.
So I’ve done it!
BD: Does your idea
of what to do in opera change when you are guest director or even a resident
director, as opposed to artistic director?
JC: Yes. An artistic director’s job is
different. One is there colleagues making decisions about programming,
the structuring of a season’s programs, or maybe five seasons’ programs over
a five-year plan. That is a creative act, but it is something which
one has to not place total primacy on one’s own personal taste. One
is then constructing an agenda for a public service, rather than playing
at being an artist and having fun in the vestry!
BD: You wouldn’t
keep Tannhäuser out; you just
wouldn’t do it?
JC: I would certainly
assign it to some other director, but I wouldn’t rule it out. It’s
got a lot of wonderful music in it, let’s face it! [Laughs]
BD: When you come
to a new production and you’re going to be working on it and staging it,
I assume you’re going to be in very close connection with the designer?
JC: Yes, that’s
the first job. For me, the first and most important job
— and in ways the most difficult job — is
the choice of the designer. Once that choice is made, there is a strong
sense of the irrevocable, and you then work together to devise a scenic solution
to the internal dramatic demands of the piece. But you also have to
make some kind of stylistic statement and maybe some conceptual statement.
BD: Is it an artistic
JC: Yes, it is
a marriage. It is absolutely a marriage, at least for me it is.
But I suppose a director has the opportunity of being married several times
over, which is something not every man or woman can have. And each
marriage has a different quality to it. There’s no doubt at all that
in some marriages the director is uppermost, and in some it’s the designer.
Occasionally you proceed into the unknown together, and that makes for a
happy equal union.
BD: Is that best?
JC: It doesn’t
necessarily produce the best results, but it is the most satisfying way of
working if you’re talking about personal artistic fulfillment and satisfaction.
But in the end, one or other of you might have an absolute brilliant idea
that hadn’t occurred to the other, and then the hope is that the one who
didn’t have the idea says, “My God, that’s great! We’ll go with that.
Forget everything I’ve said so far.”
BD: You mean a
JC: A basic idea,
yes, about how to realize it scenically.
BD: Are there ever
times when you do your own designs?
JC: I’ve never
done my own designs. Once or twice I’ve taken a very, very well formed
idea of how I want something to look to a designer, and was fortunate enough
to be working with someone who was happy about that. But usually for
me it’s the collaborative process.
BD: When you get
assigned or decide you’re going to do a new production, how long do you need
to get the whole concept worked out and be ready?
JC: One of the
best productions I ever did, which was in Santa Fe, happened when I was having
a drink with the conductor on Christmas Eve, and he told me that somebody
had just dropped out. The person they had almost certain going to direct
the show had finally said no, he didn’t want to do it, and they were really
at their wits end. I said I was free, and we phoned John Crosby straightaway.
That was only six months from beginning to end, and that is very short.
BD: So it was the
following season that the production was produced.
JC: Yes, it was
that very season coming up. That was the shortest. On the other
hand one has done things over a much longer time, like the decision to do
Frau ohne Schatten with David Hockney.
Persuading him he was going to do it, persuading him not to change his mind,
getting the designs and everything else probably took some three and a half
years. So it varies really.
BD: When you come
to the beginning of the rehearsal period, do you have all of the blocking
and all of the movements in your head, or do you work with the actors?
JC: No, I work
with the actors. I know pretty well what I want the outcome of each
scene to be, but I would much rather to respond to them and to not only the
reality of the actors but the reality of that chair, the reality of that
table, the reality of that door. This is all where it begins to take
shape — in the rehearsal room. For me, that’s the joy of it.
I would really hate replicating. That’s why when I do a thing which
I’ve done many times before, I approach the piece all fresh. I never
have last season’s or the last production put with me.
BD: You use a clean
JC: I have a clean
book, or no book if I know the piece well enough. Although there is
a basic anatomy, I like it to be as varied and flexible as possible.
BD: I would assume
though that some things are just inevitable. If you have a door upstage
one direction, you can’t bring characters in upstage the other direction.
JC: That is quite
correct. That is the kind of decision one has made with the designer.
When I get to the point of rehearsing, obviously I have closed a large number
of options. When you start working with a designer the options are infinite,
and part of your job is to start closing options. That’s the negative
read-out of what you do, and you’re closing options all the way until you
haven’t got too many left. Otherwise you’d never get through in the
BD: After opening
night, do you stay around for the next several performances to make sure
that it’s all right, or even tinker with it a little bit during the run?
JC: No, but that’s
not because I don’t want to. Usually the structure of the profession
is that you do a piece, and then if you’re fortunate you’re off to do something
else. You get into the habit of leaving after the first night.
Opera companies of any repute will have good back-up staff, a production staff.
BD: Do they look
JC: They look after
it, and they look after it pretty strictly.
BD: Too strictly?
JC: No, I wouldn’t
say too strictly. If they have the task of putting people into roles
half-way through the run because the casting might change, then they have
to have a little bit of flexibility I would hope that they would learn
from me in the rehearsal process just how much flexibility was permissible.
BD: If you have
the same cast for seven, eight, nine performances, can your influence keep
it fresh for performance number seven and number eight?
JC: I hope so.
What I like to do is to lay down for the artists the ground rules within
which their development, the enrichment of their role will take place without
my presence, but with a fidelity to our joint agreed concept.
I very, very seldom come back and see the seventh or eighth performance and
see something I’ve disliked. I’ve seen occasionally things have got
a bit slack maybe, but not that somebody is doing something which is really
against the spirit of the piece.
BD: Do you assume
that it will grow at least a little bit?
JC: I hope it will,
* * *
BD: We have talked
about your collaboration with the designer. At what point do you begin
collaborating with the music director, the conductor?
JC: It depends on the circumstances. If I’m
working in a company of which I’m a member and with a conductor who is also
a member of that company, it’s pretty well from day one. If you’re
guesting or if you’re both guesting another company, it’s really basically
as soon as the management can bring you together. This varies because
the geographical problems with this profession are well-known. They
apply to directors and conductors as well as to singers.
BD: As soon you
know the assignment, don’t you make contact over the phone?
JC: Yes, I would
want to make contact over the phone. First of all, you’ve got to find
out, in most cases, whether there are any cuts and what they are!
BD: Who decides
that — you, or the conductor, or both?
JC: Somebody starts.
It just depends on who’s got the strongest ideas or who’s away any one time.
It might be me suggesting the following cuts with dramatic reasons, getting
a response from the conductor, saying: “I wouldn’t like to do that
for such and such a reason.” I remember I had very fruitful collaborations
with John Pritchard,
with whom I worked on several occasions, but there were two occasions when
we had to really make an edition. One was to Idomeneo which we did together at Glyndebourne,
and another was Don Carlo in San
Francisco. Both works are notoriously problematic, and we had great
joy in sitting down and making the ‘Cox-Pritchard’ edition of each — which
were probably never used again! But it is what we wanted to do according
to our tastes and our intentions with the work. That was, of course,
BD: Would it give
you a good feeling to know that some other production elsewhere was using
the ‘Cox-Pritchard’ edition?
JC: I wouldn’t
be upset! Not at all! I certainly wouldn’t be asking for royalty
either! [Both laugh]
BD: Would you then
be particularly curious to go and see how it worked and what they came up
JC: I would be
very curious, yes, very!
BD: When you get
into the rehearsal period and you’re working with the conductor much more
closely, who has the final word?
JC: Yes, this is
like a ‘Capriccio’ all over again, slightly transposed. In the end,
what any stage director has to accept — and is wise to accept — is that the
conductor is in fact one of the performers, which the director never is.
The conductor has control over all kinds of things which, in the legitimate
theater, the director has control over — like pace, dynamic, color and so
on. Things of that sort are usually pretty indicated in the score by
the composer anyway, and the conductor is merely doing his bidding.
Maybe I shouldn’t have said ‘merely’, but occasionally in rehearsal you really
have to argue it out if there’s a serious problem, and usually you get a
satisfactory solution. It’s really part-answer to your previous question.
I like to get in touch with the conductor if I haven’t done so already as
soon as the designs are ready, and discuss them with the conductor, because
if the conductor cannot bear the designs, then something’s got to give.
It’s no good going into it unwillingly on any side. I’ve known many
occasions — especially recently with the more radical interpretations of
standard works — when conductors either haven’t looked at the set designs
and the costume designs, or maybe haven’t had sufficient theatrical imagination
to see that little model writ large, and to imagine the behavior of the characters
within that wearing those costumes. Then there’s a lot of heartache.
Generally speaking, nowadays you do get early enough contact between conductors
and director and designer to ensure you proceed together.
BD: So it’s your
job then to convince the conductor?
BD: Is it your
job also then to convince the audience?
JC: Yes, totally,
absolutely. But you missed out one very vital stage, which is to convince
the artists. I say to people all the time on stage when we’re rehearsing
that the biggest part of the journey towards convincing the audience is to
convince ourselves. I had a very interesting case of that recently
with Pavarotti. We did Tosca
together, and of course he’s done Cavaradossi many, many times. He
is an amateur painter of some quality, actually, and of course he loves the
opening scene and doing the painting with real paints and making a real painterly
mess. He loves making a mess with his thumb, rubbing the paint and
wiping it on his smock and thoroughly making a mess. He loves doing
that, and he had a particularly charming piece business, which I like very
much. When Tosca came in, the production was that he should take the
stole she was wearing and put it over one of the pew-chairs in the disused
chapel. When we did the rehearsal for the first time, instead of doing
that, he put it over the easel on which he was painting, and started to copy
the color of the stole onto the image he had already made of Mary Magdalene.
I thought this was a marvelous idea, and I said, “One thing is wrong, Luciano.
You don’t have that color on the palette.” So he said, “It doesn’t
matter, nobody will see,” and I said, “You will see, and I know! Why
don’t we put it there?” So I put it there, and of course he saw the
point immediately. I don’t know how many people in the audience saw
that he had that color already mixed, but the fact was that it was in his
mind. There’s another very important case in the Capriccio we’re doing now.
This is controversial of a different kind, but I’ll just touch on it.
There’s a lot of reference to Gluck and Gluck’s reforms in the late eighteenth
century in opera in Paris, and the great controversy between him and Piccini,
and the taste or otherwise of the ‘opera buffa’. The Countess, in particular,
adores Gluck, and sees the future of opera in Gluck’s method, which recognizes
the value of text and the setting of text through music as being the way
forward. Of course, Strauss was telling us that was what he thought
and always thought because the piece is autobiographical. So I have
a score of Gluck’s Alceste
on the harpsichord. Of course the audience can’t know that’s what it
is, but the characters know and they can refer to it. You’ll see once
or twice they go and refer to the score on the harpsichord.
BD: It never would
occur to you to have them take the score and just in passing have it so the
audience could read the title on the cover?
JC: They’d have
to have pretty powerful opera glasses to do that. In any case, it probably
wouldn’t show, no. The important thing is the conviction of the ideas.
Somehow it becomes almost an icon. It becomes an amulet, if you like,
to have something of Gluck on the set, even though I’ve moved the time to
BD: In The Barber of Seville which was recently
here, they made a big point of that. They had scores around, and when
they picked up the scores you could read all of the other Rossini titles!
JC: Oh, really?
BD: They were pointing
it out, and they paid homage to Rossini. That was how they set up the
finale was by paying homage to Rossini.
JC: Yes, of course,
I remember. I enjoyed that very much. I appreciated that.
* * *
BD: Let me ask
you the big question. What is the purpose of opera?
JC: Wagner’s concept
of the Gesamtkunstwerk — the idea
that the arts could unite, and by uniting gain power to become even more
powerful as a multi-part entity — is something I’m very fond of. Obviously
words and music are the two basics, but Wagner clearly had the visual aspect
in mind and I’ve always placed very, very strong emphasis on those.
That’s why I’ve asked painters and other artists from outside the theater
to design occasionally, just to reinforce that side of it and to give that
additional authority. I don’t know what it’s like here, but in Western
Europe and certainly in Britain there are not all that many areas where the
spiritual dimension of life is really stretched and exercised. Religious
observance in Britain is now is not particularly strong, and I think it’s
not particularly strong in a lot of Protestant countries and probably not
in other Western European countries as well. It comes and goes a little
bit, but basically the place of religion in our spiritual lives is partly
been supplanted by art, and the combination of these elements gives to me
— and to those who lay themselves open to it — such a strong spiritual nourishment
that finally I think that would be my purpose in doing it. It becomes
a sort of secular priest.
BD: Does that come into conflict if you were in
Rome or Milan?
JC: No. In
a funny sort of way it may not be so necessary there, but it’s more recognized
as that because maybe it’s simply a second thing to what’s already there
in the great ceremonies of the church.
BD: Does that influence
you at all when there is a church scene in the opera you’re doing?
JC: I can’t ever
get enough incense in Tosca.
[Both laugh] Even when I’ve got the whole place stinking of incense
and I’ve the chorus complaining, the lighting is at the wrong level and half
of it doesn’t show. But basically I like the ceremonial side of opera.
A major function of art is inducing faith in mankind because I remain a secularist.
BD: Is all the
ceremony on the stage, or should the ceremony spill into the house the way
the people come in and go out? Should they be reverent at all?
JC: I don’t too
much like the idea of the audience — or indeed the congregation [Laughs]
— being over-pious. Then you get into a situation where you find the
audience’s beginning to act roles of its own, and we’ve seen that in opera
houses. One should come ‘naked before the altar’, if you know what
I mean. Just shed all that and be simple and receptive to what is being
BD: Does it ever
enter your mind that perhaps there’ll be a different kind of reverence on
the main floor as opposed to the very top gallery in a large house like Chicago?
JC: Yes, that’s
probably true in any house, large or small. It occurs to me, and I
would hope that the artistic experience would be a unifying one. You’re
bound to know when you’re upstairs that you can’t afford to sit downstairs.
It doesn’t escape your notice, and there are many people upstairs who would
prefer to be sitting downstairs, just as there are few who would rather be
exactly where they are. I don’t see very many people downstairs who
would prefer to be sitting upstairs, I must admit, but I hope that what comes
from the stage makes a unity of that audience however their pockets are lined.
BD: Is it your
responsibility to make sure that everything you do on the stage is visible
and understandable from the person in the first row to the person in the
last row, left, right, all round?
JC: If it’s anybody’s
responsibility, it’s mine — not to be too much of the potential martyr —
to encourage my artists that it’s their responsibility. We have a collective
responsibility to perform to the back row as strongly as to the front.
I’ve said that a lot in this house simply because this is the largest, apart
from the Met, that I’ve worked in, and although I haven’t seen the statistics,
it’s deeper than the Met. Reaching the back is hard in this house,
and it’s not to do with loudness. It’s to do with intention, which
is obviously important, and how to fulfill the intention is to understand
the principle of follow-through. Any sportsman — golf, tennis — knows
about follow-through, and singers have to know about follow-through.
It is no good just finishing the phrase and thinking that’s the end of it.
You finish the phrase and you hit it to the back of the theater. You’ve
just got to give it that extra, and there are some people better at it than
others. You cannot do it without text. I don’t care how clearly
it’s mentioned in the supertitles, you’ve got have the text to do that.
BD: It’s got to
work, of course, in the vocalizing. Has is also got to work in the
dramatics? Do you have to be coming from some place, or if you’re going
out, do you have to know where you’re going so there is a purpose in going
There are probably styles of performance where that’s less important than
others, but opera is pretty securely logged in the narrative tradition of
theater. We like to know the story, but there are some operas which
aren’t really narrative operas at all, where the story is less important
than some other content — like an emotional content, or a behavioral content,
or a psychological content, or as a framework for a series of brilliant gags
or a series of brilliant arias. Narrative is of varying importance,
but in so far as narrative is important, then the characters have got to
be aware that they’re telling a story, which means that when they’re going
off stage, they’ve got to know where they’re going. So it is important
that everybody knows where they’re going because it’s going to be part of
the story, and if it’s not going to be part of the story, how do they know
that? A young actor once said to me when we were talking about telephone
conversations on stage, “I like to get telephone conversations over quickly
because the audience can’t hear the other end of the conversation!”
Well, one had to say, “Therefore you’ve got to make the unheard bit as convincing
as the bit they can hear.” There are all kinds of tricks of this kind
that you have to be aware of.
BD: A number of
the operas that you’ve staged have wound up being televised. Do you
have to change your ideas on the stage for the television cameras, or would
you rather restage it specifically for the television cameras?
JC: I’ve been very
fortunate in that most of my televised work has been from Glyndebourne, where
the intimacy of the stage is rather similar to the intimacy of the television
studio. I’m not sure if it’s the same now, but, for example, when Capriccio was televised in 1976, the season
ended and we had five days with cameras, just re-rehearsing. Then we
took out the necessary seats and invited an audience back, so it was still
done to an audience like it would be at any performance there.
BD: But you could
make specific camera adjustments?
JC: We did actually
make a few adjustments for the cameras.
BD: I would think
that would be ideal.
JC: Ideal, but
very expensive. It’s certainly done that way less and less now.
As far as I can see, most television opera is actually taken during a performance
whether it disturbs the paying audience or not, which I think is a little
bit doubtful morally. But it happens.
BD: Does it make
you schizophrenic at all knowing that sometimes you’ll be playing to a camera
and sometimes you’ll be playing to 4,000 people?
JC: No, and this
is interesting. It’s the same here but in England, when we did it at
Glyndebourne or in Scotland at the Scottish Opera, the television companies
would always send an outside broadcasting crew. So it wasn’t an ‘arty’
set, who came along, it was the people who did the football, and to do football
you have to be quick and you have to get the picture. So even though
we had all that rehearsal time, we had outside people doing the televising,
and I think that tradition has lasted now. So when they’re in the theaters
taking the odd program after maybe one camera rehearsal or one look at it,
they can think quickly about what’s happening. They are photographing
an event, and so the singers should never have to think about that all.
BD: It’s their
job to capture the singers, not the singers job to capture the camera?
absolutely, and I vouchsafe that’s the only way.
BD: Do you work
then with the TV director?
JC: Oh yes.
I would always sit down with the TV director and discuss the camera plot
just in case they were missing something or getting a false emphasis.
I’m perfectly well aware that by his selection of shots the camera director
can actually do a lot of my work for me better.
* * *
[Here we paused for a moment while he recorded
a station break for WNIB, and I asked him his birthdate, which is March 12,
BD: Are you at the point in your career that you
expect to be at this age?
JC: That’s an interesting
question. Yes I am, but I’m happy to say that I don’t feel overly secure
there. I’m here. I’m as good as my last production. It gives
me a certain amount of pleasure to say this... I came into the profession
a long time ago. I first joined Glyndebourne as an assistant in 1959.
That was my first job in the theater and in those days there were very few
people even interested in directing opera. It was considered a bit
demeaning to do opera, and you presumably only did opera if they didn’t want
you at the Royal Shakespeare Company, or the National Theater, or somewhere
where they did ‘respectable’ drama. You really had to work at it.
That’s now changed. When I was younger and getting my foothold in the
profession, I didn’t have that much competition. Now the competition
is ferocious, and the young people coming in to the profession are full of
ideas — some of them outrageous, but that doesn’t matter. There’s a
great ferment of ideas, and a great energy in theater is in opera at the
moment. I find that very, very exciting, and there are plenty of people
fighting hard for the top jobs. So if I feel insecure at the age of
59 and a half, you now know why!
BD: I understand
you directed some purely audio recordings?
JC: There was a
short period in the 1960s when the record companies thought it was necessary
with stereophonic sound to have the stage director in to steer the people
about on the studio floor, and I did two of those. I did an Otello [photo of recording at right] with Gwyneth Jones and
Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau and James McCracken, and
The Coronation of Poppea [photo of recording below], which was
one of the things we did from Glyndebourne with Richard Lewis, Magda László
and Oralia Dominguez. But that idea
went out the window. I think it was superfluous in the end.
BD: Will you come back
to Chicago, I hope?
JC: I have a meeting
with Miss Krainik in
a minute, and I don’t know what it’s about, but it might be just that.
BD: Thank you so
much for the conversation. I appreciate it very much.
JC: I appreciate
it too. Thank you very much for giving me the opportunity to air all
these ‘nostrums’ and ideas.
© 1994 Bruce Duffie
This conversation was recorded in a conference room at the Civic
Opera House in Chicago on November 11, 1994. Portions were broadcast
on WNIB two days later. This transcription was made in 2014, and posted
on this website at that time. My thanks to British
Barry for her help in preparing this website presentation.
To see a full list (with links) of interviews which have been transcribed
and posted on this website,
click here. To
read my thoughts on editing these interviews for print, as well as a few
other interesting observations, click here.
* * * *
winning broadcaster Bruce
Duffie was with WNIB, Classical
97 in Chicago from 1975 until its
final moment as a classical station in February
of 2001. His interviews have also appeared in
various magazines and journals since 1980, and he now
continues his broadcast series on WNUR-FM, as
well as on Contemporary
Classical Internet Radio.
You are invited to visit his website for more information
about his work, including selected transcripts
of other interviews, plus a full list of his
guests. He would also like to call your attention
to the photos and information about his grandfather,
who was a pioneer in the automotive field more than a century ago.
You may also send him E-Mail with comments,
questions and suggestions.