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Where Silence Should Be Golden New York
Alice Tully Theater, Lincoln Center
11/01/2024 -
Richard Einhorn: Voices of Light: An oratorio with silent film
Amy Broadbent (Soprano), Sylvia Leth (Mezzo-Soprano), Matthew Hill (Tenor), Edmund Milly (Bass-Baritone)
Beverly Au, Motomi Igarashi, Lisa Terry (Bass Viols), The Mannes Orchestra, The Polythenia Viol Consort, The Polyphonists, The New York Choral Society, David Hayes (Music Director)
Carl Theodor Dreyer: The Passion of Joan of Arc
Renée Falconetti (Joan), Eugène Sylvain, André Berley, Antonin Artaud etc, Carl Dreyer (Director)
A. Artaud/R. Falconetti
“You say that you are my judge; I do not know if you are; but take good heed not to judge me ill, because you would put yourself in great peril.”
“One life is all we have and we live it as we believe in living it. But to sacrifice what you are and to live without belief, that is a fate more terrible than dying.”
Joan of Arc
As succinctly as possible: Carl Dreyer’s The Passion of Joan of Arc is still unimaginably grand, Richard Einhorn’s oratorio Voices of Light is a massive well‑constructed oratorio, David Hayes’ direction of the Mannes Orchestra and the New York Choral Society was splendid.
And still, I came away from this production frustrated, disappointed and with a nothing more than bi‑polar appreciation.
Since this is a concert review, we’ll get the film over with. This is my fourth time viewing The Passion of Joan of Arc, and for the first three times, I was mesmerized, I did cry (not at the death but at the trials). And I was so grateful that it was in black-and-white. Those shadowy figures, the warts and pockmarks on the judges, the mottled skin on Renée Falconetti (this was her first and last film), the appearance of the great aesthetician Antonin Artaud as a monk, the incessant close‑ups (virtually all close‑ups until the last 15 minutes) were all unparalleled in an atmosphere of moral corruption, sparse subtitles–and silence.
Just as anyone who tried to colorize Dreyer’s singular masterpiece should be burned on Saint Joan’s stake, anybody who put music to this Benedictine Inquisitorial silence should be examined for excommunication. Or heresy.
This obviously shouldn’t apply to composer Norman Einhorn. His original oratorio was the work of a deft writer whose simulacrum of Medieval chorales, of effective solos and fantastic orchestration for the Mannes Orchestra had to be admired.
Of course his Voices of Light hardly came close to Arthur Honegger’s Jeanne d’arc au bûcher. That indisputable masterwork encompassed irony, farmyard animals (sounds of the judges), the overwhelming lyricism of the Virgin Mary at the end. Like Mr. Einhorn, Arthur Honegger gave no singing voice to Joan of Arc. And while Honegger’s oratorio was staged many times over (several times with Ingrid Bergman), neither color film with Bergman nor could any music with Dreyer’s film.
Here we come to the paradox of Mr. Einhorn’s oratorio. Shown on a large screen behind orchestra and chorus in Alice Tully Hall, the movie itself–close‑ups, the tears of Joan and the parade of inquisitors–was last night so overwhelming, so gripping, the monks and soldiers, the peasant-crowds so literally spellbinding that Mr. Einhorn’s oratorio turned out to be..., well, 1950’s style background movie music.
Conductor Hayes and soloists (© Samuel A. Dog)
Oh, actually, with the consort of viols, with choruses sounding partly Ecclesiastical, partly Orff‑al, partly cacophonic, with a series of mainly mystical and medieval poems, Voices of Light, was superior music. And yes, I would like to have heard the oratorio on its own. This was not monumental music, but well composed, quite literally reflecting the emotions of the movie. On its own, though, it didn’t stand a chance.
Not exactly gilding the lily, but speaking the unspeakable.
Actually, one demographical problem could have been fixed. The four soloists were grouped in front, on either side of conductor Hayes. They were formally dressed, their voices were fine. But each time a soloist stood up, he/she blocked the lower fifth of the screen. (I had the ideal seats, fifth row center. Perhaps this was not a problem further back). And while Dreyer’s ghoulish gorgonish faces moved with the only the minimal movements, the director did fill the screen. Blocking that screen was like members of the audience standing up.
Had these four soloists stood on the extreme ends of the stage, or even sat during their solos, the movie would be shown whole, and some of us could ignore the music. In this case the music would sound not “oratorio‑ish” but with a patina of mystical remoteness.
To repeat, I wouldn’t mind hearing Mr. Einhorn’s oratorio on its own, perhaps with a narrator reciting the scenes. As to Carl Dreyer’s The Passion of Joan of Arc, I will still see it–essentially, compulsively see it–as much as possible.
Dreyer’s silence–black-and-white warts and tears included–will always radiate sheer gold.
Harry Rolnick
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