The Gershwins®’ Porgy and Bess®

Porgy & Bess will be presented for the first time in the history of the Opéra de Monte-Carlo. How does one approach such an emblematic work when it is being introduced for the first time in an opera house?

When a work is presented for the first time in a theatre, it seems important to me that it be done strictly in the spirit intended by the composer. This is all the more necessary in the case of Porgy and Bess, which aims to be a powerful testimony to the life of a very specific community. Faithfulness, however, does not exclude imagination or poetry…

There is a certain echo between Gershwin and the worlds of Ravel and Debussy. Having staged L’Heure espagnole, L’Enfant et les Sortilèges and Pelléas et Mélisande in recent seasons, do you perceive this musical dialogue as a fertile dramaturgical thread for your stage interpretation?

This dialogue stems from Ravel’s (moderate) use of jazz and from the fact that these works are all emblematic of the first part of the twentieth century and will remain masterpieces in the history of opera. Dramaturgically, there is a kind of fantasy that links Ravel to Gershwin, as well as, in my view, a great poetic sensibility in the pointing out the difficulties of simply “existing” (Pelléas et Mélisande).

Porgy & Bess is often described as a “popular opera”, infused with jazz, spirituals and street songs. How can this hybridity be conveyed on stage without smoothing out its singular character?

It seems to me that one must go straight to the core of the story, where poverty, sex and drugs are set against the great longing for hope that runs through the work. One must therefore accept this hybridity while avoiding the easy cliché of the musical comedy, which would run counter to Gershwin’s intentions. This is a proper opera!

The work clearly belongs to the verismo tradition, portraying ordinary people confronted with violence, addiction and the desire for emancipation. Catfish Row itself becomes a microcosm in which the community plays an essential role. How can this human dimension be brought to life without falling into illustrative naturalism?

We encounter the same difficulty when staging La Bohème (Puccini). My approach is therefore that of “poetic realism”, magnificently illustrated by French cinema of the interwar period. It poeticizes relevant social issues.

Catfish Row must necessarily be a realistic place in which a small, hard-working and rather poor community lives. It is also a place where family plays a major role, and also religion, allowing us to show the significance of the community’s spiritual life. It is their singing that will give the show its poetic power.

At the heart of the drama lies an impossible love, fragile and threatened by both social and personal forces, while the chorus acts almost like a collective character. How do you direct the performers so that both this intimate tension and the community’s powerful presence can emerge?

Directing performers always requires a very secret kind of alchemy. One must know what one wants to show while leaving an indispensable space for the artists to act freely. The danger of the lyrical impulse I mentioned is that it may take up too much room at the expense of the truth of the moment. Within the framework he has set, the stage director must channel the energies without giving the impression of restraining them.

The chorus is a character in its own right. It lives, enjoys itself, suffers, prays… this is in fact the case in many operas. In Porgy and Bess, the chorus does not merely comment; it takes part in everything! This momentum must be guided according to the same principles as for the soloists.

After exploring French Impressionism and many other aesthetic worlds in Monaco, what does this immersion in 1930s America represent for you? What personal perspective do you bring to this work, which profoundly marked the history of opera at the time of its creation?

I would like Monaco to instantly understand the immense aesthetic and visual shock that Porgy and Bess represented at its premiere. Of course, everyone knows Gershwin or at least has a generally positive image of him. Yet the drama in this music is far removed from the songs that made him world-famous.

Such is the mark of its success: everyone knows “Summertime” without necessarily realising that it is the opening aria of the opera. At the very beginning we have a brilliantly virtuosic overture, then a few jazzy piano notes with people dancing, and finally the poetic calmness of “Summertime”. What a shock!

I have no particular anecdote to share except a personal one: my great-uncle, Joe Ballard, was an American pianist and was — if I believe what I was told (and I have no reason to doubt it) — the first to perform Rhapsody in Blue in France. The story continues, with a smile…