Revisiting Carmen

It seemed like a natural starting point, as I took the plunge into my new study of opera, to start with a dive into a known work. I had studied Georges Bizet’s Carmen in grade 11, and knew I could benefit from knowing the story (more or less), the language, and the music already.

I did not expect the overture and various arias to be the hungriest ear worms to burrow into the soil of my daily life for a month (I would even tell my clothes in the laundry that Je reviendrai quand la garde montante remplacera la garde descendan-an-an-an-ante”). Nor did I appreciate my large, greasy-haired French teacher lingering so smugly by the front door of those memories. [Ours was a highly antagonistic relationship.]

Everybody loves Carmen

Anyway, it all came back to me pretty quickly, and I was once again annoyed by the entire storyline and the basis of Carmen’s character herself: the untameable seductress who ravages the minds and destoys the lives of all men who should happen to lay eyes upon and, inevitably, fall in love with her (even those who have a lovely little lady in their lives already).

Wait a minute, I know this character from elsewhere.

Ah yes, I’d had the same reaction many years ago listening to the score of Luc Plamondon’s Notre Dame de Paris, a stikingly beautiful musical with which I’d become very familiar. There was a moment when I had had enough of Gringoire’s, Phoebus’, Frollo’s, and Quasimodo’s damn obsession with that bloody irressistible Esmeralda. Just shut up already!

Of course, in both cases [spoiler alert], that darn tart had to die at the end, for the sake of all those poor, tortured men.

Okay, okay, I didn’t really want to get into the gross themes and the reasons they’re exasperating. What I find delightfully contradictory is how I can hold the essence of those storylines in contempt, and yet so very much appreciate the works that hold them both.

Playing Carmen

Another bothersome matter was that the production I first found and chose to watch on YouTube featured a very ineffective Carmen. The production was a minimalistic one—fine—and one that chose a more modern, though not contemporary, wardrobe. But why was she barefoot, anyway? Her awkward attempts at appearing seductive felt offputting, reminding me more of a very little girl twirling her dress at a family barbecue, showing everyone her underwear because it had bunny rabbits on it. Disturbing.

Their Don Jose was equally uninspiring, with his untucked shirt, messy hair, and generally unkempt look; unfitting for a character who at least started out as a scrupulous, good-boy soldier.

[Regardless of portrayal, it’s still entierely unclear to me what Carmen ever saw in Jose. Or, in the same vein, what Esmeralda saw in Phoebus.]

After I’d gone through the entire performance, I went back to look for some of those big numbers done in other productions, and found some much more satisfying renditions.

Forget the act, listen to the voices

At this point, I became curious about something I knew would come up in the course of my study: what exactly is the difference between opera and musicals? While they share many similarities and the lines sometimes get blurred, the concensus seems to be that opera is more about the music and the quality of the singing voices, while musicals put more into the words, the acting and dancing, and the general stagecraft.

So, maybe I shouldn’t have been so turned off by the childlike Carmen and the uninspiring Don Jose? Perhaps I was too distracted by their unimaginatve presentation and, with my completely uneducated ear, missed out on incredibly stellar vocal performances? Perhaps with continued study, I’ll have a better idea about what actually makes opera good.