Review: Beowulf and Grendel

The dynamic duo dating back to before the tenth century has received more press in the past month than possibly at any other time in the past millennium. And for good reason: a number of intriguing pieces, both on stage and off, have recently paid homage to this extraordinary Anglo-Saxon saga. In the interest of full disclosure, I have not trekked to the Quad Cinema to see the recent movie "Beowulf & Grendel" as I found the trailer rather nauseating, even despite a number of Scandinavian names in the cast.

Instead, I headed to the Lincoln Center Festival to hear the final performance of the much-ballyhooed production of "Grendel" that came not from Geatland, but from Los Angeles. Then two nights later I attempted to recalibrate my Old English sensibility—much affected by all that operatic Sturm und Drang—by attending Benjamin Bagby's performance of "Beowulf" at the LaGuardia Drama Theater.

What a difference two days make! For even now I am still trying to make sense of "Grendel," this Elliot Goldenthal production directed by Julie Taymor loosely based on the 1971 John Gardner book. It seemed to combine the most wild elements of rock opera (think Ian Gillan's "Jesus Christ Superstar") with Basil Twist's underwater puppet version of "Symphonie Fantastique" along with the City Opera debut of Bernd Alois Zimmermann's "Die Soldaten" 15 years ago. It was, in short, everything and nothing. Spoken were both Anglo-Saxon and modern English, as well as riffs on speaking Anglo-Saxon, and shape-shifting Grendel shifting his own diction as his three shadows shifted in and out of the — shadows. Was this perhaps rather tired, pretentious and hokey, as Anthony Tommasini wrote in his New York Times review? Was it a whole lot of nothing, a visual extravaganza akin to what one finds any evening on French television, or what Mark Swed wrote in the Los Angeles Times: "The opera accomplishes little through words or music, but there is quite a bit to look at." Was the house packed because of that enormous and clunky stage set, which likely has five variants from old Wagner productions in cold storage buried deep in the bowels of the Metropolitan Opera? Or was it all the nimble dancers in various ravishing costumes gyrating wildly with swords, in flowing dresses and chain mail? Did the thunderous standing ovations—several of which obviously were in recognition of the light-hearted, campy moments of the production—signal this was a work of monumental achievement? Or mere joy that the near-deafening percussive moments of the final act had drawn to a close?

I'm not sure. But armed with this foreknowledge, I secured a seat in the first row so I might observe the orchestra and conductor Steven Sloane at work. For as a fan of modern opera, I am always curious to see how the orchestra reacts to rather awkward moments, of which there are many in "Grendel". Some knowing smirks, a few whispered barbs, and other peculiar gesticulations could be observed throughout the performance, and for good reason: Goldenthal and Taymor depict Grendel's emotional roller coaster-ride in so many ways that ultimately the score (and libretto) suffer from schizophrenia. And just as George Bush's whispered vulgarity to Tony Blair in Russia a few days ago seemed weirdly off-kilter, so too do Grendel's occasional outbursts of modern vulgarity. After all, we know this monster is angry.

Let me state that I do much admire Eric Owens, the powerful bass in the lead role who in his constricting monster costume and at times perched in odd places managed to consistently sing this overwhelming role heartily with tremendous bravado. But while it was amusing enough to hear Grendel respond to and mock Anglo-Saxon diction in modern English, it was even weirder when Grendel had his private audience with the dragon. Their at times light-hearted and at other times cosmic exchange certainly amuses the audience, but the scene seemed to exist in a temporal world somewhere between "Little Shop of Horrors" and "Porgy and Bess". Denyce Graves' virtuoso performance was additionally tempered by her three assisting dragonettes seen dangling from on high. It was as if Goldenthal and Taymor wanted to tell us they have every device (and secure funding) in their millennium-device bag of tricks; they succumbed to the old Vaudeville trick that if something works once, then the multiplicative effect works even better!

In short, this production was very Los Angeles. Which somehow seems a pity, because the score and music do at times work so very well. Swed does not exaggerate when he wrote in his review that "It is the most ambitious, spectacular and successful new opera yet from Los Angeles Opera." The problem is: the collective ear for dialogue—and for vibrato and timbre. Somehow mine ears did protest at the rapid-fire shifts; perhaps some anti-spasmodic medications could be passed out to the audience before future performances?

In contrast, Benjamin Bagby's spoken and sung Beowulf, with solely a medieval harp as accompaniment, was a treat. Performed in front of a simple scrim that at times appeared to undulate at the dreadful little LaGuardia Drama Theater, Bagby regaled the audience with his emotional and dramatic rendering of the first third of the Anglo-Saxon epic. With clever supertitles to assist, the audience seemed generally at rapt attention throughout the nearly two-hour performance, punctuated only by short breaks so the bard could sip from a modest glass of water. Having only heard one world epic performed in a traditional setting—by an itinerant soothsayer outside the holiest monastery in the Himalayas—I haven't got much to compare this rendition of Beowulf with. Yet I found it appropriate that the lights were dimmed, that Bagby wore dark clothing, and the setting was sedate. At other times, the lighting shifted to highlight the locale and intensity of the narrative. In other words, nothing detracted from the rhythm of the Singspiel and harp, which helped tremendously in focusing on the action and tonality of the Old English. In particular, Bagby mimicked Unferth's drunkenness when challenging Beowulf's defeat in a swimming contest of lore. And Bagby was most impressive narrating the surprise of Grendel's arm being torn off by the legendary Geat, whose physical prowess was beautifully depicted by Bagby's increasingly deep resonance.

In this world of many Beowulfs—I recall finding a wonderful 1970s comic version at a Housing Works store last year for a mere dollar—much has been made of how every era adapts Beowulf and Grendel to its own needs. In fact, Charles McGrath's July Fourth article "Politically Aware 'Beowulfs' May Miss an Ancient Delight: Terror" nicely elucidates the heart of the matter: "The Beowulf story is so strange, so elemental, that it has spun off a surprising number of satellite versions...." Indeed, it is perhaps not least because the original Anglo-Saxon version is so remote and inaccessible that the spawn of Grendel has been so lavish. Yet many these old tales—whether in Finnish (The Kalevala), Akkadian (Gilgamesh), Tibetan (Ling of Gesar)—remain vibrant today both because of the tremendous imagery and moral homilies they serve up. McGrath finds that these retellings of Beowulf lack much of the terror and violence of the original. Yet listening to Bagby's magnificent narration last night, so much of the evil and wanton savagery could be gleaned from his dazzling voice. Perhaps film production companies would be wise to hire him, rather than sink millions into elaborate sets that fail to capture this medieval horror.

Tags:   benjamin bagby, beowulf, charles mcgrath, city opera, denyce graves, elliot goldenthal, eric owens, grendel, john gardner, julie taymor, lincoln center festival, los angeles opera, mark swed

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Posted on 7/19/2006 ( Permanent Link )
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