At Home, but Out of Place

Imperious and awesome she may be, but Turandot, the Chinese princess of Puccini’s last--and some say greatest--opera, is hardly role-model material. Like all the ancient Furies rolled into one, Turandot is a dark force of nature, driven by an unseemly thirst for vengeance.

Her sport is putting three impossible riddles to those hapless men who dare seek her hand in marriage--and lopping off their heads when they inevitably fail. She tells us it’s her revenge for wrongs done to a long-ago ancestor, a woman callously subjugated to the will of invaders (men), then murdered.

“No one will ever possess me!” Turandot trills. “The horror of her assassin / Is still vivid in my heart!”

At the same time she wreaks her vengeance, Turandot also feeds the blood lust of her Chinese subjects, who chant in anticipation of the next decapitation, “Hone the blade! Hone the blade!”

Of course, Turandot is not really Chinese at all; she is an invention of European “Orientalism,” in which all things Asian were seen as the other: exotic and intoxicating, barbaric and cruel. Nevertheless, next month she travels to the alleged scene of her crimes--to Beijing and the Forbidden City, citadel of China’s imperial clan for 500 years--where she will reenact her story under the baton of maestro Zubin Mehta and the direction of Chinese filmmaker Zhang Yimou (“Raise the Red Lantern,” “To Live”).

This world-class production of “Turandot” is headlined by Western opera stars including Sharon Sweet and Barbara Hendricks, backed by the chorus and orchestra of the Maggio Musicale Fiorentino and presented under the auspices of the Europe-based Opera on Original Site Inc., or OOS.

“Let’s get this straight,” Mehta says when reached by phone in Munich, where he is conducting the Bavarian National Opera productions of “Tristan und Isolde” and “La Traviata.” “This is the production we did in Florence, only on a larger scale, modified to fit the Forbidden City.”

He is referring to the sold-out “Turandot”--with essentially the same forces--that was staged during last year’s Florence music festival. It’s hoped that that success can be repeated in Beijing, on a grander scale. This time “Turandot” will take over a side courtyard within the vast complex of red-columned pavilions and white-marble terraces that make up the Forbidden City, whose walls border Tiananmen Square.

The performances will be staged on the front platform and steps of what was formerly known as the Palace of Heavenly Purity, a place where dignitaries were granted royal audiences and where the hapless Pu Yi, the deposed last emperor of China, got married in 1924. Today it is known as the People’s Cultural Palace.

No expense has been spared for this event. For the eight performances (Sept. 5-13), special tiered seating to accommodate 4,200 and a state-of-the-art sound system will be erected. Director Zhang, whose films are known for their austere beauty, is clearly reveling in the $750,000 budget for sets and costuming. For Florence, he brought along Chinese costume and set designers to conjure up an opulent dream-world based on the Tang Dynasty (AD 618-907)--an era considered one of the most glorious in Chinese history. Now he has commissioned an opulent Ming look--Ming emperors (AD 1368-1644) first established the Forbidden City. The sets are heavy on red and gold (the imperial colors), the 1,400 handmade costumes heavy on embroidery.

To allow for daily performances, the demanding principal roles will be rotated among three singers each--Turandot will be sung by Giovanna Casolla, Audrey Stottler and Sharon Sweet; Liu, the loyal slave girl, by Angela Maria Blasi, Barbara Frittoli and Barbara Hendricks; Calaf (or the Unknown Prince) by Lando Bartolini, Sergej Larin and Kristjan Johansson. Three-hundred-fifty members of the orchestra, cast and crew will be flown in from Italy to be joined by more than 600 Chinese performers--dancers from the Central Ballet and the Children’s Chorus of Beijing, and extras. Their presence will make the opening lines of the opera acutely apropos.

“Popolo de Pekino! People of Peking!” a mandarin intones, before explaining Turandot’s draconian courtship ritual.

Surely this will send a frisson through the crowd as evening falls over the Forbidden City and the tale of the heartless princess unfolds.

Getting “Turandot” to China is a tale of its own, five years in the making. Jetting around the world promoting and overseeing the project is OOS’ head, Michael Ecker, an Austrian by birth and now international impresario by choice. For a few days, he stops over in Hong Kong to drum up publicity and plops down on a sofa in a lounge of the Grand Hyatt. A portly man approaching Pavarotti dimensions, he’s in love with the idea of mixing culture with travel--in fact, his other business is American Overseas Tours.

“The feeling of the [audience] being on site is incredible,” he says when asked to justify the expenditure of time and money of bringing opera to theme-related locations. “It puts them much more into the 15th century than being in a theater. They become more sensitive to the story when they’re surrounded by history.”

In 1987 Ecker served as director of promotion and publicity for a landmark “Aida” mounted in Egypt. Twenty-thousand people saw it, and to this day it generates buzz.

“It’s something really outstanding when you are sitting watching ‘Aida’ next to the Temple of Luxor,” Ecker says.

Mehta’s justification for taking “Turandot” “home” is a little more practical: “Well, first of all, half the set is already there,” he says.

Perhaps in a cosmic sense, the Forbidden City does provide the right kind of resonance for the fearsome Chinese princess. After all, it was so named because most people were forbidden to go there--death to trespassers.

In fact, it was none too easy for OOS to gain admittance. Asked to describe the most difficult aspect of the project, Ecker says, “Getting all the necessary permissions.” Indeed others have wanted to do “Turandot” in the Forbidden City, including Herbert von Karajan and Franco Zeffirelli, and failed. The recent collapse of bringing the Shanghai Kunju Opera Company to New York to kick off the Lincoln Center Festival is a sore reminder that with China, even cultural exchange can be fraught with pitfalls.

When Ecker started negotiations with the Chinese in 1994, he envisioned doing each of the three acts in a different section of the Forbidden City--advancing farther and farther into the inner sanctum. Soon that proved too ambitious. But he did succeed in enlisting the partnership of the China Performing Arts Agency from the start.

He had worked with the agency to bring Mehta and the Israel Philharmonic to China in 1994, and then Mehta and the Vienna Philharmonic in 1996.

“Getting their participation was vital,” Ecker says, “since they’re part of the Ministry of Culture. It was done as a joint venture, and they got the necessary approvals for us.”

Mehta’s reputation and insistence on using a Chinese director--Zhang--were additional incentives. Add to that participation fees (undisclosed) and the promise of some 20,000 visitors drawn to China for the once-in-a-lifetime event (many of whom will be on 9- to 12-day tours), and the whole package evidently proved irresistible.

“I estimate it will bring in about $100 million to China,” says Ecker, who expects that two-thirds of the audience will come from outside China--not surprising given that Western opera remains unfamiliar to Chinese audiences and that “Turandot” tickets cost $150 to $1,250 each.

Fortunately--with total production costs hovering around a hefty $15 million--ticket sales are only part of the equation. A post-performance 15-course banquet inside the palace is available for $250 a head. Corporate sponsorships are being sold for program mentions, preferred seating and hospitality suites on the sidelines for business entertaining. Already signed on are Morgan Stanley, Credit Suisse and Cartier. The Bertelsmann group, the German media giant, has purchased the television, video and recording rights for an undisclosed sum, with CD and video releases scheduled for Oct. 15.

The OOS promotional material calls “Turandot” “a Chinese fairy tale,” but it would be more accurate to say that it is a Western fairy tale set in ancient China. The story--in which Turandot is transformed by the love of Prince Calaf (who bests her at her own riddling game), and by the example of Liu, who is herself besotted with the Prince and willingly gives up her life rather than betray him--was adapted from a 1762 play by Carlo Gozzi. Gozzi, a Venetian, probably borrowed it from “The Arabian Nights” or Persian folk tales.

Giacomo Puccini, a lover of exotic subjects, came upon it in the early 1900s. By then he had already created “Madame Butterfly” and “The Girl of the West,” so the cross-cultural setting must have seemed a natural. He was not put off by the fact that the tale had already been turned into no less than eight operas--testament to the popularity of the Orientalist imagination--although for two years he kept sending back the libretto to writers Guiseppe Adami and Renato Simoni for revisions, his own suggestions attached. (It was Puccini’s idea to have Liu, the slave girl, die, to add emotional crescendo to Act 3.)

Surprisingly enough, a bit of genuine China actually slipped into the opera. The melody for the so-called “children’s chorus” is taken from a Chinese folk song about the jasmine flower. How did Puccini, who never traveled to China, hear this music? At the time the Chinese weren’t using Western notation, so it couldn’t have been from seeing a score.

Ecker has an explanation: “There were these Chinese music boxes which people brought back on their trips,” he says, “ and Puccini heard them, so composed along these themes.”

“It did strike me as a bit odd,” Zhang admits when asked about his first impressions of the offer to direct Puccini’s opera. Contacted by phone in China, Zhang says he will take a break from moviemaking to rehearse “Turandot” when the cast arrives a few weeks before the performances. “I told them I don’t understand Western opera, and they said, ‘We’re glad you don’t understand it.’ And then I realized that they wanted a new take on this opera, a fresh point of view.

“When they told me the story, I thought, well, I could express my feelings about Chinese tradition and history through this opera.” Zhang says that he carefully supervised the movements of the actors--training them in the subtleties of courtly rituals and manners to make them more “Chinese.”

Audiences were charmed by the prospect of Zhang’s participation--the Florentine debut of his “Turandot” sold out and two additional performances were added in response to the demand for tickets. The critics were not so sure--one called the production a “stinker,” but the journal Opera found it to be a “spectacle that triumphed,” singling out “crucial moments . . . handled expertly, in particular the torture and death of Liu.”

Mehta is also enthusiastic.

“Usually this opera ends up looking like a Chinese restaurant,” he says. “This one doesn’t at all look like that, the costuming is newly designed, all hand-stitched in Beijing, it looks wonderful.”

Still, it is tricky, this characterization of a nasty Chinese princess, a distaff Fu Manchu who goes about for most of the opera like a bloodthirsty despot.

When asked about her unlovely nature, Ecker quips, “Well, it all ends happily.”

Meanwhile Zhang, whose films rarely end happily, recognizes the tragedy in “Turandot.”

“In my directing I want to emphasize how the death of Liu moved her and the people around her,” he says. “It reminded me of the old Chinese play about Dou-er, who was also about to be put to death. She said, ‘If I am wrongfully put to death, let it snow for six months, let the Great Wall turn red,’ and she was wronged, so it really did snow for six months and the Great Wall turned red.”

But rather than pushing any particular interpretation of the story, Zhang sees the Beijing production as a chance for his compatriots to experience a great art form. “Of course we Chinese have our owntradition of opera,” he says. “But rarely do we get to see Western opera. . . . Here’s an incredible opportunity to see a full Western opera done by Westerners.”

Zhang speaks deliberately--suggesting that though Chinese touches may be added to the production, “Turandot” remains an import.

Ecker surely wouldn’t disagree. His intention, he says, is to produce a bit of precedent-setting cultural exchange, as well as a profitable one.

There is also a gleam in his eye as he looks to the future.

And what might that future be?

Why, “Madame Butterfly”--in Nagasaki--of course.