All Is Not Shipshape With ‘Billy Budd’

I was at the premiere of Los Angeles Opera’s new production of “Billy Budd” on June 3, and I agree with reviewer Daniel Cariaga about the uniformly high quality of the performers and orchestra who brought to life this intriguing modern opera (“L.A. Opera Smoothly Sails ‘Billy Budd’s’ Deep Waters,” June 5). However, I was baffled and disappointed by the production itself and by those behind it, who seemed to go out of their way to undermine Herman Melville’s work and Benjamin Britten’s vision.

Instead of finding “surprisingly few distractions for the observer,” as did Cariaga, I found it nearly unwatchable. And instead of “all the stage action” adding “credibility to the drama of the musical narrative,” I found it consistently, almost perversely, working against the piece at nearly every moment of the three-hour spectacle.

Either director Francesca Zambello and her associates have never been on a boat, never been at sea, never seen an illustration of a large sailing vessel, or--more likely--were determined to impose their own questionable concept upon a classic. There were maybe four minutes during the “This is our moment” chorus during which I had any clue we were supposed to be on a warship.

Melville’s novella and Britten’s opera are about hierarchies in the British navy and in British society; an English man-of-war of the time contains and reflects both. There is a central deck section, beneath which are storage and crew quarters. They are enclosed on two sides by raised decks from which steering and other directions are given. Guns are placed high on those upper decks. Officers man those decks, and live beneath them--above the crew. In fact, officers are always literally above the ordinary seamen.

The libretto of “Billy Budd” by E.M. Forster and Eric Crozier is filled with sung cues like “come up here” and “go down there,” each of which accent these hierarchies. In Act 3, Captain Vere calls Billy--an ordinary crew member--to meet his accuser, the (literal) upstart Claggart, who has risen in class and rank to become an officer. Vere calls them “aft” to his private--lofty--quarters, a sign of his favor as well as a symbol of the significance of the moment.

How is this treated in the L.A. Opera production? The three men move to a spot downstage on the big, flat, rectangle set. How is hierarchy handled in this production? It isn’t. Officers and men file in and out of trick doors, holes in the floor, all going down, no distinction made.

Worse is the treatment of crucial maritime moments stressed in the opera. The opening chorus, “Heave-Ho,” where men are clearly unfurling huge sails (nonexistent in this production) upon which they are about to sail, becomes what? Sailors on hands and knees swabbing the deck while a man with a bullwhip threatens them. Wrong. The chorus “Pull men” has these poor men pulling hawsers attached to metal rings on the floor. What in the world are they pulling? Certainly not the (nonexistent) sails.

Zambello and Co. have obviously taken their design from a moment Britten treats in Act 1 ofthree men being forced to serve on the crew of the ship, I suppose to show something like Man’s Inhumanity to Man. Fine. Except this crew--in Melville and Britten--despite containing impressed members, is a group of men who are proud of their work and of protecting their countrymen, men loyal to their crown. Showing them as abject slaves doing meaningless chores may be fashionable, but it’s completely contrary to the meaning of Melville and Britten. It denigrates their vision into cliche agitprop.

Even worse is the staging, in which men are whipped into place and meander about the stage. In real life, navy people line up on ship wearing neat uniforms, placed in discrete blocks. As a rule they make a stunning theatrical effect. Why not here? Also in this production, at a crucial moment, the mass of common seamen are held back from mutiny by what? Six officers with mean glares? The force of moral rectitude? I sure couldn’t figure out what was stopping them. As the officers had no weapons, they should have been easily overrun, massacred to a man.

The lack of weapons throughout the production was another affectation that was irritating. Even the cannons that loudly “shot” were light boxes. On a man-of-war? In the middle of war? Come on.

L.A. Opera is to be commended for giving us “Billy Budd.” All the performers are to be praised for their work. Everyone in Los Angeles should see it. Which is why it’s so embarrassing that the production should inhabit the world of auteur-driven twaddle.

Felice Picano’s 12th novel, “The Book of Lies,” is a finalist for the Lambda Literary Award. He contributes to the arts sections of various periodicals, including the Sunday Edition of the San Francisco Examiner.