In a world where plays become movies, television sitcoms become stage musicals and graphic novels become blockbusters, what's to become of opera and ballet, long considered the ephemerals of the art world, too delicate to withstand transplanting from one medium to another.
The answer may be found in today's "better-late-than-never" theatrical release of Kenneth Branagh's The Magic Flute -- a rare cinematic foray into the world of opera, originally undertaken in 2006 when the world was celebrating the 250th anniversary of the birth of one Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, and not seen here since it screened as part of the film festival.
And frankly, as commemoratives go, this one is pretty fitting.
Flute remains one of the legendary composer's better known works, a rollicking opera that set Viennese tongues wagging when it premiered, thanks to a unique and potent combination of music hall sensibilities and Masonic lore, all tied up in a memorable musical package that, in the end, accounts for a large measure of its enduring popularity.
In transitioning it from the world of opera to the world of cinema, Branagh quite wisely jettisons most of Mozart's veiled Masonic references, but thanks to a sweeping translation/adaptation by Stephen Fry, manages to maintain a certain bawdy sense of fun that does much to keep things as accessible as Mozart intended.
But where Mozart and his librettist chose to set the piece in a fantasy world peopled by dragons and magical beings, Branagh and Fry conspire to set the entire tale in and around the trenches of the Second World War instead.
So instead of being wounded by a dragon after the opening overture, our hero Camino (Canadian tenor Joseph Kaiser) is done in by a cloud of gas that looks suspiciously like an out-take from James Cameron's The Abyss -- a device that transforms the whole strange tale into what just might be a gas-induced hallucination.
And here, hallucinatory is a good fit, transforming the Queen of the Night's three handmaidens into creatures that dwell somewhere between a nunnery and a brothel, for instance, and otherwise allowing Branagh and his team to gloss over some of the opera's more egregious plot lapses.
And before you know it, Camino fits right in, off on a mission driven as much by whim as by logic to rescue his lady-love Pamina (heretofore unknown soprano Amy Carson in a break-out turn), enduring trial by fire and water and otherwise earning her undying affection, all in time to that glorious score, served up under conductor James Conlon.
There's some delightful work too from a supporting cast that includes bass Rene Pape as a wonderfully sympathetic Sarastro and soprano Lyubov Petrova as a scene-stealing queen of the night.
And if some of the performances aren't exactly up to exacting cinematic acting standards, Branagh -- often serving as much a diverter here as a director -- makes effective use of CGI technology to impose a cinematic flow.
So, while Branagh's flute may not hit all the highnotes an operatic purist might demand, it plays a mighty sweet tune for those who like their opera with a cinematic twist.
It dwells quite happily somewhere in the no-man's-land between "Perfect" and "Perfectly Enjoyable."
(This film is rated G)
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