DVD: Gigi

I like to say that when I was a kid, the most provocative things on TV were Seven Brides for Seven Brothers and Gigi (and you thought musicals were boring!). Seven Brides took a decidedly unconventional look at courtship, and Gigi, thoroughly puzzling to those of us who had never heard of Colette or courtesans, dealt with the transformation of a French schoolgirl from brat to alluring arm candy. As decadent as that may sound, it all played pretty innocently under the noses of churchgoing types from the suburbs. Ah, we're all so much more jaded these days.

On another level, it's also interesting to contemplate the reality that Gigi, a charming little candy box of a musical, swept the Oscars back in the day. Movie musicals have been rare enough the last few decades, let alone those MGM spectacles, and you also won't channel surf your way to many movies about the demimonde. No, this year's Academy Award nominations went primarily to tales of heartbreak and mayhem, though perhaps young Gigi is more of a sister under the skin to the teenaged heroine of Juno than most of us would admit.

So has Gigi grown old? As Hermione Gingold sings in another context in the film, "Oh, no, not you." The film is a loving recreation of fin de siecle Paris, from the French drawings in the opening credits to Cecil Beaton's luscious production design and costumes to Joseph Ruttenberg's cinematography. My disc includes both the pan-and-scan and the wide-screen versions, and there's no question in my mind about which side of the DVD to select. You don't want to miss those beautifully composed shots.

The story, slim though it is, moves along nicely with the aid of the Lerner and Loewe songs. Feisty Parisienne Gilberte (Gigi) lives quietly with her second-rate singer of a mother (heard but never seen) and watchful grandmother (Hermione Gingold). Their lives are brightened considerably by visits from Gaston Lachaille (Louis Jourdan), a wealthy and utterly jaded young man who takes a shine to Gigi.

It all seems pretty innocent, doesn't it? But Gigi, it turns out, is being groomed by her Aunt Alicia (icy Isabel Jeans) for life as a courtesan. The poor girl is alternately dressed up and dressed down by Alicia, who harangues her about ideals and romance but has the cold, acquisitive heart of a corporate raider. Today Alicia would have her own reality show.

But when Gigi reaches womanhood and her cozy brother-sister relationship with Gaston begins to transform right along with her, matters come to a head. Suddenly everyone has plans for the girl, particularly Alicia and the suave Gaston. It's all served up with laughter, a few tears, and a climactic scene at Maxim's.

The film represents something of a bridge between eras. Maurice Chevalier, so memorable in various 1930s confections by Ernst Lubitsch, turns up as Gaston's irrepressible Uncle Honore, who serves both as Greek chorus and poster boy for everyone who said non to the AARP application and oui to joie de vivre. He's shed all of the insecurities of youth but kept all the appetites, and he's the single most politically incorrect character in the piece, which is really saying something.

Hermione Gingold, who would storm through The Music Man a few years later as the fearsome Eulalie Shinn, plays it warm and sensible as Gigi's grandmother, a woman with a deceivingly demure exterior. Lovers of movie musicals, to say nothing of lovers in general, will be waiting for the duet when she bumps into ex-beau Chevalier, "I Remember It Well." Have nostalgia, reproach, tact, affection, and the senior moment ever been so beautifully combined in a single song?

Young Leslie Caron, who took the role of Gigi a half-dozen years after her debut in An American in Paris, is convincing both as the rambunctious girl and the cool beauty. There's very little dancing in this musical, strangely enough, but Caron definitely knows her body language. And 50 years after Gigi, she's still working it, turning up opposite Johnny Depp and Juliette Binoche in Chocolat or guest starring on Law & Order in one of its various incarnations.

If Chevalier is a droll commentator and Caron the beguiling star, Louis Jourdan is even better than I remembered as Gaston, the guy who has the luxury to be bored with life. Speak-singing his way through those Lerner and Loewe songs, to say nothing of that colorful French social whirl, he even makes ennui and self-absorption charming. But the film is nothing without a little heart, and Gaston finally locates his in the tender soliloquy that is the title song.

CD: Anna Netrebko and others with Nikolaus Harnoncourt and the Vienna Philharmonic: Mozart: Le Nozze di Figaro

Here she comes.

If Ado Annie in Oklahoma! was the girl who "cain't say no," Susanna, the heroine of The Marriage of Figaro, was always her chaste counterpart, the girl who could not only say no but punk the guy who was trying to persuade her to cheat on her fiance.

My boyfriend's back, and there's going to be trouble.

Okay, wrong era, but you get the idea.

But Susanna, it seems, has fallen into other hands since Beaumarchais and Mozart introduced her to us, and now there's the DVD and CD to prove it. Back in Salzburg the year before last, Nikolaus Harnoncourt and Claus Guth brought out a staging of Figaro that came near to turning the work on its ear. Apparently the idea was to slide Figaro closer to Bergman, Ibsen, or perhaps Strindberg. And so, in this version, Susanna is not just a cheeky little maid with a backbone of steel and a gift for turning the tables on the men. She's very much in the midst of power struggles, nebulous relationships, shifting attractions, and generally raging hormones that make this less of a Marriage and more Sex and the Almaviva Household, perhaps with a nod to The Devil's Eye or Smiles of a Summer Night.

I'd like to point out here, however, that when Ingmar Bergman himself actually decided to film a Mozart opera, he chose The Magic Flute, with unabashedly joyous results. But that's another blog entry.

For those of you who want to experience Harnoncourt and Guth's provocative Figaro, Deutsche Grammophon has just released both the three-CD set and a DVD, with a highlights disc to follow in February.

Anna Netrebko, the smoldering Russian soprano ideally suited to play tragic heroines, strikes me as a most unexpected choice for the role of Susanna. Her voice is dark, emotionally intense, with nothing of the pert, girlish soubrette. Still, it is a beautiful instrument for conveying passion, and of course who among us expected Netrebko to transform herself into Dawn Upshaw or Lucia Popp for this performance? Hers is a complicated Susanna, somewhat ambivalent and jaded, less demure, perhaps more aware of her power.

Speaking of power, this is my first acquaintance with any recording or DVD featuring the bass-baritone Ildebrando D'Arcangelo, who makes for an interesting partner for Netrebko. "Interesting" here is not polite but guarded praise; I enjoyed his dark, unabashedly masculine take on Figaro. You can enjoy his vocal intensity via the CD, and get a sense of his stage presence -- and perhaps more surprisingly for a character such as Figaro, his grace and agility -- on the DVD.

Like this staging of Figaro back in Salzburg, the recording and DVD are bound to get tongues wagging, from the very first notes of that usually frantic overture, played here at a slower tempo, to Christine Schaefer's androgynous Cherubino, singing "Voi che sapete" with extraordinary sweetness. Is it a call to embrace life's ambiguities, complications, gray areas, and also turn again to those we love?

CD: Arleen Auger with Dalton Baldwin: Love Songs

A few years back some wise programmer at one of our local public TV stations filled up its schedule on Super Bowl Sunday with episodes from the British series Grafters, the better to give local Anglophile football widows (and there are probably more of them than you think) an unimpeded view of romantic adventures starring Robson Green.

Perhaps a similar act of sensitivity -- or mercy -- is bringing us a full slate of Jane Austen-themed works on PBS's Masterpiece Theatre, beginning this Sunday. Romance is definitely on the menu this time as well, as the line-up includes the wildly popular 1995 miniseries of Pride and Prejudice and the 1996 Emma, both adapted by Andrew Davies. The other productions are new to American audiences and will no doubt spark lively discussions about/comparisons with previous films of Austen works. I'd also hope that they'll have viewers curling up with their own copies of Persuasion, Northanger Abbey, and other delights. See the link below for details on the Austen programs.

http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/masterpiece/austen/index.html

In in a similar vein, if you walk into the Dupont Circle Olsson's, just about the first thing you encounter is a literary and media shrine to Jane Austen. All the novels are there, of course, plus DVDs of the film adaptations, as well an assortment of books inspired by the author's works and life. We're missing the J.A. action figure at the moment, but I wouldn't be surprised if someone was writing Desperate Walkers: A Jane Austen Guide to Fitness even as I type this.

With such energy and inspiration abroad in the land, I wanted to revisit another woman artist whose a body of work reflects both emotional resonance and universal appeal. I'm thinking, of course, of the American soprano Arleen Auger, particularly her album Love Songs, from the Delos label. It's one of those rare recordings that remains fresh, even revelatory, years after its release.

It is also, not unlike the Jane Austen novels, very much absorbed with the different moods of love. This is an intimate album, and not simply because the music is stripped down to the natural beauty of Auger's voice and Dalton Baldwin's delicate piano accompaniment. The union of artistry and emotion is almost palpable. You feel as well as hear the melancholy, the regret, the uncertainty, the quiet prayer of the lover.

I like the variety of the material, too; there are some refreshing surprises. As you would expect, there's Schubert, Schumann, and Mahler, but Auger also proves she has a way with Copland and Britten. And how many albums can you name that feature the juxtaposition of works by Noel Coward and Stephen Foster? And while I find "Del cabello mas sutil" from Obradors particularly pleasing, the works from Quilter (including "When Soft Voices Die") are also delicately beautiful.

And I hadn't really considered the significance of Lerner and Loewe's "Before I Gaze at You Again" since I listened to my parents' copy of the Broadway cast album of Camelot back in the day. The story is that Auger and Baldwin did not intend the song to appear on the album but recorded it on impulse. Bless their spontaneity. "Before I Gaze at You Again" is the song of a woman who trusts neither herself nor her heart, but here, in the unveiling of romantic secrets, the singer releases the beauty and emotion of her voice. It's a moment of appropriate melancholy and vulnerability, and a tribute to the sensitivity of the artist.

CD: Meredith Hall, Matthew White, and La Nef: The Battle of Killiecrankie

There are several ways to deal with the arrival of the new year. No doubt there are those among you who faithfully tuned in to the Vienna Philharmonic's New Year's Day concert. It just wouldn't be a new year without "The Radetzky March" or, for that matter, longtime concert host Walter Cronkite. Prosit Neujahr to you all.

Another part of Europe where they mark the flip of the calendar page with great ceremony (or at least a prolonged party) is Scotland. And if the rest of the world hasn't taken up first-footing or fireballs to mark the new year, many of us sing "Auld Lang Syne" at midnight on New Year's Eve, thus guaranteeing an annual amateur performance of a Scottish tune -- in dialect, no less.

But why expose yourself to Scottish culture just once a year? Aside from attending the next "Burns nicht" -- coming up very soon, as we mark the birthday of poet Robert Burns in late January -- you can always find a good reason to immerse yourself in things Scottish, particularly the music.

One memorable Scottish-themed CD is Atma Classique's The Battle of Killiecrankie, featuring the early music ensemble La Nef and two Canadian vocalists, countertenor Matthew White and soprano Meredith Hall, both also known for their interpretations of early music.

La Nef, under the direction of Sylvain Bergeron, has had a series of theme albums with subjects ranging from historic (the Cathars) to literary (the Arthurian legend). This particular album unites the literary and the historic: familiar songs and instrumental works rooted in patriotism and yearning romanticism, two sides of the story of Scotland.

The martial music is brisk, inspiring, evocative. Yet there is no shying away from the painful realities of military service: separation, grief, possible defeat. This is an album of laments as well as marches, and alternates the battle cry with songs of sorrow.

Then again, the Scots never did shy away from the unpleasant details of war. I remember how stirring I found the song "Scots Wha Ha'e wi' Wallace Bled," and then a Scottish friend, in his glorious accent, carefully recited the lyrics to me, including the phrase "welcome to your gory bed." Okay. Plus most of us now have a pretty good idea of what became of William Wallace, thanks in part to Braveheart.

But as I suggest above, The Battle of Killiecrankie is meant to unite the themes of love and war, and in this it succeeds. Matthew White first addresses the fight for liberty (the aforementioned "Scots Wha Ha'e wi' Wallace Bled") and then partners Hall in the wistful, even haunting "Bonny Barbry O."

By the way, if you're any kind of self-respecting folkie, baby boomer, or Deadhead, you'll recognize the tune of "Bonny Barbry O," though you may know it by another name. Don't worry; the texts are included with the disc.

There are no fewer than eight love songs featured, most of them with a touch of melancholy, and then there's also Alexander Munro's thoroughly delightful Sonata on "Bonny Jean of Aberdeen." You may well have heard that melody as well in a simpler form, perhaps from traditional folk instrumentalists, but the sonata version here is not to be missed.

There's also a setting of Niel Gow's "Lament for the Death of His Second Wife," another hauntingly familiar instrumental piece.

But the album concludes on a hopeful note, with the suggestion of the return of the soldier to a joyous reunion ("Welcome Home My Dearie," "The Braes o' Killiecrankie"). May it be so for all families in the coming year.