DVD: A Passage to India (2-disc set)

In Kenneth Branagh's Midwinter's Tale (AKA In the Bleak Midwinter), Michael Maloney, as an actor-director brought to the end of his tether during rehearsals for a holiday production of Hamlet, explodes before his horrified cast and wonders, rather profanely, why there's any point in going on living.

At which one of his actors (Mark Hadfield) says matter-of-factly: "Rachmaninoff. That bit in Brief Encounter. And Brief Encounter, actually. That makes life worth living." Obviously a guy after my own heart.

Not that I am going to unilaterally declare director David Lean our reason for going on, though at times that seems as good a plan as any. But I will say his talents and career enriched this life of ours. I have the happiest memory of watching Hobson's Choice in a dorm room with two close friends, discerning moviegoers both. What a gem of a movie that was for all of us, even late at night via portable TV. By gum!

And I doubt anyone can watch Brief Encounter without being haunted by it ever after, especially on journeys by train. Celia Johnson's voice-over gives me the chills.

In addition, David Lean perhaps single-handedly informed my impressions of the late John Mills, who gave markedly different but equally effective performances as a guileless shoemaker in Hobson's Choice and a disabled villager in Ryan's Daughter.

Lean's directing credits are surprisingly few but immensely varied: a droll little period comedy, various literary adaptations, an utterly adult romantic drama. But of course the man is chiefly known for his epics. Bring on the trains, the camels, the elephants, the hordes of extras dressed for winter on the steppe or the monsoon season!

And as 2008 marks the 100th year since Lean's birth, several of his most acclaimed films are out in special two-disc editions, with wide-screen presentation and many extras: The Bridge on the River Kwai, Lawrence of Arabia, and A Passage to India.

Olsson's is stocking all three of them, in case you are contemplating an epic film fix. Whatever you opt to watch, it's going to be an intense, visually dazzling experience.

Aside from their visual power, the Lean films also assemble some of the finest casts ever seen in English-language cinema -- and capture great performances. For instance, whatever else Peter O'Toole does with the rest of his career, Lawrence of Arabia secured his place in movie history.

No prisoners!

Lean's swan song, A Passage to India, also boasts a phenomenal cast. Pride of place goes of course to the great Australian actress Judy Davis and to Peggy Ashcroft, playing two Britons who take a fateful journey into Asia. But the rest of the cast is equally memorable and includes such familiar faces as Saeed Jaffrey, Art Malik, and Roshan Seth, on the South Asian side, and James Fox, Nigel Havers, and Clive Swift, from the U.K.

Sharp-eyed PBS fans will recall that there was cross-pollination in Indian epics during the 1980s, as Malik and Ashcroft also played pivotal roles in the excellent TV adaptation of The Jewel in the Crown.

There was some overlap in the plots as well, for all that The Jewel in the Crown and A Passage to India were based on works by different authors (Paul Scott and E.M. Forster, respectively). Both concern themselves with painful aspects of Anglo-Indian relations at the waning of the British empire, as played out in the life of an educated young Indian man (Hari Kumar in Jewel, Dr. Aziz Ahmed in Passage).

As I watched A Passage to India once again, I was struck by how Lean keeps the tension between delight and discomfort. On the one hand, the movie is a sensory treasure, with India itself playing the starring role -- such wonderful plays of light and color, such amazing landscapes (and even a little bit of wildlife).

Before, however, you get too comfortable in your armchair travel, the story takes a heart-wrenching turn as a young Muslim physician (Victor Banerjee) attempts friendship with Britons Ashcroft, Davis, and Fox, with near-disastrous results. As the struggles unfold, the camera often zeros in on the faces of these actors -- enigmatic, stolid, ghostly, or wretchedly human -- and the expressions hint at what the script need not.

I don't care to reveal too much of the plot but will only say that it remains both thought-provoking and controversial, and manages to address the fragile, often tense, often ephemeral nature of human contact. "God has put us on Earth to love and help our fellow men," observes the practical yet culturally sensitive Mrs. Moore (Ashcroft). Later on, however, she notes: "Century after century of carnal embracement, and we're still no nearer understanding one another."

Once you have recovered from the emotional impact of the film, you might want to run through it all again with commentary (from producer Richard Goodwin) or gain an appreciation for the creative process, as depicted on the various featurettes included on the second disc. Alas, Ashcroft, Lean, and actor Alec Guinness (Godbole) are no longer with us, but quite a few of the cast and production team were available to share their perspective and Lean's legacy.

As Godbole observes in the film, "We are all part of a pattern we cannot perceive."

CD: Bertrand de Billy/Bavarian Radio Symphony Orchestra with Anna Netrebko and Rolando Villazon: Puccini: La Boheme

I've got mortality on my mind, and art. It's been that kind of a week, or maybe even month, or perhaps even year. Ars longa, vita brevis, and all that. It's the beauty of the last half of June -- perfectly mild nights, that double rainbow across the sky last week -- and also the constant reminders that the creative, the passionate, and the just plain entertaining are only among us for a brief while.

Passion, creativity, and the brevity of life. Leave it to Puccini to hit each one of those in a single work. As it happens, Deutsche Grammophon recently issued a live (!) recording of La Boheme, the story of a group of friends who live for art and for each other -- and, it must be said, the occasional night out. How long has it been since you've stiffed the landlord, inspired a jealous rage, or hocked your belongings for a noble cause?

Someone out there is sure to observe that multiple recordings of La Boheme already exist, and one of my answers to that is you don't stop looking at sunsets or rainbows or pictures at the National Gallery because you've been there, done that. Are you going to block Joshua Bell or Hilary Hahn on the way into the recording studio or concert hall because you've already collected your Heifetz and Neveu discs?

On with the Puccini:

Emotions run high in a recording showcasing a vibrant group of young singers, notably the American soprano Nicole Cabell, as Musetta, and the Israeli baritone Boaz Daniel, as Marcello. But it goes without saying the big news is the presence of the leads, Anna Netrebko and Rolando Villazon, who have teamed up to such wonderful effect in both the recording studio and the concert hall.

Villazon's voice is a bit darker here. He does not aim for the stratosphere, for example, on "Che gelida manina." But there's no doubting the passion in his performance; he's captivating as the passionate, jealous, and ultimately heartbroken Rodolfo. As his doomed sweetheart, Anna Netrebko has a lush sound but still imbues Mimi with the requisite sweetness.

Nicole Cabell has some great moments as Musetta. "Quando me'n vo" is alluringly balanced between confidence and yearning.

The Bavarian Radio Symphony Orchestra and Chorus bring welcome energy and atmosphere to an opera that veers from rapture to humor to heartbreak in relatively short order. And for all that we know how the opera ends, the recording is so full of life and promise.

And that's the way to go.

CD with DVD: Natalie Dessay/Evelino Pidò with Concerto Köln: Italian Opera Arias

Is it the season for overreacting? Temperatures are soaring, water mains are breaking, the kids are out of school, everyone seems to be on a job hunt or vacation, and of course there are all those wedding invitations begging for an RSVP.

So if you crave a little escapism, it's entirely understandable. In fact, I'll probably join you.

That's where Natalie Dessay and this week's classical selection come in. As far as I'm concerned, there are opera stars for the working day, and then there are those who seem to have arrived from a different world. Where did we find this sylph of a soprano who at one moment is being carried aloft by a chorus of soldiers in La Fille du Regiment and at another is so nightmarishly believable as the tragic bride in Lucia di Lammermoor?

Well, of course the lady is French, and her stage aspirations began with dance and acting, only to gravitate towards vocal training. If you have seen any footage of Dessay's stage performances, you'll know that she remains very much the actress.

Her realm is that of a lyric coloratura soprano, and if her voice is neither big nor dramatic, it retains a youthful freshness, which serves her well on several of the roles in this recital disc. I was particularly taken with Dessay's interpretation of Giulietta from Bellini's I Capuleti e i Montecchi, which is, as alert readers have already surmised, a variation on Romeo and Juliet.

Still, the journey to bel canto roles surely is intense for someone like Dessay, who has spent a good deal of her career with Mozart and Offenbach.

And these bel canto heroines are some complicated ladies. Despite the presence of such relative innocents as Gilda (Rigoletto) and Giulietta, this is definitely an album of the jaded, the victimized, and the downright deranged. With the exception of Elvira (I Puritani), every last role Dessay sings is that of a doomed woman, and I think she means to stride resolutely away from the soubrette side of things and towards greater challenges.

She puts that light but agile voice, and her acting talents, at the service of the music. Her official repertoire hints that much of this is a departure for her, but it raises the interesting possibility that the future holds many evenings with Dessay playing desperate courtesans and condemned monarchs.

But to go with all this aural emotion you need the visual from the DVD, and it is, as you might expect, a selection from the Metropolitan Opera's production of Lucia di Lammermoor. This is something special, and not only because the disc is playable in multiple regions.

You won't be surprised to learn that they've chosen one of the most disturbing scenes of the opera stage, but it's so beautifully staged, acted, and filmed, I was transfixed. Note too the distinctive choices made with instrumentation, for here they've used the glass harmonica to accompany the mad Lucia, as per Donizetti's original intention, rather than the solo flute version he subsequently wrote. The effect is appropriately eerie.

Here comes the bride...

Hyrbrid SACD: Frommermann: Music of the Comedian Harmonists

Some years back I ran across the German language version of "Happy Days Are Here Again," rendered as "Wochenend' und Sonnenschein" ("Weekend and Sunshine"), recorded of course by the Comedian Harmonists back in Germany, and covered many years later by the King's Singers.

Depending on your generation, you might associate "Happy Days Are Here Again" with FDR's campaign or with the opening credits of the Soupy Sales program. So it's in those twin spirits of optimism and anarchy I would like to mark the end of primary season by bringing that song up again.

But the German language version complicates things a bit. My first thought was that the title, "Weekend and Sunshine," indicated such a typically wholesome German sentiment -- fresh air, hiking, and all that. Then I got a look at the lyrics, which do indeed refer to heading off into the country, but alone with the right person while God turns a blind eye to the goings-on deep in the woods.

So we get weekend and sunshine, all right, but with a decidedly sexy subtext.

Perhaps that was thematically appropriate this last weekend, when it was too darn hot, as Cole Porter once observed, and I also had ample opportunity to experience bawdy sight gags and scatological humor in air-conditioned comfort.

First up in that department was a screening of the Sex and the City movie, which starts off with a vision of New York that would shock my parents and grandparents, and concludes with one that is comfortingly familiar.

Then it was off to a dress rehearsal of the Shakespeare Theatre Company's colorful, riotous production of Moliere's The Imaginary Invalid, with Rene Auberjonois leading a game and energetic cast. And this is from the 17th century, people, so I meant what I said about bawdiness and bathroom humor. But the production also features the music of Charpentier, so decorum hasn't gone completely out the window.

So what do you do when you've finished watching movies and plays and the heat is still on? Indulge in some nostalgia courtesy of the Dutch vocal group Frommermann.

Frommermann? "Pious man"? Uh-oh, Hagman's making references to some obscure German play of the 18th century, isn't she?

No worries. Frommermann got its moniker from Harry Frommermann (later Frohman), a founder of the famously entertaining Comedian Harmonists, a German vocal group of the '20s and '30s. They reportedly took their inspiration from an American group, the Revelers, another all-male ensemble known for their tight vocal harmonies.

This particular subject, the Harmonists and their predecessors, is proof enough of the endless cross-pollination in music. The Revelers came out of American vaudeville and the barbershop quartet. The Comedian Harmonists were founded in Berlin, the heart of Europe, between two world wars. And many of us then spent the rest of the 20th century enjoying a seemingly endless parade of vocal ensembles: classical, pop, jazz, doo-wop, and cross-over artists of all varieties. Oftentimes these were groups -- such as the Harmonists, the King's Singers, the wonderful Manhattan Transfer -- who could carry off the vocal orchestra effect to dazzling perfection.

And the trend continued into the 21st century with the founding of Frommermann in 2004. The group is identified as Dutch, but this album is almost completely devoted to German-language material reaching back to the Comedian Harmonists. There's even a song that Marlene Dietrich used to ensnare Emil Jannings in The Blue Angel all those years ago.

The vocals do include a soupcon of French, though, and a dollop of English. Whatever the language, American composers are definitely represented here, and one track is actually a cover of a Revelers favorite.

For a little visual as well as audio sample of Frommermann, click here.

By the way, am I the only one who is unable to listen to the overture from The Barber of Seville without thinking of Bugs Bunny and The Rabbit of Seville?

The format here is decidedly in line with the traditions of both the Revelers and the Comedian Harmonists: the blending of tenor, baritone, and bass, with piano accompaniment, though sometimes the voices themselves recall the whole orchestra, as in the Rossini tidbit I mentioned above.

The mood is nostalgic, even tender (Note that French-language twist on Cole Porter), but there's always a sense of humor waiting to bubble up just when you're going a little misty.

And believe me, for the rest of the summer and, I dare say, the rest of the year, you're going to need that sense of humor.

Stay cool.

CD: Herbert von Karajan/Berlin Philharmonic: Beethoven: Complete Symphonies (1963)

The other day I had Classic Arts Showcase on and had gone into another room on some errand when I heard a performance by a soprano. It was a most beguiling voice. I dropped whatever it was I was doing and headed back towards the TV to find that the soprano soloist in question was Gundula Janowitz (The clip was from Richard Strauss's Ariadne auf Naxos). I had really forgotten how much I enjoyed her singing and wound up spending a few minutes digging up her clips on YouTube to add to my favorites list.

Yes, it's really come to this.

Then again, maybe we always knew the power of that voice. Remember when Tim Robbins, playing a prisoner in The Shawshank Redemption, played a recording of a duet from Le Nozze di Figaro featuring Gundula Janowitz and brought the prison to a standstill as his fellow inmates listened in wonder?

I'm not in prison, even if public transportation and office seem a close enough approximation on some days. But I've been thinking a lot about how easy it is to overlook a perspective, an experience, or even a person in today's frantic pace. The extreme example of that is Joshua Bell's famous gig at the Metro (A blot on the area's reputation, or a commentary on the quiet desperation of our lives?).

It's something of a theme this week. The other day I ran across this young woman's valiant defense of opera against demographic attrition (I would take issue with her definition of "old-timer," though).

The mention of demographics and old-timers of any sort brings me to the subject of the conductor Herbert von Karajan, who, if he were still on this Earth, would have turned 100 years old on April 5th. I realize that for many reasons the man still excites controversy, and I've been tip-toeing about the issue for some months now and finally decided to face it.

If you are in a celebratory mood, Olsson's certainly has been keeping the Karajan home fires burning. We've not only stocked Karajan Gold, which is a two-for-one set, but also the DVD Karajan: A Film by Robert Dornhelm.

But my suggestion would be to consider the boxed set of Beethoven symphonies that Karajan and the Berlin Philharmonic, recorded in 1963 and reissued last year. It's his definitive interpretation of the Beethoven symphonies, not that he stopped with one recording, but this is the one to choose. And yes, the aforementioned Ms. Janowitz performs in -- what else? -- Symphony No. 9. Freude!

If the recording of Beethoven's nine symphonies is like a multicourse dinner, the Karajan Gold CD is a bit more in the mode of a box of European chocolates. The one is a demanding but pleasurable experience, and the second is a sampler, more sweet than savory. It consists of 1980s recordings by Karajan and the BPO, and it's definitely in classical hit parade mode: The Moldau from Ma vlast, the Intermezzo from Cavalleria Rusticana, and of course the Meditation from Thais.

But the Beethoven set, all five discs of it, is enticing in its own way.