Ars Minerva Unearths Magic in “Olimpia Vendicata”
Sheldon Smith
I’m no expert in obscure 17th century Italian baroque opera. I would guess that few people alive today are. When such an opera is reconstructed for the first time in three centuries, as apparently was the case for the recent performance of Ars Minerva’s solidly entertaining production of Domenico Freschi’s 1681 opera Olimpia Vendicata, one can’t help but have all kinds of thoughts and questions about the nature of the production itself. Researching and producing such a thing at this level is, without doubt, an impressive undertaking. And while the production was a great achievement, it is heavily entangled with queries about historical context, cultural values, authenticity, research, archival practices and on and on.
As I sat in San Francisco’s ODC Theater, I tried to just be present with the experience of the opera itself. I failed miserably. At least at first. My mind raced with questions about the infinitely vast morgue of cultural detritus we keep adding on to. Humans have been making stuff for a long, long time and it isn’t stopping. I have no data to back this up but easy to assume that our current cultural production is being digested into the bowels of the internet at a rate of a thousand songs or videos per second. Imagine a vast sandy beach where every grain of sand is somebody’s attempt at making art. Now go back in time to a slightly smaller beach. Still a very large pile of very small things. Bend down and pick up one speck of sand. Turn it over and over in your hand and realize that it is an opera from the year 1681. It begins to feel a bit like going to the dog pound and picking out a new pet. What about all the others? Aren’t they all deserving of love?
So, now you have found your “pet” project. What about the challenges faced with having to revive something that is so obscure and far removed from its original home. What is there to even work with? There are no other recent performances of this work that could provide guidance. There is only the score, or in this case a partly incomplete score as well as some good understanding of typical musical practices of the time. And some limited written documentation in the form of reviews. But even with a score, there is a lot of guesswork and interpretation.
Fortunately, the Bay Area’s Ars Minerva is dedicated to this undertaking and has made it something of their mission to bring under-appreciated opera back to life. Their research, respectful interpretation, rehearsing and producing of a two hour long and very difficult musical score…that alone is mind blowing. Add to this some truly gifted singers and musicians and we have something that is so much more than just an academic exercise in musicology.
We do indeed experience the art of another time but more so, we witness a kind of magic in the unearthing of something buried for so long. Is it a long-lost treasure? Probably not, but a thrilling curiosity nonetheless.
The opera opens upon a scene where the main character, Olimpia, has just been marooned on an island. Not long after, she is found, kidnapped and taken into some sort of vague servitude in the royal courts of Hibernia. I won’t recap the entire story because little of it makes sense but seems to have something to do with a love pentangle (I’m just guessing as it was hard to keep track) between all of the main characters. Ultimately and fortunately though, the story is just an excuse for us to hang out in the theater for two hours and enjoy the intricate music of another age and some wonderfully hammy performances.
And I have to say I honestly found myself shocked at how much I liked being in the theater for the duration. Once I got past my racing thoughts and became at peace with this strange wonderland, I was able to ride the thrilling waves of ornate musical passages like little mini roller coasters. While I can be squeamish around anything Renaissance Faire adjacent, I do admittedly have a love for Baroque music. That helps. The characters can dress however they want and I’ll still probably go along for the ride. Just no jugglers or questionable barbecued turkey legs, please.
On the other hand, I can’t help but admit that I find opera to be inherently bizarre. So much warbly singing of simple dialogue that could have been far easier to understand if just spoken out loud. And why does every sentence within the libretto need to be sung at least twice? The entire show could have literally been 15 minutes long if we just read straight through the script.
But that also becomes the point in a way. This is Baroque art. There are no straight, efficient lines or pathways to be had in the sonic world of Olimpia Vendicata that don’t also have an absurd plastering of decoration. Sometimes vocalists would land on a single word and in a single breath go on a dazzling melodic run like those videos of bat colonies that leave their caves at sundown by the tens of thousands. It is a joyous and profound thing to witness and makes me wish we were more at ease with ornate expression in our daily lives. Imagine bringing emphasis to a point in a meeting by finding fifteen different ways to say word combos like “deep dive” or “thought leader.” Of course, most meetings are too long. I generally find that most operas are too long. Probably because they are. But these two hours flew by.
This production was by no means perfect, assuming that I could even know what a perfect reconstruction of a long-deceased opera should be. It is no doubt challenging to produce an opera in a relatively small space with ok but not ideal acoustics, no wing space and an unavoidable brick and steel aesthetic that is decidedly not of the baroque era. In this situation, there is no easy way to capture the story book framing of a proscenium arch and the illusory depth of forced perspective scenery. While some colorful video projections and simple set elements help suggest scenic shifts, we are always asked to bridge the gap, to fill in the blanks with how we might imagine a baroque opera might look. Within this setting, the musicians are clustered stage left, the rest of the space carved out for the singers to roam with occasionally dance like movements. There is an emptiness to the stage that at times seems intentional. Through absence we are reminded of how much we truly don’t know of the original.
It is an intimate experience and yet that is part of the joy. It is rare that I get to witness such high-quality technical mastery with music of such relentlessly busy form, and to be able to do so with performers at such close reach. Especially post-pandemic, it is a thrill to almost be close enough to feel operatic notes as palpable breezes. At this distance, I also became aware of how tightly the musicians held their ensemble together as much through body language as through sound. At times, I was deeply immersed in the world that was created here whether “authentic” or not.
All performers were engaging and shockingly adept at hiding the underlying complexity of the music. It was all a bit campy and probably undercooked dramaturgically, but we know this isn’t some Robert Wilson joint. The performers lean hard into the notion that this is kind of a clown show. Surely, there is a version to be had where more attention is paid to how specific the movement, gestures and expression could be and where comedy could allow a little more breathing room for tragedy. There could also be more focus on the design and set elements though I could appreciate how so much was accomplished with such simple furnishings.
There were some standout performers. Leslie Katter, playing the lead role of Olimpia, has a dynamic yet effortless presence and ability to make us believe that recitative might actually be a lovely way to communicate in our daily lives. Sara Couden, as Prince Osmiro of Scotland, navigates the ridiculousness of it all with a sly fourth wall breaking wink or two that never feels cheap while holding forth with a captivating voice. Sidney Ragland, as the henchman character Niso, has an especially exquisite voice with a precisely textured, warm and rich vibrato. The musicians are a bit more challenging to pull a part as they are all of a very high caliber. But, I’m a sucker for some kick ass hardcore harpsichord and Matthew Dirst, serving as both conductor and musician, plays the instrument like some kind of high precision demon laser cutting machine.
Recently, I’ve repeatedly seen advertisements on tv for a new opera about Steve Jobs. I’m sorry (not sorry) but it looks like my worst nightmare. I’m sure tech bros will flock to it in their driverless cars but it is not for me. It looks like a concertedly shameless ruse for syphoning start-up funds into the arts. We need the funding for sure, but really? In Olimpia Vendicata, the main characters are all about as morally flawed as Steve Jobs but somehow, because we know they are fictional perhaps it is all more palatable. And when they finally, as far as I recall, sing in harmony for the first time at the very end, we are uplifted. Even this group of miscreants could find a way of making peace.
We need all the optimism we can get right now and I desperately wish that we lived in a world where more people supported groups like Ars Minerva. It’s nice to leave the theater with a sense that maybe the future isn’t a dystopian hellscape. Perhaps some iteration of Ars Minerva three centuries from now will have a choice of what to reconstruct. Maybe a long-forgotten opera about Jobs will be worth revisiting. If anyone is reading this in the year 2323, might I suggest looking back to the year 1681 instead?
Sheldon Smith has been a full-time adjunct at Mills College since 2008. Originally from Omaha, Nebraska, he discovered a love of experimentalism and electronic music while becoming the first-ever dance major at Colorado College. He went on to receive an MFA in dance at the University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign, where he wrote a thesis, prior to the internet era, speculating on an emerging form of dance that might radically innovate through swiftly evolving technologies.
