Not Just Another Zeffirelli Obituary
After His Death, We Still Have a Lot to Learn from the Famed Director
On a cold spring afternoon, I stepped into the spacious hall of Zeffirelli Foundation in Florence. I’ve just visited an abandoned villa of Caruso and endlessly repaired and extending house of Puccini — these places and their owners seemed so alike. I wondered if Zeffirelli was like his museum. And I concluded he was, or this beautiful place in the heart of Florence just foxed me while leading me through the labyrinth of Maestro’s life. Museum itself was alive.
I wonder, how is there now?
Franco Zeffirelli passed away at 96. The Guardian, The NY Times, The Times, BBC, Fox, Euronews, Opera News, OperaWire, Variety, and countless smaller media of all sorts murmured his death in the news and numerous obituaries.
I’ve read a lot of them recently. And I couldn’t get rid of the feeling that they were all wrong. There was something important missed.
I tried to convince myself that many people who shared their memories about Maestro had known him better, and what they said was vivid, curious, sad, intimate, and full of light — just perfect to praise the life of the great artist. I thought I believed them. I enjoyed reading their words.
But still, I had this mismatch. Of what I, being a young journalist, opera lover, and woman, felt about his death with what has been written. They knew him personally. I only knew his works, his books, and his Foundation museum. I felt so small holding just it, but also so inspired.
They drew a picture of a star life or a hard-working person, always admitting him as a beautiful human being. Some were personal, others objective. They also shared some critical observations. But they all were voices from yesterday. I thought I read all these stories starting my career in the opera world years back. Was he dead back then? I got slightly furious. I knew these appeals to the past were probably the most appropriate thing for obituaries. But I belonged today. And I was many.
So I started to think, what was valuable for me in Zeffirelli’s life and in his death? What could I conclude and learn today from Franco Zeffirelli?
During my first season in opera criticism, Maestro Zeffirelli seemed to be the leading advocate of classical productions. That was what I got to know first reading some reviews of his works — he directed what was written. But I couldn’t believe any director would be so popular just doing prescribed things. So he never did. Instead of following the source, Franco Zeffirelli could feel it and reflect with great respect. He loved classics and he could definitely represent it in the best way possible. His directing never stole the attention, supporting and merging elements of the performance together.
“I have always believed that opera is a planet where the muses work together, join hands and celebrate all the arts.”
If you admire his productions or not, you can’t argue he always remained true to his vision. You can recognize his works easily, yet his style was always somewhere behind. Some saw the golden set, while he talked to singers. Some wanted him to change the movements, but he just got deeper into the character. He believed in his actors and, making sure they understood their roles, put them in his fabulous scenery. That was his formula. After a year I admitted him as none other, than a great storyteller.
Though he was never perfect and admitted that. And appearing in his productions in hundreds of small details, he always had a hundred things to improve, step by step, in every new production. And that was his way of developing his mastery.
His legendary “aesthetic sense” was something hard to explain in words. And many critics failed with it. They wondered why he didn’t seek something new. They never wanted to accept the fact that he had already found his own way, in the classics.
“I’ve made my career without the support of the critics, thank God,” he once told. He seemed never to need them. Neither critics nor mentors. Of course, he had a lot of both. But I always thought that he had something inside that criticized and guided him. And a thing he accepted from other people with gratitude was an inspiration.
His singers and actors made his friends, his friends became his actors. They said he was a beautiful soul. He might be different with different people but always followed the rule “Love thyself last”. Whether he really reminded it himself of being young or just romantically sent it to his younger self in his autobiography, this Shakespeare quote certainly meant a lot.
He was homosexual (but never a gay, it’s inelegant), a Catholic, and a conservator. This was controversial, but he could explain his every statement.
I don’t know if he was a seducer or assaulter, but his #MeToo case was very indicative. Described in great (and spicy) detail, that was an accusation against the old man with no possibility to challenge. At the same time, it drew a lot of attention to the bright personality of the still young enough “victim”. I don’t say that he should keep silent, but as long as this ambiguity exists, both parts are compromised.
He dreamed about a real family, but couldn’t reach this, might be the most important of his goals. With a full understanding of the life he had chosen, he devoted his time to serving art. And so he did it until the very end. That was announced that Zeffirelli’s new production of Rigoletto was slated to open at the Royal Opera Muscat in 2020. He would be 97 years old at that time.
On a sunny day in June 2019, Franco Zeffirelli has passed. But there’s a lot of what he left to the world. His Foundation is a gem of Florence. His opera productions are still widely performed on the major stages in London, Milan, and New York. There are definitely some masterpieces among his films. And there is a boy in one of them, quoting his beloved master William Shakespeare, “Love thyself last”.
So, here is the point to make: Franco Zeffirelli was a man of a long life. Almost a century he was here. And what he did — he loved and desired, knew himself, confessed, worked till the last breath, failed and succeeded, made friends and lost them, never listened to critics. He doubted and felt confused, but never stopped, standing for his ideas for 96 long years. He wasn’t good or bad, no one could be for so long.
Made of his works, rumors, and controversial speeches, he was a living human. He craved being real, remaining a dreamer. I felt it everywhere at his exposition in Florence, as I saw it in his works. Giant and small, red, white, wooden, iron, golden, way too golden — you can blame his works for anything, but lack of realism. You’ll argue that he has overly embellished, I will only say it was his lifestyle. While the entire world watched him — he lived.
Mr. Zeffirelli enjoyed his present, and his past, and stood for creating his own future, non-stop. And that’s what I wish my generation could learn from him.
