Search - Menotti - The Telephone / Poulenc - La Voix Humaine on DVD

FANTASTIC TOUR DE FORCE

M.W. | Seattle, Washington | 04/08/2006

(5 out of 5 stars)

"This is an incredible, powerful and dramatic singer, to be able to pull off two such opposite roles, one a light comedy, the other a tragedy, the first a coloratura soprano part, the second
a dramatic soprano. Carole Farley is also a great actor, communicating every emotion while performing like an angel.
Highly recommended.
T.D."

Introduction to opera for youth

E. Jackson | Michigan | 04/14/2008

(4 out of 5 stars)

"I teach intermediate aged students (fifth and sixth graders). I was looking for something to introduce them to opera without watching something for several hours.. The Telephone is only about 20 minutes long and is somewhat comedic so they were able to sit still and watch it while gaining a little appreciation for what an opera was. They were able to compare it to some of their stereotypes they had thought about opera, and see that it could be humorous and short also. A good teaching tool."

La Voix -- a little inhuman

M. S. YORRA | Boston | 08/10/2009

(3 out of 5 stars)

"In "La Voix Humaine," the saving grace of the self-indulgence of the piece has to be that the woman, through her warmth and loving quality, her kindness, her ability to suffer, the transparency of her lies, and her legitimately experienced, and ingenuous, growing pain with each discovery of the telephone call, suckers the listener/viewer in, and makes him/her feel for the total betrayal of a partner to an intimate relationship. Carol Farley sings the role accurately and enunciates her French wonderfully, but her character lacks the warmth which should make her irresistible. The buttery, almost oily character of the fluid score, needs the metaphoric strokes of an often interrupted erotic massage performed on the body of the telephone to succeed. And Mme. Farley is far too defensive and self-protective in her interpretation to allow that to happen.

The orchestra is also precise, but it seems to be an almost Germanic precision, not the buttery passion of Poulenc, the Frenchman who stood up to the rigid German scholasticism of the twelve-tonists and described the swooning passion of his musicmaking as "1. My article of faith is instinct; 2. I have no principles and I pride myself on it; 3. I have no system for writing music, thank God! (by system I mean "contrivances"); 4. Inspiration is such a mysterious thing that it is best not to explain it. Above all do not analyze my music. . . Love it!"

I want to love it, but this performance is too prickly for that, all porcupiney steel and brass knuckles, more Berlin than Paris. The love that this woman feels must ennoble her through softness and vulnerability, and, by proxy, make us sob for her fate as a loving and discarded mistress. We must all want to love her, to protect her, because her love is so freely given and perfect. This performance doesn't do that, because it doesn't seem to have a coherent dramaturgy, thought through to lead us to that conclusion, and doesn't ultimately do more that let us say, "that Carole Farley sure sang the spots off the role."
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