[Another in the series of interviews by Underneath the Bunker contributor Matthew Taylor-Rosnik]
(N.B The transcript of this interview has been partially edited from the full-length version that appeared in the latest edition of the printed journal).
M T-R – It’s a pleasure to be able to converse with you, Mr Zilotti, just a few days after the premiere of your latest work, which we’ll move on to discuss in a short while. To begin with, however, I’d like to ask a few questions about the opera you wrote a couple of years ago, the now infamous Celebrity Three Sisters: The Musical. I wonder – do you ever regret holding the premiere in St. Petersburg?
P Z – Not at all.
M T-R – You don’t think that it might have had a better welcome in a more forgiving climate?
P Z – The weather had nothing to do with it.
M T-R – I was thinking rather more of the Russian temperament. Russian critics are well known not to be especially fond of foreigners messing about with their favourite writers. You don’t think that your version of Chekhov’s famous play was maybe a little disrespectful?
P Z – Not at all. Chekhov is the man. My opera was made because of my love for the man. It is all love in that opera.
M T-R – Unfortunately, however, not much love emanated from the critic’s pens, did it?
P Z – Ah, who care? I thought the opera was fantastic. In Switzerland they like it very much.
M T-R – Well, to a certain extent I believe that all of the audiences were far more forgiving than the critics. I also think that many people warmed to the interactive aspect of the evening, which wasn’t something they might have expected to encounter during a night at the opera. But of course, there were some questions raised concerning the time it took to count up the votes after each act. And there is the fact that after a while audiences started to use their votes a little cynically to say the least. Solyony was the last man standing on the night I went.
P Z – Yes, these things I had not anticipated. But I have no regrets.
M T-R – To be honest, I’m very pleased to hear you say that. The reason I started on this subject is that I was in fact a great fan of the project. I think that your coupling of Chekhovian realism and reality television culture was very perceptive and that the music was some of the best you have ever written. And whilst the show may have been leaning somewhat towards the camp – sometimes excessively so – it was also unceasingly inventive.
P Z – Thank you. I think that it was good too. Genius.
M T-R – It was good, I’ll say that. The central concept was very strong.
P Z – The Swiss critics say genius. All of them say genius.
M T-R – Fair enough. As I said, the concept was very strong. And it was certainly one of the more intriguing new operas to have been produced for some time. No doubt this put some pressure on you when it came to considering the subject for your next work?
P Z – Maybe, or maybe not. I don’t know. Possibly.
M T-R – Well, could you perhaps explain how it was you finally came to the decision to adapt Ijit Yoy’s novel My Grandmother’s Pudding?
P Z – One day I was reading this book, My Grandmother’s Pudding. I read the book and I enjoy the book. Then one day I think, this would be good opera.
M T-R – Could you specify any elements of the book that might be said to have provoked such thoughts?
P Z - Yes. The pudding.
M T-R – What was about the pudding that you considered being such a ripe subject for an opera?
P Z – Just the idea of a dancer dressed as a pudding. I thought that was very funny. And I wanted to have this fridge also.
M T-R – Okay, well you’ve certainly pinpointed two of the most visually memorable aspects of the opera. There are, of course, no scene changes in this work, so the stage is dominated throughout by this giant fifty foot fridge. And the pudding is, I think I’m right in thinking, performed by the young Russian ballet dancer Nikolai Mouski? A ballet dancer in an opera?
P Z – Yes, that is right. And the fridge was made by my brother. He is a fridge-maker. But this is the first time he has ever made fridge that was fifty feet tall.
M T-R – Sorry, are you saying that it is an actual fridge?
P Z – Yes. It is a real working fridge.
M T-R – So when the dancer sits inside it and closes the door on stage, he is actually sitting in a real fridge?
P Z –That is right, yes.
M T-R – Is that safe?
P Z – He is wearing a very thick costume. He is dressed as a pudding, with a lot of padding.
M T-R – Right. But was it really necessary for you to create a real fridge on stage?
P Z – Who care whether it is necessary? I want real fifty foot fridge, I make real fifty foot fridge. There are no scene change, as you say, so I want the one set we use to be as good as it is possible. And when the opera finish, I take the fridge home.
M T-R – What would you want to use a fifty foot fridge for?
P Z – That is none of your business.
M T-R – Well, I apologise for my obscene curiosity. To return to the opera – despite the fact that there is only one set, I must say that it is a visually resplendent work. I mean, there are some really glorious set-pieces, especially the opening sequence in which the elderly woman is butchered to death by the man with the axe. Were you ever worried that you were shooting yourself in the foot by starting the opera with such a dramatic sequence, especially as the novel contains very little in terms of plot in its central section?
P Z – Yes, there is a lot of words in the book; a lot of ideas and things like that which I cut out. In the opera there is much more singing.
M T-R – Well, there isn’t any singing in the book.
P Z – Like I say, in the opera there is much more singing. And I mix in some ballet as well, with the pudding. It is different from the book, of course, but you cannot do everything. At least we keep the fridge and some other main character.
M T-R – To be fair, I think you stayed remarkably true to the book, all things considered. A lot of the subtlety and beauty of Ijit’s prose was lost, but a lot was gained as well. As I mentioned earlier, the axe murdering sequence is probably unparalleled in modern opera, don’t you think?
P Z – Yes, there is a lot of blood on the stage – this is true.
M T-R – Another highlight is the closing sequence, when the dog eats the pudding. You obviously made a conscious effort to mirror the axe-murdering scene here. It is of course suggested in the book, but you really bring it to the fore, having the same man that played the axe murderer doubling up as the dog.
P Z – That is right. Why pay two actors when you can pay one?
M T-R – You also managed to replicate on stage the curious atmosphere of the book – that unnerving combination of comedy and violence. In the first case I’m thinking of the way that you symbolise the mould on the pudding; the second is best illustrated by the scenes I mentioned earlier, with the dog and the murderer and so forth. However, I wonder whether you were ever anxious that you might overdo the comedy? You have to be careful, don’t you?
P Z – My Grandmother’s Pudding is a tragic story about death, but it is also a story about what it is to live life as a cherry crumble. I could not avoid the comedy and I could not avoid the tragedy. I find the best way of walking the tightrope between the two is to close your eyes and not think about anything.
M T-R – What you’re saying, then, is that you’re a primarily instinctive artist?
P Z – I always say create first, think later. If you think first, you never create anything.
M T-R – Nevertheless, your instincts must be unconsciously informed by years of thought. Otherwise, your work would be incoherent.
P Z – Maybe so, I don’t know.
M T-R – Fair enough. Perhaps now would be a good time to shift our focus towards the musical side of the project. With My Grandmother’s Pudding you seem to have simultaneously composed some of your most popular and yet also your most challenging music. In a section of a single song you veer between mawkishly sentimental melody and heavy microtonal dissonance. Did you make a conscious decision to operate in this way?
P Z – Yes, I think so. But is also instinct, like I say.
M T-R – Would you not say, however, that the music is driven by the text? Had you chosen to adapt, let’s say, The Masala Affair, would the music have sounded completely different – or do you compose portions of music before choosing the text – that is to say, all purpose melodies?
P Z – I choose the text first, then I write the music, then I change the text.
M T-R – What do you mean when you say you change the text? You make changes to the narrative? Would you say there are portions of the text that you simply can’t create opera from?
P Z – No. You can create opera from anything. Absolutely everything. Going to the toilet. Picking your nose. There are no boundaries.
M T-R – Could you then explain why it was you cut all the episodes dealing with the boy’s drink problem? Were you concerned that it raised the thorny issue of under-age drinking?
P Z – No. I cut because the opera was too long. Five hours is enough.
M T-R – You don’t feel that you might have compromised your artistic integrity for the sake of a shorter running time?
P Z – When you need money, who cares about integrity? But I had run out of music also. I had a little bit of butter to spread over too much bread. I ran out of butter. No butter left for me.
M T-R – Surely if you were in it for the money you wouldn’t be making such quirky choices of subject for your operas? You’d go for something a little more mainstream wouldn’t you?
P Z – Maybe so, I don’t know.
M T-R – You’ve never thought of working with a more typical or at least familiar subject? One of the Greek myths perhaps?
P Z – Sometimes I think maybe I will do a version of Prometheus, set in the Artic, with singing penguins…
M T-R – Paulo Zilotti, it’s been a pleasure talking to you, and I wish you every success with My Grandmother’s Pudding, which has, I believe, already garnered a much more positive critical response than your previous work
P Z – Maybe so, I don’t know. Who care?
Paulo Zilotti’s operatic adaptation of Yoy Ijit’s novel My Grandmother’s Pudding runs at the Urbino Opera House until 31 March 2006
Further Reading:
