Love Would Heal the Nations

Concluding my yearlong, once-a-month series of reviews of filmed operas, I offer here one of the most distinctive cinematic renditions of opera, courtesy of the great Ingmar Bergman. It is sometimes referred to as "the finest screen version of an opera ever produced." That's hyperbole from my viewpoint, but this film certainly ranks among the top ten.

Historical Background: Ingmar Bergman, the great Swedish filmmaker, was a man of diverse interests. He had a deep love for classical music and was an accomplished organist. He once declared that he might have become a conductor had he not chosen filmmaking. So it was, in 1974, that Bergman undertook a tribute to the genius of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart by filming a unique screen version of the master's great singspiel style comic opera, The Magic Flute. To those who know Bergman's films, it might seem strange that the master of bleak, existential themes would turn his fancy to such an apparently light, comic piece, yet for all of its fairytale quality, this opera reeks of quasi-existential themes, from a mystical priesthood who serve as protectors of truth, beauty, and wisdom to the final ascendancy of romantic love as the balm for man's primordial loneliness. These were themes with which Bergman was intimately acquainted, however masked they might be by Mozart's ebullient melodic strains. By 1974, Bergman was already firmly ensconced as an institution in Swedish cinema and was fresh off triumphs with Cries and Whispers (1972) and Scenes from a Marriage (1973). Bergman undertook this realization of The Magic Flute for the celebration of the 25th anniversary of Swedish television.

Mozart wrote the music for The Magic Flute in 1791, very shortly before his death. Mozart had become an ardent Freemason during the last years of his life and it was the German Shakespearean actor and fellow Mason Emanuel Schikaneder who wrote the rather clumsy libretto, which was in no way on a par with the fine ones provided by Lorenzo da Ponte for Le Nozze di Figaro, Don Giovanni, or Così fan tutte. Schikaneder, who was an irrepressible barnstormer, merely stitched together a libretto from bits and pieces of symbolism, fantasy, and Masonic ideology. Mozart's health showed signs of failing in 1791 and his demise was no doubt hastened by the many wild parties that he shared with Schikaneder, sometimes culminating in outright debauches, especially while Mozart's wife Constanze was away on one of her many trips to Baden for health reasons. The Magic Flute premiered in a theater near Vienna on September 30th, 1791 and its success briefly revived Mozart's flagging health and spirits. It didn't last long. Just over two months later, on December 5th, 1791, Mozart succumbed to some mysterious combination of exhaustion and/or disease.

The Story: The opera's story transpires over two acts. Act I is preceded by an Overture, during which Bergman takes the opportunity to show us a bit of his replica of an 18th-century theater and his 20th-century mostly Swedish blond and square-jawed audience, with just a smidgen of cultural diversity. One beatific and rapt young girl, Helene Friburg, is especially highlighted, during the overture and periodically throughout the opera's presentation. The curtain soon rises on a colorful, fantasy set, revealing immediately a fairytale atmosphere.

A dragon is pursuing Prince Tamino (Josef Köstlinger). When the Prince falls into the dragon's clutches, he faints, this not being Sean Connery in Dragonheart. Three ladies (Britt-Marie Aruhn, Kirsten Vaupel, and Birgitta Smiding), who are attendants of the Queen of the Night (Birgit Nordin), save Tamino by spearing the dragon. All three of the gals are immediately enamored with the beauty of the man they have rescued and each offers to remain behind while the other two fetch the Queen. Ultimately all three go off. Tamino awakens with the arrival of Papageno (Håkan Hagegård), a bird-catcher, who is blowing merrily on the pipes of his flute. Papageno declares the he would much prefer to catch girls than birds. Tamino assumes that it is Papageno who has saved him from the serpent and Papageno allows him to believe so. The attendants reappear, however, and punish Papageno for his dishonesty by sealing his lips with a lock.

The attendants produce a locket containing a picture of the beautiful Pamina (Irma Urrila), daughter of the Queen of the Night. Tamino is immediately breathless with adoration and sings a hymn to her beauty ("This portrait is bewitching fair"). The Queen of the Night makes a dramatic entrance, parting mountains in her wake. She implores Tamino to rescue her daughter from the clutches of an evil sorcerer named Sarastro (Ulrik Cold). If Tamino succeeds, he make have Pamino for his bride. To aid his quest, The Queen of the Night gives Tamino a magic flute, which, when played, will protect him from danger. She instructs Papageno to accompany Tamino on his quest and provides the bird-catcher with magic chimes. In a charming quintet, Papageno and Tamino get a fine sending off by the three attendants, who forgive Papageno and remove the lock from his lips. The attendants inform Tamino and Papageno that three boys (Urban Malmberg, Ansgar Krook, and Erland von Heïjne), young, fair, gentle, and wise, will guide them to their destination.

In the palace of Sarastro (High Priest of Isis), a swarthy guard, Monostatos (Ragnar Ulfung), attended by his slaves, tries to press his attentions on the unwilling Pamina. Papageno penetrates the chamber and informs Pamina that Prince Tamino has fallen in love with her and is even now searching for her to save her. Papageno convinces her to trust him and guides her out of the palace. Meanwhile, Tamino encounters the Orator of Isis (Erik Sædén), who advises him that he has been misled by the Queen of the Night and that Sarastro is actually a really nice fellow. The Orator states that he is bound by oath not to explain more fully, but invites Tamino to enter the Shrine of Wisdom (i.e., Masonic Temple) in friendship and discover the truth for himself. In despair at his confusion, Tamino cries out, "Oh endless night you never lighten. When will the darkness ever brighten?" To which a heavenly chorus responds, "Soon or never. Evermore."

Alone and dejected, Tamino plays his magic flute, and all sorts of animals and birds draw near. In the distance, he hears the pipes of Papageno, and lets himself hope that his friend has already found Pamina. As Tamino goes off searching for Papageno, the latter enters with Pamina, but Monostatos and his slaves intercept the pair. Papageno takes out his magic chimes, which produce such merry notes that Monostatos and the slaves are entranced and wander off singing and dancing. A trumpet fanfare now signals the arrival of Sarastro and his retinue. Pamina begs his forgiveness for running away, explaining that her fear of Monostatos had caused her to do so. Monostatos enters with Tamino in tow and the two would-be lovers, Pamina and Tamino, run to embrace. Monostatos attempts to persuade Sarastro of his good intentions, but Sarastro sentences Monostatos to seventy-seven liar's lashings. Sarastro declares that Tamino and Papageno will be given an opportunity to prove themselves worthy of joining the order. End Act I.

During the intermission, Bergman gives us some backstage access and additional audience shots. Act II opens with the solemn march of Sarastro and the priests before the Temple. Sarastro urges the priests to permit Tamino to be initiated into the mysteries of the brotherhood and expresses his intent that Tamino and Pamina should be united so they can together take his place as ruler. Tamino and Papageno must prove themselves worthy by three trials. The first is the trial of darkness. Tamino boldly accepts the test but Papageno is tempted to decline – until he is advised that there will be a pretty girl for him at the end, if he succeeds. The attendants of the Queen of the Night appear, trying to lure Tamino and Papageno into flight, but the lads resist. Meanwhile, in a palace garden, Monostatos hovers menacingly over the sleeping Pamina. The Queen of the Night suddenly arrives and, in a vengeance-wracked aria, hands Pamina a dagger, demanding that she murder Sarastro. After the Queen departs, Sarastro arrives. Pamina begs him not to take revenge on her mother. He nobly declares, "Within these holy halls, there is no place for vengeance."

The second trial for Tamino and Papageno is the trial of silence. Silence is not Papageno's forte, so despite several shishes from Tamino, Papageno ends up talking to himself. An ugly old hag comes by and sits beside Papageno, claiming to be just eighteen years and two minutes old and in love with Papageno. For a flash of a second, the old hag is transformed into Papagena (Elisabeth Erikson), a young girl perfectly matched to Papageno, but in a thunderclap, she disappears just as quickly. Papageno, realizing his folly, declares that he'll never speak again.

Pamina now runs in to join Tamino, but mistakes his silence as rejection and inconstancy. Her grief is immense and, later, in the garden, she contemplates taking her own life with the dagger given to her by her mother. The three boys appear, in the nick of time, to advise her that Tamino does in fact love her. Meanwhile, in the garden, Papageno, also despairing of true love, contemplates hanging himself. The three boys rush in and remind him to use his magic chimes. He does so and moments later, Papagena duly appears, leading to the opera's famous duet, marked by staccato bursts of "pa-pa-geno" and "pa-pa-gena."

The chorus of priests now enters, declaring their dedication to their order and Tamino's worthiness for induction. Tamino enters led by two men in armor. He and Pamina will undertake the third and last trial side by side – the trial by fire. Tamino plays his magic flute and Pamina places her hand on his shoulder as they pass through a fiery cave. As they emerge, the chorus declares victory. There's one last peril however. Monostatos with the Queen of the Night and their legions come charging on stage, planning to seize Pamina and take vengeance against Sarastro. A brilliant light bursts forth from the Temple of the Sun in the background, where Sarastro stands upon an altar, with Tamino and Pamina before him, and the legions of darkness sink into oblivion.

Themes: Thematically, this opera leaves be a bit cold. It is not merely a fairytale as many viewers suppose. It is thinly veiled Masonic philosophy. I am neither a Freemason nor an anti-Mason. What concerns I have with Freemasonry are totally unrelated to the doctrinal issues and bizarre accusations raised by anti-Mason organizations, with which I have no sympathy. I'm just not personally fond either of exclusionary organizations or ones with secret rituals. Though the Freemasons welcome people from various religious affiliations (the Catholic Church prohibits Catholics from being Masons but the Masons do not prohibit Catholics), they exclude women, blacks, and atheists. Freemasons often help one another out in their professional lives. Feminists rightly raise concerns about how the "old boy network" limits opportunities for women and Freemasonry is perhaps the ultimate old-boy network. The same argument applies in relation to the racial exclusivity. On the other hand, the Freemasons support many charitable organizations and devote themselves to community service. Many of the values they stand for are commendable virtues, such as honesty, integrity, brotherhood, courage, wisdom, and loyalty. The Freemasons are a bit analogous to the role that fraternities and sororities play on college campuses, which most academics recognize as a distinctly mixed blessing. Nevertheless, Freemasonry doesn't rank very high on my fret-list of social issues.

Are there really Freemason issues evident in The Magic Flute? Absolutely. The three trials that Tamino must undergo equate to the three lodge-level "degrees" (Entered Apprentice, Fellowcraft, and Master) of Freemasonry. Then, there's the suggestion that Tamino will acquire "wisdom" by acceptance into the brotherhood. All of that is harmless enough, but the problem arises from some ugly examples of sexism and racism in the opera. Sarastro is presented as good despite having abducted Pamina from her mother because, as he puts it, she "needs a man to guide her." No matter that he permits Pamina to be exposed to the threats of Monostatos, who guards her. Monostatos, who is hateful and vicious, is described as a "Moor" (i.e., black or, at least, swarthy) and sings, at one point, "Every creature feels love's joys, nuzzles, dallies, hugs, and kisses, but I must shun love because a black man is ugly!" Then later, he asks Pamina, "Is it my black skin that terrifies you?" Monostatos keeps slaves and works for Sarastro, so we must assume that Sarastro condones slavery. Why then is Sarastro good and the Queen of the Night bad? Pamina attributes her mother's thirst for vengeance to "distress over my absence," but Sarastro responds, "I know everything. I know that she is lurking in the underground caverns of the Temple and plotting revenge against me and the rest of mankind." So, by Sarastro's account, a mother aggrieved by the abduction of her daughter is basically a man-hater. Freemasons have no use for assertive or accomplished women. True, there are auxiliary groups for women, such as the Order of the Eastern Star, but membership in that order is based on the woman's husband being a Master or higher in a Masonic lodge, not on the woman's own qualifications. There is an independent Masonic organization for blacks called Prince Hall Freemasonry which originated precisely because blacks were excluded from Freemasonry. Fraternal organizations are sometimes construed positively as providing a means of getting ahead by "networking," but my view is that one person's reliance on "connections" is typically another person's lost opportunity.

Production Values: Ingmar Bergman wrote the screenplay for his version of The Magic Flute, translating Emanuel Schikaneder's German libretto into Swedish and simplifying the story a bit with some elisions, rearrangements, and deletions of obscure references. Bergman omitted all of the original's Egyptian references, including allusions to the Isis and Osiris mythology. Bergman excised some dialog and altered the order of some scenes in Act II to improve the narrative flow. Bergman also makes Sarastro the father of Pamina, adding a bit of Freudian perspective or, possibly, a custody battle element to the story.

Despite a budget of only $650,000, Bergman was able to gather together an exceptionally talented team of set designers and audio engineers, as well as his splendid regular cameraman, Sven Nykvist. Bergman had wanted to shoot the film in Drottningholm Palace on the outskirts of Stockholm, but was prohibited from doing so because of the fragile nature of the grounds, so Bergman had the entire stage duplicated in a studio of the Swedish Film Institute. Set designer Henny Noremark and his crew painted the backdrops and props to match the color scheme of the original production. The sets immediately establish the fantasy quality of the opera. At one point, the three boys descend in a brightly colored hot-air balloon. At another, the set rapidly shifts backdrops as the Queen of the Night makes her dramatic entrance. Nykvist's camerawork provides saturated colors, a variety of pleasing angles, superlative framing, and a preponderance of emotion-revealing close-ups, while regularly exploring the stage spaces.

Filmed versions of operas are generally of two types, either fully opened up cinematic renditions or filmed stage productions. Bergman adopted a third style, somewhat reminiscent of Laurence Olivier's approach to his famous filming of Henry V (1944). Both Bergman and Olivier set out to recreate the atmosphere of an original stage production and then added distinctly cinematic techniques. Each also incorporated the theater audience as part of the cinematic experience to give film viewers a feeling for the theatrical aspect of the performance. Once difference in tactics, however, was that Bergman chose to maintain the theatrical context throughout the length of the production while Olivier opened up his film into a more typically cinematic style for its middle section. In addition to the frequent shots of the audience interspersed throughout the opera, Bergman used backstage shots of the actors during the intermission (e.g., Tamino and Pamina playing chess in their dressing room) as a further distanciation technique.

Bergman's foremost concern was the quality of the audio component of the production. After all, it is Mozart's sublime music that makes The Magic Flute a revered masterpiece, not the second-rate story. Filmed operas that record the music concurrent with the physical performance typically have poor musical quality. Those that post-dub the sound often have irritatingly poor lip synchronization. Bergman used a third technique and the most effective possibility. The sound was prerecorded and then played over loudspeakers during the physical performances so that the singers/actors could lip-sync their own voices while acting, but not worry about producing their best vocal work. The result is a high quality soundtrack with excellent synchronization. Bergman also went out of his way to ensure proper stereo placement of both voices and incidental sounds. Footsteps seem to arise from the proper place on the stage.

In casting this rendition of The Magic Flute, Bergman gave highest priority to physical suitability. Opera aficionados will understand that such a choice is not without a cost. While none of the voices featured in this recording are markedly deficient, the cast taken collectively is not the equal of the kind of cast typically assembled for first-tier audio recordings. At the risk of offending Swedish readers, it is also the case that the talent pool for opera singers in Scandinavian is not fully on a par with that in Italy or Germany. Baritone Håkan Hagegård, as Papageno, turns in the best vocal performance for this recording as well as the best acting performance. Also more than merely satisfactory is Elizabeth Erikson as Papagena, possessing both the cuteness and crystalline voice required for her part. One is left wishing that the opera had provided her with more stage time. Tenor Josef Köstlinger, as Tamino, is physically appropriate but not vocally strong. His opposite, Irma Urrila, as Pamina, looks a bit like Liv Ullmann and holds up pretty well vocally. Birgit Nordin, as the Queen of the Night, has plenty of intimidating presence but a somewhat thin, coloratura voice. She has the opera's most splendid aria to perform and hits the staccato coloratura notes pleasingly, but holds up less well for the sustained high notes. Ulrik Cold has both the look and the strong bass voice required for Sarastro.

Bottom-Line: The Criterion DVD for this film provides a stellar video digital transfer as well as an optimal audio soundtrack. There are no extras, other than optional English subtitles. This is a highly distinctive cinematic rendition of a great Mozart opera, beloved for its sublime music, if less so for a rather mediocre libretto. Bergman has provided a unique approach that combines opera's innate theatricality with cinematic enhancements. Visually, it's near the top of the pile for filmed operas but the vocal quality falls somewhat short of the finest film recordings I've reviewed. I highly recommend this film for opera lovers and Mozart aficionados.


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You may also enjoy my other opera reviews:

The Barber of Seville
La Bohème
Boris Godunov
Carmen
Carmen (Dance Version)
Don Giovanni
Lucia di Lammermoor
I Pagliacci
Rigoletto
La Traviata (Strada)
La Traviata (Moffo)
Il Trovatore
Turandot



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You can easily access all my other opera reviews using the following lists:

Top-Twelve Film Versions of Operas
Metalluk's Twenty Best Pre-Romantic (Baroque & Classicism) Operas, on DVD
Metalluk's Twenty-five Best Italian Romantic Period Operas, on DVD
Metalluk's Twenty Best Non-Italian Romantic Period Operas, on DVD
Metalluk's Thirty Best Operas of the 20th-Century, on DVD
Metalluk's Best Opera from Each Decade of the 20th-Century, on DVD