The Butterfly effect

In Chaos Theory, when a sensitive dependence on initial conditions materializes, a butterfly effect is said to happen  small, even minuscule incidents triggering large-scale alterations towards their latter state. Existentially, a choice can lead to multifarious consequences for the subject, and pedagogically, a temporal breakthrough can peel its way into a new reality or social landscape.

Such was the case of the beaming production of Giacomo Puccini’s Madame Butterfly at the Cultural Center of the Philippines, an opera which was not only one of the greatest opuses ever made in the history of the art form (it ranks as Number 8 in the Operabase list of the most performed operas worldwide) but a breakthrough for the way opera is conducted in the country.

It was in essence, an exercise in keen decision-making and artistic choices that made the old feel new again, what with the contemporary staging, projected translations in the style of the Metropolitan Opera House in New York, and progressive visuals which refurbished the show. I found myself on the receiving end of a cultural revival and reinvention (probably not a renaissance; at least, not yet)  if only to bring more people and eyeballs to patronize this art.

Madame Butterfly, or Madama Butterfly, returned to Manila for a two-day engagement after 18 years  to showcase a fresh staging by award-winning director Anton Juan, tethered by the structural and almost alien-like sensibilities of avant-garde set and costume designer Leeroy New (also the collaborator behind Lady Gaga’s Marry the Night ensemble and one of the Philippines’ premiere theater designers and visual artists).

In the same blood, as etched on the playbill’s “in memoriam,” it was also a tribute to the legacy of the first three Philippine “Butterflies” who essayed the role of the show’s tragic heroine, Cio-Cio San.

L’imperial commissario

Giacomo Anotonio Domenico Michele Secondo Maria Puccini, composer of Madame Butterfly, was an Italian virtuoso whose works included, among others, Tosca and La Fanciulla del West. Incidentally, Madame Butterfly is the inspiration behind Miss Saigon, a theatrical masterpiece that has swept our generation, much like Rent, another masterpiece which was in turn, inspired by another one of Puccini’s operatic masterpieces, La Boheme.

In the summer of 1883, Puccini presented his graduation piece, Capriccio Sinfonico, an instrumental work that captured the attention of Milan’s glitterati and aural connoisseurs, beginning with Manon Lescaut. He petted a propensity for the Ill Tabarro: “Chi ha vissuto per amore, per amore si mori” (“He who has lived for love, has died for love”) which became the leitmotif of many of his musical oeuvres. This is of course written all over the show as Cio-Cio San ultimately takes her life when her beloved Pinkerton chooses a Westerner over their illusory love.

Vieni, amor mio! (come, my love!)

The very first Filipina to essay the role of the 15-year-old Butterfly, a geisha who gets swept away by the guile of a lieutenant of the American imperial fleet, was Maestra Isang Tapales. She performed the role at the Teatro Donizzeti in Bergamo Italy in the spring of 1924, and reprised it 23 years later. Subsequently, Philippine National Artist for Music, Maestra Jovita Fuentes sang the coveted role in Piacenza Italy in 1925, followed by Dalisay Aldaba’s lionized portrayal of Cio-Cio San at the New York City Opera in 1940.

For the recent staging, producer Jay Valencia-Glorioso of MusicArtes Inc. invited Shizuoka native Mako Nishimoto to play the lead role. Mako who, at a tender age, was already exposed to the jazz and blues that her guitarist father would often play. She spent most of her childhood learning instruments but it wasn’t ‘til she was 16 that she decided to hone her singing. Her opera credits include Zerlina and Donna Anna in Don Giovanni, Mimi in La Boheme and Liu in Turandot.

Vogliatemi bene (love me, please)

Nishimoto was easily the standout of the show. Though her character Butterfly was a tragic creature, her voice was everything but, earning the audience’s thundering applause and well-deserved standing ovations. Camille Lopez-Molina as Suzuki, Cio-Cio San’s servant was also commendable, so was the Mexican-born Dante Alcala who played B. F. Pinkerton. But really, it was Nishimoto’s show to deliver as she roared with bombast and earnest intensity.

Hers was a braggadocio that was bigger than her body. And then to evoke fragility and transience fit for a butterfly  especially towards the denouement of the show’s depressing second act, was pure perfection. I couldn’t have asked for anything less.

Nishimoto was also keen on when to cue audiences to bid their applause  an act, or rather, art, which reminded me of a scene in Master Class when Maria Callas would speak of every performance being a battle, and that she’d have to fight every single time to win. Nishimoto was clearly the winner of the night. Not to mention, that she performed what is the dream role of female opera singers. 

Ora o noi (now for us)

The Philippine Philharmonic Orchestra (PPO) under the leadership of Singapore’s preeminent maestro Lim Yau provided the full bluster of Puccini’s riveting score. It was almost like an undulating aural journey that took you through the oeuvre’s highs and lows.

The music escalated, and so did your spirit. It kind of put things into perspective on how opera-goers, I noticed, would follow the rise and fall of the music with their heads and their chins. At one point, they’d even close their eyes to see with their mind’s eye, the full spectrum of sound.

You know how Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman ends up crying in that opera scene when essentially, she didn’t even understand what was being sung? When you’re watching something as beautiful as Madame Butterfly, you can’t help but feel its intensity sans translation, and soak it in.

Thankfully, for the lot that needed accessory to mental digestion, translations were projected above the stage, on a strip of screen reminiscent of the projections being made at a recent War Horse production I caught at the Lincoln Center. Interestingly enough, the Lincoln Center is a theater that housed the New York production of Madame Butterfly, I come to find out from one of the patrons at Leeroy New’s ongoing exhibit at the Manila Contemporary. Functional as it was, the production made the experience more interactive. The trick was to read the translation really quickly, and then refocus on the singers. 

More than anything, it was Anton Juan’s contemporary staging, complemented by New’s scenic design, that knocked Madame Butterfly out of the ballpark. How he integrated set elements with performance art, as evident in the stretch fabric (made to look like walls) donned by contemporary dancers  they would slide to indicate entry into Cio-Cio San’s quarters, contort to indicate strife during wartime, and then funnel to imitate silhouettes of a ship’s sail for when Pinkerton’s fleet returns  was a genius touch.

Also, John Batalla’s lights transformed the two-pronged set with aesthetic finesse. His lighting moved the narrative from day to night, and from season to season, seamlessly with assistant director Pat Valera’s video design. For the dripping blood alone towards the show’s end, he deserves exemplary praise.

Addio, fiorito asil (farewell, flowery refuge)

Overall, Madame Butterfly did what other operas could not. It ignited a new set of eyes in as much as it resuscitated feelings that have been dormant in the heart of the waning Filipino operagoer. To make the old new again, as scions of contemporary and modern art would champion, and perhaps, with the promise of a butterfly effect, and the raised standards that this may preclude for Philippine Opera, finally a cultural renaissance.