By Terence McNally
At The Playhouse, Jan 5 to Jan 30, 1999
Reviewer: Kate Herbert
A Melbourne audience being propelled spontaneously and
simultaneously to its feet in applause is very, very rare. It demands a
breathtaking and masterly performance. Amanda Muggleton, as Maria Callas in
Masterclass, fits the bill.
There are moments in Rodney Fisher's stylish production of
Terence McNally's elegantly structured play, when Muggleton plumbs Callas'
depths of passion and despair and tears splash not only from her eyes.
She stands, isolated, in a narrow spotlight, transported
from the opera master class she teaches at the Juilliard School, New York. The
tragedy of the woman, the passion of her commitment, the crimson velvet beauty
of her voice, transport us, in turn, to La Scala.
This is a peak experience. To be inside the mind of Callas
as we hear her dramatic, disturbing voice, takes us to the brink of despair and
ecstasy.
In tandem with such beauty and awe, we encounter the
bestiality of her lover, Aristotle Onassis, who treated her cruelly. McNally
skillfully interweaves the interior and exterior worlds of Callas.
"Poof! I am invisible," quips Muggleton as Callas
as the first of her "victims" begins to sing. Double doors swing open
dramatically. She sweeps in majestically, music clutched to her chest, black
spectacles, head tossed back as if about to sing Lady Macbeth. Callas was never
invisible.
Muggleton captures her vanity and insecurity, commitment to
teaching, passion for character and her craving to be, once more, the diva.
When her voice began to fail in 1959, after a stellar, if controversial, career
as diva at La Scala, her confidence was shattered.
In masterclasses, she could risk occasional vocal glimpses
of the old Callas before a doting audience, often as large as a thousand.
Muggleton is supported by a fine cast. An unassuming musical
accompanist, (Andrew Ross) three singers, (Natasha Hunter, Toni Powell,
Domenico Canizzaro) and a stagehand (Laurence Coy)
Callas ached with the need for love and recognition. She may
have talked about technique, about meaning, diction and feeling, but her talent
was driven by her intense emotional need, her need to be the best, to overcome
the "fat girl" image, the rivalry with her pretty sister and other
divas.
"Ho dato tutto
at te," she sings. "I gave everything to you." To Onassis, to
music, to composers, students and audience
Muggleton also gives everything. It is a consummate performance of a
very difficult role.
K Herbert
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