Performing in a Mirror

Self-Reflexivity and Spectatorship in Ariadne auf Naxos and Nixon in China

by Jaren Feeley

What does it mean to be a spectator at a performance? Should the spectator expect to be enchanted away from the concerns of ordinary life—or should performance be a place where our deep concerns are explored and confronted? And in what ways can performance engage with its own artificiality, and bring to the critical awareness of the spectator its capacity to present a spectrum of aesthetic, moral, and political viewpoints? This essay will explore these questions of performance and spectatorship through an analysis of two operas, Ariadne auf Naxos and Nixon in China, and their utilization of the time-honored ‘performance-within-a-performance’ technique. This technique will be shown to be a powerful means of self-reflexively exploring the nature of performance and spectatorship.

Ariadne auf Naxos, with music by Strauss and text by Hofmannsthal, was premiered in its definitive form in 1916. The first scene begins with an opera serio composer preparing his ‘divine work of art’,[1] the eponymous Ariadne auf Naxos, to crown an evening’s entertainment for a wealthy patron. The self-serious Composer is put into duress when his teacher informs him that a comedic opera buffa performance is to follow his opera serio, at the insistence of the wealthy patron. The timpani roll, the strings take a turn for the dark and minor. The Composer is outraged, feeling his work to be debased by this usurpation: ‘I can show them the secrets of the universe, lead them to the heights, and they would follow this with a scurrilous satire, so all notions of eternity give way to their empty folly and their shallow lack of feeling.’[2] The Composer’s mood moves swiftly from rage to profound sadness, crying: ‘In such a world no melody can soar to the gates of heaven.’[3] Suddenly the composer remembers a melody that had come to him earlier: ‘The essence of love, of simple constancy, shining out in a world too base to deserve it.’[4] The music lifts, a flute lilts playfully for a moment, and then we plunge into a rapturous aria of musical redemption. At the end of the aria, the Composer snatches a piece of paper with which he writes down his inspired tune. Throughout this scene, the deep mercurial emotions of the Composer are accompanied by highly expressive music, which is both a caricature of the unchained Romantic sensibility, and a demonstration of its unique musical power. 

[1] Richard Strauss and Hugo Hofmansthal, Ariadne Auf Naxos (CD Liner Notes) (Chandos Records, 2010). p. 43.

[2] Strauss, p. 46.

[3] Ibid., p. 47.

[4] Ibid., p. 47.

The opera buffa crew soon sweep onto the backstage scene, spearheaded by the beautiful and charismatic Zerbinetta. The dense orchestral accompaniment sinks away, and in its place bubbles up the bright clear tones of piano with a light accompaniment. A rhythm bounces under Zerbinetta as she begins to tease Composer’s work: ‘If that play’s as dull as they say, they should have had the sense to choose us for the opening number… When they’ve had to sit through a long hour of boredom it will be hard to make them laugh’.[1] Feelings are hurt, egos are trampled upon—but before the two camps come to blows, the majordomo re-enters and brusquely informs the artists that his patron now demands the opera serio and opera buffa be played simultaneously, to allow more time for fireworks. The Composer is left muttering is disbelief. (‘A mysterious voice when I was in my cradle whispered a dire warning of catastrophe.’[2]) The leader of the opera buffa crew comes to his side and reassures him that this interpolation can work: his artists are ‘experts at improvisations’,[3] and the performance can be saved if the Composer makes some cuts (‘not too cautious!’[4]). After some arguing, haggling, and flirting with the beautiful Zerbinetta, the Composer accedes to the arrangement—and the tragicomic performance begins.

[1] Ibid., p. 48.

[2] Ibid., p. 50.

[3] Strauss, p. 51.

[4] Ibid., p. 51.

An issue that is foregrounded in these backstage scenes is the status of art, in particular the tension between art with deep emotional and spiritual pretensions and art as entertainment. The Composer continually invokes religious metaphors to describe the effects of his art, describing it as ‘holy’[1] and capable of revealing ‘the secrets of the universe’,[2] whereas the opera buffo leader alternatively values the ‘enchanting’ and ‘easy to take in’[3] quality of his crew’s work. Further discussion is cut short by the brusque demands of the wealthy patron, demonstrating the subordination of artistic concerns to economic realities.

The tension between so-called high and low art is also clearly connected to the subject of morality. This subject is latently present in the Composer’s continual religious metaphors, and is at times more explicit, such as when he insists that his art is ‘a holy flame tended only by the brave and the true’.[4] The relationship between particular art forms and their moral quality has long been a subject of intense debate, extending back at least to Plato’s Republic. Sociologist Claudio Benzecry, in his ethnography The Opera Fanatic, highlights the tendency among opera fans to ‘declare moral superiority on the basis of their music-listening habits’.[5] This superiority, they say, is gained through a rigorous practice Benzecry terms ‘moral listening’,[6] which ‘emphasizes the never-ending, detail-oriented, experiential process of learning in order to be emotionally moved and affected by opera, which, [opera fans] believe, consequently makes one a better person.’[7] This level of engagement is pointedly lacking in the wealthy patron eager for fireworks—and if the Dancing Master is to be believed, Ariadne’s audience will be ‘in the dark… snoozing, till out of courtesy they clap and wake a little.’[8]

These issues raised in the first scene—the rarefied or popular quality of art, the economic role of the patron in shaping it, and the moral engagement that is possible for spectators—all demonstrate the self-reflexive exploration that the performance-within-a-performance technique makes possible. It is this technique which allows the characters of the opera to discuss the aesthetics of their own artistic performance, just as it allows them to openly discuss the nature of their relationship to the audience. This self-reflexivity is thus an essential vehicle for making available usually-unspoken questions and opinions, which the spectators of the opera can then reflect upon.

[1] Ibid., p. 55.

[2] Ibid., p. 43.

[3] Ibid., p. 48.

[4] Ibid., p. 55.

[5] Claudio E Benzecry, The Opera Fanatic (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2011), p. 95

[6] Ibid., p. 95.

[7] Benzecry, p. 95.

[8] Strauss, p. 48.

The performance-within-a-performance technique also represents an audience as part of a larger performance, which opens up a line of thought that encourages the actual spectators to ‘zoom out’ and perceive a larger view of opera in which they are active participants, shaping the meaning and purpose of artistic works through their patronage and presence. The first scene of Ariadne auf Naxos indeed makes clear the role of wealthy patron in shaping the terms of performance; in contemporary times this role is held by the paying spectators and donors of the public opera house. When the performance-within-a-performance begins in Ariadne auf Naxos, the wealthy patron and his guests are not to be seen on or off stage, and it could be implied that this important role is being assumed by the actual audience of the opera house.

The performance-within-a-performance technique is used to raise similar questions about art and spectatorship in the American opera Nixon in China, premiered in 1987 with music by John Adams and text by Alice Goodman. The plot portrays Richard Nixon’s trip to China in 1972, and how the major historical players (the Nixons, Mao, Kissinger, and Zhou Enlai) navigated their political interests through this unprecedented media spectacle. The opera begins on a cold grey airstrip outside of Beijing. After an opening chorus sung by the assembled Chinese military personnel, the Presidential airplane touches down, with the Nixons emerging to the accompaniment of epic orchestral arpeggios. Nixon descends to the tarmac to clasp hands with Chinese Premier Zhou Enlai, both of them freezing in handshake-position for an absurd length of time for the sake of the implied cameras. From the beginning, the characters in this opera radiate a self-awareness as performers—but as performers of the political stage rather than that of the traditional theater.

Unlike in Ariadne auf Naxos, the performance-within-a-performance in Nixon in China is only one scene among many. It occurs in the second act, when the Nixons go to see an opera/ballet specially arranged for them by Madame Mao. The performance is to be The Red Detachment of Women, which tells the tale of a young woman’s struggle against the cruel injustice of her capitalist landlord and his lackey—who is played by a thinly veiled Kissinger. The curtain rises on this scene, revealing the Nixons and Madame Mao settling into their seats among the audience. A second curtain rises onstage to reveal the ballet-opera The Red Detachment of Women. The Nixons lean forward a bit in their seats: three young Chinese woman are chained to posts, imprisoned on the estate of a despotic landlord on the tropical island of Hainan. They are tormented by the landlord’s lackey—Kissinger with a mustache—until one of the woman, our protagonist Ching-hua, manages to escape. Soon thereafter she is caught in the forest by the lackey and his cronies, mercilessly whipped for her disobedience, and left for dead.

During the whipping, Pat Nixon becomes increasingly agitated by the violence perpetrated against Ching-hua, and seemingly unaware of the distinction between theater and reality, exclaims: ‘They can’t do that!’[1] Richard responds reasonably: ‘It’s just a play./She’ll get afterwards, you’ll see.’[2] Pat cannot bear it: ‘Make them stop, make them stop!’[3] At this point reality seems to be blurring for Richard as well, who responds ‘Sweetheart,/Leave them alone, you might get hurt.’[4] Pat rushes the stage, followed reluctantly by her husband, and soon they are within the play, tending to the wounds of Ching-hua.

[1] Adams, John, and Alice Goodman, Nixon In China (CD Liner Notes) (NAXOS, 2009). p. 25.

[2] Ibid.

[3] Ibid.

[4] Ibid.

This scene of performance, a conspicuous aberration from what is otherwise a realist opera, is significant in Nixon in China. The breakdown of the boundary between theater and reality can be understood as an artistic investigation of the ethics of theater and spectatorship, especially in light of the influential writings of Bertolt Brecht, a German dramatist and theorist. Through his plays and writings, Brecht pioneered a new vision of how theater and opera can engage with the emotions, intellect, and morality of the spectator. Brecht attacked the traditional aesthetics of performance as outlined by Aristotle, which he termed dramatic theater. In Aristotle’s view, it is beneficial for spectators to release themselves into self-identification with the dramatic characters, allowing their emotions to be affected by the theatrical depictions. Aristotle argued that, as these depictions could illustrate some profound aspect of the world, our emotional responses would allow us to better reflect on our human condition. Brecht argued that that this emotional release was too often ‘hedonism’,[1] and insufficient for pointing to the real cause of human suffering, which he linked to class struggle. Though spectators may still be ‘eager to become wax in the hands of magicians,’[2] Brecht argued that a new kind of theater and opera music must be developed for modernity, which would not be dramatic, but epic:

The ground is paved for a change […] in that illusion has been given up in favor of something one may discuss; and in that the spectator, instead of having to experience, may so say to vote; instead of identifying, may confront. The change transcends by far any question of form and beings to grasp the essential, social function of the theater.[3]

 The Red Detachment of Women, though depicting a rousing tale of proletarian uprising, would seem to be more dramatic than epic opera: the plotline is straightforward, the heroines and villains are clearly defined, and there is little-to-no room for questions or discussion. Yet it is turned into a Brechtian spectacle through the compassionate engagement and surreal naivety of our bourgeois-capitalist protagonist Pat Nixon, who cannot bear what she sees and must confront it. The moment that Pat Nixon stands up and intervenes in the performance, the illusion of (operatic) realism is shattered, and attention is drawn to the contrived nature of the opera. Brecht considered this bareness of artifice essential to epic opera: the spectator is not meant to be ‘transported’, or ‘in the midst’,[4] which could lead to a kind of ‘intoxication’[5]. Rather, Brecht argued that in epic opera the spectator ‘is confronted with something’, ‘[he] stands opposite, he studies’.[6] Pat Nixon’s surreal intervention in The Red Detachment of Woman provides this cognitive confrontation. In doing so, it brings Nixon in China into the self-reflexive realm of epic opera.

Performance can also be a way of simply presenting ideas which may be taboo to bring up otherwise. In the first diplomatic exchanges between the Chinese and American politicians during Nixon’s 1972 visit—exchanges upon which the dialog and settings of Nixon in China are based—much was necessarily left unsaid. The Red Detachment of Women, when initially presented to the American envoy, served as a powerful statement of political conviction. Within the context of Nixon in China and the theatrical intervention of the Nixons the performance gains new meaning, while remaining an example of a symbolically charged performance that presents what cannot be easily said. It has been compellingly argued by Timothy Johnson in Adam’s Nixon in China that The Red Detachment of Women scene presents an allegory for the relationship between the United States and China. This would explain the conspicuous casting of Kissinger, the arch capitalist, as a malicious bailiff of the landlord preying upon the less affluent and powerful. It would also explain the morally murky actions made by Nixon once he enters the scene, such as giving money to the violent lackey of the landlord for ‘talking like a real pro’.[7] In this view, Pat’s intervention would represent the compassion that motivates humans to reach out and help others that are in need. By using a performance-within-a-performance to present ideas (through vivid metaphor and allegory) that cannot be stated within the opera proper, Nixon in China presents a view of how spectators could critically engage with performance. 

[1] Bertolt Brecht, "Remarks On The Opera 'Rise And Fall Of The City Of Mahagonny'", in Opera: A History in Documents, 1st edn (Oxford University Press, 2002), p. 296.

[2] Ibid., p. 289.

[3] Brecht, p. 294-295.

[4] Ibid., p. 292.

[5] Ibid., p. 296.

[6] Ibid., p. 296.

[7] Adams, p. 27.

Nixon in China and Ariadne auf Naxos utilize the performance-within-a-performance technique to slightly different ends. Ariadne auf Naxos begins in a pre-performance backstage scene, where the characters candidly discuss their thoughts and feelings about have about the upcoming performance. Through their discussion and the orchestral accompaniment, the view of performance as a contested medium for the presentation of art and/or entertainment is elucidated, priming the spectator for critical examination during the scene of performance. When this performance-within-a-performance finally begins it occupies the whole stage, allowing the audience to play their own meaningful role as character-spectators. Nixon in China begins as an opera proper, and the scene of performance serves to take us one layer deeper into the world of theater. Rather than a candid backstage glimpse, the scene achieves a raw self-reflexivity through Pat Nixon’s symbolically charged intervention, which shatters the realism thus far maintained in the opera. The spectators for the performance-within-a-performance are onstage, and their intervention into the drama raises striking questions about the ethics of spectatorship and political theater. The scene also emphasizes the capacity of performance to present conceptions through metaphor and allegory that cannot be brought up outside of the performative realm, and alerts the audience to the importance of moral engagement with what is presented.

Though these two scenes of performance differ in their emphasis and context within the operas, both share the essential function of directing attention to the artificiality of performance and spectatorship—and thus the potential for imbuing performance with a spectrum aesthetic and moral views, and engaging with it in a variety of ways. This self-reflexivity, as this essay has shown in the examples drawn from Ariadne auf Naxos and Nixon in China, has the unique capacity to draw the spectator into a conscious and critical examination of the nature of performance, and their role as agents that can interpret, shape, and engage with performance in various ways.

Bibliography

Adams, John, and Alice Goodman, Nixon In China (CD Liner Notes) (NAXOS, 2009)

Benzecry, Claudio E, The Opera Fanatic (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2011)

Brecht, Bertolt, "Remarks On The Opera 'Rise And Fall Of The City Of Mahagonny'", in Opera: A History in Documents, 1st edn (Oxford University Press, 2002), p. 289

Johnson, Timothy A, John Adams's Nixon In China (Farnham, Surrey, England: Ashgate, 2011)

Strauss, Richard, and Hugo Hofmansthal, Ariadne Auf Naxos (CD Liner Notes) (Chandos Records, 2010)