Community: bloggers@brooklynmuseum

The catalogue for the show Jesper Just: Romantic Delusions draws our attention to how Jesper Just uses a variety of popular songs in his films, from the Ink Spots’ “I Don’t Want to Set the World on Fire” to Olivia Newton-John’s “Please Don’t Keep Me Waiting.” Those pop tunes are prominently featured in two of the films shown in the exhibition: Bliss and Heaven and The Lonely Villa.

There is, however, another episode in Just’s treatment of music, this one involving the rarified world of grand opera. His early film The Man Who Strayed (2002) consists almost entirely of a sparse restaging of Violetta’s death scene from the end of Verdi’s La Traviata. And surprisingly, this could be Just’s most widely seen film, largely because it’s available online at Artnode and has been bootlegged on YouTube (below) and elsewhere.

In The Man Who Strayed, what are we to make of a classical-music drama so remote from the torch songs, ballads, and Top Forty hits heard in many of Just’s other films? Why does he take us to the opera?

It’s useful to remember that Verdi’s 1853 masterpiece is only one of numerous adaptations of the story of Marguerite Gautier (called Violetta in Verdi), first told in the novel The Lady of the Camellias (La Dame aux camélias) by Alexandre Dumas, fils, published in 1848. Stage adaptations of the Dumas novel about a tubercular courtesan of the Parisian demimonde subsequently became vehicles for stars from Sarah Bernhardt and Eleanora Duse to Tallulah Bankhead and, later on, Isabelle Adjani. On film, the property served Greta Garbo well in her MGM Camille (1936), directed by George Cukor, as it has many other actresses (or, as we now say in our gender-neutral way, “actors”).

The story has become a touchstone, in recent times, of gay-themed drama, in which it has been frequently retold. The 1973 play Camille: A Travesty on La Dame aux camélias, written by—and starring, in drag—the late, great Charles Ludlam, founder of the Ridiculous Theatrical Company, is in some ways the most important neo-Traviata: a full-fledged cross-dressing remake in modern colloquial language, its denouement capped by a memorably tragicomic eulogy spoken over the deceased heroine: “Much will be forgiven you, for you have loved much. Toodle-loo, Marguerite.” Adding a further layer of reference, a decade later Ludlam would play the lead role in his Galas: A Modern Tragedy (1983), about a thinly disguised diva named Maria Galas, a renowned Violetta and Norma, whose stage career ends bitterly, as does her affair with a Greek tycoon. Others have pursued the Violetta/Camille story as well: in Terrence McNally’s 1989 play The Lisbon Traviata, the two affectionately satirized opera-fanatic principals, Mendy and Stephen, briefly act out lines or vignettes from their favorite Maria Callas records (epitomized by the pirate LPs of her celebrated performance in Lisbon) as comments on their own unsatisfactory love lives: to them, the way she abandoned herself to the role of the doomed heroine becomes a template for how destiny inexorably undoes the life of the heart. The chapter “The Callas Cult” in Wayne Koestenbaum’s book The Queen’s Throat: Opera, Homosexuality, and the Mystery of Desire (1993) points to the broader implications of such self-identification with Callas’s Violetta: remarking on fatalistic views of the late soprano, who died aged only 53, Koestenbaum writes, “Untimely death assists her legend and connects her to themes that have shadowed gay culture: premature mortality, evanescence, solitude.”

The Violetta/Camille trope thus inevitably carries a lot of baggage. Yet despite an array of precedents and analogues, The Man Who Strayed puts its own distinctive twist on this familiar nineteenth-century story.

For one thing, The Man Who Strayed tells the story in a relentlessly anti-glamorous way. Its barren urban setting, perhaps recalling the cruising zones in certain Fassbinder films, consists of little more than rough pavement under a concrete overpass, seen in unforgiving daylight, with none of the lush, shadowy, film-noir atmosphere of other Just productions.

Another deglamorizing feature of the film, unusual elsewhere in Just’s body of work and in La Traviata retellings: both protagonists are decidedly middle-aged. As his characters, Just puts before us two frankly unlovely guys, both with considerable mileage on them, rather than a somewhat older individual infatuated with a much younger person as seen in the relationship between Verdi’s Violetta and the boyish Alfredo or in several of Just’s other films.

Even as it casts a cold eye on its urban streetscape and its aging actors, the film also drags Verdi’s soaring music back down to earth. The two men mime and sing along to the end of La Traviata’s final act, from the lines “Più a me t’appressa, ascolta, amato Alfredo” (”Come closer and listen, Alfredo my beloved”) to the last cries of “È spenta!” (”She is dead!”) and “O mio dolor!” (”Oh, my grief!”), one of them singing the role of Violetta and the other, Alfredo. We watch with growing discomfort as the rasping, untrained voices of the two men, sometimes resorting to quavering falsetto, sometimes almost shouting, heedlessly take on the high-flying demands of Verdi’s arching melodies. As would-be opera singers, the two of them strain heroically, and fail desperately.

Yet it is precisely the way their distressing vocal performances, at first unaccompanied, are mercifully lifted aloft by the entrance of a professional recording of the opera—welling up, after a while, on the soundtrack—that carries the two men from harsh urban grit to some transcendent realm of human tenderness and utter heartbreak. For there’s no denying the emotional power of the travesty we’re witnessing, as surging waves of melody break over the street-level action. It may come as something of a revelation that the death of one graying, badly dressed, middle-aged man in the arms of another can be as poignant, as tragic, as Violetta’s dying in the embrace of ardent young Alfredo. But the outpouring of lyrical music makes it so. Singing along with the prerecorded opera that surrounds the couple, Just’s expiring “Violetta” croons his love-death as a kind of karaoke Liebestod.

The two remarkable actors are Niels Weyde and Søren Steen. The brief scene played out between them, lasting little more than five minutes, can bring tears to our eyes even as it veers dangerously close to the ridiculous—a potently ambiguous state of affairs familiar in opera itself.

One of my favorite parts of my job as a museum educator and public programmer is witnessing the conversations that visitors have in the galleries and or during public programs, such as performances and panel discussions. The works of art in Infinite Island have stimulated a lot of discussion, especially around questions of identity, culture, nationality, history and community. We are continuing to highlight these themes with two upcoming public programs that will give Infinite Island a proper send off.

Roger Bonair-Agard in Masquerade. Photo by Peter Dressel

The first is a performance this Saturday, January 19, at 2 p.m. by Brooklyn-based Caribbean members of spoken-word collective louderARTS Project. It is hosted by Def Poetry Jam’s Roger Bonair-Agard, and features poets Hallie Hobson, Rich Villar, and Cheryl Boyce Taylor.

Next weekend, on January 26, we will be collaborating with the organization Domestic Workers United to present their short film “Work and Respect” in the Elizabeth A. Sackler Center for Feminist Art. Members of Domestic Workers United, many of whom are from the Caribbean, will talk about the film making process and their experience organizing for their rights as domestic workers in New York City.

I am really looking forward to both these programs which highlight many important voices from our community and, if you join us, we would love to know what you think.

As an educational programmer I am always on the lookout for organizations with which we can collaborate to bring innovative and diverse programs to the Museum. I am especially excited about our upcoming film programs this weekend that are a partnership with Art:21—Art in the Twenty-First Century. Art:21 offers a unique perspective on contemporary art by giving viewers an often unseen look of artists working in their studios, installing, and reflecting on their works in progress. On October 13 and 14 we are showing a special sneak-preview of the episodes “Protest” and “Paradox” from their upcoming 4th season.

The episode “Protest,” showing Saturday, October 13 at 2 p.m., features artists Jenny Holzer, Nancy Spero, Alfredo Jaar and An-My Lê. The artists in this episode employ visual art as a means to provoke personal transformations and social revolutions. This episode is particularly relevant to the exhibitions featured in our Elizabeth A. Sackler Center for Feminist Art because it speaks to the themes of The Dinner Party and Global Feminisms Remix. Following the screening, Brooklyn-based artist An-My Lê will discuss her work (see above for a clip from “Protest” featuring An-My Lê).

On Sunday, October 14 at 2 p.m, we are screening the episode “Paradox” as part of our Caribbean Film Series. “Paradox” features the artists Jennifer Allora and Guillermo Calzadilla, whose video and photographs are featured in Infinite Island. The episode explores artists responding to paradoxes between global and local realities, and engaging with uncertainty in the art they create. Following the screening Eve Moros Ortega, Art:21’s Series Producer, will discuss the episode.

As I am committed to closely linking public programs to themes and questions that are raised by the works of art in our exhibitions, I am enthusiastic about the two Art:21 episodes that we are screening and the talks that accompany them. If you join us we would love to know what you think!