Master Class
In New Rep’s
production of Terrence McNally’s Master Class, Amelia Broome accomplishes
something that, quite frankly, I would have said was impossible. She becomes
Maria Callas, one of the most compelling theatrical artists and greatest
singers of the twentieth century. It’s not just an impersonation – no one could
impersonate Callas for two and a half hours. It’s far deeper than that. I never
had the privilege of seeing Callas in person. I’ve only heard the recordings
and the tales and seen the faces of those who did hear her sing when they talk
about the experience.
Even if one
knew nothing about Callas, watching Amelia Broome be Callas would be an
unforgettable experience. She takes command of the stage from the first moment,
gripping the audience by the throat, demanding our absolute attention and then
winning it. She holds the audience under her control so completely that we are
unable to applaud when the young students sing beautifully, powerfully. Madame
says, “No applause” so there is no applause, no matter how much the students
deserve it. (I felt I wanted to find them after the show and tell them how much
I enjoyed their singing.) Callas is in every movement of her hands, every
facial expression, her striding across the stage, her snarl, her courtesy.
McNally
plays against the stereotype of the narcissistic diva. The audience giggles and
sometimes laughs out loud at the excesses, the disingenuous false modesty, the
flirtatiousness. But then Broome makes us understand why we put up with it,
relish it even, from an artist of Callas’s power and mastery. We believe her
when she shows us that despite the self-centeredness and the drama queen
antics, it is, in fact, all about the art, about music.
The simple
setting is entirely appropriate and opens up to represent the opera state as
Callas experienced it. Brendan Shapiro who plays Manny, the accompanist, is
perfect in his professionalism and nervousness. The students, Lindsay Conrad,
Erica Spyres and Darren T. Anderson sing well, though one wishes that the two
women had been less feckless – though singing for Callas could understandably
cause one to lose one’s cool.
At the time
the master class takes place, Callas was no longer performing. The play is
artfully arranged so that the actress need not sing – though Broome lets loose
a powerful note or two. On a least two occasions where the present fades and
Callas reminisces about her past we hear Callas recordings faintly in the
background. Perhaps the most remarkable moment of Broome’s performance is when
she speaks the lyrics of an aria from La Somnambula, on her knees, with piano
accompaniment behind her. I had the illusion that I had heard Callas sing and
that I understood the essence of her legend. (Yet another moment when applause
was called for but the cowed audience remained silent).
I came to
the theatre with considerable skepticism, thinking mostly of the chutzpah
required for an actress to pretend to be Callas. I came away knowing that I had
been in the presence of a great artist, perhaps even Callas herself.
~ Johanna Ettin, with Shauna Shames, New Rep Reviewers
