论文部分内容阅读
多年来，我在专栏里曾发表过的观点，包括来自不同文化的观众欣赏不同艺术形式展演时礼仪上的区别，以及当大批电影与话剧领域的艺术家们转移目标进军歌剧范畴时（反之亦然），有时会带来出乎大家意料的效果。在过去的一年里，我撰写了不少文章，谈及新冠疫情时代为演艺团体带来的压力以及艺术家在这种环境下坚持继续创作或表演所面对的困难、感到的忧虑。然而，以上提出的多个观点日前在澳大利亚发生的一场纠纷中竟然合为一体。
2021年1月，一个美好的夏夜，在悉尼歌剧院里一对夫妇跟场内大部分观众一样，在莱哈尔的轻歌剧《风流寡妇》精彩演出落幕之际，热情地起立鼓掌。碰巧坐在他们后一排的老先生似乎被这种大众化的热情激怒了，他要求他们坐下。那位正值壮年的丈夫反驳说，他们与其他观众一样，站起来只不过是为了对舞台上的演员们表达谢意。然而，老先生随后就开始用自己的节目册猛力拍打那位妻子。这一行为激怒了丈夫，指控后排的老先生“攻击他的夫人”，立刻召唤了剧院保安。过了不久，连悉尼市警察也抵达了“案发现场”。
翌日，警察局发表了一份简短的声明证实了此事：“警方接获通知，一名53岁的男子与一名67岁的男子在一个娱乐场所内发生争执。警官对两人进行劝诫后，没有采取进一步的行动。”这份轻描淡写的公告中没有提及的是——但网络社交媒体以及八卦记者早就一窝蜂抢着报道了这一热腾腾的新闻——事件中的那对夫妇正是歌手、制作人凯斯·厄本（Keith Urban）与他的妻子，奥斯卡金像奖最佳女主角得主妮可·基德曼（Nicole Kidman）。当晚夫妇二人孝心十足，本打算带着基德曼的妈妈享受一个歌剧之夜。特此强调，警方的声明中并没有提及妮可的母亲，也从来都没有透露过老先生的名字。
即便是现在写下这些文字的这一刻，我还是忍不住笑了出来。说真的，我不知道整件事件该埋怨的对象应该是谁。在任何百老汇的演出中（我可以肯定，澳大利亚歌剧院的这场演出应该类似百老汇大型音乐剧的豪华排场），观众们往往迫不及待地，在演员最后一句还没说完时就开始鼓掌了。若是在百老汇，演出落幕时没有起立鼓掌，这些观众甚至会被周边的人指责。当然，在大多数国家里，观赏歌剧的观众都比较拘谨。但如果那位身处悉尼、喜欢莱哈尔轻歌剧的匿名老先生到意大利看歌剧，愿上帝保佑他。如今，像澳大利亚歌剧院这类文化机构最渴望的，甚至愿意付出天价希望换取的，就是知名人士的光临，那能使整场演出变得衣香鬓影、星光熠熠。（基德曼与厄本也很大方，事發之后他们还探访了后台工作人员，并与演员合影。）但我还是要忠告澳大利亚歌剧院：许愿需谨慎。
说实在的，原则上，很多大明星值得大家“敲打”一番。但令人沮丧的是，除了悉尼歌剧院以外，基德曼很有可能是澳大利亚目前最接近国宝级的名人了。去年7月，基德曼决定将葫芦网（Hulu，NBC环球和新闻集团以及迪士尼合资成立的一家付费随选串流影视节目网站）耗资1亿美元制作的电视剧集《九个完美陌生人》（Nine Perfect Strangers）的拍摄工作从美国移师她的老家澳大利亚。基德曼是该片的主角兼执行监制，做出这一决定的原因是，美国的防疫限制措施令拍摄工作难以为继，加之保险等费用开销也一路飙升。演员与剧组成员等一大班人齐心合力地熬过澳大利亚政府制定的14天隔离期后开始复工。尽管或多或少因为疫情处于工作泡沫之中，但这个举动也为数以百计的澳大利亚影视从业者提供了就业机会，一定程度上缓解了新冠疫情给他们带来的伤害。简而言之，基德曼这个决定几乎是单枪匹马地为澳大利亚娱乐业带来了起色，就算撇去她是奥斯卡金像奖影后的身份，任何明事理的人如果碰见了她，都会张开臂膀欢迎她的光临。
我猜，悉尼的乐评人或专栏作者根本用不着去提醒澳大利亚歌剧院。想当年，歌剧院在那天不怕地不怕、朝气蓬勃、光辉灿烂的时代，催生了由巴兹·鲁尔曼（Baz Lurhmann）执导的地道的现代版《波希米亚人》，并赢得空前成功——这个制作如此时尚，更于2002年登上纽约百老汇。但今天回眸一看，却显得像个千年古董了。相反地，《风流寡妇》的导演格莱姆·墨菲（Graeme Murphy）今年70岁，他所面对的澳大利亚歌剧院观众既保守又死板，连墨菲在台上用话筒都引发了争议。“是的，就像起立鼓掌一样，”一位评论家调侃道，“麦克风也是禁忌。”
我也确信，澳大利亚歌剧院上上下下都意识到，“基德曼丑闻”是一场名副其实的公关灾难。真可惜，这家歌剧院本应算得上得天独厚。
第一，澳大利亚歌剧院是如今全球为数不多还可以迎来现场观众（全都戴口罩的）看歌剧的演艺机构之一。安排《风流寡妇》这台轻松甜美的歌舞“秀”，就像天天都在举行热闹的节庆晚会，大家欢天喜地，见证歌剧院隔了差不多一年重返舞台的大好日子。其次，我从多则报道中了解到，澳大利亚歌剧院这回在吸引目标观众方面相当成功：除了常年来捧场的套票戏迷以外，也有从没接触过歌剧的新观众群，年龄层与品位都相当广泛。重新开放的剧场里聚集了各类型的观众，这一新闻本应登上媒体的头条——是的，他们也确实做到了，只不过标题的文字变成了“易怒的歌剧迷用节目册拍击电影天后”。
某些喜欢批评歌剧为自命不凡的、与当今社会脱节的表演艺术的人，看到这则新闻里的漫画式特写，肯定获得极大的满足。但是，要是我们认真地解构整个事件，我们应该留意到某些画外之音。在过去差不多一年的时间里，全球数以亿计的人欣赏表演艺术的唯一途径，就是夜以继日地坐在自己的电视或电脑屏幕前凝视一大堆影像。这种情形导致人们的社交技能每况愈下，对此你感到意外吗？长此以往下去，在不久后的将来，人类很有可能会彻底丧失任何在公共场合下的互动能力。 順便一提，整起事件中，我们也不要忽略了口罩。很简单，试想大家参加一个万圣节化装舞会。戴上面具，我们就可以把身份匿藏；而人家搞不清你是谁的话，你的恶作剧也不容易被拆穿。我想说的是，也许这位目前悉尼最有名的、捍卫歌剧观众礼仪的老先生，如果他看得到前面那位女士口罩下的真面目，认出她是澳大利亚国宝级人物的话，就不会用节目册拍击她。不过，我也不敢就我的这一看法去打赌下注。
Over the years I’ve written about differences in audience etiquette among cultures and artforms， as well as unintended consequences when artists from theatre and film turn their attention to opera （and vice-versa）. For nearly a year now， I’ve written about the stress that our Covid era has put on performing arts institutions and its emotional toll on creative artists merely trying to practice their art. But it took an altercation in Australia for all these threads to become the same story.
One summer evening in January at the Sydney Opera House， a man and his wife joined much of the audience in a standing ovation at end of Lehár’s operetta The Merry Widow. The older man behind them， seemingly irritated by such populist enthusiasm， told them to sit down. The younger man explained that they were merely joining most of the audience in expressing appreciation for the artists on stage. The older man then swatted the woman with his program book. The younger man， accusing the audience member behind him of “assaulting his wife，” summoned the theatre’s security officers. Sydney City Police were soon called to the scene.
By the next day， the police department had issued a terse statement confirming the incident： “Police have been told a 53-year-old man and a 67-year-old man were both attending the entertainment centre when an argument broke out. Officers spoke to both men and no further action was taken.” What they didn’t say—but internet chat and gossip columns tripped over each other to report—was that the younger couple in question were singer-songwriter Keith Urban and his Oscar-winning wife Nicole Kidman， who were taking Kidman’s mother out for a night at the opera. For the record， mom was never mentioned in the police report. The older man still remains anonymous.
Even as I write this， I’m still trying not to laugh. I’m not even sure who to blame. At any Broadway show （which I’m sure Opera Australia’s production rather resembled）， the ovation practically begins before the actors stop speaking. Audience members are often chastised for not standing up. Of course， operagoers in most countries tend to be more reserved， but god help Sydney’s anonymous Lehár lover if he ever tries to see a show in Italy. As for Opera Australia， this is precisely the kind of institution that would give its proverbial eye teeth to get a few famous people in the house （Kidman and Urban， for their part， did linger a bit backstage after the skirmish to take pictures with the cast）. All I can say to Opera Australia is， be careful what you wish for.
To be sure， plenty of celebrities out there deserve to be smacked on principle. But what’s truly sad is that， besides the Sydney Opera House itself， Kidman is probably the closest thing Australia has right now to a national treasure. Last July， Kidman made a decision to shift filming of Hulu’s $100 million television series Nine Perfect Strangers， in which she was both the star and an executive producer， from the US （where Covid restrictions had made shooting untenable and insurance impossible） to her native country. Both cast and crew went through Australia’s 14-day quarantine and， while remaining more or less in a work bubble， also provided hundreds of jobs for the country’s Covid-strapped arts sector. Kidman’s decision almost single-handedly sparked an upswing in Australia’s entertainment industry—making her， in short， precisely the kind of person any sane person would welcome with open arms， even without the Oscar.
I don’t think Opera Australia really needed any of Sydney’s critics and columnists to point out that the heady， youth-filled era that spawned Baz Luhrmann’s homegrown update of La Bohème—so sleek it later ran on Broadway in 2002—seems literally a relic of a previous millennium. By contrast，Merry Widow director Graeme Murphy is 70， facing an audience at Opera Australia so staid and traditional that even Murphy’s decision to amplify the singers on stage became controversial. “Yes， like standing ovations，” one commentator responded cheekily， “microphones are a no-no.”
I’m also sure no one at Opera Australia needed to be reminded that L’affaire Kidman was also pretty much a public relations disaster. A pity， since the company had so much else going for it. For one thing， Opera Australia was one of the few institutions in the world presenting opera in front of a live （though masked） audience. Programming The Merry Widow—a breezy bonbon of a show—was surely intended as a celebration， a nightly gala marking the company’s first time back on their iconic stage in nearly a year.
By all accounts， Opera Australia succeeded in luring their target audience， a broad range of ages and taste profiles from hardcore subscribers to operatic neophytes. Such contrasts and juxtapositions should have made headlines—and they did， except that the actual words turned out to be， “Cranky opera fan hits famous movie star with program book.”
Some detractors who find opera pretentious and out of touch no doubt found a great deal of satisfaction in reading such broad caricatures literally writ large. But in trying to deconstruct the situation， we should also note the subtexts. For nearly a year now， millions of people around the world have found their only connection to the performing arts night after night sitting at home in front of their televisions and computer screens. Is it really any wonder that our collective social skills have fallen so low？ It’s only a matter of time before we lose the ability to function in public at all.
And while we’re at it， let’s not forget about the masks. All it takes is one raucous Halloween party to remind us of the fact that masks breed anonymity， and anonymity breeds bad behavior. I’d like to think that Sydney’s most famous defender of operatic decorum wouldn’t have smacked his country’s national treasure if he’d been able to see her face. But on the other hand， I wouldn’t bet money on it.
2021年1月，一个美好的夏夜，在悉尼歌剧院里一对夫妇跟场内大部分观众一样，在莱哈尔的轻歌剧《风流寡妇》精彩演出落幕之际，热情地起立鼓掌。碰巧坐在他们后一排的老先生似乎被这种大众化的热情激怒了，他要求他们坐下。那位正值壮年的丈夫反驳说，他们与其他观众一样，站起来只不过是为了对舞台上的演员们表达谢意。然而，老先生随后就开始用自己的节目册猛力拍打那位妻子。这一行为激怒了丈夫，指控后排的老先生“攻击他的夫人”，立刻召唤了剧院保安。过了不久，连悉尼市警察也抵达了“案发现场”。
翌日，警察局发表了一份简短的声明证实了此事：“警方接获通知，一名53岁的男子与一名67岁的男子在一个娱乐场所内发生争执。警官对两人进行劝诫后，没有采取进一步的行动。”这份轻描淡写的公告中没有提及的是——但网络社交媒体以及八卦记者早就一窝蜂抢着报道了这一热腾腾的新闻——事件中的那对夫妇正是歌手、制作人凯斯·厄本（Keith Urban）与他的妻子，奥斯卡金像奖最佳女主角得主妮可·基德曼（Nicole Kidman）。当晚夫妇二人孝心十足，本打算带着基德曼的妈妈享受一个歌剧之夜。特此强调，警方的声明中并没有提及妮可的母亲，也从来都没有透露过老先生的名字。
即便是现在写下这些文字的这一刻，我还是忍不住笑了出来。说真的，我不知道整件事件该埋怨的对象应该是谁。在任何百老汇的演出中（我可以肯定，澳大利亚歌剧院的这场演出应该类似百老汇大型音乐剧的豪华排场），观众们往往迫不及待地，在演员最后一句还没说完时就开始鼓掌了。若是在百老汇，演出落幕时没有起立鼓掌，这些观众甚至会被周边的人指责。当然，在大多数国家里，观赏歌剧的观众都比较拘谨。但如果那位身处悉尼、喜欢莱哈尔轻歌剧的匿名老先生到意大利看歌剧，愿上帝保佑他。如今，像澳大利亚歌剧院这类文化机构最渴望的，甚至愿意付出天价希望换取的，就是知名人士的光临，那能使整场演出变得衣香鬓影、星光熠熠。（基德曼与厄本也很大方，事發之后他们还探访了后台工作人员，并与演员合影。）但我还是要忠告澳大利亚歌剧院：许愿需谨慎。
说实在的，原则上，很多大明星值得大家“敲打”一番。但令人沮丧的是，除了悉尼歌剧院以外，基德曼很有可能是澳大利亚目前最接近国宝级的名人了。去年7月，基德曼决定将葫芦网（Hulu，NBC环球和新闻集团以及迪士尼合资成立的一家付费随选串流影视节目网站）耗资1亿美元制作的电视剧集《九个完美陌生人》（Nine Perfect Strangers）的拍摄工作从美国移师她的老家澳大利亚。基德曼是该片的主角兼执行监制，做出这一决定的原因是，美国的防疫限制措施令拍摄工作难以为继，加之保险等费用开销也一路飙升。演员与剧组成员等一大班人齐心合力地熬过澳大利亚政府制定的14天隔离期后开始复工。尽管或多或少因为疫情处于工作泡沫之中，但这个举动也为数以百计的澳大利亚影视从业者提供了就业机会，一定程度上缓解了新冠疫情给他们带来的伤害。简而言之，基德曼这个决定几乎是单枪匹马地为澳大利亚娱乐业带来了起色，就算撇去她是奥斯卡金像奖影后的身份，任何明事理的人如果碰见了她，都会张开臂膀欢迎她的光临。
我猜，悉尼的乐评人或专栏作者根本用不着去提醒澳大利亚歌剧院。想当年，歌剧院在那天不怕地不怕、朝气蓬勃、光辉灿烂的时代，催生了由巴兹·鲁尔曼（Baz Lurhmann）执导的地道的现代版《波希米亚人》，并赢得空前成功——这个制作如此时尚，更于2002年登上纽约百老汇。但今天回眸一看，却显得像个千年古董了。相反地，《风流寡妇》的导演格莱姆·墨菲（Graeme Murphy）今年70岁，他所面对的澳大利亚歌剧院观众既保守又死板，连墨菲在台上用话筒都引发了争议。“是的，就像起立鼓掌一样，”一位评论家调侃道，“麦克风也是禁忌。”
我也确信，澳大利亚歌剧院上上下下都意识到，“基德曼丑闻”是一场名副其实的公关灾难。真可惜，这家歌剧院本应算得上得天独厚。
第一，澳大利亚歌剧院是如今全球为数不多还可以迎来现场观众（全都戴口罩的）看歌剧的演艺机构之一。安排《风流寡妇》这台轻松甜美的歌舞“秀”，就像天天都在举行热闹的节庆晚会，大家欢天喜地，见证歌剧院隔了差不多一年重返舞台的大好日子。其次，我从多则报道中了解到，澳大利亚歌剧院这回在吸引目标观众方面相当成功：除了常年来捧场的套票戏迷以外，也有从没接触过歌剧的新观众群，年龄层与品位都相当广泛。重新开放的剧场里聚集了各类型的观众，这一新闻本应登上媒体的头条——是的，他们也确实做到了，只不过标题的文字变成了“易怒的歌剧迷用节目册拍击电影天后”。
某些喜欢批评歌剧为自命不凡的、与当今社会脱节的表演艺术的人，看到这则新闻里的漫画式特写，肯定获得极大的满足。但是，要是我们认真地解构整个事件，我们应该留意到某些画外之音。在过去差不多一年的时间里，全球数以亿计的人欣赏表演艺术的唯一途径，就是夜以继日地坐在自己的电视或电脑屏幕前凝视一大堆影像。这种情形导致人们的社交技能每况愈下，对此你感到意外吗？长此以往下去，在不久后的将来，人类很有可能会彻底丧失任何在公共场合下的互动能力。 順便一提，整起事件中，我们也不要忽略了口罩。很简单，试想大家参加一个万圣节化装舞会。戴上面具，我们就可以把身份匿藏；而人家搞不清你是谁的话，你的恶作剧也不容易被拆穿。我想说的是，也许这位目前悉尼最有名的、捍卫歌剧观众礼仪的老先生，如果他看得到前面那位女士口罩下的真面目，认出她是澳大利亚国宝级人物的话，就不会用节目册拍击她。不过，我也不敢就我的这一看法去打赌下注。
Over the years I’ve written about differences in audience etiquette among cultures and artforms， as well as unintended consequences when artists from theatre and film turn their attention to opera （and vice-versa）. For nearly a year now， I’ve written about the stress that our Covid era has put on performing arts institutions and its emotional toll on creative artists merely trying to practice their art. But it took an altercation in Australia for all these threads to become the same story.
One summer evening in January at the Sydney Opera House， a man and his wife joined much of the audience in a standing ovation at end of Lehár’s operetta The Merry Widow. The older man behind them， seemingly irritated by such populist enthusiasm， told them to sit down. The younger man explained that they were merely joining most of the audience in expressing appreciation for the artists on stage. The older man then swatted the woman with his program book. The younger man， accusing the audience member behind him of “assaulting his wife，” summoned the theatre’s security officers. Sydney City Police were soon called to the scene.
By the next day， the police department had issued a terse statement confirming the incident： “Police have been told a 53-year-old man and a 67-year-old man were both attending the entertainment centre when an argument broke out. Officers spoke to both men and no further action was taken.” What they didn’t say—but internet chat and gossip columns tripped over each other to report—was that the younger couple in question were singer-songwriter Keith Urban and his Oscar-winning wife Nicole Kidman， who were taking Kidman’s mother out for a night at the opera. For the record， mom was never mentioned in the police report. The older man still remains anonymous.
Even as I write this， I’m still trying not to laugh. I’m not even sure who to blame. At any Broadway show （which I’m sure Opera Australia’s production rather resembled）， the ovation practically begins before the actors stop speaking. Audience members are often chastised for not standing up. Of course， operagoers in most countries tend to be more reserved， but god help Sydney’s anonymous Lehár lover if he ever tries to see a show in Italy. As for Opera Australia， this is precisely the kind of institution that would give its proverbial eye teeth to get a few famous people in the house （Kidman and Urban， for their part， did linger a bit backstage after the skirmish to take pictures with the cast）. All I can say to Opera Australia is， be careful what you wish for.
To be sure， plenty of celebrities out there deserve to be smacked on principle. But what’s truly sad is that， besides the Sydney Opera House itself， Kidman is probably the closest thing Australia has right now to a national treasure. Last July， Kidman made a decision to shift filming of Hulu’s $100 million television series Nine Perfect Strangers， in which she was both the star and an executive producer， from the US （where Covid restrictions had made shooting untenable and insurance impossible） to her native country. Both cast and crew went through Australia’s 14-day quarantine and， while remaining more or less in a work bubble， also provided hundreds of jobs for the country’s Covid-strapped arts sector. Kidman’s decision almost single-handedly sparked an upswing in Australia’s entertainment industry—making her， in short， precisely the kind of person any sane person would welcome with open arms， even without the Oscar.
I don’t think Opera Australia really needed any of Sydney’s critics and columnists to point out that the heady， youth-filled era that spawned Baz Luhrmann’s homegrown update of La Bohème—so sleek it later ran on Broadway in 2002—seems literally a relic of a previous millennium. By contrast，Merry Widow director Graeme Murphy is 70， facing an audience at Opera Australia so staid and traditional that even Murphy’s decision to amplify the singers on stage became controversial. “Yes， like standing ovations，” one commentator responded cheekily， “microphones are a no-no.”
I’m also sure no one at Opera Australia needed to be reminded that L’affaire Kidman was also pretty much a public relations disaster. A pity， since the company had so much else going for it. For one thing， Opera Australia was one of the few institutions in the world presenting opera in front of a live （though masked） audience. Programming The Merry Widow—a breezy bonbon of a show—was surely intended as a celebration， a nightly gala marking the company’s first time back on their iconic stage in nearly a year.
By all accounts， Opera Australia succeeded in luring their target audience， a broad range of ages and taste profiles from hardcore subscribers to operatic neophytes. Such contrasts and juxtapositions should have made headlines—and they did， except that the actual words turned out to be， “Cranky opera fan hits famous movie star with program book.”
Some detractors who find opera pretentious and out of touch no doubt found a great deal of satisfaction in reading such broad caricatures literally writ large. But in trying to deconstruct the situation， we should also note the subtexts. For nearly a year now， millions of people around the world have found their only connection to the performing arts night after night sitting at home in front of their televisions and computer screens. Is it really any wonder that our collective social skills have fallen so low？ It’s only a matter of time before we lose the ability to function in public at all.
And while we’re at it， let’s not forget about the masks. All it takes is one raucous Halloween party to remind us of the fact that masks breed anonymity， and anonymity breeds bad behavior. I’d like to think that Sydney’s most famous defender of operatic decorum wouldn’t have smacked his country’s national treasure if he’d been able to see her face. But on the other hand， I wouldn’t bet money on it.