The Clothes Unmake the Opera: A Review of Costume Design in Carmen at the Royal Stockholm Opera House

           Costumes serve as a balancing force on stage, they provide a focus point for the audience, and enhance or underscore scenes with texture and color. Costume choices, whether intentional or unintentional, elicit certain emotions in the audience. Every costume on stage is crucial in molding the audience’s experience of the play. Costumes can focus the audience’s gaze; they can aid the actor’s process. If everyone on stage is wearing black, except for a primary character wearing a searing red, the audience’s focus will be jerked onto that primary character. If all the characters are dressed in 18^th century garb, then the audience knows to expect certain types of behavior from them. On the other hand, if the costumes of the characters on stage lack any obviously unifying theme, the audience becomes confused as to how they are meant to receive or relate to the characters, or even who they are supposed to focus on. This unfortunately was the case for the majority of the performance of Carmen at the Royal Stockholm Opera House. The inconsistency of the costume design for the female ensemble members, which spanned time-periods, color schemes, costume brands, and textures, left the audience to fend for themselves.

 At the beginning of the play, all of the female ensemble members wore a blue coat over their outfits. In a truly incredibly act of ambiguity, the costume designer managed to find a coat that was indistinguishable as a medical lab coat, a trench coat or a bathrobe. It was an enigma to the audience whether these women were factory workers, women of the night, or simply women on the street. And while the use of a monochromatic costume piece could have been effective in unifying the ensemble, the costume designer did not have the women keep their trench coats closed, revealing their outfits underneath from the get go, and confusing the color spectrum. When they finally threw off their coats in unison at the climax of a song in Act II, the effect was muted for the audience, since their outfits had been visible from the get-go. But more than that, the female costumes transgressed very basic rules of costume design. In the world of costume design there are four primary brands of costumes: historical, fantastical, dance and modern. In order to create a cohesive and intelligible experience for the audience, generally a costume designer will choose one- maybe two- of these categories within which to design the costumes of the play. The costumes in the female ensemble alone, however, spanned all four categories, and invented some more in the process. It seemed as fellow opera goer Clementine Jacoby commented, that not only had the costume designer not coordinated the outfits, but that he/she had simply sent all the female-ensemble members home and urged them to come back wearing whatever made them feel prettiest- be that a mid length hot red skirt reminiscent of the 1950’s or a short skirt with printed images of space and the cosmos, that one might see on the thighs of a thirteen year old school girl in 2015. Nothing about the costumes of the most visually present actors in the show was synced, leading to a visual smorgasbord more evocative of a plain-clothes dress rehearsal, than a coherent operatic production. 

***Due concerns about disrupting fellow opera goers behind and around me, I was unable to take photographs.

From Boo-Hoo to Gaga: Finding sunshine in a dark room

            It was our first day in Stockholm. The sun was sparkling and dancing off the rippling waters of the Baltic Sea, begging to be celebrated. With four hours in the palm of our hands, this was not a day to be spent indoors. The plethora of opportunity drove our group to prioritize an activity that we had been promised was not to be missed: Fotografiska, the photography museum in Stockholm.

            Normally, I am a museum aficionado—but on our first day in Stockholm after two days of hard work and travel, I wanted to frolic in the sunshine. Therefore, the day started off on the wrong foot, which promptly marched with the group what felt like 100 kilometers to the museum. Well, not quite that distance, but enough to cultivate a strong opinion on entering the museum, by which I mean I had zero intention. I love photography, but I didn’t understand why I should use my limited time in Stockholm to see something that I could view in the artist’s published book, printed exactly as they intended (potentially in the Stanford Art and Architecture Library for free!)

            There was a lot of foot traffic when we arrived at the museum. It appeared that we weren’t the only ones advised this was a worthy way to spend a beautiful summer day. Set in my negative Nancy role, I was still skeptical. It wasn’t until the rest of the group decided to buy tickets that I begrudgingly did the same. As much as I didn’t want to spend our first day in Stockholm indoors, I really didn’t want to spend it alone.

            The museum had three floors exhibiting different artists’ work. The first exhibit showed the work of Inez van Lamsweerde and Vinoodh Matadin, Dutch fashion photographers. This was not a good floor to start on as it affirmed my fear that I could see such works in other places at other times. And I really did feel like I had seen it before: on the pages of Vogue and Harper’s Bazaar, on billboards and bright screens as part of the whirlwind of marketing and advertising that surrounds us each and every day in an increasingly commercial world.

            The work itself was beautiful: large images of well-known celebrities looking vulnerable, elegant, and ridiculous; a nude portrait almost entirely covered by a large, insidious-looking sculpture; twisted, highly saturated fashion advertisements of women in uncomfortable poses; even a women with her head edited backwards. Each piece was printed and exhibited very well. Bright lights exposed the smallest details of each photograph—details that wouldn’t be visible in an artist’s book of any size.

            Still, I wasn’t quite pleased with my experience at this point. Photography in the form of advertising and marketing is forced upon the average consumer every day. And most of it is actually pretty good, setting a terribly high bar for fashion photographers. The next room was small and dark as night, except for a large bright screen reflecting off the faces of the viewers stopping by. A continuation of work by Inez and Vinoodh, this room displayed a series of fashion films and music videos created by the pair. In this dark room, I sat for five consecutive versions of Lady Gaga’s “You and I,” featuring five separate characters that were all as different as they were Gaga. Although “You and I” is an agonizingly catchy and magnificent song, it was the cinematography that captivated my attention like a siren’s call. Inez and Vinoodh captured all of the subtleties of Gaga’s performance with close cuts and made her more dramatic gestures into elegant movements by slowing down the footage. After fifteen minutes in complete darkness on a sunny day, things were actually looking up.

            The rest of the museum was exquisite. Partially because my mood dramatically increased from the artful presentation of Gaga's performance, but also because the other floors felt more similar to the art I was used to. Nick Brandt's exhibit on East African wild life provoked thought and emotion. The beauty and horror of his images almost made me cry. On the third floor, the Anders Zorn exhibit was again delightful in a familiar way, showing his early use of photographs as basis for his etchings and drawings.

            Perhaps I didn’t give enough credit to Inez and Vinoodh’s photography due to a jaded complex caused by the everyday onslaught of fashion photography. Surely the duo belongs in the museum as contemporary icons with large contributions to the world of fashion photography, but it wasn’t until I reached their film exhibit that I really appreciated their work. My mindset changed from disillusioned to entirely enthralled at the snap of Gaga's fingers. I’m not sure if it was the medium, my mood, or the artists’ talents, but all contributed to my experience at Fotografiska, demonstrating the complexity and derisory of the amateur critique. Upon exiting the museum, the sunshine was still waiting for me. It seemed to be a little brighter.

The Vasa Museum: A Surreal Exploration

The Vasa Museum: A Surreal Exploration

            For as long as I can remember, I’ve been fascinated by water. My family has a tradition of listening to The Eagles’ “Hotel California” and taking “sunset cruises,” or boat rides at sunset, on Deep Creek Lake in Western Maryland. My grandpa loves sailing, and my favorite trip I’ve ever taken was a seven-day sailing excursion in Croatia.  So of course I had to check out the famous Vasa Museum to see why everyone was so excited about some ship.  The layout and detailed exhibits, overall narrative, and involved staff make the Vasa Museum an impressive, “must see” Stockholm attraction, one that will expose you to beautiful art and expand your imagination.

            Although there are multiple exhibits regarding specific aspects of the Vasa, obviously the focal point of the museum is the ship itself.  When I walked into the museum and laid eyes on the Vasa for the first time, I was absolutely shocked.  Someone had told me that the Vasa inspired the design for the Flying Dutchman, one of the main ships featured in the Pirates of the Caribbean movies.  That’s exactly what it looked like; it looked like a beautiful, old work of art, perhaps used in a movie, but not a ship that actually sailed and was under water in clay and mud for 333 years.  

            The Vasa was the first of four ships built on the orders of King Gustav II Adolf of Sweden as part of a military expansion. The construction began in 1626, and on August 10, 1628, the Vasa set sail from the Stockholm harbor, only to sink after traveling barely 1300 meters. Although many escaped into the water or clung to the rigging until rescued, about 30 people died.  Andera Franzén and Per Edvin Fälting relocated the Vasa, and in 1961, 333 years after her maiden voyage, the Vasa broke the surface. Conservation of the ship began immediately, and in 1988, the Vasa Museum, attracting more than 1 million visitors every year, opened to the public. 

 

A model of the Vasa from when it sported red and gold carvings and sculptures (right, from Wikipedia) and the current state of the front of the Vasa.

Two things that shocked me about the Vasa were its age and the emphasis on beauty and art.  Throughout the entire visit, I was trying to grasp the fact that the five story, enormous ship I was staring at was over 100 years older than the U.S.  In addition, I thought about how the design differed from most of the Danish design concepts I learned about in Copenhagen, where functionality and comfort trump aesthetics.  The Vasa is truly a work of art, with over 700 carvings and sculptures on the ship’s exterior, intended to intimidate the enemy.  The original ship sported gold and red as well as other bright colors for decoration.  In addition to the exterior design, the preservation of the ship is

an art in itself.

            Luckily the hull and timbers were in good condition because the brackish water in which the Vasa laid for over 300 years did not contain “teredo navalis,” a wood-destroying organism found in oceans.  Immediately after the salvage, the Vasa was sprayed with PEG (polyethylene glycol,) found in lipstick and hand lotion, helping replace the water found in the wood.  The staff also inserted new iron bolts, of which there were about 8,000.  

            As I mentioned before, the layout and detailed exhibits, overall narrative, and involved staff were my favorite parts about the Vasa museum.  First, the museum is organized strategically so that visitors can flow through an overall narrative, starting with the sinking of the ship, and ending up back at the front of the museum, with a clear view of the entire structure.  Before doing anything else, I recommend seeing the 17 minute video (runs every twenty minutes) which provides an overview of the Vasa- why it was built, how it sank, how it was salvaged, and how it’s being preserved. The video was of an extremely high quality; the computer-generated recreation of the workers in the shipyard was well done, and the staging of the actual sinking of the boat was realistic. It also featured actual footage from the salvage in 1961. After the video, you can explore all six levels of the museum, which have different sized viewing platforms and offer distinct views of the ship.

All exhibits offer new perspectives of the Vasa way of life.  The museum offers detailed and well planned exhibits such as “Life on Board,” “Face to Face,” and “The Stockholm Shipyard.” “Life on Board” allows us to form a mental picture of everyday life on a warship.  

                                                                             Games and tobacco, two Vasa pastimes 

It provides information regarding passengers’ pastimes, food, belongings, clothing, and illnesses. For example, the most common illnesses were intestinal infections, often called the bloody flux. “Face to Face” was the most impressive exhibit.  Visitors “get to know” members of the Vasa through information obtained by studying skeletons found on the ship. Other than height and general body type, researchers can tell a person’s age, injuries they suffered, how they died, what/how they ate, and their general health, just from studying their skeletons. 

                                                                                                         The skeleton of a Vasa passenger

 “The Stockholm Shipyard” describes Skeppsgården, an important Stockholm shipyard that was home to the Vasa for two years, and explains how ships were built in the 1620’s.  Exhibits such as this one placed the Vasa story in a greater context, and helped visitors learn more about the 17^th century Swedish way of life.

Lastly, the engaged and passionate staff inspired me to learn more.  I saw a tour guide who quite literally looked like Captain Jack Sparrow, and was telling an animated story to his tour group.  All staff members seemed knowledgeable and passionate about the Vasa and her story, and were willing to answer any question. 

I was talking to Johan the other day about the Vasa museum- how it’s his favorite in Stockholm and what he likes about it- and he said, “It’s really just quite surreal.”  I think the word “surreal” sums it up perfectly- it’s truly shocking to walk around a ship that is 389 years old, and to study detailed accounts of the people on the ship and their way of life.  And as Stockholm is a city on the water where boats and ferries are regular forms of transportation, the Vasa museum is extremely fitting.