Volume 24 Issue 6 - March 2019

Beat by Beat | On Opera
Claude Vivier’s
Kopernikus
A Hopeful
Homecoming
SOPHIE BISSON
Claude Vivier’s opera Kopernikus was commissioned in 1978 by
the University of Montreal’s Music Faculty. Supported by the
Canada Council, Vivier received a fee of $7,000 (approximately
$22,000 in 2019 dollars), which allowed him to focus entirely on
composition. Finished in May 1979, Vivier dedicated Kopernikus to
“my maître and friend,” Gilles Tremblay. Kopernikus was premiered
a year later, on May 8, 1980 at the Théâtre du
Monument National in Montreal.
Since its premiere Kopernikus has travelled
extensively, making it the most restaged
Canadian opera in Canadian history with over
55 performances. Ranking in second place
is the opera Louis Riel (1967), with under 30
performances. However, whereas Louis Riel
was performed only once outside of Canada,
Kopernikus, mostly unknown at home, is
highly celebrated in Europe with almost yearly
performances. Canadian restagings have been
sporadic: Montreal in 1986 by friends of Vivier
via the Événements du neuf; Vancouver in
1990 via the Vancouver New Music Society; the
large-scale tour de force of Thom Sokoloski and
Autumn Leaf Performance that led to performances
in several European and Canadian cities
in 2000 and 2001; and the most recent iteration,
a 2017 Banff Centre production coming to
Toronto in April via Against the Grain Theatre.
“No one is a prophet in their own land” is
a not unfamiliar expression in Canadian arts
and, considering Vivier’s profound relationship
with religion and all things mystical, the
expression is fitting; however, it is not much of
an explanation for why Kopernikus is seldomly
restaged here. In my search for answers I turned
to the many Canadian articles and reviews about Kopernikus in the
press over the past 20 years. Although producers and directors praise
Kopernikus as a genius work of art, both the critics and the public
generally express discontent over three recurring themes: the genre
(the opera is not really an opera), the plot (there is no plot to follow, so
how do you stage nothingness?), and its incomprehensible language
(the opera is in French, German, and Vivier’s own invented language).
Thinking back to my own experience with Kopernikus at the
Toronto premiere in June 2001, I wish I had been better prepared to
receive Vivier’s work. When the performance ended, I was mesmerized,
my head filled with complex sounds, syllables and meanings that
took weeks to process. I also remember vividly the complete disconnect
between various members of the audience; at the end of the
performance the man sitting next to me was sleeping, but the one
directly in front of me was on his feet madly clapping and hailing
bravos at the performers. Since I have this wonderful opportunity to
write about Kopernikus before the next set of performances, I hope
I can not only help bridge that disconnect but also acknowledge and
normalize the uneasiness that can come from it.
Pushing the boundaries
Although Vivier himself declared Kopernikus an opera, both
seasoned critics and the public alike seem more comfortable with
labelling it musical theatre (there are no arias) or oratorio (the theme
is religious and the staging is minimal). Vivier, however, was insistent
in calling this work an opera. In remarks prepared for the 1979
premiere, quoted here from Bob Gilmore’s 2014 book, Claude Vivier:
A Composer’s Life, Vivier defends his categorization when he states
that “opera, as a form of expression of the soul and of human history,
cannot die. The human being will always need to represent his/her
fantasies, dreams, fears, and hopes.” In a later interview, with Angèle
Dagenais in Le Devoir, March 3, 1980, when asked why he wrote an
opera, a genre that is sometimes considered passé, he responded that
“l’opéra permet la représentation d’états excessifs, et d’une dimension
fantaisiste inconnue du théâtre.” Clearly, Vivier did not conceive
Kopernikus as either a work of musical theatre or as an oratorio.
Vivier does push the boundaries of the operatic genre but not, as
some believe, as a rejection of the old masters. Vivier was an avowed
fan of Mozart; Agni, the main character in Kopernikus, undertakes a
journey not unlike the main characters in Mozart’s Die Zauberflöte.
This expansion of boundaries is simply a composer evolving into his
own mature style, finding new ways to disrupt expectations, and
Claude Vivier
creating new roles and sounds for melody. In fact, and this could be
the topic of an entirely different article, the style of melodic writing
that draws breath in Kopernikus ultimately serves as a stepping stone
for several of Vivier’s later works.
In scanning reviews, it also became apparent to me that part of
Vivier’s contextualization of Kopernikus in the score of the opera was
misunderstood in translation. Vivier wrote: “Il n’y a pas à proprement
parler d’histoire, mais une suite de scènes...” The first part, “il
n’y a pas à proprement parler d’histoire” has been translated, interpreted,
and served to the public as “there is no actual story,” which
is a mistranslation. ‘À proprement dit’ or ‘à proprement parler’ is
one of those very common, and confusing, francophone expressions.
Add a negative in front of it and a language barrier is erected. As a
native Francophone, however, I understand that Vivier is saying that
Kopernikus is not a story in the traditional sense, rather than that
there is no narrative. Granted, Vivier’s opera is devoid of villains or
18 | March 2019 thewholenote.com