Review: The Mile Long Opera

Usually we measure the duration of a performance, not its distance. So, from its very title, The Mile Long Opera breaks out from the conventions of the genre. Just about everything else in this grandiose, site-specific production, conceived by architecture and design studio Diller Scofidio + Renfro and composer David Lang, is refreshingly rebellious. The venue is the length of the High Line park; the cast consists of 1,000 singers; the audience is asked to constantly walk forward amongst the performers to perceive the music. Perhaps the only aspect familiar to the theatregoers is the start time, 7pm. This twilight hour also becomes a source of inspiration for the librettist Anne Carson and essayist Claudia Rankine.

Performers in The Mile-Long Opera. Photo by Timothy Schenck

Carson and Rankine based The Mile Long Opera on interviews with everyday New Yorkers around what 7pm means to them. Traditionally, this is the hour of transition between the day and night, the quiet time spent at the family dinner table. But as the city around us, and individuals’ circumstances change, 7 o’clock starts to mean different things to different people. This ode to New York is a kaleidoscope of vignettes, told from the first-person perspective by people of all walks of life. You only hear bits and pieces, maybe a few lines as you pass by as if you were eavesdropping on the street. More often than not, the same part is delivered by multiple people, so the story unfolds as you walk by them. Some of the lyrics are sung, some are spoken, but melancholy and airiness saturates both arias and monologues. As if in tune to this nostalgic frequency, singers take out and listen to their tuning forks from time to time.   

The diversity of the backgrounds that is indigenous to New York is reflected in the texts as well as the cast. As you move among the garden inhabited with the statue-like singers, you have a chance to appreciate every single voice by itself, a luxury you rarely have in a traditional chorus. The volume and density of the sound varies greatly from nearly a whisper coming from a single person to the melodic cacophony of a few dozen singers amplified by an underpass. The mass scenes are the most spectacular visually as well. Imagine walking amongst the Terracotta Army warriors and each of them is singing.

The large choral scenes are nothing short of a nearly transcendent experience. But I enjoyed the quiet parts with singers spread out at a greater distance, as well. The sounds of the city: sirens, honking and cicadas find their way into the score. You start to look around and connect the stories to the landscape. You hear somebody talk about how they made the most beautiful meat hook, and you see the construction workers plaster the walls of what’s about to become an office space or a fancy apartment. What has become of the Meatpacking District? I wonder if that hook is still in the ceiling.       

As your gaze drifts away, you start noticing people in buildings cleaning the windows here and there. Drowning in the sterile blue light, they each move at their own pace, appearing to be in a trance. Their solitude suddenly makes me appreciate that I am amongst other people right now. And, to quote from the opera itself, “No, we don’t talk but people get to know each other just by walking past each other all the time.” Living in New York, we are all accustomed to moving in a stream of people, so the dynamic of The Mile Long Opera is very familiar. Only this time you can slow down and soak it all in. You can experiment with your pace in order to get the best sound and get acquainted with the story as much as you want. The program states that the entire promenade takes about 90 minutes, but it took me a little over two hours.  

The lighting is mostly focused on illuminating the faces of the singers with visors, small hand flashes, tablets, or even glowing Styrofoam coffee cups. The all-black (or white in some of the scenes) attire allows the members of the cast to look solemnly uniformed and at the same time brings out individuality. It is delightful to be able to look the performers in the eyes and exchange a smile. Or cover your eyes halfway and really listen to how a sung line fades out and is echoed by the next singer. The spoken monologues (most of them about various tables in various households) were a little problematic to perceive on the go, especially if the performer would make eye contact with you. Stopping and listening to it for a prolonged time might cause a traffic jam to which the stage manager in a fluorescent safety vest would hurry and politely encourage you to proceed. But worry not, in the beautifully printed program, which you receive in the end of your journey, you can find all the texts and read them like a book of poetry.
(This review was published on NoProscenium.com)