‘Svadba’ Review: Recorded Rites

Boston Lyric Opera and Opera Philadelphia collaborate on a film of Ana Sokolović’s work, about a group of women preparing their friend for her wedding day.

By Heidi Waleson

Feb. 2, 2022 5:41 pm

One of the most interesting creative developments resulting from the Covid-19 shutdown of live performance is the recognition that operas can work as films. Rather than the familiar video representations of staged performances, these projects are conceived for the screen, expanding the visual environments of the stories and even divorcing the physical process of singing from the characters on the screen. Boston Lyric Opera and Opera Philadelphia have pioneered individually in filmed opera; their collaboration on a film of Ana Sokolović’s “Svadba” (2011) is now available to subscribers on the digital channels of both companies at operabox.tv and operaphila.tv; on-demand viewing is $15. 

“Svadba” is a good candidate for film treatment. A riveting, 54-minute a cappella piece for six female voices and incidental percussion, it is about ritual and community rather than plot: Five women prepare their friend, Milica, for her wedding the next day. Alternately fierce, tender, playful and ecstatic, the friends coalesce around this monumental life transition. Ms. Sokolović’s libretto draws from Serbian poetry and folk tales, but much of the text is an invented, onomatopoeic, syllabic language. Carried by the tight harmonies and complex rhythms of the music, it makes its impact viscerally, rather than committing to literal meaning. 

The film, directed by Shura Baryshnikov, takes the idea a few steps further. Six singers recorded their parts in a studio, while five dancers and an actor ( Jackie Davis as Lena, here called the Elder) performed on location—a rustic beach house and its environs on Cape Cod. The camera cuts back and forth between the two, which is occasionally disconcerting until you figure out which of the singers is playing the bride (I watched it twice). Four bridesmaids wear diaphanous, sparkly tulle; the fifth, Lena, wears a plain dress with an apron—it’s her house. (Costumes are by Lena Borovci. ) The attendants gather flowers and grasses for bouquets and beach fruits for jam; they undress and dress the bride; they play games. In Hannah Shepard’s screenplay, the natural world is infused into these rites of passage.

Opening the piece up into the stunning landscape adds texture—Ana Novačić was the production designer and Katherine Castro the director of photography—though it also sometimes detracts from the almost claustrophobic intensity and intimacy of the vocal writing. In an early scene, Lena dyes Milica’s hair while the other bridesmaids dash outside, take off their dresses, and dance on the beach in their underwear; it seems odd that the six women are not all together. Other scenes cohere better. In one, the singers recite the Serbian alphabet and layer nursery rhymes as the dancers face off in a playful contest. And in the most magical sequence, the sun sets, and the bride goes out to the beach alone as the ensemble, with a bit of reverb applied, sings (in Serbian), “Wet your hair with stars.” Here, the physical separation on screen seems right—it is a nocturne and an incantation, fading into the sound of a rain stick, as Milica falls asleep on the beach beside the waves. At dawn, she is awakened, also magically, with the wispy sound of an ocarina, and the final preparations begin. 

The film’s casting also gives the piece new dimensions. The camera celebrates Victoria L. Awkward’s beautifully complicated Black hairstyle, with its multihued extensions, giving Milica’s hair-dyeing sequence extra resonance. It also interpolates a cameo appearance by a nonsinging Betrothed—who is a woman ( Olivia Moon ). There was an all-female production team as well as cast. The folk-based rhythms and harmonies, nonsense syllables, and vocal noises like lip trills and tongue clicks can make “Svadba” seem like a mysterious anthropological ritual from some exotic ethnic group. In the film, the identifiable location and the diverse cast make it feel both contemporary and timeless. 

The splendid vocal ensemble, conducted by Daniela Candillari, featured Chabrelle D. Williams, who brought anticipatory ecstasy to Milica’s big solo; Brianna J. Robinson, Maggie Finnegan, Mack Wolz, Hannah Ludwig and Vera Savage created a vibrant, varied tonal palette with wonderfully precise articulation of the syllabic material. In addition to Ms. Awkward and Ms. Davis, the dynamic onscreen performers included dancers Jay Breen, Sarah Pacheco, Sasha Peterson and Emily Jerant-Hendrickson.