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Learning from Bryant Park: Revitalizing Cities, Towns, and Public Spaces Hardcover – April 17, 2020

by Andrew M. Manshel (Author)

By the 1970s, 42nd Street in New York was widely perceived to be unsafe, a neighborhood thought to be populated largely by drug dealers, porn shops, and muggers. But in 1979, civic leaders developed a long-term vision for revitalizing one especially blighted block, Bryant Park. The reopening of the park in the 1990s helped inject new vitality into midtown Manhattan and served as a model for many other downtown revitalization projects. So what about urban policy can we learn from Bryant Park?

In this new book, Andrew M. Manshel draws from both urbanist theory and his first-hand experiences as a urban public space developer and manager who worked on Bryant Park and later applied its strategies to an equally successful redevelopment project in a very different New York neighborhood: Jamaica, Queens. He candidly describes what does (and doesn’t) work when coordinating urban redevelopment projects, giving special attention to each of the many details that must be carefully observed and balanced, from encouraging economic development to fostering creative communities to delivering appropriate services to the homeless. Learning from Bryant Park is thus essential reading for anyone who cares about giving new energy to downtowns and public spaces.

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About the Author

Andrew M. Manshel for 10 years was Associate Director and Counsel at the Bryant Park Restoration Corporation and General Counsel and Director of Public Amenities to the Grand Central and 34th Street Partnerships. He now serves as Assistant Commissioner for Franchise Administration at the NYC Department of Information Technology and Telecommunications. Previously he was Executive Vice President of Greater Jamaica Development, in Jamaica, Queens. He is a long-time Director and the Treasurer of Project for Public Spaces, Inc. Mr. Manshel blogs about downtown and public space revitalization at theplacemaster.com.

The Glimmerglass Festival presents the world premiere of Jeanine Tesori and Tazewell Thompson’s ‘Blue,’ as well as a shortened version of ‘The Ghosts of Versailles’ and productions of ‘Show Boat’ and ‘La Traviata.’

ByHeidi WalesonAug. 14, 2019 4:19 pm ET

Cooperstown, N.Y.

Jeanine Tesori and Tazewell Thompson ’s “Blue,” commissioned and given its world premiere by the Glimmerglass Festival this season, is a wrenching and remarkably original opera that explores deeply personal emotional truths and gives them universal resonance. It is the tale of one family’s devastating loss—the teenage son of a black police officer and his wife is shot and killed by a white police officer—but it is actually the story of an entire community. Structured like a Greek tragedy, it skillfully uses ensembles to build a sense of ritual around the story. The characters have no names (they are the Father, the Mother, the Son) and the killing takes place offstage, between the two hour-long acts. Act I is a deep dive into the complexities of familial love and struggle; Act II shows how one violent act challenges the foundational beliefs of those left behind.

Mr. Thompson’s unflinching libretto avoids political posturing yet clearly exposes the underlying predicament. Three Girlfriends, learning that the Mother is pregnant with a boy, recoil in horror, and remind her, in a jazzy ensemble: “Thou shalt bring forth no black boys into this world.” (The Girlfriends are a cross between fairy godmothers and Fates—they offer blessings as well as warnings.) At the funeral, the Father, mad with grief, recites the terrible litany of parents to their black sons: “Don’t wear a hoodie. Don’t carry shiny objects. Don’t get a tattoo….” Yet what is interesting about the opera is how those warnings, rather than signaled, are woven into its fabric, as they are into the lives of the people it is about. Equally compelling is the treatment of religion, which dominates Act II. A source of comfort and community, it is also questioned. In the opera’s most heartbreaking moment, the Mother, standing at the casket, gives her child to Jesus with the same gentle words and music with which she handed him, as a newborn, to the Father—“Cup your hand under his head and neck.” But the Reverend, in the opera’s final moments, asks God, “How many sons do we have to give / Before you can’t hold one more?”

Ms. Tesori’s deeply affecting and disturbing music has just the right weight and gravity for the story. Arias and scenes are emotionally specific, and the various ensemble configurations—the trio of Girlfriends, who support the Mother, and one of Policemen, who are the Father’s colleagues, combine as a potent sextet at the funeral—amplify the opera’s themes. The powerful cast, headed by bass Kenneth Kellogg (Father) and mezzo Briana Hunter (Mother), captured the story’s volcanic upheavals and simple everyday-ness; tenor Aaron Crouch made the Son’s teenage rebellion absolutely believable; and baritone Gordon Hawkins brought dignity and doubt to the Reverend. John DeMain led the incisive orchestra, which embraced Ms. Tesori’s big statements. Mr. Thompson also directed, and his detailed staging, complemented by Donald Eastman ’s simple set (a bleached-out projection of a row of Harlem townhouses, a few roll-on props), Jessica Jahn ’s costumes, and Robert Wierzel ’s lighting, let the characters and the music tell the story.

***

William M. Hoffman ’s libretto still feels overstuffed with episodes and characters, and many of the numbers go on far too long. It’s nice to have a contemporary opera be a comedy, for a change, but the piece goes overboard, particularly in Act I, with broad jokes and long stretches of frenetic high jinks. There’s lots of orchestral detail, and the Mozart in-joke references blend easily with more modern bits, like the eerie ghost music, and a pretty earworm of a love quartet.

Soprano Yelena Dyachek brought a voluptuous sound and a properly sulky demeanor to the depressed Marie Antoinette. The other roles—more than two dozen—were capably filled by members of the Glimmerglass Young Artists Program. Standouts included the theatrically astute tenor Christian Sanders, as Bégearss, the cartoon villain in Beaumarchais’s opera, who has two lengthy, vehement arias about vermin, and mezzo Katherine Maysek (Cherubino), who shone in her single scene, romancing Rosina ( Joanna Latini ) as part of the aforementioned love quartet. Conductor Joseph Colaneri held it all together. James Noone ’s handsome set used 18th-century portrait iconography, and Nancy Leary ’s attractive period costumes (all white for the ghosts; colorful for the opera characters) helped delineate the different spheres of action, as did Mr. Wierzel’s lighting.

“Show Boat” (1927), by Jerome Kern and Oscar Hammerstein II, is a bit theatrically creaky, especially in Act II, but director Francesca Zambello ’s ebullient production, with a colorful set by Peter J. Davison, vivid costumes by Paul Tazewell, and vigorous conducting by James Lowe, helped you forget that. The denizens of the Cotton Blossom were beautifully cast— Lauren Snouffer, heartfelt as the innocent Magnolia Hawks, who learns all too soon the ways of the world; Michael Adams, sexy as the gambler Gaylord Ravenal, whom she loves; Justin Hopkins (Joe), who sang a sonorous “Ol’ Man River”; Lara Teeter, an adept comedian as Cap’n Andy; and Alyson Cambridge (Julie), whose wrenching performance of “Bill” encapsulated all the sad undertones of this show. Eric Sean Fogel ’s snappy choreography—especially the Charleston number at the end—showed off Glimmerglass’s terrific cadre of musical-theater dancers.

The season’s standard repertory offering was a serviceable production of Verdi ’s “La Traviata” (1853), directed by Ms. Zambello and conducted by Mr. Colaneri. It was lightly updated to the late 19th century (Violetta’s Act I dress, designed by Jess Goldstein, looked like a purple version of the one worn by John Singer Sargent ’s “Madame X”) and presented the story as Violetta’s flashback from the hospital where she is dying (Mr. Davison did the sets; Mark McCullough, the lighting). Amanda Woodbury was a touching Violetta; Adrian Timpau a nicely pompous Germont; and Kang Wang came into his own in the second half, bringing tenorial brightness and youthful ardor to Alfredo.

Ms. Waleson writes on opera for the Journal and is the author of “Mad Scenes and Exit Arias: The Death of the New York City Opera and the Future of Opera in America” (Metropolitan).

Glimmerglass. Last night Ghosts of Versailles.

that Handel had traveled up the Susquehanna to its source?

Who needs England when we have Otsego County?

Otsego Lake

In the company’s latest season, a revelatory production of Mozart’s ‘Così fan tutte’; an appropriately bleak take on Janáček’s ‘Jenůfa’; the world premiere of Poul Ruders’s slight, Brothers Grimm-inspired ‘The Thirteenth Child.’

ByHeidi WalesonAug. 7, 2019 4:30 pm ET

Santa Fe, N.M.

R.B. Schlather’s production of Mozart’s “Così fan tutte” (1790) was the revelation of this Santa Fe Opera season. Mr. Schlather, who has previously specialized in site-specific directing projects, stripped away all period decoration to reveal the mechanics and effects of the cruel trick that is at the heart of opera. Thrillingly executed by the superb cast and orchestra under the incisive leadership of conductor Harry Bicket, this “Così” was modern, disturbing and riveting.

Mr. Schlather solves the conundrum of “Così” by making the manipulator Don Alfonso so embittered by his own disappointments in love that he concocts his elaborate ruse in order to permanently destroy not only the romantic illusions but also the happiness of the four much younger lovers. There’s still comedy, but this malignant intent is established right away when Don Alfonso (Rod Gilfry), dressed in Western gear and a cowboy hat, enters alone during the overture. He is silhouetted menacingly against the New Mexico sunset in the open square at the rear of Paul Tate Depoo III’s empty, sand-colored set, whose walls funnel to that opening. Once all the characters have entered through it, the door slams shut, trapping them in the game. Subsequent exits and entrances are made through large holes in the floor or through side windows that have only darkness behind them, suggestive of the hellish eternity that awaits all lovers.

Aided by Terese Wadden’s witty and perfectly calibrated contemporary costumes, and JAX Messenger’s telling lighting, the detailed directing traces the odyssey of the clueless quartet, who start out as immature frat-boy and cheerleader types, in sporty whites, and are gradually ensnared in messy emotional drama and explicitly choreographed sexual games. All four singers—Ben Bliss (Ferrando), Jarrett Ott (Guglielmo), Amanda Majeski (Fiordiligi) and Emily D’Angelo (Dorabella)—have glorious voices that blend beautifully and are ideal for these roles, making their helplessness doubly upsetting. Directing choices were driven by the music, and each episode happened for a reason: During Mr. Bliss’s exquisite performance of “Un’aura amorosa,” which can be just a pretty tenor aria, the subtle body language of Mr. Gilfry and Tracy Dahl, an irrepressible Despina, told us that they were hearing it as an echo of their own old, now rotted, love affair. And the ensemble finale, usually an unsatisfactory attempt to close the circle of partner-swapping that has preceded it, was instead explosive, cementing the fact that Don Alfonso has succeeded.

In Janáček’s “Jenůfa” (1904), the orchestra, conducted by Johannes Debus, was again outstanding, creating a propulsive dramatic arc with a broad color palette and some standout solo playing. David Alden’s modern-dress production was appropriately bleak—a corrugated metal wall for the mill/factory and mostly drab costumes that suggested Communist-era Eastern Europe (Charles Edwards did the sets, Jon Morrell the costumes, Duane Schuler the lighting). The star of the show was Patricia Racette, an unusually youthful Kostelnička, who drowns her stepdaughter Jenůfa’s out-of-wedlock baby in order to protect her own social standing. In addition to the requisite toughness, Ms. Racette brought complexity and anguish to the role. Laura Wilde was a poignant Jenůfa; in Act II, her portrayal of a new mother’s instinctive terror for her baby was startlingly realistic. Richard Trey Smagur, who is imposingly tall, used the insouciant ease of his bright tenor to make her boyfriend, Števa, seem especially pouty and privileged. Alexander Lewis’s tenor was too light for the mercurial Laca, who loves, wounds and finally marries Jenůfa; as the foreman of the mill, baritone Will Liverman had a more potent sound. The Santa Fe Opera Chorus was excellent, and clearly directed as a cheerful, drunken crowd in Act I and as a menacing mob in Act III. Choreographer Maxine Braham supplied a vigorous folk dance for the opera’s one carefree moment.

Poul Ruders’s “The Thirteenth Child,” in its world premiere, proved disappointingly slight, especially in comparison with his wrenching “The Handmaid’s Tale” (2000), most recently seen in Boston this spring. Becky and David Starobin’s thin libretto, inspired by a Brothers Grimm fairy tale, had stilted language, undeveloped characters and sketchy plotting that vaulted across years, frequently relying on one character to tell others—and the audience—what had happened in the meantime. A king, Hjarne, fears that his twelve sons will overthrow him and decides to kill them first. Spirited away by their mother, Queen Gertrude, they are found eighteen years later by their sister, Lyra, who accidently turns them into ravens. She then has to remain mute for seven years in order to break the spell. Opera demands more emotional nuance than written fairy tales, and the libretto’s skimpiness created some puzzlers: Why, for example, does Lyra immediately cut down the lilies planted around her brothers’ cottage? This bad guest behavior results in their transformation into ravens, but it seems rude and unmotivated, especially since she knows that the lilies are, at the very least, symbols of their homeland.

Mr. Ruders’s score consisted of strung-together set pieces—a funeral chorus, a brief comic ensemble for the brothers, a death scene—which, though sometimes effective, had wildly varying styles that didn’t cohere. Some of the choices, like the angry Hjarne’s startlingly tonal and lyrical aria, and his vocal leaps from sepulchral bass into falsetto, seemed downright odd. As Gertrude, the eloquent mezzo Tamara Mumford made the most persuasive case for her music; with his appealing high tenor, Bille Bruley was touching as the youngest brother, Benjamin. David Leigh’s bass wasn’t powerful enough to convey Hjarne’s fury; soprano Jessica E. Jones was pleasant but understated as Lyra; and bass-baritone Bradley Garvin had little to work with as Hjarne’s villainous cousin, Drokan, who tells the king to fear his sons. Paul Daniel led the somewhat scrappy-sounding orchestra.

Director Darko Tresnjak had mixed success in welding the evening together. Alexander Dodge’s gloomy set had staircases that seemed designed by Escher and Rita Ryack created fairy tale-inspired costumes for the king and queen and went basic for everyone else. The minimalist projection elements—snakes to accompany the villain, forest trees—provided some texture and solved the transformation problem with the shadows of flying ravens. Next season’s world premiere—“M. Butterfly,” with playwright David Henry Hwang and composer Huang Ruo creating an operatic version of Mr. Hwang’s hit 1988 play—promises to be more ambitious.

—Ms. Waleson writes on opera for the Journal and is the author of “Mad Scenes and Exit Arias: The Death of the New York City Opera and the Future of Opera in America” (Metropolitan).

SFO. Opera Managers’ Dinner.

SFO.