Rarely have I readjusted my expectations so regularly and drastically as when watching The Great Wave. Some technicalities may be excused by performers’ ‘world premiere’ nerves, but I left the Theatre Royal Glasgow feeling conflicted as to how to feel about an opera which seemed to be made from moments of greatness scattered amongst weaker filler sections.
A collaboration between Japanese composer Dai Fujikura and Scottish librettist Harry Ross, The Great Wave tells the story behind Katsushika Hokusai and his woodblock print, ‘The Great Wave off Kanagawa’.
An intergenerational narrative, we also follow Hokusai’s artist daughter, Ōi, and observe how their mutually supportive relationship leads to ‘redefining Japanese painting and printmaking’. This manifested in moments of sweet interaction, introducing the audience to the people behind the art. Which is why it’s a shame that their relationship was so thoroughly undermined with lines such as ‘my daughter, you are the true artist. You will always be my daughter’. Necessary? True? Or slower, unnecessary scenes that unfortunately dominate the play’s generally fast moving components?
Perhaps it’s the nature of this Opera sung in English that means certain lines just don’t work. Or perhaps it is the entirely unconvincing opening scene in which Ōi grieves her father whilst his spirit ‘escapes from the body’ and ‘watches over her’. The staggering amount of introduction about Hokusai is an odd choice. These included Hokusai’s wish for ‘ten more years’ to become a true artist, his treatment of Ōi as his ‘special student’, and her observation of his role as her ‘North Star, guiding light’: these preventing any possibility of authentic audience engagement. Such exposition admittedly becomes music centric – but is an immediate contradiction of the Ross(the Librettist’s) model of how to ‘remain responsive rather than declarative.’ Too often I felt like I was being told what to think. And too often I didn’t have a chance to emotionally respond before being told what to feel.
Moments have the potential to be extremely beautiful. However, scenes such as the thunderstorm in which Hokusai is struck by lightning and transported (in his comatose mind) to a wave near Kanagawa is undermined by comments like ‘don’t want to die—row, row, row,’ and ‘scary big waves.’ Titters around me were reassuring in that I wasn’t alone in my confusion at the stark contrast between ridiculous lyrics and the otherwise successful elements such as lighting and set/props (designed by Yuka Hisamatsu and Eri Fukasawa Seriatim) which were genuinely masterful and innovative.
The music (lyrics aside) was dramatic. The ‘thunderous orchestral forces’ and ‘intimate’ chamber moments’ were played to perfection. However, the musical soul of this production was undoubtedly the shakuhachi solo, (played by Shozan Hasegawa) which creates what Fujikura, the composer, describes as an ‘ethereal sound world.’
The very last scene almost makes up for every frustration you witness in the 1 hour 45 minute-long piece. A dream sequence which integrates Hokusai into his own painting and imagination interrogated ideas of life and art in a way that encapsulated the technique of ‘show, don’t tell.’ Incorporating gauze projections, an origami-style Tiger and Dragon, and positioning the shakuhachi onstage — every component came together with a perfect synthesis .
Intensely beautiful, I understood the aim of the whole production. It’s just a shame it took so long to achieve this aim. A few of the more senior audience members around me did not return to their seats for the second half.
Production Image by Mihaela Bodlovic on behalf of Scottish Opera
