This is a fascinating
series of six thirty-minute documentaries,
the first of a series, devoted to some
of the most famous tenors in recorded
history. The format is similar in each
case. The singer is introduced and a
coterie of admirers or individuals reminisce
or talk about the particular singer
– so, for example, a group of elderly
expatriates in Little Italy talk about
Caruso, with especially touching affection,
and Gigli’s nephew is interviewed amongst
a group of like-minded admirers of his
uncle. Surviving film, whether on stage,
in recital, domestic or otherwise is
woven into the fabric of the documentary
and it proves to be remarkable.
We see Caruso drawing
one of his inimitable caricatures, or
relaxing in the family apartment with
a factotum; also the famous "in
costume" montage of his most famous
roles and his bonhomonious entry from
a motor car in New York surrounded by
welcoming family and friends (one such
recalls the event all these years later).
With Gigli we can witness excerpts from
a rather hammy 1936 film that, for all
its artificiality, does at least summon
up something of his wonderful vitality
and virility. Schipa is caught in very
early sound, 1929, that I assume is
film but could just be synchronized
sound and vision of the type that Vitaphone
specialised in – whichever he is piano
accompanied in Padilla’s Princesita,
something of a recital rarity in these
clips, and doubly valuable for that.
Tauber, like Caruso, has a series of
silent, face-to-camera shots with the
tenor dressed in his favourite roles.
There’s a clip from the English Pagliacci
film of 1937 and a very rare live outdoor
concert and some delicious colour shots
of him in overalls and civvies, relaxing,
playing and singing, or else on holiday.
Slezak is represented by a slew of his
"big-bear" acting-singing
roles and by mainly lighter material
– none of which is enough to obscure
his warmth and personality. We can see
Joseph Schmidt in what looks like some
exceptionally rare live 1936 material
singing before a vast audience at a
Dutch Festival, wearing slacks and jacket,
and belting it out with one hand nonchalantly
in his pocket.
Recorded examples of
the artists’ work are played and analysed.
One of the most scrupulous and analytical
judges is Jürgen Kesting whose
clarity and precision are a constant
source of pleasure and elucidation.
He’s especially acute on Caruso, but
so is Michael Scott, as they guide the
viewer towards the salient features
of Caruso’s singing. Kesting is interesting
on the subject of Gigli’s "passivity"
– and the political accusations that
dogged his later career - and Rodolfo
Celletti is perceptive on the question
of the singer’s "lack of taste."
If Schipa’s early Argentinean experiences
take rather too much air time and Schmidt’s
cantorial roots – whilst clearly vital
– do likewise, no one can argue with
the question of Slezak’s melancholy
final years or Schmidt’s tragic early
death. On the subject of Schmidt I’d
have welcome the kind of close textual
analysis given to some of the others;
things tend to get rather woolly, adjectivally
and, however justifiable, a note of
retrospective sentiment tends to obscure
penetrating technical judgement.
We hear from a number
of other knowledgeable insiders: Clemens
Höslinger, Alan Bilgora and Robert
Tuggle and others. There is also the
eccentric figure of Stefan Zucker who
set my teeth on edge every time he spoke
– as a practitioner he has plenty of
value to say but he has cultivated an
absurd way of doing so. There are also
interviews with some very distinguished
colleagues – Magda Olivero who talks
about Gigli, Elizabeth Bergner who began
scoffing but ended up entranced by Tauber,
and Paula Lindbergh-Salomon on Schmidt.
With the exception
of the Tauber colour film everything
here is in black and white; the filmed
sections flow seamlessly into recollection
and analysis without jarring between
colour and black and white. It’s an
editorial decision that works well as
far as I’m concerned. The filmed scenes
have been reproduced with as much sharpness
and definition as one could wish. Subtitles
are in five languages and there’s a
tidy, though brief, booklet. This first
in the series has been accomplished
with thoughtfulness and imagination
and it’s highly recommended for lovers
of the Vocal Art.
Jonathan Woolf
Subtitles GB, F, D, I, E, Picture Format 4;3
Black and White PAL, Dolby Digital 2.0 Stereo,
Liner Notes GB, D, F, DVD9, Region 0 
DVD
- TDK EUROARTS DV-DOCBEL1 [170’] 
