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LA VOIX HUMAINE - Seattle Opera

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Long Story Short<br />

A relationship of five years will end when this<br />

phone call ends...so let’s keep talking.<br />

Who’s Who?<br />

Elle (“She”) is young, elegant, and unhappy<br />

about being dumped.<br />

On the phone with her is a man she calls “Chéri”<br />

(the cherished one), as well as telephone<br />

operators and miscellaneous other callers. She<br />

speaks with Chéri about her friend Marthe and<br />

the dog.<br />

Where and When?<br />

A woman’s bedroom, probably in Paris, midtwentieth<br />

century.<br />

What’s Going On?<br />

He left her three nights ago, and tonight they’re<br />

on the phone, trying to say goodbye. But how to<br />

end it properly—particularly when it’s so hard to<br />

get a good connection? The call keeps getting<br />

dropped, random people keep eavesdropping on<br />

the conversation, and the two of them have a<br />

hard time telling one another the truth.<br />

“Yes, I had a hard time sleeping last night, and<br />

took a pill,” she tells him. “Then, this morning,<br />

Marthe came by early.” She goes on to lie about<br />

what she’s wearing, and they are almost flirting<br />

when once again the line cuts out. She calls his<br />

house, only to discover that he’s not there—he<br />

must have been calling from somewhere else.<br />

When he calls back, and continues to lie—“Oh,<br />

that music you hear? No, I’m not at a party...<br />

that must be the neighbors, playing their<br />

gramophone”—she is emboldened to tell him<br />

the truth: she isn’t dressed up, she hasn’t had<br />

dinner, and she didn’t take one pill, she took<br />

all of them. When Marthe came, she brought a<br />

doctor, and the woman’s suicide attempt failed.<br />

But after five years of a relationship, it’s terrible<br />

to be alone; even the woman’s dog understands<br />

something is terribly wrong. When she comes to<br />

understand that her lover has lied to her only in<br />

an attempt to lessen the hurt, his kindness gives<br />

her the strength to tell him, “Go ahead, hurry,<br />

hang up. Do it quickly. I love you....”<br />

History of a Bad Connection<br />

If you’ve had trouble with your cell phone carrier,<br />

or an unreliable wireless router, you’ll identify<br />

with the protagonist of La voix humaine, whose<br />

attempt to make an important phone call is<br />

continually thwarted by the crummy phone<br />

service where she lives. Much of the dramatic<br />

tension and humor of La voix humaine come<br />

from the constant interruptions, which were a<br />

familiar feature of urban telephone systems into<br />

the mid-twentieth century.<br />

This opera takes place long before area codes,<br />

back in the days of exchange names; for instance,<br />

Elle, trying to dial her Chéri, asks her operator<br />

to dial “Auteuil 04/7.” Not until after World War<br />

II did modern telephone numbering systems<br />

come into use, and it took decades for them to<br />

become ubiquitous. Although Poulenc wrote the<br />

opera in the late ’50s, he was clearly delighted<br />

to remember the unpredictable phone service of<br />

his youth—witness the rattling xylophone in his<br />

score each time the woman’s telephone rings.<br />

About the Writer and<br />

CoMPoser<br />

La voix humaine is a play written in 1930 by<br />

Jean Cocteau and set to music in 1959 by Francis<br />

Poulenc. Cocteau and Poulenc, who first met in<br />

1917, were both major figures<br />

in twentieth-century art, music,<br />

poetry, theater, dance, and film.<br />

Given their varied interests,<br />

limitless energy, and the<br />

extraordinary times they lived<br />

through, the world of French<br />

culture swirled around these<br />

two figures for four decades.<br />

When they first met, Cocteau<br />

(born 1889) was a hyperactive<br />

young artist and arts publicist,<br />

and Poulenc (born 1899) was<br />

a musically inclined teenager<br />

from a well-to-do family. The<br />

Rite of Spring had turned the<br />

Paris arts scene on its head a<br />

few years previously: Stravinsky’s<br />

wild score so polarized<br />

the musical world that when<br />

Poulenc applied to study at the conservative<br />

Paris Conservatoire, the composition teacher<br />

who judged his work screamed, “I see you’re a<br />

follower of the Stravinsky and Satie gang. Well,<br />

goodbye!” and threw him out the door. The<br />

hedonistic lifestyle associated with the Ballets<br />

Russes, and others in the world of the arts at<br />

the time of the World War I, emboldened these<br />

two artists, both of whom were gay, to pursue<br />

authentic love lives, whatever society might<br />

think. Both had on-again-off-again relationships<br />

with the Catholic Church; both endured<br />

the Fascist take-over of France during World<br />

War II (and both have been criticized for not<br />

standing up heroically to fight the Nazis); and<br />

both died in 1963, well-respected old lions who<br />

had become role models to later generations of<br />

artists.<br />

Cocteau may be best known in the United<br />

States today for his films, particularly his dreamy<br />

Beauty and the Beast and his three Orpheusinspired<br />

films: Blood of a Poet, Orpheus, and The<br />

Testament of Orpheus (all of which star his lover,<br />

Jean Marais). But he was equally productive as<br />

artist, poet, novelist, critic, and designer. He<br />

wrote La voix humaine in 1929, the same year<br />

that he described his recovery from addiction<br />

in the book Opium, Diary of a Detoxification.<br />

“Portrait of Jean Cocteau (with multiple hands),” Philippe Halsman, 1948<br />

2012/13 Season at <strong>Seattle</strong> <strong>Opera</strong> 27

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