Nico Muhly’s opera Marnie, on stage at the Metropolitan Opera, should have been a success. The story of a sexually repressed, guilt-ridden kleptomaniacal woman who is blackmailed into marriage by a powerful man who later attempts to rape her is a more-than-possible variation on what we have been seeing in the newspapers. Perhaps her abuse as a child is the only truth she tells: she is a liar, affects other personalities and steals. We watch as she goes through (much needed) psychoanalysis. She lies to herself. Could the opera be unsuccessful because the title character is impossible to pin down? I think not, and any opera lover who has been riveted by Debussy's Mélisande will agree. Mélisande's fragility is dangerous: “Do you ever close your eyes?” she is asked. “Yes, at night.” The answer gives us the facts but it doesn’t answer the question asked. The meaning is skirted. She’s first seen crying, to whispers in the orchestra. Why? She won’t say. She says she has been hurt but won’t elaborate. She is elusive but riveting. She is terrified.
With Marnie, on the other hand, we see what’s wrong. She steals, she keeps changing her appearance and name. We meet her abusive mother who, we discover near the opera’s end, is the root of Marnie’s craziness. An attempted rape is presented almost matter-of-factly: the attempted suicide which immediately follows is accompanied by a crash and a smear of red. Melodies never take wing, perhaps for fear that we’ll figure Marnie out. The words keep coming, but the instruments don’t help define the ambiguities or bring us closer to the drama. For a plot in which this much happens, the evening falls flat dramatically. It’s a bit like watching a re-run of a Law & Order episode, which incidentally, is much the same reaction one had from Muhly’s Two Boys, seen at the Met five years ago.
The cast, sets, costumes and direction are the evening’s stars. Julian Crouch and 59 Productions, who were also responsible for the wonderful production of Philip Glass’s Satyagraha ten years ago, score another success: sliding panels on which either site-specific or mood-specific images are projected set scenes brilliantly and colorfully. So do Arianne Phillips' costumes – late-50s business attire for the men, late ‘50s incredibly chic and brightly colored for Marnie and the four Shadow Marnies who, dressed just like her, mirror her thoughts. There is a marvelous foxhunting scene in the second act for solos and chorus which is both visually and dramatically stunning, and fascinating musically: it is the longest form piece in the opera, in contrast with tiny Ariosos, melodies that evaporate as they touch the ground and scratches and bumps.