A modern adaptation gone awry.
The modern Christmas adaptation of Ravel and Colette’s opera L’Enfant et les Sortilèges at the Hong Kong Cultural Centre Theatre was not what I expected, and not in a good way.
image from Wikimedia Commons
To adapt or not to adapt is a false question—why do theaters feel compelled to obsess over adapting existing works?
The term “adaptation” requires closer scrutiny. Redesigning stage sets and costumes is a necessary part of staging a production, and such interpretations keep the works alive in modern times. To label these as mere “adaptations” would be incorrect. The cutting, adding, and inevitable altering of the plot does not turn old into new, but into something entirely different. When a script is adapted, the original’s cleverness and coherence are sometimes mangled beyond recognition, no longer a faithful reflection of the original.
The Hong Kong Cultural Theatre production of L’Enfant et les Sortilèges was audaciously reckless, butchering the plot in pursuit of a superficial coherence. Perhaps because the opera is relatively obscure (though not at all cryptic—a naughty child encountering furniture and animals coming to life that he has wronged is quite easy to follow and suitable for all ages), the production decided to twist it into a Christmas-themed spectacle. Shepherds emerge from gifts under a Christmas tree, lamenting how the Child tore up Christmas cards; the Princess from the storybook is turned into a Christmas tree angel ornament; the Arithmetic Teacher is transformed into Santa Claus, unfurling a scroll listing good and bad children, scolding the Child for misbehaving. This scolding is what triggers the Child’s first pang of remorse for his mischief.
Christmas elements extend into the second act, though they become bizarre. The layers of the Christmas tree are stripped off and turned into a cape, which a character then dons—likely just a way to reuse props. Another possibility: the second act simply didn’t provide enough opportunities for the adapters to justify their plot changes, so they had to rely on surprising the audience with wild design choices.
Beyond these scattered elements, Christmas is also discussed in the mother’s opening musical number, as if mentioning the theme once would magically make the plot coherent. It was a daring undertaking to weave isolated Christmas elements into a thread connecting the entire opera, but the result speaks for itself.
As mentioned earlier, adaptation inevitably destroys the carefully woven fabric of the original script. The foreshadowing and deliberate word choices, which could have built rich, complex, and deeply human characters in the audience’s minds—or even evoked grand, moving emotions—were ruthlessly simplified. For instance, when the Child sings to the angel ornament, “My first love / my first sweetheart,” it raises… some questions. Christmas comes once a year, and the angel ornament is only seen annually. The Child and the ornament are hardly lovers. As for turning Christmas tree layers into costumes for the sake of thematic consistency, it’s simply absurd.
Likely to cater to the international Hong Kong audience, the French libretto was almost entirely translated into English. Before the show, I overheard two pairs of Hong Kong mothers and sons behind me conversing fluently in American English. Unfortunately, Colette’s French libretto couldn’t be reconciled with Ravel’s music. The English lyrics created two jarring moments. The first was the Princess’s opening line, “C’est elle” (It’s her). In French, the single syllable, the silent ending consonant, and the open vowel sound make it smooth and comfortable. “’Tis she,” is the best they could do in the English version—changing it to “This she” would have been even more awkward. But compared to the French, the original is superior in both cadence and vowel sound. Thankfully, the word “Maman” (mother) is remarkably similar across human languages, or else the Child’s final lines would have caused even more frustration for anyone familiar with the original.
The costumes, makeup, and props, however, were generally excellent. I particularly liked the frogs in the second act, partly because they reflected Ravel’s obsession with mechanical toys. The actor wore green sunglasses, a green vest, and a green waist pouch filled with a dozen wind-up frogs. He hopped around the stage, occasionally winding up a frog and setting it down, the mechanical device mimicking croaking sounds. At the end, he hopped back, collecting the stopped frogs into his pouch.
The Child’s wide sleeves and tapered pants were striking. The teacup handle was cleverly represented by an actor’s arm akimbo. Two Cushions appeared early on, initially nestled in a box with only their heads and arms visible under a blanket. When they suddenly stood up, it startled me, and from then on, I eagerly anticipated each character’s entrance, none of which disappointed. The Fire’s costume resembled a red candle from a wedding or ghosts from classical Chinese horror stories, with extended arms and red tassels on the sleeves. The actor sat on a tall box pushed by two people, allowing free movement and a flickering flame effect, though the flat headpiece dampened the dynamism.
However, there was one horrifying Christmas Tree Angel. A white dress and pants were encased in a hoop skirt that didn’t hold any fabric, just a few wire circles that swayed conspicuously as the actor moved. I couldn’t understand it—angel ornaments don’t wear hoop skirts alone, and this wasn’t some avant-garde fashion show. Most characters, except the Child, had their lips painted white with white dots under their eyes extending to the corners, and I couldn’t see how this connected to the story.
Overall the quality of the singing was high, especially that of the coloratura soprano who played Fire. The piano was spectacular. The orchestra, however, had its shortcomings: this orchestra had no harp. The harp plays a crucial role in the opera—introducing the Princess’s song, symbolizing her separation from the Child’s world, symbolizing dislocation, as well as nightfall as the Child feels the shepherds’ and Princess’s loss and heartache, and the re-enchantment after the animals mimic “Maman,” leading to the mother’s return.
The play doesn’t work without the harp. If funds were tight, surely they could have cut another instrument to make room for the harp! In the middle of the Princess’s aria, there’s a moment where woodwinds mimic harp arpeggios—a phantom, a reflection of something that might have existed or never existed, perfectly suited to the Princess. But without the harp at the beginning, there cannot be a harp’s phantom. The audience cannot be fooled by the magician’s trick, mistaking woodwinds for a harp. The opening five-note motif, meant to be a long, flowing melody, was chopped into short segments—likely due to a shortage of oboists, making it impossible to sustain the line.
The verdict is clear: the production team didn’t understand the opera. How could there be such distortions of Colette and Ravel’s original intentions? “Butchering” might be too strong a word, but what the production teaches us so poignantly is that adaptation does not necessarily result in an improved production.
edited by Celeste Alcalay
image from Wikimedia Commons