Seeking position as proofreader for Dallas Opera

A friend of mine attended the Dallas Opera's recent "simulcast" at Cowboys Stadium of a Turandot performance. She reports that she had a great time and didn't have to give a penny to Jerry Jones!

My correspondent also brought me a souvenir of the evening: the single-sheet program that was given to all of the casual opera patrons at the football stadium. It's not the booklet that's handed out at the Winspear Opera House, but it has everything you need to know about the cast, the characters, the production team and the performance.

And on the back is a handy synopsis of the plot, with the title, Turandot, in big letters at the top, and right next to that the words "By Giuseppe Verdi"!

Oops.

Of course, all but the last couple of scenes of Turandot was composed by Giacomo Puccini some 23 years after Verdi's death.

Now, I've been in the media biz for many more years than I care to admit, and I certainly understand that mistakes happen. And while those of us who proffer the written word to the public make every effort not to make mistakes, a typo here and there will not bring the world to an end.

But I know from experience how embarrassing an error in "display type" is. And while I'm sure the good folks at the Dallas Opera are embarrassed, they run the worse risk of losing credibility among the audience they're so prominently going after: younger, more casual than your average opening-night-at-the-Winspear crowd, smart and aware but who may not know precisely the difference between Verdi and Puccini, and are likely to be confused by a program sheet that lists two different composers for what they're watching.

So I'm offering my services to the Dallas Opera as a proofreader for anything they want to put before the public. I may not find every error, but I'd scream louder than Antonello Palombi if I saw something attributing Turandot to anyone other than Signor Puccini!

My salary requirements? A couple of tickets to the opera.

What's in a name?

This week, the Dallas Opera opens one of its two spring productions, Puccini's Turandot, which runs April 5-21. 

For those not all that familiar with this magnificent work, one of the first questions is, "How do you pronounce it?" Well, it's either TOUR-an-doe or -dot or -dote, but the debate has gone on for years, with all sides claiming their way is how Puccini said it.

Perhaps the most convincing argument is a 1962 interview given by Rosa Raisa, the very first Turandot in 1926, who insisted that Puccini and Toscanini (who conducted that famous premiere) said -doe. Others insist Puccini would have pronounced the T because his opera was based on a play by Carlo Gozzi called Turandotte, pronounced -dot-eh. The most common pronunciation today is -dot, so you can't go wrong calling it that.

But no matter how you say it, Turandot is a great night of escapist fantasy with some fine drama and the music of Puccini at the top of his game. 

Puccini composed the first 2-1/2 acts before he died of throat cancer in 1924. A composer who had studied with Puccini, Franco Alfano, was chosen to complete it based on the maestro's sketches. It's still the most popular ending for the work, despite some dramatic and musical problems, although others have tried. 

In fact, the last time the Dallas Opera performed Turandot, 10 years ago, it was done with a new ending by Luciano Berio. That ending did a little better job of explaining how Turandot, the ice princess, had such a profound change of heart and fell in love with the unknown prince, Calaf. But for me, the very quiet duet between the two failed to explain this change of heart to her subjects, the people of Peking. They are a big part of the whole drama, from their initial bloodthirstiness over Turandot's suitors, through their observation of the riddle scene, to their background introduction to Calaf's "Nessun dorma," as they roam the streets of Peking searching for the Unknown Prince's name. Seems like they should have some part in the final disposition of the whole thing. Alfano's ending does that, but Turandot's change of heart just seems to happen during the last scene change. Oh well, it IS fantasy-drama, after all, and it's still fun to watch and hear.

Of course, one of the highlights of any Turandot performance is the tenor's aria at the beginning of the third act (and thus, the last aria that Puccini composed), "Nessun dorma," which gained unrivaled popularity outside the opera house a few years ago when it became the signature of the Three Tenors. The triumphant cry of "Vincero! Vincero! Vincero!" at the end is about as thrilling an experience as you'll ever have in the opera house.

That ending translates as "I will win!" It has occurred to me that if you just read the words to this aria by themselves, you could come away thinking that this fellow is an obnoxious Don Juan, minus the charm. But, as always in the best passages of opera, it's the music that lets you know that Calaf is crying out "Vincero!" only because he is so confident of reaching his goal -- to win the heart of Princess Turandot. After all, he's already answered the three riddles that she poses to all of her suitors, which his predecessors invariably stumbled on, leaving them with the consolation prize -- a visit to the executioner. And he's certain that she'll never find out the answer to the challenge he posed to her -- to guess his name.

Here's an English translation of "Nessun dorma":

No one must sleep! No one must sleep... You, too, o Princess, in your cold room look at the stars, that tremble with love and with hope! But my mystery is shut within me; no one will know my name!

No, I will say it on your mouth when the daylight shines! And my kiss will break the silence that makes you mine! ... Vanish, o night! Set, you stars! At dawn I will win! I will win! I will win!