司馬勤

相信不只有我覺(jué)得煩悶，大家都厭倦了坐在電腦屏幕前吧？這些日子里，歌劇愛(ài)好者沒(méi)有太多選擇。盡管有幾家歌劇院在過(guò)去一年里把歌劇制作搬上了現(xiàn)實(shí)生活中的舞臺(tái)，但它們現(xiàn)在都被迫關(guān)閉，靜心等待下一輪劇院解封的日子。其實(shí)我們一眼就能看出，那些具有抗疫特征的制作，與常規(guī)的歌劇相比，有著很大區(qū)別。

因此，我們還是無(wú)法割舍大都會(huì)歌劇院和另外數(shù)家歌劇院每晚送上的在線視頻。這些歌劇視頻和網(wǎng)絡(luò)直播雙管齊下，天天提醒著我們歌劇藝術(shù)的那些輝煌的往昔，我們期盼終有一天——因?yàn)橄Ｍ谌碎g嘛——歌劇演出會(huì)再次興旺起來(lái)。正當(dāng)我沉醉于第三遍全版《指環(huán)》以及第四次欣賞大都會(huì)播放約翰·亞當(dāng)斯（John Adams）的《尼克松在中國(guó)》（Nixon in China）高清視頻之際，腦海里浮現(xiàn)出一個(gè)連續(xù)不斷的念頭：“人生不該僅限于此吧！”

幸運(yùn)的是，似乎有人聽(tīng)到了我的心聲。在過(guò)去的兩個(gè)月里，幾位有進(jìn)取心的年輕制作人深知現(xiàn)下的歌劇世界不得不脫離了舞臺(tái)，走進(jìn)筆記本電腦。他們便更向前一步，把焦點(diǎn)放在另一個(gè)通信工具——智能手機(jī)上。紐約的現(xiàn)場(chǎng)歌劇團(tuán)（On Site Opera）在不久之前推出了兩個(gè)項(xiàng)目，利用了電話以及傳統(tǒng)郵遞服務(wù)，為“歌劇送餐”方式特別加碼。

誠(chéng)然，《致遠(yuǎn)方的愛(ài)人》（To My Distant Love）與《仍然存在的美麗》（ The Beauty That Still Remains）都包含一定的宣傳噱頭。嚴(yán)格意義上說(shuō)，它們都算不上是歌劇。前者為貝多芬歌曲套曲，時(shí)長(zhǎng)只不過(guò)20分鐘，演員拿著電話現(xiàn)場(chǎng)歌唱，好像為朋友留言一樣。買(mǎi)了票的觀眾可以選擇聆聽(tīng)女高音詹妮弗·澤特蘭（Jennifer Zetlan）或男中音馬里奧·迪亞茲-莫雷斯科（Mario Diaz-Moresco） 演繹這部作品。后者的副題為“歌唱的日記”（Diaries in Song），這個(gè)項(xiàng)目的規(guī)模雄心勃勃，涵蓋三首歌曲套曲——雅納切克（Janá？ek）的《消失人的日記》（Diary of One Who Disappeared）、多明尼克·阿爾堅(jiān)托（Dominick Argento）的《自弗吉尼亞·伍爾芙的日記》（From the Diary of Virginia Woolf）與朱莉婭·霍爾（Julia Hall）《反轉(zhuǎn)的世界》（A World Turned Upside Down）——郵寄包裹里有裝著節(jié)目單的三個(gè)大信封，還有復(fù)制的日記以及歌詞中提到的物件（比如說(shuō)家庭照片、干花等），和連接預(yù)錄演出視頻的二維碼與網(wǎng)址。

是的，這是宣傳噱頭，但聰明至極，把集體參與的浸淫式劇場(chǎng)的即時(shí)性體驗(yàn)轉(zhuǎn)移至屬于個(gè)人的、可以觸摸的經(jīng)驗(yàn)。我敢打賭，在劇院重開(kāi)大門(mén)之后，“電話歌劇”或“郵寄歌劇”都不會(huì)成為常規(guī)的演出模式。可是，這兩個(gè)項(xiàng)目啟發(fā)了我：我們今天可以同步擁有多種新穎的科技與媒體平臺(tái)，那么“舞臺(tái)上”的歌劇制作可以走得更遠(yuǎn)嗎？

沒(méi)等多久，新的個(gè)案就冒了出來(lái)。我很少有機(jī)會(huì)于每年的1月留在紐約市，觀賞紐約公共劇院（實(shí)質(zhì)上美國(guó)的國(guó)家劇院）的跨越藝術(shù)體裁的年度大戲——“雷達(dá)之下藝術(shù)節(jié)”（Under the Radar Festival）。令人啼笑皆非的是，即便我今年身在紐約也不用特意到現(xiàn)場(chǎng)觀看了，因?yàn)榻衲晁囆g(shù)節(jié)的全部節(jié)目都放到了互聯(lián)網(wǎng)上。其中有兩項(xiàng)演出跟現(xiàn)場(chǎng)歌劇團(tuán)保持社交距離的制作手法同出一轍，甚至更勝一籌。

首先是《千方百計(jì)（一）：打電話》[ A Thousand Ways （Part One）： A Phone Call ]，由“600狂徒”（600 Highwaymen）這個(gè)實(shí)驗(yàn)劇團(tuán)策劃。劇團(tuán)的兩位編劇、創(chuàng)作者是阿比蓋爾·布勞德（Abigail Browde）與邁克爾·斯?fàn)柾咚诡D（Michael Silverstone），他們探索的是長(zhǎng)途距離。跟現(xiàn)場(chǎng)歌劇團(tuán)《致遠(yuǎn)方的愛(ài)人》的模式相近，演出通過(guò)電話傳送，而在另一端拿著話筒的人也是觀眾之一?！吨逻h(yuǎn)方的愛(ài)人》中盡管利用電話演繹貝多芬的套曲，但人們聆聽(tīng)的藝術(shù)體驗(yàn)僅僅是單向式的?！洞螂娫挕肪筒灰粯樱且粋€(gè)百分百互動(dòng)的作品，引導(dǎo)兩個(gè)素未謀面的陌生人通過(guò)自動(dòng)語(yǔ)音提示交談起來(lái)。自動(dòng)語(yǔ)音提示包括“用四個(gè)形容詞描述你的童年”，也會(huì)帶領(lǐng)兩位參與者進(jìn)入一個(gè)預(yù)設(shè)的場(chǎng)景——“在沙漠的路上，你們開(kāi)的車(chē)壞了……”。參與對(duì)話的兩個(gè)人既是觀眾也是演員（他們?nèi)绾卧O(shè)定“演員”的角色因人而異，甚至可以編造謊言，因?yàn)楸舜藷o(wú)法鑒定對(duì)方說(shuō)的話是真是假）。在一個(gè)小時(shí)之內(nèi)，《打電話》道破了因疫情隔離而影響到我們心理狀態(tài)的癥狀。雙方都沿著有條理的道路前進(jìn)，引發(fā)了對(duì)話和敘事想象力，并促進(jìn)了聯(lián)系和建立信任——簡(jiǎn)而言之，受過(guò)去一年疫情封鎖隔離的影響，“交流”這一社交技能對(duì)于很多人來(lái)說(shuō)都變得陌生了。

“雷達(dá)之下”的另一個(gè)制作則沿用了現(xiàn)場(chǎng)歌劇團(tuán)《仍然存在的美麗》的基本概念，但把它用數(shù)碼技術(shù)這個(gè)“粒子加速器”狠狠地推了一把?！陡缓⒆樱旱潞谔m購(gòu)物中心的歷史》（Rich Kids： A History of Shopping Malls in Tehran）由兩位現(xiàn)居英國(guó)的劇場(chǎng)創(chuàng)作人——賈瓦德·阿里普爾（Javaad Alipoor）與柯斯蒂·霍斯利（Kirsty Housley）在Zoom上講述了一個(gè)真實(shí)的、關(guān)于兩個(gè)持有特權(quán)的伊朗年輕人因吸毒而引發(fā)的車(chē)禍。敘事充滿(mǎn)戲劇性，死者推崇的享樂(lè)主義及奢華的生活細(xì)節(jié)，都在線上圖片共享應(yīng)用程序Instagram上顯示出來(lái)——盡管這些圖片都是劇作家虛構(gòu)出來(lái)的。

想要完全理解這個(gè)故事，你的眼球要不停地轉(zhuǎn)來(lái)轉(zhuǎn)去，一會(huì)兒看著電腦屏幕，一會(huì)兒瀏覽手機(jī)應(yīng)用程序上推送的照片。很可惜，兩者在演出期間不總是完全同步的。但這些駭人的、接二連三推出的小道消息有效地編織出一個(gè)復(fù)雜社會(huì)的大圖景。在一個(gè)小時(shí)的演出時(shí)長(zhǎng)里，一層層的參考資料堆疊在一起，它們互相碰撞，令觀眾感官爆炸，就像面臨車(chē)禍時(shí)的那種驚心動(dòng)魄。

《打電話》是應(yīng)新冠疫情而生的新作品，《富孩子》的原始版本早已在曼徹斯特國(guó)際藝術(shù)節(jié)的舞臺(tái)上亮相。觀眾的眼光經(jīng)常要從舞臺(tái)上轉(zhuǎn)移至手機(jī)顯示的Instagram程序上，后者簡(jiǎn)直就是視覺(jué)上的疲勞轟炸。很奇怪，我看（由倫敦巴特西藝術(shù)中心委約的）線上版本一點(diǎn)都感覺(jué)不到換轉(zhuǎn)媒體具有事后添加之嫌?；ヂ?lián)網(wǎng)更像是《富孩子》真正的歸宿。

雖然我沒(méi)有看過(guò)舞臺(tái)版的《富孩子》，但我可以想象得到觀眾們的抱怨：“這么多年來(lái)一進(jìn)劇場(chǎng)，工作人員就叮囑我們要把手機(jī)關(guān)上?，F(xiàn)在要我們必須保持開(kāi)機(jī)嗎？還要求我們?cè)谘莩銎陂g玩手機(jī)？”也許掏錢(qián)看藝術(shù)節(jié)的觀眾們比較前衛(wèi)，但我的確在紐約現(xiàn)場(chǎng)歌劇團(tuán)演出期間目睹過(guò)類(lèi)似的情況。

新冠疫情發(fā)生的前一年，現(xiàn)場(chǎng)歌劇團(tuán)在一個(gè)露宿者收容所里搬演了梅諾蒂的《阿馬爾與夜來(lái)客》（Amahl and the Night Visitors），利用電腦軟件直接將字幕發(fā)送到觀眾的手機(jī)里。約半數(shù)的觀眾拒絕利用這個(gè)新程序。不幸的是，這部分觀眾連節(jié)目介紹信息也無(wú)法看到，因?yàn)楣?jié)目單都同樣被數(shù)字化了，只顯示在手機(jī)上。

兩年的光景是一段很長(zhǎng)的時(shí)間。我們現(xiàn)在探討的科技與程序，到了劇院重開(kāi)、舞臺(tái)演出復(fù)蘇的時(shí)候，可能早已物是人非了。本年度很多舉辦了現(xiàn)場(chǎng)演出的團(tuán)體不再提供紙質(zhì)的節(jié)目單了，改為運(yùn)用投影科技提供字幕與節(jié)目介紹。那些缺乏設(shè)備的劇場(chǎng)大可以模仿現(xiàn)場(chǎng)歌劇團(tuán)，鼓勵(lì)觀眾利用手機(jī)；而那些在投影藝術(shù)方面能夠發(fā)揮創(chuàng)意、本身不依靠昂貴布景而蓬勃發(fā)展的小團(tuán)體，如果當(dāng)中有具有創(chuàng)意的團(tuán)員懂得在小屏幕上締造出吸引觀眾的生動(dòng)的平行世界，那么連租賃昂貴的投影機(jī)的費(fèi)用都可以省掉了。

直至一切再次恢復(fù)的那一天，我們很難預(yù)測(cè)哪些新發(fā)展會(huì)持續(xù)下去，哪幾樣是只屬于暫時(shí)性的文化措施。但可以肯定地說(shuō)，未來(lái)的表演藝術(shù)形式會(huì)怎樣演變，觀眾會(huì)有如何的感應(yīng)，就要看有多少年輕藝術(shù)家用心發(fā)掘通信科技的潛能了。

Is it just me， or is everyone getting a little tired of sitting in front of a computer screen？ Not that opera lovers have much choice these days. Even the few companies that did manage to get to a proper stage this year have wound up closing shop and marking time through the next lockdown. And unfortunately， few of those Covid-proof productions could ever be confused with what we used to call opera.

So were still stuck with livestreams from the Metropolitan Opera and a handful of other houses， a double-barreled reminder of how opera used to be and how long it will probably be—if ever—before those times return. Somewhere between my third Ring Cycle and my fourth time through the “Met in HD” stream of John Adamss Nixon in China I kept thinking， There has to be more than this.

Fortunately， it seems some people have heard me. In the past couple of months， a few enterprising young producers， realizing that the opera world has traded the stage for the laptop，have started reminding us that we also have smartphones. Two recent productions from New Yorks On Site Opera have provided additional methods of home delivery， namely the telephone and the old-fashioned mailbox.

Admittedly， To My Distant Love and The Beauty That Still Remains are a bit of gimmick. Truth be told， they arent even operas. The first was actually a 20-minute song cycle by Beethoven， performed live over the phone as a “private message” to one audience member at a time （ticket buyers had the choice of hearing soprano Jennifer Zetlan or baritone Mario Diaz-Moresco）. The second， subtitled“Diaries in Song，” was a more ambitious trio of song cycles （Janá？eks Diary of One Who Disappeared， Dominick Argentos From the Diary of Virginia Woolf， and Julia Halls A World Turned Upside Down）， packaged in a small mailing box with separate envelopes serving as concert programs， along with actual replicas of the diaries， various items （family photos， dried flowers） mentioned therein， and the QR code and URL for the prerecorded audio.

A gimmick， yes， but a clever one channeling the communal immediacy of immersive theatre into a private tactile experience. Id lay odds that neither “phone opera” nor “opera by mail” will become standard performance practice after theatres reopen， but it did make me wonder： With so many new technologies and media platforms now available， how much further can “stage”productions go？

I didnt have to wait very long. This was the first time in many years Id been in New York during January， when New Yorks Public Theater （the de facto national theatre of the US） presents its annual genre-busting Under the Radar Festival. Funny thing is， this year I didnt even have to be in New York， since this festivals offerings had migrated entirely to the internet. But two productions in particular carefully followed and augmented On Sites socially distanced tactics.

The first， A Thousand Ways （Part One）： A Phone Call by the experimental theatre troupe 600 Highwaymen （a.k.a. writer/creators Abigail Browde and Michael Silverstone）， was not just distanced but long-distanced. Like On Sites Distant Love， it involved an actual phone call， though in this case the person on the other end of the line was a fellow audience member. Unlike the Beethoven cycle—which， medium notwithstanding， was a traditionally unidirectional artistic experience—A Phone Call was a supremely interactive work where two anonymous strangers engaged in a conversation triggered by an automated voice prompt. Following questions like “What are four words that described you as a child？” and narrative scenarios like “Youre driving in the desert together and the car breaks down，” each conversation partner becomes both audience and performer—the latter offering much room for creative fabrication since neither party has the means to gauge the others veracity. In the course of an hour， A Phone Call laid bare the tolls of pandemic isolation， with both parties moving along a well-guided path that triggered conversation and narrative imagination， as well as fostering connection and establishing trust—in short， the very social skills that have often gone dormant in many people this year.

Likewise， another Under the Radar production took the basic concept of On Sites Beauty That Still Remains and essentially put it through a digital particle accelerator. Rich Kids： A History of Shopping Malls in Tehran， featured its UK-based creators Javaad Alipoor and Kirsty Housley on Zoom narrating the true story of two young， privileged Iranians and their cocaine-fueled car crash with all the dramatic， hedonistic details of conspicuous consumption colorfully documented in a fictional feed on the photo-sharing app Instagram.

Following the story in full required bouncing back and forth between a computer screen and a smartphone， which alas were not always in synch. Much more connected was how these lurid tabloid threads wove together into a much more elaborate sociological tapestry. Layers of references compounded and collided for nearly an hour， with the resulting sensory overload inspiring much the same feeling as the impending crash.

Unlike A Phone Call， which was developed during the pandemic and largely inspired as a reaction to it， Rich Kids was originally a live theatre piece for the Manchester International Arts Festival where audience members had to shift attention regularly from the live performers minimalist delivery to Instagrams visual overkill. And yet， the online version commissioned by Londons Battersea Arts Centre seemed to be less of an afterthought than the storys true home.

Though I didnt see Rich Kids live， I can already hear the audience complaining： After years of being told to turn off our mobile phones in the theatre， we now have to keep them on？ And play with them during the show？ Maybe I misjudge the festival crowd， but thats pretty much what I saw happen at， yes， an On Site Opera production in New York.

A year before the pandemic， On Site staged a production of Menottis Amahl and the Night Visitors in a homeless shelter using software that streamed surtitles directly to peoples phones. About half the audience refused. Unfortunately， they never got any other production information either， since concert programs were only delivered digitally as well.

But two years is a long time， and this may all change by the time live performances return. Many venues that did present events this year stopped handing out paper entirely， similarly using projections not just for surtitle translations but also to announce all program information. Less-equipped venues， though， could follow On Site and simply ask audiences to leave your phone on. Smaller companies—the very ones that thrive on projection designs instead of costly sets—wouldnt even need the expensive projectors if enough enterprising artists create vivid parallel worlds on the small screen.

Its still hard to tell which new developments will stick around and which are simply place holders till we get our act together. But safe to say， much of how performances of the future will look and feel depends on how many young artists keep phoning it in.