For their second opera of the season, Opera McGill performed Blond Eckbert by composer and librettist Judith Weir, a piece that blends elements of fairy tale and horror. Based on a German short story of the same name by Ludwig Tieck, the tale centres around Eckbert’s wife, Berthe (MacKenzie Sechi/Maddalena Ohrbach), as she recounts her tragic upbringing.  

As attendees settle in for the performance, the orchestra plays a blend of foreboding notes that creep along the floor, promising an unsettling evening. When the lights dim, an animation of a bird drawn in harsh pen strokes projected along the front of the room begins to fly. 

In an interview with The Tribune, Stage Director Sawyer Craig explained that these drawings were largely inspired by the illustrations of American writer Edward Gorey, who himself was a great influence on American director and animator Tim Burton. 

A figure cloaked in black fur, feathers, and a headpiece resembling a raven slowly walks up to the stage with deliberate, menacing movements that imitate the orchestra’s slicing violin. The Bird (Rebecca Gray/Len Crino) walks in a crouched position, glaring at audience members with sharp, avian turns of their head. The audience is immediately engaged, asking themselves who the creature is, their relevance, anticipating the moment they will begin to sing.

A couch, chairs, and a coffee table, all covered in white cloth, are scattered onstage. As the Bird begins to sing, Eckbert (Mihnea Nitu/Christopher Pitre-McBride) and Berthe uncover the furniture. Berthe wears a simple black dress; Eckbert is in black and white dress clothes, leaving the focus on the Bird. Even when silent, they are continuously moving. They perch on top of objects, glower at the audience, and hover around characters. The Bird is fascinating, acting as both the source of audience discomfort through their staring, but also comedic relief by rolling their eyes and pulling on the characters’ costumes.

Berthe begins to tell her story, singing of how she ran away from an abusive home life and ended up living with an old woman who, naturally, owned a magical bird that produced jewels—then she ran away again. Throughout Berthe’s story, the orchestra acts as a character in and of itself. Its music thickens the space with heavy anticipation, coaxing Berthe to continue speaking when the pain of her past leaves her speechless. At times, instruments took turns playing, the sharp violin and the clarinet sometimes stopping altogether to emphasize the weight of Berthe’s silence. 

Characters make optimal use of the room’s space, both mentally and physically engaging the audience by forcing them to shift in their seats with discomfort. At several points throughout the opera, characters appear and begin to sing on the balcony at the back of the room. The movement is uncomfortable. Audience members are no longer passive viewers, but participating in the story. Characters demand audience attention and the simple turn of one’s head is a form of submission. This transition implicates spectators in the questionable actions characters make, amplifying feelings of disturbance. 

The second act of the opera is filled with rash decisions and confusing conclusions. Someone dies of an unknown cause; Eckbert’s delusions drive him to murder, and so he runs away. In the last few moments of the opera, countless secrets are divulged—the most jarring being that Berthe is actually Eckbert’s sister. Eckbert slowly falls to the floor. His death is ambiguous; it is unclear if he dies from shock, an illness, or at the hands of the old woman. Either way, perhaps it’s for the best. The sharp shift from nearly an hour of build-up to a rapid succession of action is jarring. Although there is shock value in this dichotomy, it also feels incomplete, leaving the audience with questions they are forced to take home with them. 

Audience members, once getting past the fact that the opera’s lovers are siblings, are forced to reflect on the destructive nature of keeping secrets and the unreliability of perception. Our incredible fear of the unknown, coupled with the anxiety of rejection, drives us into silence. However, Blond Eckbert is a reminder that this silence is not safe. It’s violently haunting. 

Blond Eckbert played at the Elizabeth Wirth Music Building on Nov. 7 and 8.