Doubt

I am not an opera veteran.  I balked at the price tag for most Minnesota Opera seats. I decided to go with the cheapest option for the closing performance of Doubt, a partial view seat for roughly $30. When I arrived at will call, I was in luck.  There were several open holes in the orchestra section, seats far above my pay grade, and I was offered a beautiful vantage point from which to view my first Minnesota Opera production.  I don't assume that I'd luck out similarly for other shows, but there are perks to flying solo to such events.

Nifty seat aside, I could have been facing a blank wall and been happy. The timbre and power of the vocal performances by the principals was simply stunning.  Doubt is a wonderfully accessible opera given that it's sung in English (and I've seen the movie).  While translation is still provided, it was usually unnecessary.  The clarity of emotion was perfect, with each character offering their own personal perspective on what is certain, and what is not.

Part of the power of the story lies in its isolation.  While the students involved move between The Church and The World daily, one is struck immediately by the confined environment inhabited by the sisters and Father Flynn.  While the Father has loosened many constraints following Vatican II, Sister Aloysius operates within a seemingly impenetrable fortress of moral righteousness. Her perspective does not require truth, only certainty.  Sister James, by contrast, appears the weaker of the two, burdened by a vision of the world that is not proven by absolutes.  She loves her students, empathizes with their pain and that of a potentially wronged priest. She wishes aloud that she could have the certainty of Sister Aloysius, while the audience shudders at such a thought.  Because such "certainty" as proclaimed by the elder nun, oftentimes seems so bent on superiority over truth.  Is she genuinely concerned for the welfare of the children, the school's first black student in particular, or is she merely vengeful against a hierarchy she has come to distrust?

The black student's mother, Mrs. Miller, provides a perspective that is equal parts desperate and disgusting. To watch a mother seemingly acquiesce to the idea that her son may be the victim of abuse should be appalling.  But paired with that resignation is the plea of a mother who sees her son as desperate for male attention given the lack of love from his father.  Additionally, she sees a son with one shining hope of an education, and perhaps that education is worth a few emotional scars.  Like the other characters, Mrs. Miller provides a study of what we feel we know to be true. If one believes that one's child is in an environment of abuse, how can one stand by? But learning the background of young Donald's home life, hearing of his heartbreak when Father Flynn changes parishes, one is forced, yet again, to wonder if perhaps there is truth in a gray area.

By the end of the show, nothing is truly resolved.  One never finds out for sure whether Father Flynn had a history of suspicious relationships with children or if that suspicion was the product of changing times, of a Father who saw himself as a friend and bosom companion to his flock while many still held to the formality and separation that preceded Vatican II. The beacon of certainty, Sister Aloysius, falters in the end when she wails, "I have such doubts."  And as an audience we are left wondering if a man was falsely accused, or if a predator has been merely shuffled to his next school of prey.

The emotional tug of that uncertainty is a triumph onstage.  Visually stunning, the set moves in and out of shadows, lights occasionally spotlighting an uncomfortable Father Flynn as if he were a criminal under the glare of questioning.  The steady roll between scenes increased the feeling that these are a series of events unfolding over a short period of time.  A matter of weeks or months. A pocket of time in which enormous damage is done and/or perhaps avoided. That movement of time allows one to witness Sister Aloysius as she convinces herself to greater and greater degree of the Father's guilt.  Sister James asks her if she ever proved it to anyone but herself, a question Sister Aloysius dismisses as unworthy of an answer. Why would convincing someone other than herself be important?

The uneasiness of the conclusion did not dampen the audience's exuberant applause.  If anything, it was nice to feel assured of something, even if that assurance was merely that we'd witnessed great talent ask great questions.

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