A few years back, I read James Kaplan’s two volume biography of Frank Sinatra. I’ve been a Sinatra fan since I was a senior in high school. That’s when I discovered Harry Connick, Jr, through the When Harry Met Sally soundtrack. My Dad purchased for me the then newly released Sinatra: The Capitol Years cassettes (yes, that’s right. Not CDs, but cassettes. That should date this conversation). His thinking, if you like this Connick kid, then it’s time for you to sit at the grown-up table. Come and listen to who set the standard. Those cassettes were basically a greatest hits compilation of Frank’s time at Capitol Records….basically the 1950s. I was surprised, because the hits that I had previously known of Frank (you know, the ones everyone knows), My Way; New York, New York; Fly Me to the Moon weren’t on this collection. But what I was introduced, via the excellent accompanying booklet were names like Gordon Jenkins, Billy May…and, of course, most exalted of all……Nelson Riddle. From those tapes, I fell in love with Sinatra, and a few years later, when, as a music major, I first tried my hand at arranging music, Nelson Riddle became like a god. Note: lower case g. Not capitalized. Nelson wasn’t the true God, but definitely a lesser deity.
I can’t remember what in particular drew me to Kaplan’s biography. I think it was just a desire to know more about the man whose music I’d love for so long. And to get the full story. I had since bought my own Sinatra albums, but with the exception of It Might As Well Be Swing, the Quincy Jones-arranged collaboration with Count Basie from the mid 1960s, all the ones I owned were from the same time period as those original cassettes. I had Come Fly With Me, the breezey, whimsical “around the world” concept album with Billy May, and Only the Lonely, the BREATH-TAKING collection of ballads of loss, arranged by Nelson Riddle. There’s a good chance Only the Lonely will never be equalled in terms of pathos, sentiment, drama. I could write a blog just about that. But as for the rest of Sinatra, I didn’t know much. Knew he had been married to Ava Gardner and Mia Farrow (amongst others), knew he had at least two kids (Nancy and Jr.), knew he started with Harry James and then Tommy Dorsey, heard that his career was washed up before getting a role in From Here to Eternity…..and that was about it. I didn’t know why his output beginning in the mid 60s, wasn’t as good as before. Or why he worked with Don Costa more than Nelson Riddle from then on. So I turned to Kaplan.
The purpose of this blog is not about Frank Sinatra nor James Kaplan, so I’ll shortly move on from them. The reason I bring the books up are, they are not the sanitized “authorized” celebrity biographies you sometimes find. For example, I recently read Bob Thomas’ biography of Walt Disney. It’s very readable and enlightened me about who Walt was. But it also tread lightly with regarding anything questionable or edgy. It showed Walt as not always being pleasant, or difficult to work with…..but it definitely stayed away from pushing the envelope, if you will.
Then there are the other type of celebrity biographies, the ones that proclaim “Unauthorized” in sensational, eye-getting type right on the cover. Frank definitely received that type of coverage, still in his lifetime. The most infamous is Kitty Kelley’s His Way, which came out in the 1980s. Many in that vein have to be taken with a grain of salt, as the credibility of sources is not always reliable. Well, Kaplan’s biography gave a full treatment of Sinatra, warts and beauty at the same time. And his impeccable research showed where previous “tell all” biographies weren’t accurate. He exposed myths in the Sinatra legend, both those promoted by Frank and his crew, and those expounded by his critics. What Kaplan masterfully pulled off was a detailed, nuanced portrait in full detail of a brilliant artist with glaring personal flaws. It reminded me of the famous conductor Arturo Toscanini’s quote about German composer Richard Strauss. Toscanini was outspokenly anti-Fascist, and in speaking of how Strauss composed music for the Berlin 1936 Olympics and accepted a cultural position in the Third Reich, he stated, “To Richard Strauss, the composer, I take off my hat. To Richard Strauss, the man, I put it on again.” That’s how I came away feeling about Frank after devouring Kaplan. I now know his complete life, I knew where he came from, how he hit it big, the people he encountered along the way, his romances, his working relationships, his heroes, his enemies and more. But just as Kaplan was unsparing in the gory details that put Frank in a poor light, he also gave plenty of information in what made Frank great. He gave us the stories behind the music, and explained just what was so special about particular albums. It’s why, after finishing the books, I immediately increased my album collection. I now knew that I HAD to have In the Wee Small Hours (which may be better than Only the Lonely) and Songs for Swinging Lovers. Kaplan gave me the man in full. It may have made me never want to have known Sinatra….but it also increased my respect for his music. (Not to mention even increasing my admiration for Nelson Riddle….as if that was possible. He really comes across as a genius in Kaplan’s telling).
I’ll sum it up this way: James Kaplan’s biography on Frank Sinatra is the model of what an artist’s biography should be. It pulls no punches, but it also does not seek to tear down. Kaplan more than gives Frank his due. It answered for me, without a doubt, that age-old question: can you separate the art from the artist? The man had his flaws….but the music (particularly when Nelson Riddle was at the helm, at Capitol Records) is perfection. Kudos to Kaplan; that’s quite the feat to pull off.
Which brings me to the topic of today’s blog, a review of Ron Howard’s new documentary on the legendary Italian opera singer, Luciano Pavarotti.
Now, I must admit, I didn’t see Howard’s documentary about the Beatles from a few years back. I saw the preview for Pavarotti, while at Amherst Cinema a week ago, checking out a different documentary, Nureyev. Because I am a musician and not a dancer, Nureyev didn’t get the blog treatment from me. Luciano Pavarotti, however, instantly attracted me. Speaking of Nureyev, Pavarotti was kind of like Mikhail Baryshnikov. For pretty much my entire life, I was familiar with Pavarotti (just as I was Baryshnikov), but I had only a passing knowledge. Very large Italian singer, beard, big smile, was one of the Three Tenors, famously brought down the house with Nessun dorma. And I knew he had died some time relatively recently. But that was about all I knew. So, this seemed like a great way to learn about who Pavarotti really was.
Here’s what Ron Howard’s documentary does exceptionally well:
Seeing Pavarotti perform, seeing him rehearse, seeing him interviewed, hearing him in his own words. Basically, seeing this larger than life personality. Seeing pictures of him in his youth and breaking into the business…basically seeing Pavarotti without a beard. The archival interviews with Pavarotti, combined with interviews of peers, colleagues, and family really help you appreciate who the artist was. Those interviewed range from the other two tenors, Jose Carreras and Placido Domingo, to conductor Zubin Mehta, to his wives, daughter, and to his managers and promoters. Having opera singers explain what made Pavarotti’s voice so special was particularly enlightening. For example, I didn’t know that Pavarotti could deliver high Cs on command, or that that was a big deal. Apparently, his star was made when he nailed 9 high Cs, during performances of La Fille du Regiment in the 1960s. And fortunately for Ron Howard (and all of us), because Pavarotti was a star, singing in the world’s most celebrated Opera houses, there is quality footage of it. That’s part of what makes Howard’s documentary work so well. Good luck doing a documentary on Enrico Caruso or even Maria Callas. Where are you going to get the performance footage? Caruso, probably little exists, and Callas will be of poor quality. But I’m about to turn 46, and I distinctly recall seeing Pavarotti sing on TV. Howard has much to work with, from televised performances at the Met in New York, to the now legendary 1990 Three Tenors concert in Rome.
It’s not hard to see why audiences loved Pavarotti. The picture above tells the story. It’s funny that so many of his famed operatic roles were tragic, such as Pagliacci, or Rigoletto. Because, when you see Pavarotti, you see joy. In the documentary, one of Pavarotti’s daughters recalls how much her father loved performing L’elisir d’amore, because being a comic opera, he was able to share his joy in the role. And from the footage we see, Pavarotti was in ecstasy playing it.
Howard’s documentary moves chronologically. We have Pavarotti’s childhood, his early musical experiences, and how his father (a baker by trade, but also a fine tenor singer) recognized and encouraged Luciano. Father Pavarotti sent Luciano to study music. It brings up again that age old question of “nature or nurture.” For example, had Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart not been born to Leopold, a fine musician who recognized his son’s talents and had the knowledge of how to develop them, would we today have Mozart? Or had John Philip Sousa’s father not been a trombonist in the Marine Corp Band and thus JPS did not grow up around bands, would he then still become the March King? We can’t answer that, of course, but it is interesting to speculate if Pavarotti would’ve become….well, Pavarotti, if his parents had resisted music.
I bring this up now, and I’ll return to in greater depth later, but where Howard’s documentary struggles is….what’s not included. Or should I say, the questions not asked. Pavarotti’s childhood and music education is told by….Pavarotti. I don’t know of a reason to doubt him but I go back to Kaplan. Now granted, he was working with a two volume printed format; he had the time and space to probe deeper. Howard has a two hour documentary. But the point is, Kaplan didn’t accept Frank’s telling of his background. He did the research and set the record straight definitively. Again, I’m not saying Pavarotti needed a fact-checker, but it struck me how all of his origins were explained by Luciano himself; no objective voice was heard.
The parts left unsaid grew more luminous as the documentary progresses. We are introduced to Pavarotti’s business manager Herbert Breslin, and to different promoters, Hungarian-born Tibor Rudas, who comes across like P.T. Barnum meets Shep Gordon, and British promoter Harvey Goldsmith, whose background was in rock and roll. We see how (I think it was Breslin) comes up with the idea of sending Pavarotti out on a recital tour, through the middle of America. It begins in Liberty, MO, and we are told Pavarotti is terrified of performing out of costume, just on a stage; no opera role to “become.” He doesn’t know what to do with his hands, and its suggested to him, just hold a handkerchief. And thus, Pavarotti waving his white towel became a thing. Who knows if that’s really how it went down….but it makes for a good story!
I mention the recitals, because as the documentary progresses, we see less of Pavarotti in costume, and more of him in a tux. He’s not acting in opera, he’s giving concert hall (and later, stadium) performances, in front of an orchestra. We see him connecting with Princess Diana, we later see him staging concerts with pop and rock stars at his benefit in his hometown of Modena, and we even get Bono’s recollections of collaborating with the Maestro. And of course, we see this:
For anyone of my age, there’s no way you weren’t familiar with The Three Tenors. Its story is well-known, and since Pavarotti is two hours just on Luciano, it only gets 15 minutes or so of playing time. But what makes this memorable is getting the current recollections of Jose Carreras, Placido Domingo, and Zubin Mehta on it. I guess I never knew the full story; I didn’t realize it started as a fundraiser for Carreras’ leukemia foundation. And maybe other people had seen the rehearsal footage before. I hadn’t. So seeing Pavarotti, Carreras, and Domingo singing around a piano, while Mehta air-conducted…..it was like watching Babe Ruth take batting practice, Abraham Lincoln write the Gettysburg Address, Eisenhower reviewing D-Day landing plans. That moment was the highlight of the film: a drop-in on history. Howard gives us some footage of the first, Rome concert and it’s breath-taking. I’ve never seen the DVD, so I don’t know if people have seen these angles before. But the joy on not just the tenors’ faces, but that of conductor Mehta, as he mouths the words….that was memorable. We’re told of how the three tenors kept trying to top each other….and boy, do they ever. It’s like an NBA All-Star Game, where each star tries out-dazzle the other. I’m now convinced I need to buy the album and the video. It falls to Domingo to tell the story of how they had run out of music except Nessun dorma, and it hadn’t been decided who would sing it. And so….all three sang on it. And that was it for me. I’m not too proud to admit, I cried this afternoon, sitting in Theatre 2 of Amherst Cinema. Now….some of that is Puccini, who pretty much created perfection with that aria. (And it may have been the last thing he ever wrote. What a way to go out!) But seeing/hearing those three masters sing it, and the pure elation on their faces, along with that of Mehta and the orchestra….that did it for me. Bravo!
And that, in a nutshell is what makes Ron Howard’s Pavarotti work…..and what it’s flaws are. To put it simply, it’s a homage. There’s nothing inherently wrong with that. It’s a loving look at an artist. And not just any artist, but an artist of the very highest degree. We see him in all his glory. You can’t watch Pavarotti and not come away with an appreciation for how great Luciano Pavarotti is. You understand what made him special, you share in the exuberance. You see a man who considered himself blessed with talent, and wanted to share it with the world. You saw a man who loved life and brought joy. It made me want to buy his music. So….was what I watched a two hour promotional video for Luciano Pavarotti. Well no….but it does make you wonder what’s not being said.
I’ll freely admit, perhaps if I had never read Kaplan’s Sinatra biographies, I wouldn’t feel this way. But I did read those, and so, as I watched Pavarotti, I kept thinking….so what’s the catch? Now, please understand me, I am not saying that there has to be a dark side to Luciano Pavarotti. I’m not looking for dirt to be upturned, just for the sake of finding any skeletons…of which there may not be any. Pavarotti may have been as wonderful a human being as he was a musician. That’s entirely possible. But he’s also human. We all have flaws. Were Pavarotti’s flaws as disturbing’s as Sinatra? Well, that’s the thing….Howard barely lets us know. And again, Kaplan’s books are not a hit-job on Frank. He absolutely gives Sinatra his due. But he also documents the problems. Pavarotti reminded me of that Bob Thomas biography of Walt Disney: it brings up critiques, but it doesn’t stay there long. So what do we find out about Pavarotti that might be negative?
We know Luciano Pavarotti was married and had three daughters. All of them are interviewed. Seems like he’s a wonderful father, but is also gone quite a bit. That’s to be expected; he’s becoming an opera star. You can’t do all that from the comfort of home. We see footage of Pavarotti teaching a masterclass at Juilliard. And as a sidenote, to my band director friends, look carefully at the scene. Pavarotti is introduced by Juilliard president Peter Mennin, as in the composer of the band classic Canzona We then get present day interviews with one of the Juilliard students who performed for Pavarotti in that masterclass, Madelyn Renee. She explains how Pavarotti offered to teach her, if she would be his assistant. We hear stories of how she provided tea for him backstage, of how demanding Pavarotti was, and how he always was terrified before going on stage. We then hear Renee talk about how Pavarotti would pull her on stage, so she could sing with him. It all sounds great….and it inevitably leads to her saying they became lovers.
Later on in the film. after the Three Tenors segment, when Pavarotti is staging benefit concerts with pop stars, we are introduced to Nicolette Montovani. She’s 30-some years younger than Pavarotti, but they will become an item. She will bear him a child, and they’ll be married. We get an interview with Pavarotti’s original wife, and she says she never believed any rumors of her husband having any affairs. We also hear from a daughter from the first marriage, saying how she didn’t want to see her father after the marriage broke up. Nicolette recalls that Luciano told her that his original marriage was long over. But here’s the thing…..Ron Howard skips over why that was the case. Based on what we saw, Pavarotti married and had a family. He has an affair with one of his assistants/pupils, and he later divorces his wife and marries Nicolette. So…..is that the full story? Again, Howard gave us Pavarotti’s first wife, saying that Luciano always denied any rumors. But what exactly were those rumors? This is where I bring up, what was left unsaid? Were there women besides Adua (his first wife), Madelyn Renee and Nicolette Mantovani? I don’t know enough to say either way. And one of the reasons I don’t know anymore is based on what Ron Howard doesn’t give us. He just gives us enough to know that Pavarotti was married, had a relationship with a protege, and then married someone 30 years younger. In fact, when Pavarotti is dying of pancreatic cancer, we hear how everyone in his life is there. His first wife, his second, all his daughters, and even granddaughter. There’s apparently been a resolution, so that Luciano can die withy everything taken care of. Perhaps that was the case. But if it wasn’t, there’s no way of knowing through this film. Howard doesn’t go asking for anything beyond what we see. Kaplan “went there,” whereas Howard restricted what his lens took in.
And that’s my biggest problem with Pavarotti. I speculate, reading between the lines, due to what wasn’t shown. We get the voice of the critics, as Pavarotti’s star ascends. But then, as his career enters its later stages, those tend to be limited. We’re told critics questioned why an opera star would collaborate with pop and rock musicians. We see the joy of Pavarotti performing at his benefit, with Sting, and later, U2. We hear Bono tell the story of how Pavarotti got him to write a song for the collaboration. But what we didn’t get was……was it any good? The footage of these performances is very limited. It appears all were enjoying themselves. But I have to admit, I don’t recall hearing U2 and Luciano Pavarotti performing together. This was sometime in the early 1990s; if it was a hit, it would’ve been on the radio. I remember the beginning of Green Day, I remember Hootie and the Blowfish, I remember Alanis Morrisette. I remember U2 always on the radio. But I don’t recall them and Pavarotti. Maybe I missed it, which is entirely possible.
Similarly, there is vey brief coverage of a late in his career Pavarotti tour that didn’t go so well. We’re told Pavarotti’s voice wasn’t what it once was, and that he missed some notes. But we never see the footage, we only hear from one expert. We don’t see the news clipping. What we get instead is Bono, excusing any slips now made, based on what the artist did in the totality of his career. While I get that….it still is a “What have you done for me lately?” business. I probably shouldn’t keep going back to Kaplan, but he points out that Sinatra singing in stadiums in the 1980s was long cry from the halcyon glory of those Capitol records with Riddle. The album’s grandeur is not diminished, but a Sinatra forgetting the words, not reaching the notes wasn’t the same thing. I get it, it happens. If you’re a sports fan, how many times have you seen that story play out? How many once-great pitchers have you seen hit around, their once blazing fastball no longer quite so fiery. It’s part of the business. But to only give brief coverage to this part of Pavarotti’s career, to me….that’s leaving out the story in full. For example, the Maestro had to lip-synch Nessun dorma during the opening ceremonies of the 2006 Olympic Winter Games in Turin, he was so sick with pancreatic cancer at that point. That’s all understandable; I don’t think anyone would criticize Pavarotti for it. But leaving out the hard, sad truths of the artist’s life, the uncomfortable ones or just the melancholy ones (such as the Olympics), it just feels like the subject isn’t a picture in full.
Yes, I get it, there’s only two hours that Ron Howard had available. And I don’t have problems believing Pavarotti was a good person. We see his commitment to using his celebrity and talent for benevolent causes. We see benefit concerts, we see him opening schools, we see his work with children, particularly in war-torn Sarajevo. He seems a socially-conscious artist. All of this is good. But no person is perfect. And mind you, I’m not calling for a “hatchet job” done on Pavarotti. There’s a reason I’ve never read Kitty Kelley’s His Way. Kaplan’s superb research reveals where some of her claims about Sinatra just don’t hold up. There’s no question Pavarotti was a musical artist of rare talent and is justly celebrated. Howard gives us plenty of moments to savor. And he obviously used his success to give back. All of that absolutely deserves laurels. But if there are warts, unpleasantness, chinks in the armor if you will, those probably should also be included. It’s not to tear down the artist; it’s to present him in full.
The lack of critical commentary is what really held Pavarotti back. I’m not talking about seedy details about Pavarotti’s personal life. I’ve mentioned that I feel like that area is only gently touched upon. But if Pavarotti is a portrait of a musical genius, the critical element is an important part of the full story. As I mentioned, as his career (and the movie) progressed, we see less of Pavarotti in opera costume, and more in a tuxedo in concert. What did the opera community think of that? Jealous? A feeling that he had neglected the art? There have been numerous critics of the Three Tenors concept, yet we never heard from them. I came away with the impression that Luciano Pavarotti was the Louis Armstrong of opera. That’s not a negative. Both were considered virtuosos. Both were beloved, engaging entertainers. They had personalities that filled up rooms. Howard gives us clips of Pavrotti on television with Johnny Carson and Phil Donahue, and he is full of life. Though much of Louis Armstrong’s career predates television, you can find him on Ed Sullivan and the like. But just as Pavarotti seemed to become more a concert performer and less an opera star, so Louis Armstrong became an institution. Be-bop and Cool had come on the scene, but Louis’ music was still the same. He was, if anything, safe. The similarities are striking. Both were large people, both were open about loving to eat, both always performed in tuxes, and both had a smile that lit up the entire room. Heck, they both used handkerchiefs as part of their indelible on-stage persona!
Howard shows us how much Pavarotti gave back. As social change came across America, Armstrong was sometimes castigated for being too close to the white establishment. Yet he was outspoken when he didn’t feel President Eisenhower had done enough to help with the integration of Little Rock High School.
But if the image we best remember of Pavarotti is in concert, big smile, booming voice, the joy of belting out arias in front of an orchestra, then what we know of Louis Armstrong is singing in that gravely voice, dabbing his forehead with that handkerchief, and jamming out with a Dixieland combo. He was doing this in the 1960s, at the same time that John Coltrane was shattering the boundaries of what jazz was. Both, in a way, had become detached from their art. I guess I should rephrase that. I don’t mean that Pavarotti and Armstrong weren’t artists. They were, and of the highest degree. But what I mean is, Pavarotti at some point was not performing so many opera roles as he was singing arias in giant concerts. It was sort of “Opera’s greatest hits”, but it wasn’t playing a leading role in opera, so much. Same with Armstrong. At a time when jazz was going into new, different directions, when you had Miles, Trane, Dexter Gordon, Thelonious Monk and so many more on the scene, Louis was doing his thing. What both of them were seems to be ambassadors for their art. They were the most famous, globally recognizable figures in their genre. People who wouldn’t know who was starring in an upcoming performance of Don Giovanni at the Met would recognize Pavarotti. I bet Stan Getz could walk down a street and go completely unrecognized. But I would think Louis Armstrong would’ve been mobbed. Just look at what they did as cultural ambassadors! Armstrong toured the world on trips sponsored by the State Department. They shared their art with the masses, and it worked because of who they were. They had a personality that was joyous, that just affected people. Sure, we can question the artistic choices at time. I’ve mentioned how Howard gives some screen time to the complaints of Pavarotti performing with pop/rock artists at his festival. Armstrong made albums such as a collection of tunes from Disney movies…..which, by the way, is really fun. It just stands out as a sore thumb occurring in the same time as John Coltrane. Call them ambassadors of their art for the masses. And just as purists may have decried Pavarotti’s collaborations or Armstrong’s act, how many people did it introduce their idiom to? I can’t speak to whether there were better tenors than Pavarotti. Just as I can’t say who was better than Armstrong. But ask this: was anyone ever more popular, globally famous, better know or commercially successful in their fields than Luciano Pavarotti and Louis Armstrong?
And so, that’s why, despite my concerns about Pavarotti not being a portrait in full, I can definitely recommend seeing the film. Because….well, because it’s Luciano Pavarotti! It’s an intimate look at a masterful performer. You get to see what made Pavarotti.,…well, Pavarotti. You hear the music, you feel the joy. Now, whether the man was radically different from the persona, that’s the difference between what James Kaplan wrote and what Ron Howard directed. But for two hours at a film, it is enough. Is Pavarotti a work of opera fanboy-ism. Sure, I can allow that. But you can get away with that when your subject is Luciano Pavarotti. If you’ve never seen Pavarotti before, this film is a gateway to seeing what he was all about. If you’re like me and knew him, but weren’t sure what the big deal was, this movie works great. If you loved Pavarotti and just want to see him again, go see the film. And if you’re looking for the full story of who he was…..sure, check it out. You’ll hear how he was brought up, how got into music, and learn some of his personal background. Now whether that’s the full story…..that’s a biography of Pavarotti that will have to wait. Perhaps there is a James Kaplan ready to take on that assignment.
In the meantime, enjoy Pavarotti. It may be a bit of hero-worship…..but when that hero can produce such art, you just have to go with it. I’ll end this blog the way Ron Howard did the documentary. You could’ve seen it coming a mile away. Through all the film, the only time we ever heard Nessun dorma was the joint performance by the Three Tenors. But as the screen time neared conclusion, Howard let Luciano end his story in the most predictable, yet completely appropriate and wholly enjoyable way possible. Bravo, Maestros Pavarotti and Howard. Maestro Pavarotti, the floor is yours.
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