Tomorrow, In A Year, the opera-writing debut of Swedish brother-sister electronica duo The Knife, produced in collaboration with Danish theatre company Hotel Pro Forma (and Berlin based musicians Mt. Sims and Planningtorock) made its stage debut in Scandinavia ten months ago in order to mark the bicentenary of the birth of its subject Charles Darwin.
In the time that it’s taken from then to tonight’s British premiere at the Barbican the show has toured various venues around Europe and been committed to CD in a slightly altered ’studio version‘ – although, it must be said that with the live performance being based around a backing track of pre-recorded music, the only significant difference between the two is the absence of the vocals from The Knife themselves (even then traces of those vocals remain with numerous lines included on the backing track, rendering the on-stage performers’ singing somewhat uncanny as it raises the question as to whether we’re actually hearing them sing at all or if it’s just a recording – apparently an intentional homage by the band to the Club Silencio scene from David Lynch’s Mulholland Drive).
Taking place in the smaller theatre space in the Barbican, and with the lack of orchestra taking up space in front of the stage, the audience are given the unusual opportunity in an opera to be so close to the singers that they can see them spit. Hardly surprising that this is the case considering the vocal force that comes out of mezzo-soprano Kristina Wahlin’s small frame as she slowly steps onto the stage to open the show.
Soon Wahlin is joined by musical theatre actress Laerke Winthe and with the two actresses supposedly portraying The Past, and The Future this might give an idea of the cold, abstract nature of Tomorrow, in a Year, being as it is an opera based more around ideas than narrative. Caught in the middle of these two formidable women is pop-singer Jonathan Johansson playing the only character – in the traditional sense – of the opera, Charles Darwin himself. It would be a lie to claim that Johansson is an obvious choice for playing the great scientist, what with his fey and pretty looks (complete with a Morrissey-esque quiff), however his clear and cool voice, and twitchy stage manner means he has the presence to carry the audience’s interest. Johansson also has to deal with the dispassionate glance of a group of six dancers, all extremely attractive in a statuesque, Scandinavian kind of way who, representing as they do the vastness of nature, take on a variety of roles starting with the elements Darwin studied on his geological field trips, later mimicking the movements of various species of birds, and at one point one of them may or may not take on the part of a member of the Darwin family – perhaps his young daughter Annie, who’s tragically early death plays a major role in the libretto (which is largely drawn from Darwin’s own writings).
Although the audience is largely left to their own devices to figure out what exactly is going on some clues are provided in the use of the props that the actors handle – starting and ending on a small lump of green and going on to feature children’s’ toys and even a surf board wielded during Darwin’s voyage on the Beagle, which takes up the first of the opera’s four parts (proving that the show, although cold and serious, isn’t entirely lacking in a sense of humour).
The question as to how to turn scientific theory into a thrilling spectacle is a tricky one to answer, so directors Ralf Richardt Strobech and Kirsten Dehlholm deploy all manner of tricks ranging from gestures performed by the actors – at one point Wahlin brandishes a laser pen to highlight the diagrams of birds on screen and the mid-point of the evening is marked by a short reading from Darwin’s The Power of Movements in Plants performed by Winthe (the only part of the show that diverts significantly from the recorded version and, it must be said, the slowest part of the night) – to dazzling moments of design such as where Johansson represents Darwin’s studies of plant growth by carefully arranging buckets of dry ice and mirrors to catch the glare of laser beams crossing the stage.
It could be said that the technical aspects of the show are just as much a star as the performers, not least because the music is played with bass levels so loud that it is felt as much as it is heard. During the standout number Colouring of Pigeons the vast wall that forms the bulk of the set opens up to reveal an array of flashing lighting, providing a sensation not far removed from that of being at a rock gig, albeit with a more well-behaved audience. The set design makes very few attempts to disguise the machinery behind it, and often seems to celebrate its artificial nature which – to make reference to that most clichéd item of Swedish culture – means there is a definite Ikea feel to proceedings, with the contrast of the functional in the exposed metal framing of set, the high-tech in the large asymmetrical projection screen that the cast move around and interact with during the show, and the handmade in the soft, knitted fabrics worn by most members of the cast (particularly Johansson’s fetchingly chunky, mustard-coloured cardigan).
It wouldn’t be much of a jump to conclusions to claim that many members of the audience here might be experiencing a live opera for their first time tonight, probably enticed by the rare opportunity to catch The Knife’s music performed live (even if the duo aren’t in attendance themselves), judging by their relative youth and the fact that many have decided to wear band t-shirts to the show and considering this, it’s ironic that it is a particularly tricky opera to understand.
The accompanying programme notes mention a variety of comparisons with the likes of Scott Walker, Klaus Nomi and, most aptly, Philip Glass’ Einstein on the Beach, and it could be said that Tomorrow, in a Year is the latest in the unlikely genre of the scientific opera, borrowing the repetitive minimalism of the first of Glass’ biographical operas and the found text method of libretto writing featured in John Adams’ Doctor Atomic. Ultimately it’s difficult to say how much of a success the piece is – in order to accurately judge it would be necessary for the viewer to have a rare mix of interests in electronic and pop music, opera, and contemporary dance (and a knowledge of the life and works of Darwin would probably also prove beneficial), however, even if it is difficult to fully comprehend, Tomorrow, in a Year is never less than fascinating.
As the evening draws on the cold, hard and brittle music becomes full of genuine emotion, just like the very best moments of The Knife’s own records (and it could be argued that compared to their previous album Silent Shout and its accompanying live show Tomorrow, in a Year is downright warm and cuddly), and the efficient, yet beautiful staging packs many dazzling moments into the show’s relatively short running time.
