Currently I’m reading Thomas Mann’s novel Jospeh and his Brothers. I cam across it recently quite by accident, and because I enjoyed some of his other work many years ago I decided to give it a try. It really is very interesting, and given its extraordinary length (ca. 1,500 pages) it seems admirably suited to a period of involuntary isolation. Will I complete it before the date of my release? I’m taking no bets.
My wife is currently enjoying (enduring?) a bout of clearing out accumulated “stuff” of one kind or another, and unearthed an old video-tape of Joseph and his Amazing Technicolour Dreamcoat–that terrific musical by Andrew Lloyd Webber and Tim Rice.* It is really remarkable to see how a good story can inspire such very different interpretations.
I don’t remember ever seeing this particular version before . (It is the one with Donny Osmond in the title role.) What I did remember in anticipation of viewing the tape was a version I saw at the Bradford Alhambra many years ago. By comparison I found the tape version to be pretty inferior. Given such a star-studded cast I found myself wondering why that should be.
The trouble with the Osmond version is that they have thrown at it every possible trick of the trade. It is just too glitzy, too colourful, too busy and too sexy. The delight of the original version lies in the cleverness of the lyrics and the imaginative character of the succession of pastiches of various musical genres. Sometimes, in order to realise their distinctive quality, it is necessary to allow them a very spare presentation. To over-dress the cafe chantant sequence of Do you remember the good years in Caanan, for example, is to ruin the effect altogether. Similarly, to pad out that wonderful Elvis impression in the interpretation of Pharoah’s dreams with a bloated chorus-line sequence is to divert attention entirely from the point of it all. Less means more.
Thinking about this today I was reminded of several aspects of the history of European painting. I am very fond of some mediaeval art, with its simple dignity. The ancient frescos of Ravenna also have a simplicity that actually contributes to their power. When the Renaissance begins to elaborate the basic and essential images of religious art by adding a “backing group” of saints and an entirely superfluous chorus of angels I cringe. I’m actually turned off by the Baroque and flee in horror from the Roccoco.
The motto we often used to advise students who turned in essays of unnecessarily convoluted prose was summed up in the acronym KISS–keep it simple, stupid!** In so many areas of cultural life, less means more.
*Yes: we still have all the old technology. As I was cooking tonight I listened to my old Miles Davis tapes.
**I’m sorry to say that I was once one of those!