In 2014, Pierre Audi signed a new production of Tosca. Together with set designer Christof Hetzer, he imagined a set with the shadow of a cross hovering above it, thus making the political and dramatic implications of the libretto tangible. Alexandre Gaillard, head of the Set Design Department at the Paris Opera, reveals the genesis of the production's set, which proved to be an adventure worthy of the work.  

Alexandre Gaillard is Assistant Head of scenery workshops and Technical Supervisor.

I arrived at the Paris Opera in 2003 in the post of assistant to the supervisor of the scenery design department. In 2007, the head of the scenery workshops asked me to oversee all the technical side, a post I’ve occupied ever since. In this job, I follow the entire process of creating the sets: firstly the initial designs with our artists, then, when the plans are ready, I supervise the construction in collaboration with the heads of the different workshops concerned. My mission is to guarantee that every set fully answers the requirements of the stage directors and scenographers, whilst taking our own constraints into account. This also means sometimes modifying the choices made by scenographers or working with them to reach a compromise.

The set for Tosca underwent several adjustments between the initial presentation of the drawings and its final realisation at the time of its creation in 2014. When the drawings were submitted, the design consisted of just a single cross: in Act I it was on the stage. To show us its position in Act II, Christof Hetzer took hold of it, put two strings round it and there it was suspended above his set. To the problems of a cross on the stage were therefore added the difficulty of suspending it. For us, these problems required completely different technical solutions prompting us straightaway to envisage two different crosses. However, the illusion that the cross is the same before and after the interval remains intact for the audience.   

The hanging cross is the one that required most thought. First of all, we reconsidered its shape and dimensions with the scenographer. It required three motors to suspend it and it had to be mobile which provided an additional challenge. We had to consider how to construct a metallic skeleton for the cross as well as the best way of covering it, that is to say, its exterior panels and their decoration. We had to recalculate the dimensions three times before we found the best structural solution: a framework in aluminium tubing reinforced at strategic points with steel elements. Next, we had to find the best solution for the exterior: it was made mostly out of a composite of polystyrene, carbon fibre and resin which allowed for very rigid but also very light panels. The Scenery Workshop had one last challenge to face: making the material as light as possible. When the first samples were shown to the scenographer, the decorative layer weighed 1.5kg per m². After a series of tests, the decorators managed to reduce the weight by half and still produce the same visual effect. Our combined efforts resulted in an overall weight of 2.7 tons and a maximum of 960kg at the leverage points (the limit was 1 ton per motor). Rarely had a set demanded such an investment on the part of the technical and artistic workshops and the Design Department.

The first time we suspended the cross in the workshop it looked so intimidating that we hardly dared walk underneath it. It’s a marvellous piece of opera scenery in that it is full of paradoxes: it’s a highly monolithic object, the rock-like appearance of its outer covering reinforces the impression of density and contributes to the oppressive quality of its presence on stage, although in fact it was made as light as possible and is largely hollow, composed of emptiness.

I was trained as an engineer and have a diploma from the Arts & Métiers school. For me, working at the opera really is “engineering” in the fullest sense of the term. Over and above technical realism, it requires creativity, ingenuity and perseverance to go the extra mile and come up with the bright ideas that will allow you to bring the artist’s vision to life on stage.   

Interview by Milena Mc Closkey

In Tosca, Pierre Audi has chosen to place religion and its complex relationship with political power at the centre of his production: a choice that continues to have an impact today. The director talks to philosopher Henri Peña-Ruiz, a specialist in secularism.

Pierre Audi: Regarding the church, the parallel was clear: all churches are built around a cross – the arms form the chapels and the central shaft, the aisle which leads to the crucifix. It also seemed interesting to me in Act I to go back to the source and stylise the church until it reverted back to the cross that constitutes its very essence. Act II is the one in which Cavaradossi is tortured. Here again, it was natural for the cross to be transformed into an instrument of torture, because originally that’s what it was before it became a Christian symbol. Finally, for the last act, with the execution scene, it is more of a conscious choice: We chose to abandon the Castel Saint-Angelo to set the action in a wretched and abandoned place, above which hung the cross. Note that the castello was still connected to the religious theme because, as its name indicates, there is the statue of an angel above it.

Pierre Audi: Yes, one should first say that when you compare Puccini’s Tosca to Sardou's play which inspired it, one is stuck by the importance that religion plays in it. Puccini himself, whilst composing the work had asked his librettists to accentuate that aspect of the drama. The opera opens in a church, Act I ends with a Te Deum and, after Tosca has stabbed Scarpia, she places a crucifix on his breast … I could cite numerous other examples. I think that Tosca is a work deeply rooted in Italian culture. Furthermore, in Italy, there are ambiguous, deep-rooted ties between the political and religious authorities. Italian artists have always enjoyed talking about that ambiguity, that irresolute paradox. Even today, in 2016, the boundaries are vague and that vagueness suits a good many people. It seemed to me that it was one of the central themes of Puccini’s opera.    

Henri Peña-Ruiz: As a philosopher specialising in secularism, my approach is indeed based on a fundamental difference. What I call “secularism” does not challenge religion so long as it remains a free and chosen spirituality, and that that spirituality does not purport to dictate political or common law. The secular ideal which emerged in Europe—before it was spread to the United States by Thomas Jefferson and Benito Juárez—is not to be interpreted as an anti-religious consciousness. It was more a desire for a strict separation between religion and the political power that organises and governs the relationship between men—regardless of whether they are believers, atheists or agnostics. From that stance, religion is but one form of spirituality among others. Take the example in France of Victor Hugo, who was a contemporary of Puccini: he was a believer but that certainly didn’t prevent him from being anticlerical. So how can you reconcile the two? Through his religious beliefs, he showed a certain spirituality. By his rejection of clericalism, he repudiated the Church’s desire to regulate and hold power in the political arena, notably rising up in protest when the Church tried to claim control over the schools. In 1850, he coined the famous phrase: “The Church in its home, and the State in its home”. It seems to me that in Tosca, Puccini was agreeing with that secular position.

Pierre Audi: On a dramatic level, I would like to add that the rapprochement between politics and religion proved to be terribly effective: it enabled Puccini to contrast the cold and implacable side of Scarpia’s political world with the sentimental romanticism of the love affair between Cavaradossi and Tosca. The political police who act with the blessing of the Pope, the Sacristan who turns out to be Scarpia’s informer, the Mass which interrupts the manhunt for Angelotti, then the knife, the crime, the blood, the crucifix… All that constitutes a highly appealing formula for a dramatist. Furthermore, it seems to me that in the end, Puccini takes a position that is less clear cut than Verdi, for example. He likes to leave things in abeyance. It’s what I sensed as I prepared my interpretation of the work. I wasn’t seeking to over-emphasize that the opera was biased against the Church or against the political powers that be. In the rapprochement of those two worlds, I saw an opportunity to construct my production, because it seemed to me that this was how Puccini had constructed his opera.    

Henri Peña-Ruiz: Yes, and, to some extent, it’s scarcely surprising that the oppression that Scarpia subjects Tosca to, the threat of rape that he keeps hanging over her, is carried out with the tacit approval of the clerical authorities. When the Church involves itself in society’s mores, it is often to the detriment of women. Think of Molière’s Tartuffe and his famous phrase:

Cover that breast which I may not behold.
Such a sight is harmful to the soul;
for it will beget impure thoughts.

Men endeavour to exert control over the bodies of women—be it in France, Italy or in Spain—in societies long marked by patriarchy and sexist domination. From that perspective, most religions codify such domination by sacralising it and presenting it as ordained by God. From Molière to Puccini, one of the tasks artists attributed to themselves was to denounce the hypocrisy of such a position.

Pierre Audi: It’s an interesting question which requires multiple levels of analysis. Yes, of course, Tosca is a victim of male domination, especially from Scarpia, because he tries to rape her. However, Puccini is also a man and is himself part of that society: if we look closely, he is not particularly tender with his heroine. He describes her as a jealous manipulator. She has a definite Shakespearian side, and he plays on that to prime his dramatic machinery: it’s her jealousy that provokes the arrest of her lover and which, in a certain way ends up driving her to suicide.

Pierre Audi: Let’s say that I didn’t want an end that was overly moralistic. In the libretto, Tosca jumps to her death and the music casts no doubts as to that death. However, there is also a coda which suggests something else. Some directors use that coda to allow the soldiers to peer over the edge. Personally, I’ve always found that image a little too literal, a little ridiculous: those three henchmen who rush to the parapet to verify that Tosca is indeed dead… Puccini’s music is sublime, it invites us to seek something else, and I think that at that moment, one has to rely on that music to set the drama free… And so I looked for a propitious image, a more open ending that would leave audiences with more scope to imagine…    

Pierre Audi: Yes, we sometimes reduce Tosca to little more than a sordid story… However, for me, the artistic aspect and Mario Cavaradossi’s status as an artist seems crucial. Don’t forget that Tosca’s principal aria is “Vissi d’arte…” which extols the life of an artist. And so, I wished to accentuate that creative freedom somewhat by proposing this rather enlightened painting. Those nude women are like a garland coiled around the altar. It’s a little risqué. I think that the life of the artist is one of the key undercurrents of the drama. The freedom in which Cavaradossi and Tosca live is intolerable for Scarpia. He envies them: he who possesses the political power, he who is head of the secret police, why can he not fall in love and charm a woman? It’s the third theme which Puccini develops: in the face of religion and politics where is the place of an artist?

Henri Peña-Ruiz: For me, the veils evoke the era of religious censorship. Throughout history, the Church has constantly sought to involve itself in politics: it has also tried to exert control over artistic activity. In the 16^th century, there was a famous episode during which the Pope asked Daniele da Volterra, also known as “Il Braghettone”—literally “the breeches maker”—to paint loincloths and vestments on Michelangelo’s nudes, and, in particular, on The Last Judgement in the Sistine Chapel. Of course, this censorship was also brought to bear on literature, with the creation of the Index librorum prohibitorum—more commonly referred to as the Index—which banned numerous authors, including François Villon, Molière, and Victor Hugo…    

Henri Pena Ruiz: That’s a complex question which touches on the very purpose of art! Does art serve another purpose other than itself? Philosophy has often answered no to that question. Art is its own end because it is that wonderful activity by which man expresses a creativity that produces beautiful works that we enjoy for and in themselves. Kant asserts that “art is an endless finality”. Even so, it is clear that this has never stopped artists from taking an emancipating, demystifying, critical position relative to a given historical situation. History has shown us that when human beings are suffering, or demanding and fighting for their liberty, artists cannot remain unmoved. Earlier, I cited Victor Hugo. I could also evoke the films of Bernardo Bertolucci, Ettore Scola and even Arturo Toscanini in the domain of opera... Those are artists I admire.

Pierre Audi: It is a fact that the theatre is a place of emancipation. But I would also like to highlight another aspect of performance that fascinates me: its “ritualistic” dimension. In antiquity, theatre was born from religious ritual. And on this point, I’d like to refer back to Tosca. It seems to me that Puccini’s genius is rooted in the fact that he remembers this and works with it. If one looks at Tosca, one realises that the whole work is organised around three rituals: in the first act, it’s the mass, in the second it’s the torture and in the third it’s the execution of a prisoner. In that sense, there’s a strong connection that unites Tosca with Greek theatre and I’m sensitive to the work’s association with ancient tragedy. In it, the power—of the gods and the Church—is represented as a dark force. Taking this ritual as a point of departure, Puccini manages to compose a completely open and profoundly human work. Moreover, it is highly significant that at the end of the first act, he brings the faithful into the church: at that moment, he takes over a sacred space and turns it into a place in which the drama will develop. That's just how theatre functions…      

Pierre Audi: Personally, I find that the notion of sacred is very useful: the form, the setting. That doesn’t mean that I stage masses for the public [laughter], of course, that's not what I mean. For me, the sacred is a form. It is like a circle or a square, a shape inside which I can set up my production. It’s a prism through which I can have a dialogue with the public.

Interviewed by Simon Hatab