In Thrall of Amahl

Do you remember waiting for those broadcasts? Our single chance annually to see Amahl and the Night Visitors? And afterwards, did you, too, run around singing: “This is my box, this is my box, I never travel without my box!”? Or dance your version of a shepherds’ dance before three invisible Magi?

Less than an hour long, Amahl seemed to be an endless stretch of magic in our childhoods. From its opening oboe solo (“shepherd’s pipe”) to the thrice-sounded knock of the Three Kings, to the moment when Amahl realizes he can walk, we sat spellbound.

Granted, it was a different world back in 1950 when Samuel Chotzinoff of NBC commissioned Gian Carl Menotti to create a revolutionary venture: a television opera (scroll down a bit to find the story printed at left side of page). Already a fan of Menotti, Chotzinoff knew the composer could restyle a large-scale genre for the new medium and its small screen. For his part, Menotti drew on childhood traditions in Italy (where presents come from the Three Kings) and his love of Hieronymous Bosch’s painting The Adoration of the Magi.

All of this came at a delicious moment in time when television seemed destined to bring “high culture” to the masses—for free! Plus, it was a time when musical literacy in the general populace abounded. Amahl was first broadcast live on Christmas Eve, 1951 from an NBC studio at Rockefeller Center. By 1950’s standards, it became a blockbuster. Subsequent annual live performances of Amahl signaled the full blossoming of Christmas for many of us baby boomers.

Here are two excerpts from the original production.

That winsome Amahl (Chet Allen) soon outgrew the role of boy soprano. But the adult cast largely continued, with Rosemary Kuhlmann for eight seasons playing the mother whose anguished love for her mischievous lame son touched every heart.

A lovely new production taped in 1963 wasn’t as favored by Menotti, and the annual TV broadcasts ceased in 1966. As with so much in art, politics behind the scenes were complicated.

But by then, Amahl had spread into the communities, serving as ideal material for many a Christmas program, both in churches and community theaters. The work was short, and required only a small ensemble of players. Still, a very good boy soprano was required for the role of Amahl, as well as an accomplished mezzo-soprano to play the mother. Needed, too, were three convincing “kings,” and a parade of shepherds who could sing and/or perform basic folk dances. Good-sized communities could muster those forces.

Let me issue a challenge. If you live in a metroplex, look around and see if you can find a production of Amahl and the Night Visitors. Assuming the production is reasonably good, round up some friends, some grandchildren, some friends’ grandchildren. Take them. Put them up front (usually possible to do in local performances). And see what happens. Unless totally jaded by Action Films, young people new to this work are likely to be swept away. The seeming simplicity (a feature of any excellent music), the sentimental, yet gripping story, the swirl of striking tunes (“Emily, Emily, Michael, Bartholomew, how are your children, and how are your sheep?”), and the magical moment when Amahl realizes he can walk—these are powerful. While Amahl and the Night Visitors may not fully tear away the modern veil of apathy, there is a chance it will pierce holes and let in a beautiful light.

*For those of you who want to know more, I did a webinar on Amahl for our Night at the Opera series a few years ago. You can view it here.