Introducing Bruno Ravella

As director Bruno Ravella joins the Maestro Arts roster, we ask him a few questions about his background and career, and find out how directing opera is similar to marketing cars

When did you first fall in love with opera? 

There was always a lot of music at home, although not opera. My grandfather played the accordion and my father the harmonica, so there was always playing and dancing. I went to see The Merry Widow when I was quite young – it wasn’t opera, but the closest thing to it, and I fell in love with it. I was already keen on theatre, and this was something combining storytelling and music, design and lighting, and I thought it was the perfect art form. I saw my first opera – Lohengrin – when I was about 15 and was hooked. I started going to the local music library and getting out vinyl box sets, listening and returning to get the next. I remember reading the libretto and being completely engrossed by the music and the connection with the story. I could imagine this whole thing in my head and it was thrilling. That’s how it started. 

What was your first job?

I was educated within the French system, which is all about diplomas and degrees, so I ended up going to business school and then into marketing and advertising for the automotive industry. My last job in the industry was with Ford, as European communications manager, responsible for all the communication at the European level for all car brands. It was a good position, but I was frustrated. In theory, it was a creative outlet, but the rules for car advertising are narrow and it became tedious. I produced over 40 television adverts in that first career, working with agencies and directors on casting and editing, and attending the shoots, so I learnt a lot about the creative process and editing, and connecting images to music.

How did you make the change to opera?

I always had the dream of directing opera, but I kept it to myself, until one day I got to the point where I thought, ‘If I don’t try, I will grow bitter and sad.’ I spoke to a couple of friends. One of them said, ‘I’m producing Hansel and Gretel at my farm in London this summer. If you want, you can assist the director.’ The other said, ‘I know a director I can introduce you to.’ That was John Cox, a very important director who turned out to be key in my career, and I met him. The director of Hansel and Gretel dropped out, so I ended up directing it, with professional singers and a full orchestra, and the audience sitting on straw bales in North London. John couldn’t come but sent his partner, who liked it, so he said, ‘You can come and observe me in Los Angeles. I’m doing Vanessa with Kiri Te Kanawa.’ So I resigned from Ford, sold my flat and went to Los Angeles with John for the project, and to make tea for Kiri. 

That led to further projects and within the year, I was assisting John on Figaro at Garsington and starting to make a bit of money. Through him, I was able to work in many different companies. Early on, I worked in the big houses in Chicago and Houston, the Metropolitan Opera and the Royal Opera, assisting great directors. That was very useful, because you get to see from the outside what for you works and what doesn’t, and how you would do it differently. I had a very steep learning curve with the best people.

How did you know what to do in that first production of Hansel and Gretel? 

It was instinctive. I had directed plays at school and choreographed shows, so I was always comfortable with connecting music with movement and the body. I remember feeling nervous with impostor syndrome, but the singers assumed I had directed before, and it felt totally right.

How did your previous experience in marketing help?

One very specific way is that when you create a new TV advert, the agency shows you, as client, a rough first edit. The very first time you see that 30-second edit is crucial, because the second time you see it, your brain will start to correct and smooth things automatically. You need intense concentration for that first viewing, to be able to connect with your thoughts and feelings, and express straight away in an eloquent manner what works and what doesn’t. That training is essential now in my directing, in the rehearsal process – being able to watch and be fully receptive to any thought or emotion that may come, and then be able to express it clearly.

I also sometimes have my marketing head on in thinking about the audience. I don’t produce something specifically for them, but I do have them in mind. There’s no point producing something that doesn’t connect at all with the audience.

What have you learnt about communicating with singers? 

I always say that everyone is different, and I adapt to people, rather than asking them to adapt to me. Some singers are more visual. Some are more cerebral, so you have to explain things to them in a very rational way. Some need to be shown things; others need to go through a process of trying things out until they get it. I’ve learnt to read people and understand the best way to communicate with them to get the best out of them. 

This is always tricky in the first days of rehearsal, and I say to them, ‘I don’t know you, so for now, let’s just see. And the more I get to know you, the better we’ll be able to communicate.’ I’m not a dictatorial director – I always have a plan in mind, but I’m open to try things and respond to energies.

What’s your process, from when you start working on a new production?

It changes from project to project, but the first thing I do is to listen to the music with the libretto, finding the moments that click for me. There’s always something that first time – a scene or dramatic moment that I feel is key, which brings images. 

Having been educated within the French system, I have a somewhat Cartesian approach, with the study of the text being very important. I work with the text to find things within it, going from the inside out, rather than forcing a concept or trying to distort the story. I try to get the images and thoughts from the piece itself. Maybe some things don’t quite work in the libretto, and you need to understand why not and how to make them work. 

The music is very important. I listen to it non-stop on repeat and get very comfortable with it. That also it brings a lot of images into my head, which I then try to either use, develop or discard.

At what point does the look and feel come into it? 

That happens when I start working with the designers. I work with different designers, and tend to choose a designer depending on the piece and the kind of world I want to have. I don’t have one look that applies to every piece. Some designers are more cerebral, working with concepts, while others are more figurative. I enjoy the process of working with the set designer, because when you start, you never know where it will lead. You need to find the nugget and then it all makes sense and falls into place. I like to find poetry and emotion in the piece as much as possible. I find it harder if I’m working on a piece that has no humanity or emotions.

How important is attention to detail for you? 

I would say I pay great attention to detail while also allowing for freedom. I don’t control every move and finger position, the way one can. I can be very precise as to when to touch a piece of furniture, which way to turn or how to move, but within that, I try to let the singer express the idea truthfully. Less is more. I’m not afraid of stillness, and I always tell singers to trust the music. You don’t need business for the sake of business. It’s a duality of being very precise, and within that, making sure that the singers feel they can express the music without feeling constrained, trapped or handcuffed in something that doesn’t feel right.

What have you learnt about working with conductors?

I enjoy working with conductors who are involved and want to create opera, and I draw inspiration from their different visions of a piece and different tempos. My homework is done with recordings, with certain tempos. Then in rehearsal the conductor comes with their vision and a deeper understanding of the score, and that brings new ideas and a fresh view. When there’s true teamwork, we create amazing opera.

What are your hopes and fears for opera?

Opera has been said to be dying forever – if you look at newspapers from the 1850s they say it’s the end of opera. My main concern is that it becomes irrelevant. With entertainment on demand at home and shorter attention spans, attending live performances could become less attractive. We have to keep educating new audiences. 

I am also concerned that there is less public financing, especially in the UK. In France, where I work a lot, it’s still well supported and there’s a young audience. In the UK there is this idea that ‘It’s not for me, it’s expensive’ and it infuriates me. There’s some amazing opera going on there, though, with exciting small companies, and the festivals are doing very well.

With your marketing experience, what do you think the opera world needs to do?

It’s about bringing in the next generation audience. In Italy and France, dress rehearsals are all open to students and there’s a whole emphasis on bringing students to the opera, telling them about the story, the composer. It’s part of the curriculum – I often do talks for them. 

It’s about making people realise that opera is a wonderful art-form, just like theatre and cinema. I’ve taken so many people to the opera for the first time who had no idea what it was and felt they couldn’t step through the front door, and then they fall in love with it and ask for more. It’s about breaking that cycle and saying, ‘It’s okay, you can come in and see it.’ The rest will just happen. It’s not for everyone, of course, but even if 5 per cent of the students who come enjoy it, we’re getting somewhere.