The music of words

With Gypsy opening at Paris Philharmonie on 16 April, Agathe Mélinand, who translated the dialogues for Laurent Pelly’s production, explains the importance of her musical training – and of making people laugh  

When did you decide to make a career with words?

It wasn’t like that at all. I remember that my mother often told me, ‘You must write, you will be very good at it,’ but it was never my idea to work with words. I did many other things first. I was a press agent, a communications director, I worked in movies. I’ve had a passion for books all my life, but nothing to do with them. My training was in classical music – I went to music school between the ages of 10 and 14, la Maîtrise de Radio France. I met Laurent Pelly when I was 20, and we began to work together immediately, and have done ever since. We had a theatre company together and one day he asked me if I wanted to adapt a novel into a play, and that’s how we started. It was a success, so I did it again and again. I learnt by doing it. But it was not any young girl saying, ‘I will become a writer.’  Nor a dramaturg.

Why do you think you were successful? 

Because of my foundation in music. I've always had the music of words in my head and the ability to write in a musical way. Also, the first time I did it, it was funny, and people like to laugh, usually.

Where does humour come from?  

Humour always comes from tragedy – someone alone in front of a difficult world. It has a lot to do with music and mechanics. I have a special sense of humour. Why? I don’t know. I love to make people laugh. It’s gratifying to see 1,000 people laughing together at something you wrote.

What was it like to translate Gypsy? 

Gypsy was unusual, in that I was only translating the libretto, by Arthur Laurents. Stephen Sondheim’s songs stay in English – I only translate them for the surtitles. Translation is special work for me. A work where you have to forget yourself more. I translate from Italian, English and Greek (with difficulty). With translation, you are not free. With Gypsy, the original dialogue is very natural and there’s a lot of energy, and I tried to find the same qualities for the French. I had to make cuts, of course, because it’s only semi-staged, so we couldn’t do everything. I hope the French version is energetic, a little poetic, and funny, of course. I was writing it for Natalie Dessay, and I know her well, so I know exactly what to write to help her act at her best – I hope.

What is your aim?

I try to be free, but to work with the authors and not against them. I forget myself completely. I don’t believe that I am more intelligent or interesting than the person who wrote the play, or that I have more to say. In the case of translating Gypsy, for example, I tried to be respectful of Arthur Laurents’ words, and Stephen Sondheim’s while I was doing the surtitles. 

Nineteenth-century operas are sometimes very long, with a lot more dialogue than music, and today’s audience doesn’t want that – they come for the music. That means my work is to cut the dialogue and bring it to modernity, but never vulgarity. The only time I’ve ever used modern idiom was in La Périchole for Théâtre des Champs-Elysées, because I wanted the characters to speak in theatrical slang.

I write my words with the music, just as Laurent directs with the music. We work the same way. The music is the most interesting thing for both of us. And my aim is always to make the audience laugh – or cry, sometimes.

How do you go about cutting dialogue? 

The first thing I always do is say that it’s impossible. But in the end, I do it. It has to do with the music of words, and what is important and not. I feel it: what we want, what we don’t want; what we care about, what we don’t care about. It’s a sensation – not intellectual. My work is never intellectual. Even when I write my own shows, or long articles for Le Monde diplomatique, which is very intellectual, it is always about feeling.

For example, when I adapted Offenbach’s Le roi Carotte, which is six and half hours, I had to cut it to two and half. It was a big job, but in a way it was simple. It involved a lot of reading and trying to look for what was important, cutting whole acts. I love Le roi Carotte, but it was difficult to adapt and stage because we had nothing to go on. It hadn’t been recorded, so I was doing it with a piano in my ears and a computer in my hands.

You’ve worked on 14 Offenbach operas – what attracts you to his work?

He gave us a lot. Laurent and I have been very lucky, because we’ve always done Offenbach with superb singers – Dame Felicity Lott, Natalie Dessay, Yan Beuron, Laurent Naouri – and fantastic casts, and working with Mark Minkowski puts Offenbach in his rightful place, at the top. We always come back to Offenbach. He was the father of the musical and worked in such a clever way. He was always cutting and changing things. If something didn’t work with the audience, he reworked it, again and again. He was always in progress.

How do you know when your work is finished?

I know it’s finished on the day of the dress rehearsal – opening night is a little too late! Sometimes I rewrite during rehearsals – with Gypsy, for example – but not often. These changes are either because of the artist, or me, or Laurent. The show is too long, too short, it needs more of this, less of that. I always say, ‘The author is alive, so use me.’ 

What do you love about your work? 

I love the dream of it – the possibility. When you are working alone in your office, everything is possible. You have the dream, and then you see it on stage. It becomes real and something else entirely. I love that. It’s my life. My mother, father, stepfather and grandfather were all actors; my grandmother was a singer. It’s my world. It’s a lovely job and I’m very lucky.

What are the hardest parts of your work?  

It’s always difficult to make art. Opera is easier than theatre, because you have music, singers, a conductor, and theatre is a naked art, but my job never really feels so difficult. Or I forget afterwards.

You’ve had a longstanding collaboration with Laurent Pelly – why has it been so successful?

We’ve worked together for so long and know each other so well. We’ve grown up together throughout our careers. We have the same sense of humor – that’s why we work well together. I’ve always believed in him – even when he was 18, when we met, he was already very talented. He has such a passion for directing – he always wanted to do it.

How do you feel about the future of classical music?

People talk about classical music being elitist, but the problem is more about money and fear. I don’t believe that people in France don’t want to go to classical music anymore – the Paris Philharmonie puts on around 450 shows every year. It’s less expensive to see an opera than to buy a ticket to the Olympics or football. There is a crisis about cuts to public subsidies, but I believe people are still interested in classical music. I was a theatre director for 25 years and I have always heard people say that audiences don’t come to the theatre or opera any more and that there is a crisis. We can’t take people off the street and force them to go to the opera or theatre. It has to do first with education, desire and pleasure. I believe in pleasure!

Gypsy opens at Paris Philharmonie on 16 April, with dialogues and surtitles translated by Agathe Mélinand in a production directed by Laurent Pelly.