Santa Fe Opera’s ‘The Turn of the Screw’ reveals the terror of Victorian repression

Exterior, train station. Two men in suits run toward a departing train. The scene is shot in slow motion, and a yellow color grading suggests the intense desert heat. “This Time Tomorrow” by The Kinks plays in the background.

In Wes Anderson’s “The Darjeeling Limited,” the taller, younger character is played by Adrien Brody, the other by Bill Murray. In Albuquerque last weekend, it was me and my friend Scott Sharot, who had just turned 78.

We were off to see “The Turn of the Screw” at the Santa Fe Opera, the creepy Benjamin Britten chamber opera based on the equally creepy Henry James novella.

In “The Darjeeling Limited,” only Brody’s character makes it onto the train. In our case, the conductor of the Rail Runner was kind enough to wait the extra few seconds for Scott. But no sooner had he boarded than the train lurched forward, sending us tumbling into each other.

“Sorry I was late picking you up,” I said, as we found some seats with a table. “At least we didn’t have to wait around. I have ADHD, so —”

“Me too,” Scott said. “No, the timing was perfect.”

The desert landscape rushed by outside. Scott offered me some mixed nuts as we chatted about opera and acting. Scott is not only a classically trained singer but a good actor. He played a believable creep in the indie horror flick “The Rambler,” alongside Natasha Lyonne.

Although we enjoyed a pleasant, jokey rapport, it didn’t take long to discover that just beneath the surface, Scott’s mind was clouded by thoughts of death — and not just because we were going to see an opera about ghosts.

“Turning 78 has been rough,” he said. “My mom died at 78.”

In Santa Fe, we sat down for a late lunch at Cowgirl at a table with an umbrella. There was a cool breeze, and a folk band was playing. I asked Scott if he had any good ghost stories.

“Do I ever,” he said.

I recorded him for half an hour as he regaled me with stories of ghosts he had seen, including a 19th century longshoreman with a missing arm who haunted the Landmark Tavern in New York City. An even wilder story, from 1966, involved an inauspicious encounter with the Hells Angels at a movie producer’s home in Los Angeles.

It was nearly 5 p.m. by the time we finished our desserts at Cowgirl. All the museums and shops near the Santa Fe Railyard were closing, and dark storm clouds were rolling toward us. Rather than wait another three hours for the opera shuttle, we Ubered over in time to see Oliver Prezant’s preopera talk, which I highly recommend.

In the course of his accessible, often humorous talk, Prezant discussed Britten’s 12-tone “Screw” theme, which repeats in increasingly tense variants over the course of the opera.

Both the novella and opera versions of “The Turn of the Screw” have been praised for their ambiguity. The critical consensus is that the gaps in the storyline allow audiences to fill in their own details, making the story more horrifying than it otherwise would be. That may be true for James’ novella, although his ponderous, involuted sentences are as likely to put today’s readers to sleep as send chills up their spines. For audiences steeped in contemporary horror, a story that turns on subtle hints and innuendoes just might not be that scary.

SFO’s “The Turn of the Screw” is directed by Louisa Muller in collaboration with scenic and costume designer Christopher Oram and lighting designer Malcolm Rippeth. Their current production is almost identical to the one they did in Garsington, England, in 2019 — same sets, props, costumes, lighting design and directorial vision — just different performers and a different conductor and musicians.

The Garsington production earned rave reviews. Tim Ashley in The Guardian praised it as a “truly great achievement, devastating and unforgettable,” with the Financial Times calling it “intensely spooky.”

The only truly chilling moment in SFO’s “The Turn of the Screw” for me came toward the end of the first act, when the barely teenage Flora, played by the surprisingly powerful young soprano Annie Blitz, dips a rag doll into a pool of water. When she lifts it out again, water streaming from its hair, it truly looks like a drowned child.

The ending of the opera (and the novella) is meant to be even more frightening. But without spoiling what happens, I’ll just say the incident is awkwardly abrupt and has no clear explanation, metaphysical or otherwise.

The scariest part of the story is the suggestion that one of the ghosts — a former servant named Peter Quint — may have sexually abused Flora’s younger brother, Miles. Brenton Ryan plays Quint as a Willy Wonka type, as charming as he is dangerous.

Everett Baumgarten as Miles sings with pure, angelic tones. And when he sings about being “bad,” I feel for the character, who is clearly struggling with the internalized shame typical of abuse victims.

Or maybe not. The abuse angle is just one of several possible interpretations.

Baumgarten’s voice pairs beautifully with the celesta, a piano-like instrument that sounds like a music box. Marika Yasuda plays it with finesse.

Oram’s set consists of massive doors and windows that open and close on their own, inexplicably, even when no ghosts are present. The windows appear quite sooty, which makes me question what the housekeeper, Mrs. Grose, does with all her time — although there’s nothing in the libretto to suggest she’s up to anything nefarious. I suspect Oram’s scenographic choices have less to do with advancing a clear narrative than giving generic “haunted mansion” vibes.

A number of antique Victorian props appear in the show, including a horse-shaped tricycle that Miles rides around on and a paper toy theater that both children play with. The paper theater is brilliant, suggesting metatheatrical themes. My only problem with the tricycle is that it looks like it actually came from an antique store — as old and grimy as the windows — when presumably it would have been new at the time.

“The Turn of the Screw” is called a chamber opera, because the orchestra only has 13 members. They perform on a raised platform in the pit, making them a constant, visible presence. So, whenever I found the onstage acting corny, which happened more than once, I could turn my attention to the musicians, who were wonderful. The conductor, Gemma New, moves with the practiced fluidity of a ballerina, a wonder to watch.

The main character, the Governess, is portrayed by Jacquelyn Stucker, who shows her acting prowess in Act I but goes way overboard in Act II, flailing around onstage, pounding her fists against a grand piano and otherwise chewing the scenery. Given that early 20th century psychoanalytic critics of James’ novella like Edmund Wilson tended to interpret the Governess’ behavior through the sexist lens of “female hysteria,” it’s regrettable that Muller encourages Stucker to act in such a stereotypically “hysterical” fashion. A more restrained performance would have lent her character more credibility, which, in turn, would have made the story scarier.

Musically, Britten’s opera is unusual for hewing so closely to the high end of the vocal register. There’s only six singers: three sopranos, one mezzo-soprano, and a treble, plus a tenor (the Peter Quint character) who sings near the top end of his range. The lack of contrast between the voice types creates a slightly dissonant, off-kilter eeriness, like colors and patterns that almost but don’t quite match. I found the effect appropriately disturbing.

After the opera, Scott and I had difficulty locating our shuttle. Ushers simply pointed us to the parking lot, and none of the drivers of several hotel shuttles knew where the train station one was parked. Naturally, we would have known what our shuttle looked like if we hadn’t Ubered earlier. And we did find it eventually, so all’s well that ends well. But the panicked thought that we might end up stuck in that parking lot all night was more spine tingling than anything we’d seen onstage.

The train ride home was much bumpier than the ride to Santa Fe had been, and the howling wind sounded like a pack of ghosts in the dark wilderness outside. But we were grateful for the Rail Runner’s extended opera hours.

Although neither of us had been particularly frightened during the opera, some of the work’s more sinister themes bubbled up in our conversation.

We noted that the two adult, non-ghost characters in “The Turn of the Screw” — the Governess and Mrs. Grose — spoke in stilted circumlocutions, betraying the influence of English Puritanism. Their inability to even broach certain topics, namely sex abuse, made them powerless to help the children — if indeed the children had been abused, which we never know for sure.

Scott brought up several real-life child abuse cases within socially conservative communities, where taboos against discussing the abuse allowed the situation to persist for many years. I don’t know if people who grew up in such communities, or who have experienced abuse themselves, will be more triggered by the opera, or if they will find it healing. But for those like me, who grew up in families with relatively open, healthy communication, it did provide insight into the dangers of psychological repression.

My advice to anyone seeing “The Turn of the Screw” is to not get too hung up on the details. Questions like “Are the ghosts real?” are mostly red herrings that never get resolved. Focus instead on the eerie beauty of the music and the haunting silence that keeps the truth of what’s been going on in this family deeply buried.

There’s no jump scares or big reveals, just the ordinary terror of being children in Victorian England.

Santa Fe Opera’s ‘The Turn of the Screw’ reveals the terror of Victorian repression