opera | Arts & Culture | Yale Peabody Museum | Yale Schwarzman Center
Chris Randall Photos.
“How stable everything seems, even as we conceive and conceive that nothing lasts forever,” sang Gelsey Bell as she stood shoulder to shoulder with her fellow actors in front of the crowd. The actors swayed slowly to soft guitar chords, paying tribute to the beings that would inhabit the earth 100 million years in the future.
Monday night, Bell’s experimental opera MƆɹNIŊ [Morning // Mourning] dared audience members to imagine a world where all humans had suddenly gone extinct—a future that does not seem too far off from real-life scientific predictions. As it came to the Yale Peabody Museum, the abstract performance consisted of five vocalists and multi instrumentalists (Bell, Aviva Jaye, Brian McCorkle, Mia Park, and Paul Pinto) who led the audience on a journey through the days, weeks, and millennia on earth following the disappearance of humans.
In a scientific and playful journey, MƆɹNIŊ spoke to the delicate relationship between humans and their (which is to say, our) world. The title of the opera, the phonetic spelling of both morning and mourning, suggests that there may be a new dawn for the universe as a whole after humanity crashes and burns.
As it came to the newly renovated Peabody—the first show of its kind to take place there, in a joint effort with the Yale Schwarzman Center—the nontraditional space made for an intimate setting for the show. Hanging fossils and dinosaur skeletons one room over provided fitting ambiance for a piece focused on a mass extinction event.
The show started on an apocalyptic and melancholy note, as the world violently broke free from human influence. The actors did not describe the cause of human extinction, but drove straight into the reactions of the world.
There were suddenly clever and thought-provoking examples of what would happen if humankind were to disappear. Actors described the fate that would face cows, horses, sheep, and dogs if they were left without human protection. They described the devastating disasters that could result from human infrastructure left untended, like flushing and cauterizing a wound. The blend of scientific facts and imaginative storytelling captivated the audience, bringing them into the world without humans.
Around it, the music of the MƆɹNIŊ was atmospheric and surreal. All five vocalists sang in eerie harmonies, their voices blending together. The instrumentation and variety of sounds produced by the cast was incredibly diverse, with instruments spread across two tables and the floor in the back of the stage.
Throughout the show, the cast played synthesizers, accordion, wind chimes, harp, xylophone, sundrum, and running water among others. At one point, for instance, the story described the spreading of mycelium and fungi in the forests that grow in former agricultural lands. This was accentuated by an interlude of electronic noises created on an analog synthesizer, mimicking the communication network of fungi.
Despite the great variety and experimental nature of the instrumentation, Bell’s intricate choreography made for a fluid and tight performance. Each musical element was introduced in a smoothly, creating a robust, surreal soundtrack to the natural world.
And indeed, MƆɹNIŊ spoke profoundly to the detrimental impacts humans have had on the earth and the futility of what mankind has to show for it. At one point, the play jokingly paid tribute to the human experience, poking fun at the self-serving nature of the human species and their many pointless pursuits.
Humanity’s final swansong takes place 5,000 years in the future, with the interlude “Humans - a nostalgic look back.” It is a song in which the actors seemingly take the perspective of the earth itself, reflecting how it “likes the way they…” Humanity’s highlights included their commitment to television, fart jokes, and light up roller skates. Monday, the result was funny and playful, but also powerful in its commentary on humanity's insignificance in the greater universe.
For Bell, it's meant to provoke that kind of thought. In the show, humankind's longest lasting legacy on the planet is microplastics in the ocean, radiation coming from abandoned missiles and power plants, and the records of long-forgotten songs stored on the voyager spacecraft.
In the Peabody, the cast took the audience through 241,000 years, until, as Bell said, “Now we can really get started.” What followed was a whimsical and imaginative journey: octopuses slowly made their way to land, using human relics like ceramic cups for protection. They became “Blooklungs,” evolving over millions of years and eventually reaching all corners of the world. They explored space, met extraterrestrial life, and surpassed all human achievement.
Unlike humans, these creatures evolved with the earth rather than simply on it. They “learned to speak the language,” as the actors put it.
The show, in that sense, can also be a teaching tool. MƆɹNIŊ ends with the end of life on earth, 1.6 billion years in the future. As Blooklungs move to different planets across the galaxy, the cast reflects on the fact that nothing lasts forever, no matter how stable and reliable it may seem.
It lays bare just how little time humans have spent on the earth, bringing awareness to the devastation that humankind has wrought. The songs, sounds, scientific facts, and profound storylines of MƆɹNIŊ leave a lasting impression long after the show ends.
And they ask a question: how can we imagine a different future?