"It's not enough to hit the notes. There is no point in the singers just standing there and sounding wonderful if they're not connecting with the characters they are portraying"
About this Quote
Beresford is taking a quiet swing at a certain kind of prestige performance: the immaculate, museum-glass version of singing where virtuosity becomes a substitute for meaning. Coming from a director, not a vocal coach, the line is a territorial claim. Technique is necessary, but it is not the job. The job is narrative. The job is persuasion.
The intent is practical and slightly impatient: stop treating the stage like a concert platform. “Hit the notes” names the minimum viable competence, the thing that can be measured and applauded without risk. “Standing there and sounding wonderful” is a polite insult aimed at performers who deliver beauty while withholding specificity. Beresford’s “no point” is the tell; he’s not debating aesthetics, he’s enforcing stakes. If the audience can’t feel a character’s desire, shame, or self-deception, sonic perfection becomes decorative.
The subtext is about the director’s nightmare: a production that reads as expensive and empty. In opera and musical storytelling, sound can overwhelm psychology, and singers are often trained to prioritize projection and control over messiness. Beresford argues for the opposite hierarchy: the character is the engine; the voice is the vehicle. When performers “connect,” they’re not just emoting; they’re making choices that shape phrasing, timing, even silence, turning musical accuracy into dramatic information.
Contextually, this is the late-20th-century push toward cinematic realism onstage, where audiences raised on close-ups expect inner life, not just formal display. Beresford isn’t anti-beauty. He’s anti-beauty without consequence.
The intent is practical and slightly impatient: stop treating the stage like a concert platform. “Hit the notes” names the minimum viable competence, the thing that can be measured and applauded without risk. “Standing there and sounding wonderful” is a polite insult aimed at performers who deliver beauty while withholding specificity. Beresford’s “no point” is the tell; he’s not debating aesthetics, he’s enforcing stakes. If the audience can’t feel a character’s desire, shame, or self-deception, sonic perfection becomes decorative.
The subtext is about the director’s nightmare: a production that reads as expensive and empty. In opera and musical storytelling, sound can overwhelm psychology, and singers are often trained to prioritize projection and control over messiness. Beresford argues for the opposite hierarchy: the character is the engine; the voice is the vehicle. When performers “connect,” they’re not just emoting; they’re making choices that shape phrasing, timing, even silence, turning musical accuracy into dramatic information.
Contextually, this is the late-20th-century push toward cinematic realism onstage, where audiences raised on close-ups expect inner life, not just formal display. Beresford isn’t anti-beauty. He’s anti-beauty without consequence.
Quote Details
| Topic | Music |
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