Playwright Michael Hollinger is a classically trained violinist, and his knowledge and background in music wonderfully envelops and reverberates throughout Opus. The play follows a string quartet as it prepares to perform Beethoven's Opus 131 at the White House. The play assembles itself through distinct sequences of events, shifting between present-day rehearsals, past arguments and interviews for a documentary.
During the documentary scenes, four musicians sit in chairs facing the stage like they are answering an interviewer's questions in front of the camera. At present, the quartet no longer exists, but through the storytelling of Hollinger and the filming of the documentary, the audience learns the circumstances leading up to Dorian's (David Whalen) expulsion. This retrospective view allows the audience to see what has made the three remaining members -- Elliot (Patrick McNulty), the obsessively neurotic first violinist, Alan (Greg Wood), the second violinist bouncing back after his divorce and Carl (Douglas Rees), the jovial cellist and cancer patient -- who they are today, both as musicians and as friends. It also explains the relationship between the three men and Dorian, and why he continues to affect their lives even after he is no longer a part of the music. How much these characters develop and grow is a testament to both Hollinger's style and the acting of the cast. Whalen, in particular, stands out and makes every scene a pivotal one.
Hollinger and director Terrence J. Nolen have collaborated before, and Nolen adapts Hollinger's words to the stage well. The scenes are quick, jumping between the different parts of the play like Nolen sifts through pieces of a concerto. There is also a cadence to the dialogue that is faintly reminiscent of music, as though Hollinger simply chose to add an air of musicality to everyday speech. The actors talk to each other, over each other, at each other, seemingly following some onstage beat that only they can hear, but one that the audience can enjoy through their voices. Whether the characters are quietly joking or violently yelling, their voices lilting or bracing, the rhythm plays on. It is a joy to hear the actors bounce through words as though they are plucking the strings on their instruments or build their arguments into crescendos like those Beethoven composed for the quartet. Opus is like a song you love when it's over: you just want to play it again.
