Director’s Note

OREL COHEN

WRITTEN BY Tomer Zvulun

To say that we are all impacted by Steve Jobs is an understatement. I think about this as I talk on my iPhone, listen to music with my AirPods, connect with the world in text, or watch a video on my iPad. Hundreds of millions all over the world do the same every single day. Steve Jobs completely transformed the way we think about the world, how we think about knowledge, how we communicate, and how we access music. However, for all that—or perhaps because of that—he was a very complex person, an icon representing the intersection between technology and art. He embodied a radical dichotomy of absolute contrasts: a barefoot hippie yet also a sophisticated yuppie, a Zen Buddhist yet also a power-wielding CEO, an artist, and a businessman. It is this dichotomy that our opera captures so well. The music, by composer Mason Bates, offers an immediate connection to contemporary audiences. He moves flawlessly between classical style of lyrical beauty, techno, and electronics in a singular soundscape. The opera he wrote is modern, yet melodic and easy to connect with. Just as importantly, Mark Campbell, the librettist, brilliantly portrays the man who would take a break from his ambitious quest to change the world of technology to go for long walks in the mountains to find stillness and meditate.

The most striking idea for me as I read Walter Isaacson’s illuminating biography of Steve Jobs was an introduction of a concept that was unique to Jobs: RDF—Reality Distortion Field. RDF is a refusal to accept the limitations that stand in the way of one’s ideas. Through this lens, reality could be bent to one’s own will, taking what was impossible and making it possible. Jobs defied the concept of what was “impossible” again and again, forcing his vision on what would often seem like a lost battle. Apple’s Think Different campaign from 1997 summarized it best: “The people who are crazy enough to think they can change the world are the ones who do.” The RDF concept was Jobs’ superpower, his greatest strength. This power allowed him to single-handedly transform multiple different fields. He was able to change the world because of his reality distortion field. If somebody said to Steve, “You cannot do this,” he would say, “Oh yeah, I can’t? Well, here’s how we are going to do it. And by next week.”

I would argue, however, that this superpower was his eventual downfall. Reality distortion is dangerous because frequently reality fights back. Jobs’ refusal to accept reality prevented him from acknowledging that he had a daughter, and it cost him his relationships with the people closest to him. Ultimately, it killed him. When he was told, “Steve, you’re dying of cancer,” his response was to deny it and go on a fruitarian diet. When you try to fight reality, you don’t always win, and that’s the story we are telling. Mark Campbell, our librettist, thinks in a very cinematic way, honing in on psychology and character, not just biographical details. Throughout the evening, we have frequent jumps in location and time periods—from the 1970s, when he’s dropping acid with his girlfriend, to 2011 after he died—both of which can be difficult to stage. The story is not told as a typical biopic but rather, almost as a fever dream. The designer, Jacob Climer, created a world that magnifies the texture and color of Mason Bates’ remarkably beautiful music rather than a realistic manifestation of his environment. It’s like a memory play, a sleepless night in which Jobs is reflecting back on his life in a series of vignettes. Steve is the hub of the wheel, and he’s surrounded by all those other characters who illuminate him. Each vignette is a fragment of his consciousness, a moment in the story that tells the revolution of Steve Jobs. We just have to embrace them. Our staged production must be highly technical, of course, it does, because we’re telling the story of the most hi-tech icon of our time. Yet what really makes this opera a masterpiece is not the technology. It’s the relationships within it. They show how we can all, as flawed human beings, recognize and learn lessons from the life of such a tragic character. As Director, I’m more interested in his relationships with his wife, his friend, his mentor, and his ex-girlfriend than I am with the technology. Yet the tech must frame the story because this is the world of Steve Jobs. Even though we fragment that world, jumping in time and in location, the real focus always stays on the man and the people that reflected his singular light. After attending the theater, Napoleon once said, “The hero of a tragedy ... should be neither wholly guilty, nor wholly innocent. All weakness and all contradictions are unhappy in the heart of men, and present a coloring, eminently tragic.” And that’s the reason I love theater. I’m fascinated by stories of people who are neither wholly good or wholly bad, including Napoleon, and of course, Steve Jobs. When you talk about Jobs, people either think he was an absolute genius, or they think he was a megalomaniac monster. I suppose both are correct. He was complex and interesting and vulnerable and fascinating, and that is why I find telling his story so challenging and inspiring, and ultimately, so rewarding.