“Opera Meets Film” is a feature dedicated to exploring the way that opera has been employed in cinema. We will select a section or a film in its entirety, highlighting the impact that utilizing the operatic form or sections from an opera can alter our perception of a film that we are viewing. This week’s installment is Martin Scorcese’s “The Age of Innocence.”

The beginning of Scorcese’s period film is all about Gounod’s “Faust.”

As the credits roll by in their magical power, we are treated to a somber passage from the opera, highlighting the tragic nature of the film. Just as the credits draw to a close, a female voice interjects – Marguerite at the start of the love duet with Faust.

Throughout this passage we see Marguerite struggle with her feelings, give in, and at the close, beg Faust not to do her any damage. Ultimately, he does just that, leaving her pregnant and ultimately crazy and unhappy.

Scorcese’s film takes place in 1870s New York and “Faust,” of course, was the opera to open the Metropolitan Opera a decade later. But the choice here isn’t merely in paying homage to a historic event, but to set us up for the story to unfold.

“Missing” Link

The opera will show up again later on in the film, close to its end, this time with Marguerite professing her love. We get references to the jewel song at another interval, but one element of the presentation of “Faust” in this film is surprisingly absent – Méphistophélès himself. He is the motor of the story, regardless of the title. He is the reason for Faust and Marguerite’s tragedy. He brings them together.

He’s never referenced onstage, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t present in the world of the film. In fact, he’s right there from the start, watching Faust and Marguerite’s ill-suited romance take shape. In “The Age of Innocence,” the devil is society itself.

The film’s narrator is a god-like presence but we know from her all-knowing voice and attitude that the world she describes is hell on earth. No one has freedom from the watchful and judging eye of those around them.

The film itself functions on a love triangle much in the way the opera itself does. In the opera, Faust is bound to his love for Marguerite but his oath to the devil, which will eventually take his soul to hell. In the film, Newland Archer is stuck between his passionate love for the Countess Ellen Olenska (who is looked down upon by society for his messy divorce) and that of his fiancée May Welland. May, of course, in all her goodness and sweetness is a representative of society. What makes this triangle interesting is that it is not clear who is Marguerite and who is the devil in this triangle – both May and Olenska represent different hells for Newland.

The Triangle

He loves Ellen Olenska and their affair is the genuinely passionate one, but eloping with her would mean that Newland would be a social outcast. He would be living like a nomad with no place to stay. He would have no respect amongst his peers. He would be no one. While Ellen is a noblewoman who the audience is meant to feel for, Newland’s affair with her is the metaphor for the devil and Marguerite all at once. There can be no happiness for either in the arrangement even if they themselves enjoy its passion for a bit.

Meanwhile, May is a sweet and beautiful person. She knows about his feelings for her cousin Ellen and gives him the opportunity to walk away from their marriage to pursue his love. More than Ellen, she is Marguerite, fragile and innocent, and the one to be hurt and damaged by his affair. But Newland ultimately opts for the safety net of society, doing things the way “they are supposed to be.” His reward for this Faustian pact? His own misery. He cares for May, but we know that he never loves her fully.

But the clincher here is that Newland is both Faust, the romantic hero, and Méphistophélès himself. He gives both women hopes and dreams of love, but he also gives them suffering and shame.

It is no surprise here that the three wind up suffering, with Newland’s misery the most potent. We never know what comes of Ellen when she returns to Europe, though there is no mention of newfound love or happiness for her. She left Newland and her love for him upon hearing of May’s pregnancy. She never went to find him before leaving as they had arranged. Newland and May have a family and children, but May dies young (Newland is but 57 by the film’s end). She did do what she had to, to save her marriage, even “lie” and break her cousin’s heart to get what she needed.

And Newland? We know that he was never truly happy. He wanted to leave May to go traveling around, presumably to reconnect with Ellen in Europe. But he finds himself in the ultimate society trap when May reveals her pregnancy.

The film’s glacial qualities overall give the film a sense of formality and balance that is perfectly structured by the two opera scenes at the start and near the end of the film. Opera as a structural conduit for the film is absolutely perfect as a metaphor for the societal prison of its characters. Everyone is a performer in this world and everyone is both watching and being watched. Everyone knows of Newland’s affair, just as they know of Ellen’s marital issues and Beaufort’s. Within these confines, the characters are forced to “act” their way through the societal proceedings to what is ultimately a doomed and unhappy fate.

Much like Faust and Marguerite’s, their love duet little more than a brief moment of unfulfilled hope.