What says summer like watching people suffer in love? Go ahead and spend your day being all happy at the beach, and then go watch six Very Sad, Tragic Operas! It’s the stuff summer memories are made of.

The Metropolitan Opera has taken pity on those of us who need to stay out of the sun and is encoring (is that a word?) some of their Smash Hits in HD. Here’s the schedule, linked to the totally unauthorized synopses:

Verdi’s Aida
Wed., June 16, 6:30 pm
Conductor: Daniele Gatti; Production: Sonja Frisell; Violeta Urmana, Dolora Zajick, Johan Botha, Carlo Guelfi, Roberto Scandiuzzi, Stefan Kocán

Gounod’s Roméo et Juliette
Wed., June 23, 6:30 pm
Conductor: Plácido Domingo; Production: Guy Joosten; Anna Netrebko, Isabel Leonard, Roberto Alagna, Nathan Gunn, Robert Lloyd

Tchaikovsky’s Eugene Onegin
Wed., July 7, 6:30 pm
Conductor: Valery Gergiev; Production: Robert Carsen; Renée Fleming, Ramón Vargas, Dmitri Hvorostovsky, Sergei Aleksashkin

Puccini’s La Bohème
Wed., July 14, 6:30 pm
Conductor: Nicola Luisotti; Production: Franco Zeffirelli; Angela Gheorghiu, Ainhoa Arteta, Ramón Vargas, Ludovic Tézier, Quinn Kelsey, Oren Gradus, Paul Plishka

Puccini’s Turandot
Wed, July 21, 6:30 pm
Conductor: Andris Nelsons; Production: Franco Zeffirelli; Maria Guleghina, Marina Poplavskaya, Marcello Giordani, Samuel Ramey

Bizet’s Carmen
Wed., July 28, 6:30 pm
Conductor: Yannick Nézet-Séguin; Production: Richard Eyre; Barbara Frittoli, Elīna Garanča, Roberto Alagna, Mariusz Kwiecien

Aida is set in Egypt because people like seeing exotic things without getting off their couches. That’s why there are so many operas about hookers. This one’s not about a hooker. It’s about the captain of the Egyptian guard, Radames, who is in love with an Ethiopian slave, Aida. Aida is the slave of the Egyptian Princess Amneris, who is in love with Radames.

The Ethiopians are coming and Isis tells Radames to go  conquer them. Isis isn’t actually in this opera. She’s working flex time and telecommutes.

The Ethiopian army is lead by Amonasro, king of Ethiopia. Amonasro happens to be Aida’s father, which everyone in Egypt would know if they had read the synopsis in their programs. Aida does not know which team colors to wear.

Radames comes back victorious, trailing several captors including the man he would like to call his father in law. Amonasro is dressed as a captain and although Aida greets him as his father, they still don’t know he’s king. The people all say to have pity on the captors. The priests say that sounds like a good idea and they’ll get right on it after they’ve had them killed. The king of Egypt congratulates Radames and invites him to marry his daughter. Considering what kind of mood the priests are in, Radames doesn’t mention his preference for Aida.

Amonasro, who is kind of a jerk, reminds Aida that Radames just killed a bunch of her friends and conquered her homeland. She’s unphased by this logic.

Radames had figured that if he conquered the Ethiopians, he’d be able to come home and marry Aida. He’s just not that into Egyptian princesses (especially kind of bitchy ones). Aida suggests they run off together and Radames spills the beans that the Egyptian army will be going through a super secret pass the next day so it will be unguarded and they can go that way. The king of Ethiopia then blows it all by triumphantly announcing to anyone who will listen that Radames is a traitor and the Ethiopians will now sneakily attack them in the super secret pass, because no one had invented or cracked the Enigma yet. Or figured out how to read ahead in the programs, for that matter.

Radames is tried as a traitor and the priests, who are still in a mood, announce that he should be buried alive. Radames goes into his brandy spandy new tomb which they’ve prepared for just such an occasion and as they push the big stone closed over his head, he notices that Aida is in the tomb with him. She snuck in the night before and no one thought to stop her because who wants to be in a tomb that’s about to be sealed if you’re not actually dead yet?

The next bit requires some stage trickery because Aida and Radames are singing in the tomb while Amneris et al are above, wringing their hands (or toasting themselves, depending). Everyone sings and then - you know I spoil all the surprise endings, right? - they die. For good measure, Amneris comes around just in time to be equally miserable (but less dead).

It’s okay, I didn’t know there was a Hamlet opera either. It’s by Ambroise Thomas.

The opera Hamlet is very much like the play Hamlet except for the places where it’s not. I guess the original libretto had Hamlet still alive at the end but then the audience was so upset they gathered their pitchforks and torches and were all set to go onstage and kill Hamlet themselves. So they changed it and now everyone ends up dead at the end, all tidy like.

Apropos of nothing, I now have a giant crush on Simon Keenlyside. We will not speak of it again.

So. Claudius marries Gertrude after they knock off King Hamlet. Prince Hamlet is sulky. Ophelia (Marlis Petersen) cheers him up because he loves her and besides, she only arrived from Vienna 3 days before the opera opened and we should all be very, very nice to her. That won’t stop her from killing herself, though.

Ophelia’s brother, Laërte, is leaving for Norway and asks Hamlet to take good care of his sister while he’s gone. Since Hamlet is obviously starting to go a little wobbly in the head, this is like asking a dog to watch your food. It might have been okay except Hamlet’s friends, Scooby and Shaggy, show up and are all “zoikes! a ghost!” and sure enough, King Hamlet’s ghost starts rattling around all creepy-like.

Scooby and Shaggy run off to make themselves a pastrami sandwich in the castle’s kitchen while Dead King Hamlet tells his son that he was poisoned by Claudius who I forgot to mention is his brother. Claudius killed his brother, married his wife, and took his crown. King Hamlet’s soul has been released from hell so he can have a little chat with Hamlet and talk him into killing Claudius. Is it just me, or does it seem like a bad idea to follow instructions from someone/something recently “released from hell?”

Hamlet pretends he’s off his rocker but there was an awful lot of inbreeding back in those days so I’m not totally convinced it was an act. He pulls that old “reenact the crime as a farce” trick and when Claudius blanches, Hamlet jumps up on the banquet table, pours red wine all over himself and suddenly you’re wondering when you started watching Carrie.

Then he’s a jerk to Ophelia. He was already being a jerk but when he found out Ophelia’s father was in on the plot, that really pushes him over the edge. He tells Ophelia to “get thee to a nunnery.”

Note: It was dangerous being a woman in love in those days. When they were betrayed or their betrothed went off their rockers, the women either killed themselves or  just up and died. Now we’d let all the air out of Hamlet’s tires and sell his stuff while he was trying to figure out how to get home from work with four flat tires.

I have not actually done that.

There is no place to drown so Ophelia:

• goes crazy
• stabs herself
• sings
• cuts both wrists
• sings some more
• lies down in a dead-like manner
• hears choirs of angels
• gets up
• sings some more
• and dies.

For no particular reason, Hamlet shows up at the graveyard as her grave is being dug. Laërte shows up and is all “nice job, jerk.” He challenges Hamlet to a duel and they stab each other. Laërte dies first. The funeral procession files in and suddenly Hamlet realizes the grave is for Ophelia. The Ghost of King Hamlet Past shows up for everyone to see. Claudius says “and I would have gotten away with it too, if it weren’t for you meddling kids” just as Hamlet stabs him. Hamlet dies next to Ophelia. Castle Elsinore may or may not get sold to a developer and turned into a shopping mall now that the ghost has been avenged.

The end.

I have to admit, I went to the Metropolitan Opera’s HD broadcast of Orfeo ed Eurydice because there were Isaac Mizrahi costumes involved. My friend went for the Mark Morris choreography. We were both pleasantly surprised by the music. Costumes, choreography AND singing? Heavens to Betsy, it’s our lucky day.

The role of Orfeo (Orpheus) was sung by a mezzo-soprano, who is not a man. Why, you ask, is the role of Orfeo sung by a woman? Because there’s a shortage of castrati these days. And Jimmy Somerville, to the best of Wikipedia’s knowledge, does not sing opera. When Gluck wrote the music, the title role was intended for a man who had been, ahem, altered, so that his voice would not change at puberty. I hope you are sitting. Opera is a sordid affair. In short, no one at the Met can sing that high except for the women and the prepubescent boys. And we should all be grateful for that. Especially the prepubescent boys.

Where was I?

The first scene opens on Orfeo, some shepherds, and a handful of nymphs (the woodland kind, not the teenage rock show kind). Eurydice is not there, because she’s dead. There is much wailing and singing of sadness until finally Orfeo tells the nymphs and whatnot to zip it because they are making it way worse and they weren’t married to her anyway so what’s their problem? Meanwhile, the god of love, Amor, has heard all the cacophony and takes pity on this poor musician. Amor tells Orfeo that Jove feels kind of bad and will allow Orfeo a visit to the underworld to retrieve Eurydice. The catch is, Orfeo cannot look at Eurydice and he can’t tell her why he won’t turn around. You can see where this is going, can’t you?

The second act is of Orfeo battling furies and dead dudes. He sings to them and they let him through the gates of Hades and on to the Elysian Fields. Were you asleep during your high school mythology class or are you keeping up? In the Elysian Fields, the dead heroes and heroines bring Eurydice to Orfeo, and off they go.

In act three, Orfeo leads Eurydice through the underworld. At one point she thinks he doesn’t love her anymore (go figure). He turns to reassure her, which of course sends her back to the underworld - dead again. Orfeo sings “Che farò senza Euridice?” which is Italian for “where are my sleeping pills?” Not wanting yet another overdosed musician in the underworld, Amor stops Orfeo from killing himself, revives Eurydice and gets them a nice place in the Hamptons where they live happily ever after. I may have taken some liberties with the details, but you get the idea.

(Orfeo ed Eurice - pronounced Or-FAY-oh ed oo-ree-DEE-chay. You get extra points for trilling the “ree.”)

La Rondine. Rhymes with “the wrong bidet.”

This would totally be an opera about me, if I were a courtesan in Paris.

But before I tell you all about it, I need to disclose that I am on hold with Orbitz while I’m writing. They changed my itinerary and I want them to change it back. I don’t think I’m a control freak, but if I decide when to take a vacation and I buy a ticket to go on vacation at that time, I don’t want some random stranger changing it for me. You know?

La Rondine would never have been okay with Orbitz changing her itinerary. I bet she traveled a lot.

If I were a courtesan, I would travel all the time. And I would take a painting class and maybe voice lessons. I would have a personal shopper and make friends with her so we could go have coffee. Oh, and I’d have a pied a terre in St. Petersburg because why the hell not?

Not that I’ve thought about it, mind you.

If I were a courtesan, I might  very well get bored with the old dude who’s paying the rent on my pied a terre. I might, even, dress in The Domestic Help’s clothes and go out on the town by myself - for old times’ sake. And I might fall in love. Because falling in love with a person instead of a benefits package might be refreshing, no?

And then, if I were La Rondine, I would go to the south of France and live with the man I fell in love with. But I would not tell him who I really am, because he might not take the fact that I’m a high class prostitute so well. And that’s where things would get kind of tricky.

He might write to his parents and ask them for their blessings so he could marry me and bring me home to… I don’t know… raise chickens? And his mother might be all thrilled and say something like “well she sure must be a pure young thing to have captured your heart! Not like those slut-puppets you dated in high school.” And that would make me feel bad, being a slut puppet and all.

So I’d admit to him that I wasn’t who I said I was and I couldn’t possibly go meet his mama and raise his chickens. He would cry. I would cry. And then the old dude would show up and I’d be all “oh look, I get my job back! I hope my Bergdorf’s account is still in good standing.”

and the curtain would close.

Fin.

(I’m still on hold, btw.)

photo: Angela Gheorghiu in the Met’s production of La Rondine. Ken Howard/Metropolitan Opera

If I were a courtesan, I would not wear that hat.

Try to follow along here.

La Cenerentola (la chay-nay-RAIN-toe-la), is the story of Cinderella, but without the mice and the fairy godmother and the pumpkin and the annoying-ass songs.

La Cenerentola has two wicked stepsisters (Clorinda and Thisbe) and accidentally falls in love with a prince (Ramiro). Instead of a stepmother, she has an equally beastly stepfather (Magnifico). Instead of a fairy godmother, she has Alidoro (“wings of gold,” get it?). He’s either the court philosopher or Ramiro’s tutor, depending on which source you read. Dandini is the Prince’s valet. I guess he’s the pumpkin.

This is where it gets confusing because no one is who he says he is. It’s like a French farce. In Italian.

Alidoro (the court philosopher dude) shows up dressed as a begger. Cenerentola is nice to him and he sees what bitches the step-sisters are. Courtiers then show up to let the sisters know that the prince is on his way to escort them to the ball, where he will chose a bride.

The sisters rush around, getting ready. You know the drill. Try not to get the non-Rossini songs (sung in mouse voice) stuck in your head, please.

Ramiro (remember, he’s the prince), arrives dressed as his own servant so he can scope it out. He and Cenerentola fall in love.

The valet, Dandini, arrives dressed as the prince. He, too, sees what bitches the step-sisters are.

Ramiro, his valet and the evil step-sisters go off to the ball. Cenerentola is of course not permitted to go. Don’t you worry, though. Alidoro will show up with her later.

Much confusion at the ball, what with everyone pretending to be who they’re not. Dandini, dressed as the Prince, asks Cenerentola to be his queen but she claims she’s in love with his valet. Ramiro nearly faints with glee at the thought.

She keeps her shoes on, but does give Ramiro a bracelet and tells him if he loves her he must come find her. Which is silly because wasn’t he just at her house?

He does. They marry. Tra la!

Fin.

I am sorry if you missed the high def broadcast of the Met’s Lucia di Lammermoor. You made a wretched mistake and we shall not dwell on it.

Okay we might dwell on it a little bit. Among other things (specters! Filial deception! Russian and Polish people singing in Italian while acting Scottish!), you missed a 20 minute mad scene in which Anna Netrebko, arguably the hottest diva in all of opera, goes nuts. Suffice it to say that going back to your wedding reception after knocking off your brandy spandy new husband is likely to get noticed and no one will want to dance with you.

You missed a doozy. BUT! You can redeem yourself on March 7th! The Metropolitan Opera is doing yet another high def broadcast. This time it’s Madama Butterfly, which is equally depressing even though it has 50% fewer deaths than Lucia.

My sister and I were dragged to see Madama Butterfly when we were kids and all we remember is how horribly we behaved. That and how boring it was watching her sit around and wait for Pinkerton to show up. Oh, if we had only known what we were watching. And if only there had been subtitles. And if only we had appreciated that anything involving geishas is kind of awesome. We would have been much, much better.

So. Madama Butterfly is temporarily married off to an American Lieutenant at the turn of the last century. She’s a geisha, but she’s young and naïve and doesn’t realize it’s a temporary thing. He leaves after knocking her up, and she waits for his return.

And she waits.

And she waits.

And then he shows up! But he’s with his legit wife. The non-temporary, non-Japanese one. Let me here insert that historically, Americans have shown themselves to be Real Wankers sometimes. I fully intend to throw things at Pinkerton, à la Rocky Horror Picture Show. Don’t worry, theater owners, I throw like a girl.

I don’t want to ruin the ending for you, but let’s just say it doesn’t go well.

Yes, there’s some waiting. It’s not exactly like Waiting for Guffman, in that it takes place in Japan, has nothing to do with amateur theater and has a humming chorus. A humming chorus! Also, the part of the little boy is played (portrayed?) by a puppet. I was leery of this at first because the puppet in question looks like an artist’s mannequin and I figured it was just a budget cut. However, it’s Japanese puppet theater and I have heard on the streets that that little block of wood will break your stone cold heart.

I dare you to show up and not weep like a humming chorus baby. Please note that if you want to take me up on my dare, you have to get tickets soon. Those people who didn’t miss Lucia are already lining back up at the box office. Even though there’s 50% less death.

photo: Ken Howard/Metropolitan Opera

Dr. Atomic at the Met

(This is a reprint of something I wrote for the November 2008 issue of C.O.D)

In the event that you are unable to imagine what the love child of Schoolhouse Rock and the Barber of Seville would look like, the Met’s HD production of Dr. Atomic is rebroadcasting next week in a theater near you.

Yes, it’s the Met – as in the Metropolitan Opera, not The Mets. But just hold your horses because it’s not what you think. There are no lines like “oh Brunhilda, you’re so lovely.” Instead there are lines like “we surround the plutonium core from 32 points spaced equally around its surface….” I’m not kidding even a little bit. Do you know how totally weird it is to hear a full chorus sing that? And who knew? About the 32 points, I mean. I learned a lot about nuclear physics, let me tell you.

I also learned that you can write a libretto by plagiarizing from such diverse sources as Baudelaire, Bhagavad Gita, traditional Tewa songs and U.S. government documents. I could totally write a libretto. And imagine my surprise when I discovered that Peter Sellars had written this one! Like “The Sleeper” and “Mighty Aphrodite!” That rocks. Except that it’s Peter Sellars, not Peter Sellers. Close – but close only counts in horseshoes, hand grenades and atom bombs.

So. The opera opens with all these scientists standing in scientist-sized cubby holes arranged like the periodic table, or a long Hollywood Squares. They are the scientists working at the Manhattan Project Laboratory, in Los Alamos, New Mexico. They look very, very smart, and they sing about things like turning matter into energy and the morality of using the bomb against Japan when Germany has already surrendered. Dr. Atomic is J. Robert Oppenheimer (Gerald Finley).

The scene skips from the lab to Oppenheimer’s home, where his wife, Kitty, is not so sure all this atomicness is a good idea. The role of Kitty is sung by the very lovely Sasha Cooke. Good thing she’s lovely, because when those HD cameras go in for close-ups they are not messing around. If you are wondering if opera stars floss before performances, I am here to say it looks as if they do.

From here we go to the “Trinity” test site, at Alamogordo, New Mexico. Factoid: Oppenheimer named the site Trinity after a sonnet by John Donne. The aria at the end of the first act “Batter my heart, three-person’d God,” is also based on that sonnet and was my favorite bit of music. La di da.

And then there’s an intermission, but instead of dashing right off to the restroom, we watched an interview with Gerald Finley and John Adams. Adams is the composer and he said many illuminating things about the opera which I can’t tell you because when I referred to my notes all it said was “John Adams: Olive-gold plaid jacket with pink and blue striped shirt. Am dizzy. Surely the projector is not correctly color balanced?”

Back to the Oppenheimers’ house, which is 200 miles away from Trinity. Kitty and her maid are watching the sky for the explosion in the dead of night. Kitty gets a little lit. I wonder if there was a cocktail shaker on everyone’s nightstand in the mid 1940s.

Finally, back to the test site where the explosion is scheduled for 5:30a.m., in the midst of an electrical storm. The scientists, who looked so smart in the first act, are now standing next to an atomic bomb in an electrical storm. I may not be a scientist, but this does not look like a good idea to me.

Right around this point I realize I had forgotten I was watching an opera and was all “yes but WHAT HAPPENS NOW!?!?” Even though it’s in English, it’s still subtitled, so as you read the words and watch the action you start to feel like you’re watching a particularly arty foreign film. In a language that sounds like singing. I think more languages should sound like singing. I would not be fluent in them.

I’m not going to tell you how it ends because that would be a spoiler. You will totally never guess what happens. Alright, you already know what happens, but still, it’s kind of amazing to watch. You may forget to breath for minutes at a time. Oppenheimer says it’s a two minute warning but it was the longest two minutes in opera history (including Wagner operas, which defy time and space in their ability to go on and on ad infinitum).

I saw the broadcast live at Wellfleet Harbor Actors Theater, where they’re rebroadcasting next Saturday, November 15, at 1pm. The Met HD broadcasts are also shown at Cape Cinema, in Dennis. Tickets tend to go fast, so use your computer prowess and order them online to be safe. There is absolutely no reason why we should be letting the old school opera snobs have all the fun (hi mom!).

The next opera is Damnation of Faust and you should probably go see it before I go and ruin the ending for you. Because I will. Stay tuned.

photo: Ken Howard/Metropolitan Opera

Natalie Dessay as Amina in the Met’s La Sonnambula

First, some housekeeping.

I’m giving the pronunciation of these opera titles because earlier in the season I was chatting up an acquaintance and was all proud of myself for knowing what was scheduled until she repeated the name of each opera correctly.

So I rapped all of “She’s Crafty” and it totally put her in her place.

Also, I am listening to Belle & Sebastian as I write this, so if my lyric tone comes off more Belle-y  than Bellini-y, you’ll know why. Why am I listening to Belle & Sebastian as I type? Same reason I do most things. I’m too lazy to get up and change it. And I like this song.

There. That’s the most housekeeping I’ve done all day.

In three shakes of a little lambs tail, the second-to-last HD live broadcast from the Met will be upon us. It’s La Sonnambula (la so-NAM- boo-la) and has nothing to do with a sonogram so don’t make the same mistake I did when talking to your opera friends, okay?

La Sonnambula is known for its lame plot. No really, it is. So the Met thought they’d shake things up a bit, because opera people are a fickle, finicky lot. They like their operas to be fresh! and! new! even though they were originally performed in 1831.

Here’s what it’s supposed to be about:

In a little Swiss village all full of brown fuzzy cows, a lovely young couple (Amina and Elvino) prepares for their wedding. There is, of course, a jilted lover (Lisa) because without a jilted lover it just wouldn’t be opera. It would be the periodic table. Which would make a lousy opera, no matter what Dr. Atomic has to say about it.

A stranger arrives (Count Rodolfo) who turns out to be the long lost lord of the manor in disguise. He stays at the inn, which is run by Lisa the Jilted Lover.

Lisa figures out who he is, and hits on him. She goes to his room and asks if he has everything he needs (go ahead and read between the lines, it’s opera after all). She also lets him know that the gig is up and the whole village is on the way to welcome him because long lost lords of the manor don’t come through town every day. He’s quite taken with her and things might have gone well for Lisa except just then they notice a ladder at the window. Lisa runs from the room, dropping her scarf. Well yes, OF COURSE the dropped scarf is important.

And then who should appear on the ladder? Amina.

It’s obvious to the count that Amina is sleepwalking. She’s going on and on about her love for Elvino, which is not the best way to get lucky with an out of town stranger. He thinks she’s cute and sweet and leaves through the window without waking her. She, still asleep, lies down on the bed. Which is a mistake.

The townspeople arrive all in a dither about greeting the count. For reasons best understood by the librettist, they think it’s okay to go on into his room. Where they find Amina. In his bed.

Things don’t look so good for Amina.

It gets worse. Just then Elvino arrives, escorted by Lisa who is all “in your face, sister!”  Everyone is singing at everyone else. Amina wakes up. She has no idea where she is or why everyone’s in such a twist. Elvino says he’ll never marry her, blah blah blah. Amina cries and Teresa, her foster mother and the owner of the local mill, tries to comfort her. In the process of comforting her, Teresa wraps Lisa’s scarf around her shoulders.

I have no idea why you should know that Teresa is the owner of the local mill.

Everyone rushes off and there are some scene changes.

In Act 2, the entire village has set off to the manor to see if Count Rodolfo will clear things up for them. Which makes perfect sense because OF COURSE  he will be honorable and tell the truth about why there was a young woman asleep in his bed. Those Swiss. They’re so remarkably neutral.

Amina and Elvino meet up and face off. They sing at each other for awhile. There is crying.

And then Elvino decides it might be a good idea to marry Lisa after all. They’re on their way to the church when Count Rodolfo arrives and asks what’s up. After hearing the story, he tells Elvino he’s making a big mistake. While Amina was indeed in his room, she was asleep. This is a lousy story and no one really believes him.

Teresa shows up and asks everyone to pipe down because Amina has finally fallen asleep. And then she asks Elvino and Lisa where they’re off to all happy-like.  Lisa tells Teresa that they’re off to the church to be married, because at least SHE wasn’t in the count’s bedroom. Teresa produces the scarf. The wedding is probably not happening.

More singing at each other. The entire village has gathered and poor Elvino does not know what to do. He is apparently very cute and not very smart. He asks Count Rodolfo who to believe (because since both women were in his room he should be the authority, clearly). Rodolfo insists that Amina is innocent and then points to the upper window where Amina appears. She climbs out the window and sleepwalks along the rooftop while the entire village fails to breathe.

Things turn out for Amina and Elvino after all. We have no idea what happens to Lisa.

Here’s what the Met did with it:

Instead of a Swiss village, it’s set in a rehearsal space in New York. It’s kind of a Noises Off thing, where the company is rehearsing La Sonnambula and the two leads are also engaged and living the plot of La Sonnambula off stage.

Because it’s opera and therefore SCRIPTURE, they can’t go changing the libretto to fit the new plot. So imagine reading the lines and fitting them into a different scenario. It’s kind of like playing “that’s what she said.” But with more singing.

As usual, I can’t wait.

photo: Brigitte Lacombe/Metropolitan Opera

My six year old daughter, Apple Betty, pitched an unholy fit when I went off to see Thaïs without her. Which I suppose if you are going to pitch a fit about an opera involving a courtesan and a zealot, an unholy one fits the bill. Since I officially get two passes to the Met hd opera broadcasts, I figured “meh? why not,” and took her.

A motlier group has never graced the theater, I am sure. I, of course, looked stunning. I looked stunning by ignoring my family completely and getting my own bad self ready. Apple looked her own version of stunning: unbrushed hair, striped leggings, AC/DC tour t-shirt, cowboy boots. In short, a child ignored. They let us in anyway and were remarkably gracious.

Especially since we were an hour late. According to the house manager, all we missed was a bunch of chest-pounding by the great unwashed (including but not restricted to Thomas Hampson as a very hairy Athanael). In the first act, Athanael gets all shades of worked up over Thaïs (Renée Fleming) and shan’t rest until he’s converted her whoring-soul to Christianity.

Thaïs, if you’re unaware, is a courtesan. A courtesan is a species of escort. The good ones get penthouse suites and a fat allowance to spend on entertaining and making themselves even more courtesany. Back in the day, they were expected to be conversant on such topics as politics, literature, history and the S&P 500. They were also expected to sleep with their benefactors. Duh. Except for that “conversant” bit, I think The Girls Next Door are examples of modern day courtesans.

So. Athanael (rhymes with “denial”) goes to Egypt and tells Thaïs (rhymes with “high class prostitute”) all about her eternal salvation. Remarkably, he is successful (she’s considering it as a retirement plan). In a moment of very poor judgement, he goes to her in her bedroom to convince her to come away with him. She falls to the floor in front of him, clawing him, clinging to him, begging him to make things right between her and God. All the while, he’s doing a bit of praying himself - staring straight ahead and most likely repeating “there’s no place like home, there’s no place like home….” It can’t be easy for a man of God to have Renée Fleming prostrating herself at your feet.

You’d think they could just sneak away in the morning, when the others were nursing hangovers, but no. He tells her to burn everything she owns - her palace, her jewels, even her little statue of Eros for heaven sakes. You’d think that the “burn all your earthly possessions” thing would have raised some red flags. When someone wearing a hair shirt tells you to burn your own home, it’s time to wonder if he’s been taking the voices of Snap, Crackle and Pop a little too seriously. Also, you should prepare to die in the last act.

In Act 3, Athanael checks Thaïs into a 5 star convent, where she washes away her sins. As it turns out, you can take the courtesan out of the sin, but you can’t take the sin out of the courtesan - there being not much left when you pull her out of the dryer. So she dies.

But before she dies, she has an Eliott and E.T. moment with Athanael, seducing him in a dream. I’m not suggesting that E.T. seduced Eliott in a dream. That’s really creepy. Let’s all put it from our minds. I’m saying that Athanael woke up and went “nooooooo! she’s dying!!!!!!” and went to go tell her he wanted to make beautiful baby zealots with her.

She’s all “the gates of heaven! I see angels!”

And he’s all “There is no God! Have my babies!”

What we have here, as they say, is a failure to communicate.

She dies anyway and frankly I can’t blame her. What’s he going to do? Get a job at the Alexandria Superette? Make her sleep on a rock? She’s used to dresses by Christian Lacroix (who was the costume designer). I just don’t see the part about “providing for her in the manner to which she is accustomed” working out.

Speaking of her Christian Lacroix dresses, the last one she wore was made by saturating the fabric with plaster of paris and then sculpting it. Maybe not so comfortable, but totally kick ass.

The Met broadcasts explain things like this during the intermissions. You also get to see the set changes and close ups of the orchestra pit - which is all great for people who like opera but have very short attention spans.

Apple even made it through without garnering a single dirty look from the opera aficionados around her. Which bodes well for the future of opera. It also bodes well for my ability to spell “aficionado.”

fin

photo: Brigitte Lacombe/Metropolitan Opera