I keep hearing these horrible things about the Met’s production of La Sonnambula. I heard the audience actually booed Mary Zimmerman, the director. What is this, the 1800s? You hear stories all the time about operas that were booed their first time around. Like Madama Butterfly and Carmen - which are of course total crap that no one ever listens to. Except everybody. Which bodes well for Mary Zimmerman’s production, no?
Today I saw the broadcast of La Sonnambula (you know how to pronounce it by now, right?). I think Zimmerman put the cast in Swiss Alps Costumes for the last 2 minutes of the opera so we could all be really grateful for the magic she had worked. Seriously, if I had had to watch The Little Goat Girl for 3 hours I would have headed to the snack stand and stayed there. Dirndls and lederhosen and embroidered edelweiss all have their place, but I’m not sure where it is. One of the circles of hell, perhaps?
Here are some things I liked:
Natalie Dessay’s green shoes
the use of hand sanitizer after Lisa’s admirer held her hand
Lisa in general - especially when she offered Amina (her rival) an empty coffee pot in which to put her flowers
the sound of chimes, which was probably not identified as Amina’s cell phone in the original 1831 production
Here’s what I didn’t like:
They introduced us to the prompter but didn’t show us the little box she sits in.
I loved seeing La Sonnambula placed in a rehearsal hall and didn’t find it the least bit incongruous. I always figured singers talk like that when they’re in rehearsal. Granted I should know better after Karita Mattila gave her famous “let’s go kick some ass” quote to 5 quadrillion people in high definition.
I must also say that Apple Betty love love loved it. Yes, she is six. But she is very discerning and I bet she knows more about opera than a lot of those posers at the performance.
I bet the people who booed are closet lederhosen fetishists.
My precious, precious Opera Colorado (to whom I owe my fondness for opera) has one more opera this season: Cosi Fan Tutte.
Why do I owe my fondness for opera to them? It’s not their fault, really. It’s just that they had these cheap seats in the rings AND it was my first experience with surround titles.
That was back when they were performing in Boetcher Concert Hall - a theater in the round. I loved it because you could sit in a single row of seats, suspended high over the stage. You were literally looking down on the action. That was perfect for those of us who felt impelled to take off our shoes and curl up like a cat. No one seemed to care about opera manners in the rings.
Now that I think about it, maybe their new home at the Ellie Caulkins Opera House is due to people taking off their shoes at Boetcher. Ellie Caulkins Opera House, by the way, is the restored Auditorium Theater. I was a mouse in the Nutcracker at the Auditorium Theater. And what a mouse I was.
But that was many moons and 2,000 miles ago. This is now, and now is Cosi.
Literally, Cosi fan tutte means “so do they all” or if you are handy with an Italian accent, it would be “the women, they do like theeees.” Which I think would sell more tickets, frankly.
Cosi is the story of two young officers (Ferrando and Guglielmo) who are in love with a brace of sisters (Fiordiligi and Dorabella). Good luck with those names.
In short, Fiordiligi and Dorabella get punked by their fiances, who are egged on by the old and cranky Don Alfonso.
Don Alfonso bets the two officers one hundred sequins that the women they love will be unfaithful to them. One hundred sequins. What are they, drag queens?
Having complete faith in the women they love (hahahahaha!), they accept the bet.
The men pretend to go off with their regiment, and then reappear dressed as two Albanians. Ferrando (who is in love with Dorabella) hits on Fiordiligi. Guglielmo in turn takes up with Dorabella.
To their credit, the women resist the Albanians as long as they possibly can. Guglielmo is successful first, which makes Ferrando try a little harder. He, too, is eventually successful. A fake notary is brought in and fake marriage contracts are signed by fake Albanian suitors. And then the regiment returns. The Albanians are shoved into another room and a short while later they reappear dressed as themselves. They see the marriage contracts and the sisters tell them to just go ahead and kill them now.
They all get over it and get married anyway. Because, the women? They are all like this.
Opera Colorado’s Cosi fan tutte:
Saturday, April 25, 2009, 7:30 pm
Tuesday, April 28, 2009, 7:30 pm
Friday, May 1, 2009, 7:30 pm
Sunday, May 3, 2009, 2:00 pm
Cosi fan tutte (Co-SEE faun TOO-tay) was one of the last operas written by Mozart, after Don Giovanni and before the Magic Flute. The libretto was written by Lorenzo da Ponte (clearly a predecessor of the Reality TV genre).
Mahavishnu John Curmudgeon left a comment on my other blog that said, “I might like opera better if the dying (and plenty of it) was right at the beginning….”
Smarty pants.
I can’t think of any operas where it’s mostly just music and limp bodies for three and a half hours because everyone died in the first act. But maybe with a little cutting and pasting we could create an opera that runs like Memento - where it starts at the end and is pieced together in bits until you finally get to see the beginning.
Although I have never been to a Tan Dun opera (the Crouching Tiger dude), I think he’d be a good choice for an opera where everyone dies at the beginning. It would be quite beautiful. Could someone ask him please? MJC would thank you.
Tonight I saw George Balanchine’s Jewels at the Wang.
Obviously, this has nothing to do with opera. But the 14 year old in me has been giggling about that statement all evening and I just had to tell someone.
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.”)
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
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?
