Photo by Cory Weaver. Courtesy of San Diego Opera

La Bohème is stupidly famous because who doesn’t like an opera about garrets and poets and coughing? It is pronounced “Lah Boe-EM” and means “Bohemia.”

Rodolfo, Colline and Marcello are friends. Rodolfo is a poet, Colline a philosopher and Marcello a painter. They are a trifecta of monetary disfunction. The opera opens on Rodolfo, burning pages of his writing to keep warm. Schaunard, their musician friend, arrives saying he’s landed work. They all go out on the town with promises from Rodolfo to join them.

Mimi arrives, saying her candle has “blown out.” Rodolfo lights her candle (not a euphemism, yet) and sends her on her way but it “blows out” again and then she “drops her key”  and there’s some groping in the dark and singing and lo and behold the next thing you know they’re in love.

They leave to go join the others and Rodolfo buys her a bonnet which she will probably have to burn later to keep warm.

At the cafe, Marcello’s ex, Musetta, arrives with her sugardaddy, Alcindoro. Musetta sends Alcindoro off on some errand and they all have a splendid time and leave him with the bill.

In act 3 Mimi confides in Marcello that she wants to leave Rodolfo because he is so horribly jealous. Shortly after, Rodolfo talks about dumping Mimi because she’s so fickle and flirty and we’re all “wha…? When was she fickle and flirty? She hasn’t done anything but cough.” This is because there was an act 2.5 and we missed it. In act 2.5, the librettist wrote a scene where Musetta introduces Mimi to a Viscount and Mimi is indeed fickle and flirty. Who can blame her? She’s broke and dying and Rodolfo is kind of whiney.  The scene didn’t make the cut and no one bothered to proofread the rest of the libretto.

Rodolfo then admits that the real reason he wants to leave Mimi is that she is sick and probably dying and he is too poor to take care of her and is probably, in fact, making her sicker with his poetry. She overhears this and rushes to Rodolfo. They decide to stay together until spring or until one of them gets a paying gig, whichever comes first.

Later, the three friends are doing whatever it is they do in their garret when Musetta rushes in and tells them Mimi is dying. They all run around like chickens, trying to help, but she dies anyway.

The end.

I hesitate to add that La Bohème was the basis for Jonathan Larson’s Rent.

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).

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.”)

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