What better way to spend a Saturday morning than watching a live opera in your sweatpants? The Metropolitan Opera's high -definition simulcasts offer opera lovers the opportunity to do just that, and for a very nice price.
For about twenty-five bucks, you can buy yourself a ticket to the Met matinee of your choice. You then print your ticket at home and head out to your participating local movie theater. And voila, you're watching opera and having popcorn.
I have now seen two of these simulcasts, "Lucia di Lammermoor" a couple of months ago and "La Cenerentola" today. It's not quite the same as being there, but it does come with the benefits of close-ups of the singers and musicians, glimpses of what goes on backstage, and interviews with the stars during intermission. It's a truly wonderful way to get your opera fix and save some cash and gas. Plus, then you can say, "Oh yes, I saw [famous singer] in [famous opera] when she sang it at the Met." It's technically true, and people will be impressed.
Due to their informality, these simulcasts are also a great way to introduce first-timers and kids to the genre. The parents of one of my best friends saw the simulcast of "Lucia di Lammermoor" on a whim. It was the first opera they had ever seen, and they were back again today. Today the movie theater, perhaps tomorrow the orchestra section.
The Met's season is now over; today was closing day, with "Cenerentola" as the matinee and "Gotterdammerung" in the evening. So, it looks like I'm back to DVDs and recordings for a while, but, between L.A. Opera and the Met simulcasts, next season will be twice as busy for me.
Saturday, May 9, 2009
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Still magic after all these years
Well. I should have posted this earlier, but first I came down with a bad case of Inauguration Fever and then, as a reaction, a fit of the Doldrums. But now I feel like purging my brain of some opera-thoughts, so here comes my overdue review of LAO's "Magic Flute." Well, maybe not so much a review as a reverie...
"The Magic Flute" has a special heart in my heart, since it was the first opera I ever saw, at the age of twenty-one. Seeing it again seven years later made me remember just how special that occasion was. I know I constantly harp on the fact that LAO often puts on the same productions year after year, but in this case, it was really okay. Since they'd been absent lo these seven years, seeing the Gerald Scarfe-designed sets again was like seeing an old friend. The proscenium in the first act is painted to match the pattern of the giant serpent that Tamino flees in the opening scene. Tamino himself, in his white double-breasted costume and red boots, looked endearingly like a little kid who has decided to wear his cowboy boots over his pajamas. And everyone loved the bizarre creatures that the twistedly brilliant Scarfe inserted into the scene where Tamino plays his flute before the temple doors; there was a penguin-thing with a crocodile face, an ostrich creature with a giraffe neck, something that looked like a cross between an ibis and a porcupine, and several others.
As for the singing, it was uniformly very good. I can't find my program at the moment, but when I do I will tell you the names of the singers. Suffice it to say for now that Tamino had the classic Mozartean tenor pitch, Pamina sang beautifully and with requisite sweetness, and Papageno, of course, stole all the scenes he was in. I have to say, though, that I was rather disappointed in the Queen of the Night; she cheated on her highest notes by chirping rather than actually singing, and she didn't have the all-eyes-on-me stage presence that I feel the role requires. Sumi Jo, whom I had the great pleasure of seeing in the 2001 production, will always be my personal benchmark for this role.
Not-so-terrifying Queen of the Night aside, I relived all the excitement and enjoyment of that first performance (and this time, I didn't come down with the chicken pox the next day). My pleasure was enhanced, this time, by the fact that in the last seven years I have come to know "The Magic Flute" quite thoroughly from having listened to recordings; I found that I didn't have to read the supertitles, which allowed me to focus completely on the show on stage. Some day, maybe someone will put on a sing-along version; that's the only thing that could make my enjoyment of this opera more complete (though it would undoubtedly lessen the enjoyment of those around me...)
Despite its surface whimsicality, "The Magic Flute" is a work of profound beauty and power. No matter who's in it or what it looks like, this one will always be right near the top of my all-time favorites list.
"The Magic Flute" has a special heart in my heart, since it was the first opera I ever saw, at the age of twenty-one. Seeing it again seven years later made me remember just how special that occasion was. I know I constantly harp on the fact that LAO often puts on the same productions year after year, but in this case, it was really okay. Since they'd been absent lo these seven years, seeing the Gerald Scarfe-designed sets again was like seeing an old friend. The proscenium in the first act is painted to match the pattern of the giant serpent that Tamino flees in the opening scene. Tamino himself, in his white double-breasted costume and red boots, looked endearingly like a little kid who has decided to wear his cowboy boots over his pajamas. And everyone loved the bizarre creatures that the twistedly brilliant Scarfe inserted into the scene where Tamino plays his flute before the temple doors; there was a penguin-thing with a crocodile face, an ostrich creature with a giraffe neck, something that looked like a cross between an ibis and a porcupine, and several others.
As for the singing, it was uniformly very good. I can't find my program at the moment, but when I do I will tell you the names of the singers. Suffice it to say for now that Tamino had the classic Mozartean tenor pitch, Pamina sang beautifully and with requisite sweetness, and Papageno, of course, stole all the scenes he was in. I have to say, though, that I was rather disappointed in the Queen of the Night; she cheated on her highest notes by chirping rather than actually singing, and she didn't have the all-eyes-on-me stage presence that I feel the role requires. Sumi Jo, whom I had the great pleasure of seeing in the 2001 production, will always be my personal benchmark for this role.
Not-so-terrifying Queen of the Night aside, I relived all the excitement and enjoyment of that first performance (and this time, I didn't come down with the chicken pox the next day). My pleasure was enhanced, this time, by the fact that in the last seven years I have come to know "The Magic Flute" quite thoroughly from having listened to recordings; I found that I didn't have to read the supertitles, which allowed me to focus completely on the show on stage. Some day, maybe someone will put on a sing-along version; that's the only thing that could make my enjoyment of this opera more complete (though it would undoubtedly lessen the enjoyment of those around me...)
Despite its surface whimsicality, "The Magic Flute" is a work of profound beauty and power. No matter who's in it or what it looks like, this one will always be right near the top of my all-time favorites list.
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Innocents Abroad: My crash course in world-class opera, public transportation and how to party like it's 1929
Well, it sort of seems like old news now, but it happened. The Great Opera Pilgrimage came to fruition after all; it was small, it was low-key and it was low-budget, but damn...it was good.
Three of us set out that morning in my car - me, my best friend, and her plush companion Mr. PigPuff ("I use him as a pillow," she said. Yeah, sure. So why is he in the back seat, looking out the window?) - and headed up Highway 99 in my tiny car. I had not realized until that day that the San Joaquin Valley is really the buttcrack of California; GoogleMaps (registered trademark, all rights reserved) told me to go there, so I did. The drive was boring and a little scary; when you have politically left-leaning bumper stickers all over the back of your fuel-efficient Japanese car, it can be a little intimidating to find yourself smack in the middle of McCain/Palin country. Okies. Sheesh.
Fueled by sage cheese (purchased by my friend, who loves cheese as she does her own soul), a surprisingly small amount of gas and plenty of coffee, we made it to San Francisco in about five hours.
The hotel, which featured the threadbare carpet, creaky stairs and slightly peely paint that is referred to in the business as "European-style," was situated just a block from Union Square, and it really wasn't so bad. Really. The bathroom was very clean, and the window ledge doubled as a refrigerator for cheese and canned coffee. Very European.
Centrally located as we were, it was easy to find good food and interesting things to do, to keep us occupied between performances. To save money, we bought 48-hour tickets on an open-topped tour bus and used it as regular transportation. You have to sit through the same set of historical facts and tidbits every time, but you can get to all the major attractions quickly and effectively. And if we continued to use the tickets slightly after the 48 hours were technically up, whose business is that?
But let's talk opera. Over three nights, we were treated to some truly fine opera in a truly fine opera house. The War Memorial Opera Theatre has some of the best accoustics I have ever heard; every swish of skirts, every intake of breath, every nuance of performance was perfectly, crisply audible. Which was especially good for us, because we were way up under the rafters. Our view of the singers was enhanced the first night by OperaVision, the equivalent of JumboTron for the Mozart crowd.
We saw, in order, "Idomeneo," "The Elixir of Love," and "Boris Godunov." "Boris" was very long and heavy and Russian, and we both agreed that we liked it the least of the three. Not that it was a bad production; it's just not our cup of tea musically. But it was an opportnuity to see the great Sam Raimi in one of his signature roles, and a role he predicts he will not perform again.
"The Elixir of Love" was frothy and cute, as it was meant to be, and it was a nice counterpoint to the relative heaviness of the other two works. In the end, it was a pleasant diversion, but not much more. I must say, though, that Ramon Vargas nearly brought the house down with his "Una furtiva lagrima." Very, very well done. One might say perfectly done. "Idomeneo," though, was certainly the highlight. Kurt Streit has become virtually synonymous with the title role, and he made it look and sound maddeningly easy. Genia Kuhmeier, in the role of Ilia, used her crystal-clear, sweet-toned voice to great effect, and Adler Fellow Alek Shrader showed that he is both an extremely promising singer and a good actor, in the role of Idomeneo's councillor, Arbace. It always sends a little shiver of dread up my spine to see one of those little papers protruding from my program, telling me that in tonight's performance we will see an understudy. I had no reason to be afraid in this case, though; filling in for Alice Coote as Idamante, Adler Fellow Daniella Mack acquitted herself admirably. She was calm, collected and obviously well-prepared. And she can sing!
It was an all-too-brief week, full of great opera, long walks, and cheap but plentiful food. I learned how to ride an electric bus (they don't give change and they don't call out the stops), how to survive in a notoriously expensive city on surprisingly little cash (clam chowder is cheap and filling, and if you walk long enough in Chinatown, someone will give you a coupon for dim sum) and that San Francisco Opera is the real deal. I'm already planning my return trip.
Three of us set out that morning in my car - me, my best friend, and her plush companion Mr. PigPuff ("I use him as a pillow," she said. Yeah, sure. So why is he in the back seat, looking out the window?) - and headed up Highway 99 in my tiny car. I had not realized until that day that the San Joaquin Valley is really the buttcrack of California; GoogleMaps (registered trademark, all rights reserved) told me to go there, so I did. The drive was boring and a little scary; when you have politically left-leaning bumper stickers all over the back of your fuel-efficient Japanese car, it can be a little intimidating to find yourself smack in the middle of McCain/Palin country. Okies. Sheesh.
Fueled by sage cheese (purchased by my friend, who loves cheese as she does her own soul), a surprisingly small amount of gas and plenty of coffee, we made it to San Francisco in about five hours.
The hotel, which featured the threadbare carpet, creaky stairs and slightly peely paint that is referred to in the business as "European-style," was situated just a block from Union Square, and it really wasn't so bad. Really. The bathroom was very clean, and the window ledge doubled as a refrigerator for cheese and canned coffee. Very European.
Centrally located as we were, it was easy to find good food and interesting things to do, to keep us occupied between performances. To save money, we bought 48-hour tickets on an open-topped tour bus and used it as regular transportation. You have to sit through the same set of historical facts and tidbits every time, but you can get to all the major attractions quickly and effectively. And if we continued to use the tickets slightly after the 48 hours were technically up, whose business is that?
But let's talk opera. Over three nights, we were treated to some truly fine opera in a truly fine opera house. The War Memorial Opera Theatre has some of the best accoustics I have ever heard; every swish of skirts, every intake of breath, every nuance of performance was perfectly, crisply audible. Which was especially good for us, because we were way up under the rafters. Our view of the singers was enhanced the first night by OperaVision, the equivalent of JumboTron for the Mozart crowd.
We saw, in order, "Idomeneo," "The Elixir of Love," and "Boris Godunov." "Boris" was very long and heavy and Russian, and we both agreed that we liked it the least of the three. Not that it was a bad production; it's just not our cup of tea musically. But it was an opportnuity to see the great Sam Raimi in one of his signature roles, and a role he predicts he will not perform again.
"The Elixir of Love" was frothy and cute, as it was meant to be, and it was a nice counterpoint to the relative heaviness of the other two works. In the end, it was a pleasant diversion, but not much more. I must say, though, that Ramon Vargas nearly brought the house down with his "Una furtiva lagrima." Very, very well done. One might say perfectly done. "Idomeneo," though, was certainly the highlight. Kurt Streit has become virtually synonymous with the title role, and he made it look and sound maddeningly easy. Genia Kuhmeier, in the role of Ilia, used her crystal-clear, sweet-toned voice to great effect, and Adler Fellow Alek Shrader showed that he is both an extremely promising singer and a good actor, in the role of Idomeneo's councillor, Arbace. It always sends a little shiver of dread up my spine to see one of those little papers protruding from my program, telling me that in tonight's performance we will see an understudy. I had no reason to be afraid in this case, though; filling in for Alice Coote as Idamante, Adler Fellow Daniella Mack acquitted herself admirably. She was calm, collected and obviously well-prepared. And she can sing!
It was an all-too-brief week, full of great opera, long walks, and cheap but plentiful food. I learned how to ride an electric bus (they don't give change and they don't call out the stops), how to survive in a notoriously expensive city on surprisingly little cash (clam chowder is cheap and filling, and if you walk long enough in Chinatown, someone will give you a coupon for dim sum) and that San Francisco Opera is the real deal. I'm already planning my return trip.
Monday, October 13, 2008
Hideous monster
"The Fly" has left Los Angeles, and I don't think anyone will miss it. This "opera" is perhaps the biggest, most egregious crime to ever be perpetrated against the unsuspecting attendees of the L.A. Opera.
If I start going into detail, we'll be here forever, so let me just summarize by saying that I think the only person who was actually trying was the set designer. The libretto was laughable - the part about insect politics made me think of one of those mockumentaries that Christopher Guest makes - and there were no actual songs. The entire work is one long recitative. Take all the singable bits out of a Richard Strauss work and you'll get some idea. "The Fly" was an entertaining movie, and may possibly make a decent stage play, but no one should ever have kidded themselves that this was opera material. Not only is the material not there, but the execution was positively execrable. I talked to a few audience members afterwards, and listened in on some conversations and the reaction was unanimous; this should never have been made. I can only hope that those curious people who had never been to an opera before and came to see this for the novelty value didn't come away thinking that this is what opera is.
On our way out, ushers handed us bright green plastic fly swatters with the "opera's" logo emblazoned on them. I'm going to use mine to smack Placido Domingo, who compromised his credibility by commissioning and conducting this thing.
I won't say anything more, because that would be a disservice to the strong cast, who really did do their best with what they were given. Suffice it to say that, given what a steaming pile of doodie this production is, the only things that should be attracted to it in the future - if it has a future - are actual flies.
If I start going into detail, we'll be here forever, so let me just summarize by saying that I think the only person who was actually trying was the set designer. The libretto was laughable - the part about insect politics made me think of one of those mockumentaries that Christopher Guest makes - and there were no actual songs. The entire work is one long recitative. Take all the singable bits out of a Richard Strauss work and you'll get some idea. "The Fly" was an entertaining movie, and may possibly make a decent stage play, but no one should ever have kidded themselves that this was opera material. Not only is the material not there, but the execution was positively execrable. I talked to a few audience members afterwards, and listened in on some conversations and the reaction was unanimous; this should never have been made. I can only hope that those curious people who had never been to an opera before and came to see this for the novelty value didn't come away thinking that this is what opera is.
On our way out, ushers handed us bright green plastic fly swatters with the "opera's" logo emblazoned on them. I'm going to use mine to smack Placido Domingo, who compromised his credibility by commissioning and conducting this thing.
I won't say anything more, because that would be a disservice to the strong cast, who really did do their best with what they were given. Suffice it to say that, given what a steaming pile of doodie this production is, the only things that should be attracted to it in the future - if it has a future - are actual flies.
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Opera on unemployment
Having recently fallen victim to the current economic "not a recession," I have had to tighten the purse strings a bit. I get an unemployment check once every two weeks, and my part-time freelance gig writing puff pieces about real estate for the local newspaper at least makes me feel like I'm not totally wasting my life. Neither of these venues brings in a lot of cash, though, and I have had to make certain concessions to the looming specter of insolvency. Opera, as, dear reader, you surely know, is an expensive habit. How am I to support my addiction?
Obviously, cold turkey is out of the question, and due to the fact that my father is actually the one with the season subscription, I don't have to worry about my main supply being cut off. But - and this is where it gets ugly - I may have recently purchased some tickets which I can no longer afford to redeem. A few months ago, I began planning a trip to San Francisco Opera with three of my girlfriends, one of whom has definitely baled and another of whom is still unsure. That's bad enough, but now I'm questioning whether it is financially feasible for me to go. It was to be a five-day trip with three operas; the tickets themselves were surprisingly inexpensive (nosebleed section), but can I afford train fare, a week's worth of restaurant meals and a hotel room? These tickets, I have to admit, may yet end up on E-Bay. Oh, God, I don't even want to think about it. I've looked forward to it so for long; like, way back when I still had a real job and expected to keep it.
And then there's the almost comical situation involving The Fund. This Fund is a savings plan instituted by me and my little brother almost a year ago, when we decided we were going to London to see "Tamerlano" at London's Covent Garden in 2010. Now, I know March of 2010 is still more than a year away, but so far the growth of The Fund has been painfully slow, and is not getting any faster. In fact, the main source of input into The Fund is loose change that goes into a ten-gallon plastic water bottle I found lying in the front yard. Recently, we decided we had a pretty good amount of coinage in there, so we dumped it out, wrapped it, and counted it up. There was $92.00 in the jug, which brings the grand total of the entire Fund to...wait for it...$392.02. By 2010, I should be able to afford passage to London as a scullery maid on a freight ship.
Obviously, cold turkey is out of the question, and due to the fact that my father is actually the one with the season subscription, I don't have to worry about my main supply being cut off. But - and this is where it gets ugly - I may have recently purchased some tickets which I can no longer afford to redeem. A few months ago, I began planning a trip to San Francisco Opera with three of my girlfriends, one of whom has definitely baled and another of whom is still unsure. That's bad enough, but now I'm questioning whether it is financially feasible for me to go. It was to be a five-day trip with three operas; the tickets themselves were surprisingly inexpensive (nosebleed section), but can I afford train fare, a week's worth of restaurant meals and a hotel room? These tickets, I have to admit, may yet end up on E-Bay. Oh, God, I don't even want to think about it. I've looked forward to it so for long; like, way back when I still had a real job and expected to keep it.
And then there's the almost comical situation involving The Fund. This Fund is a savings plan instituted by me and my little brother almost a year ago, when we decided we were going to London to see "Tamerlano" at London's Covent Garden in 2010. Now, I know March of 2010 is still more than a year away, but so far the growth of The Fund has been painfully slow, and is not getting any faster. In fact, the main source of input into The Fund is loose change that goes into a ten-gallon plastic water bottle I found lying in the front yard. Recently, we decided we had a pretty good amount of coinage in there, so we dumped it out, wrapped it, and counted it up. There was $92.00 in the jug, which brings the grand total of the entire Fund to...wait for it...$392.02. By 2010, I should be able to afford passage to London as a scullery maid on a freight ship.
Thursday, June 26, 2008
The latest buzz
It's real, folks. Coming soon to an opera house near you (presuming you live near Paris or L.A.).
http://theflytheopera.com/
http://theflytheopera.com/
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
Amen, Mr. Twain.
I have always liked and admired Mark Twain; he was a witty, observant man with abundant good sense and an incomparable way with words, so I was both amused and gratified to read his opinion on "Tristan und Isolde." Thanks very much to my brother, who e-mailed me this little snippet from Wikipedia:
Mark Twain, on a visit to Germany, heard Tristan at Bayreuth and commented: "I know of some, and have heard of many, who could not sleep after it, but cried the night away. I feel strongly out of place here. Sometimes I feel like the one sane person in the community of the mad."
You're not alone after all, Mr. Twain, and thankfully neither am I.
Mark Twain, on a visit to Germany, heard Tristan at Bayreuth and commented: "I know of some, and have heard of many, who could not sleep after it, but cried the night away. I feel strongly out of place here. Sometimes I feel like the one sane person in the community of the mad."
You're not alone after all, Mr. Twain, and thankfully neither am I.
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