Crazy night at the opera

So after all the coverage of the Met’s season opener, a new production of Tosca by Swiss director Luc Bondy that was widely booed on its opening night Tuesday, I decided to see for myself what all the hubbub was about. As the famous crystal chandeliers rose and the house lights dimmed, a distinguished man in suit and tie stepped onstage with a handheld mic. I couldn’t tell who it was, since I could barely discern any features from my cheapo seat. I thought, Oh God, Mattila better not be out tonight. That full-split, high-C-singing, vagina-displaying soprano is the main reason I want to see this production. The man speaks, “Maestro Levine has incurred an injury. Joseph Colaneri will be conducting tonight’s orchestra.” Phew. Okay, not great news, but I’ll live. Suit guy doesn’t leave the stage - Oh, Shit! “In addition, Mr. Gagnidze is experiencing a cold but will perform this evening. He asks for your understanding.” My opera date, Chris, a Met virgin, looks at me like “what the f*ck?” Then halfway through the performance, lightning strikes twice - or actually I guess this would be thrice. As the lights dim for the second act, suit guy steps onto the stage again. You can almost hear a collective audience gasp. “Mr. Gagnidze has fallen ill and can no longer sing the role of Scarpia.” Now I’m the one saying WTF. “Carlo Guelfi, who was down the hall rehearsing for Aida, has kindly volunteered to sing the role while Mr. Gagnidze continues acting the role.” Holy sh*t! There is definitely a buzz in the air as a tech guy brings a music stand out to the stage right lip.

Watching Gagnidze perform the role full out, while lip-synching to a live singer, was extremely weird. Not to mention crazily disorienting, since the unamplified voices all emanated from the “correct” bodies onstage, except his. And although I must credit Mr. Guelfi for basically running across the hall with no notice and jumping in to sing one of the most iconic bass/baritone roles in the rep, it was kind of distracting watching him hang out on the side of the stage nonchalantly gulping from his water bottle as his onstage body double dry humps Tosca on the floor. Ah well, the excitement of live theater!

Last night was the second performance of this production, and while not perfect, wasn’t the train wreck that I was secretly hoping for. I mean, nothing is worse than sitting through three and a half hours of mediocre opera (or mediocre anything, for that matter). Sure, the simplistic set isn’t particularly interesting, especially compared to the almost hyper-realistic Zeffirelli production it replaced, but I was at least hoping for “scandalous” or “outrageous” - no such luck. For most of the opera, there was just a bare stage with some tall brick walls. The second act set was just plain ugly - a 1950’s retro minimalist take on the Brady Bunch’s basement rec room. Did I mention it was ugly? It almost seemed like the second act set was meant for a different production but was accidentally shipped to the Met and they didn’t have time to exchange it. And did I mention it was ugly?

I can understand some disappointment for fans of the sumptuous Zeff production, but booing? The production frankly wasn’t interesting or outrageous enough to warrant booing. The much talked about clutching of the Madonna at the end of Act I wasn’t shocking so much as puzzling. It simply didn’t make sense for the character based on the characterization leading up to that moment. If anything, it served to wake up the old ladies in the audience for intermission. Some of the other stuff - the omission of candles and cross, Tosca’s Act 2 suicide attempt, the clutching of the knife during Vissi d’arte - just seemed like a director’s ego deciding to force change for change’s sake.

As for the performers, well, I’ve been a fan of Mattila since she gave us full frontal in last season’s Salome - not to mention the full split. I mean, she’s in her 50’s! You go, girl. I hate to use clichés, but the 3,000 audience members watched in spellbound silence during her Vissi d’arte. You could literally hear a pin drop. Oh, and someone please get Miss Thing some knee pads. I could almost hear her kneecaps crack as she hit the floor full force during an emotional collapse near the end of the aria. Alvarez sang nicely enough, and his acting was better than average for a Met tenor. The onstage chemistry between him and Mattilla was definitely palpable, especially during the flirty, intimate staging in the opening act. Actually, Bondy’s direction provided several nice moments, mainly between Alvarez and Mattila. Unfortunately, these moments weren’t enough to counteract an unwieldy set (did I mention how ugly it is?) and some random, dubious directorial choices (can you say “fellating ho’s?). Oh well, I have my fingers crossed for the upcoming new productions of Hoffman and Carmen.

Food Coma

Day 1: Friday, Sept. 4 (Yes, this is about 3 weeks overdue and still not complete, but hey, something's better than nothing)

With a sigh and shrug we bid the long, rainy summer of 2009 good-bye. I overheard in the elevator at work the other day that we only had three rainless weekends this summer. Take that, Seattle! (Yes, New Yorkers are competitive about everything) No wonder my doctor diagnosed me with a vitamin D deficiency. Thankfully, the Man upstairs cut us a break, gifting us a rain-free, extended Labor Day weekend. So armed with GPS and a roll of Tums, Trish and I packed up the mini-van for a weekend in Mystic, CT for some much needed relaxation and to break every Kosher dietary law. Sure, Mystic boasts tons of cool historic sites, a newly renovated aquarium and miles of scenic coastline, but this trip was all about the lobster (and crab, and shell fish, and…well, you get the idea).

The first stop on our gastric tour of the northeast was Abbott’s in the Rough for hot lobster roll and lobster bisque. This was one of the higher rated seafood shacks on roadfoad.com, so we decided to check it out. There’s nothing like freshly caught and steamed, hot, buttered lobster. Although I must admit the hamburger bun presentation seemed a bit trailer-trash even for this rustic setting. And talk about being “off the beaten path” - we’re talking no street signs. Thank God for GPS. Oh well, the view (see me gorging my yap bayside above), the bisque and the weather were worth the all the wrong turns and dead ends.

After finding our way back to downtown Mystic, we parked and decided to stroll. The main strip is basically a two-block tourist trap lined with storefronts hocking over-priced mermaid paraphernalia. Seriously, without Julia Roberts, Mystic Pizza would be just another run-down pizza joint. It’s not that I expected any different, but you can find way more interesting shops and food on any street in the East Village. Though I must admit, the hunky mer-men Christmas ornaments with torsos matching each of the Village People’s occupations were nearly too kitschy to pass up. But alas, even $25 seemed too much to pay for a glittery Indian chief mer-man. We instead opted for dessert at famous Mystic Drawbridge Ice Cream. Luckily, once you head off the main drag, the sea air and quaint, Norman Rockwell-esque clapboard homes lining the side streets make you forget the tourist squalor.

Hoping for more interesting retail options, we headed to Olde Mistick Village. What a disappointment. The paltry offerings included a general store, the requisite fudge and chocolate stores and some unimpressive theme shops. The one hidden gem in this pile of zirconium? Bleu Squid, a quaint bake shop/café offering handmade artisanal cheeses and homemade breads. Yum. Trish and I grabbed a freshly baked cheddar loaf and cranberry-infused cheese for an easy and cheap breakfast option for the remainder of our trip. Did I mention they sell icing shots? Yes, you read correctly, icing shots. Is that brilliant or what? They fill those tiny white cups that restaurants usually use for condiments with different flavors of cupcake icing. I might have to send this one in to Oprah for consideration on her “My Favorite Things” episode.

Trish and I are definitely food masochists. Because after finally checking into the hotel (yes, all of the above happened before ever setting foot in the lovely Holiday Inn in New London) and a brief power nap, Trish and I donned our elastic waist pants and headed to Foxwoods Casino for - wait for it - their all-you-can-eat buffet! We strategically planned to arrive at the casino around 9:30-ish in order to avoid the dinner rush and leave us a solid three hours to graze (the buffet stays open until midnight). Well, the buffet was just as nasty and wonderful as expected. Imagine an endless horizon of brown, gray and tan piles of steaming flesh and carbs. No vegetables allowed at this party, thank you very much. But the highlight of the buffet and main reason behind its $20 price tag is the seafood bar. There is nothing quite as disturbing as watching someone attack a pile of steamed crab legs.

Foxwoods - freaky how it sort of just rises out of the woods like that, huh?

Day 2 and 3 forthcoming...

Superior Donuts

Well, the title of Tracy Letts’ new play is intriguing enough. And given his previous Broadway outing, August: Osage County, garnered a best play Tony with Hollywood’s A-List-ers scratching each other’s eyes out for a chance at the Oscar-bait leading roles in the upcoming movie version (the chat rooms are buzzing that Meryl Streep and Julia Roberts are interested), my expectations were set pretty high.

Like AOC, the dialogue was quick, witty and full of some great one-liners (as one character is left dumb-founded for an answer, another retorts “you’re like George Bush on Jeopardy”). But unlike the brilliant dinner table blow-out in AOC, the final conflict - the fight between Arthur and Luther - was so badly choreographed it was almost laughable. Both actors seemed incredibly awkward and every punch and kick moved just a hair too slow to be believable. They either need to scrap the fight entirely or re-choreograph.

As far as the play, it’s solid. Although some of the peripheral characters border on cliché (the loud Russian immigrant, the rough-around-the-edges Irish lady cop, the crazy old alcoholic lady, etc.). But they’re all extremely likeable in a “Cheers” sort of way. The cast is solid to outstanding, especially Jon Michael Hill as the aspiring black writer. His relationship with the middle-aged hippie, Arthur, produces the play’s best verbal repartee.

I question the directorial choice of leaving the stage slightly lit during Arthur’s monologues. Intellectually, I understand what the director seems to be doing, but seeing the other actors move furniture while a main character is imparting important information seems defeatist.

Music Man like you've never seen before...

This may be the coolest, craziest and gayest thing I've ever seen, but I honestly LOVE it. Be patient and watch it all the way through. Trust me, it's worth it. I honestly couldn't stop smiling. This ain't your grandpa's barbershop (were those barrel turns at 00:40?!?!?! - genius!). I almost teared up with joy at 04:40. What next, a Kanye medley? Spring Awakening? I'm both horrified and excited by the thought of it. I heart barbershop.