Two Boys, One Disturbing Opera

Two Boys
Metropolitan Opera
Saturday, Nov 9, 8PM

So I finally made it over to Lincoln Center for my first opera of the 2013-14 season, the American premier of Nico Muhly’s, Two Boys, loosely based on events surrounding a 2001 murder in Manchester, England.

First off, I gotta’ give the Met credit for trying to lure the young’ens into the opera house.  It was positively Twilight Zone-ish seeing those hallowed, red-carpeted staircases (usually overrun by gray-haired socialites and frumpy opera queens - moi included!) swarming with nattily dressed 20 and 30-somethings. 

Obviously, the subject matter (a murder perpetrated through internet fraud with homo-erotic and pedophilic overtones) is the stuff our TMZ-obsessed youth go wild over.  But as the opera unfolded, it occurred to me that this type of techno-identity crime is just a natural progression from the masked sexual hijinks of a Figaro or Così.

More amusing to me was hearing opera singers belt out strings of profanity and modern sexual slang (examples: “he just blew me” “I told you, seven and a half inches”) with such glorious tone from the immense Met stage – not to mention simulated masturbation.  I’ll admit to suppressing an occasional giggle due to the SNL skit-like anachronism of it all.

Though I enjoyed the performance as a whole and, for the most part, riveted by the bizarre intricacies of the story, I found much of the solo writing melodically unsatisfying.  The orchestrations are appropriately atmospheric and moody but too often sound like the soundtrack to an Alfred Hitchcock movie a la Philip Glass. This lack of variety in orchestral texture and musical tempi created a sometimes gorgeous hypnotic quality; but just as often lulled me into drowsiness.  But then again I’m a sucker for a big ole Puccini aria.

The full ensemble numbers, however, are just f*&cking gorgeous.  It’s in these interludes that Muhly’s gift for musical texture and harmony truly shines.  Instead of the obvious use of electronic sounds (cue "Axel F" from Beverly Hills Cop.  Anyone, anyone?  Bueller, Bueller?) to signify online chatter, Muhly uses overlapping choruses and purely acoustic instrumentation to create an almost undulating wall of sound that perfectly symbolizes the amorphous fluidity of cyberland.

Alice Coote has a warm blanket of a mezzo voice that you just want to wrap yourself up in.  She’s a great, natural actress onstage as well.

Paul Appleby had the daunting task of portraying a 15-year-old teen murderer and pretty impressively pulls off the physicality and mannerisms.  And though he’s only 30, his voice fills the Met’s barn of a theatre.  It will be interesting to see how the voice develops over the next decade or so.

A boy soprano performed the role of the 12-year-old victim which definitely upped the ick factor in some of the bedroom scenes.  But not to worry, nothing was actually simulated onstage, just a lot of innuendo and awkward intimacy.

It was nice to see the Met step into this century with the tasteful use of projections to enhance the bare, minimalist set and staging.  

The choreography was interesting, if a bit bizarre.  I mean, I get it.  Ballet wouldn't exactly be appropriate, but the jerky movement felt a tad Spring Awakening-y to me.

Addendum 11/25:  I totally failed to mention that the young boy soprano, Andrew Pulver, is a Pineda Lyric Opera Young Artist and was a featured soloist in our recent production of The Magic Flute.  Congratulations, Andrew!  And pat on the back to Pineda Conservatory.

Magic Flute Tech + Tonys = Ranting and Diarrhea

Pineda Lyric's The Magic Flute

What a difference a day makes.

Judging from the Magic Flute dress rehearsals on Thursday and Friday nights, it seemed we were doomed to a very long and painful day of Saturday performances.  From the made-up blocking and dialogue, missed cues and general cluelessness displayed on stage, a few members of our teenage cast seemed to genuinely lack a sense of urgency or responsibility.  Very disconcerting for the producing team considering that in a day or so a paying audience would be witness to this mess.

Of course, I'm only talking about a few duds sprinkled amongst a mainly conscientious cast of young people.  But hey, it only takes a little spot of fuzzy green mold to ruin the whole wheel of cheese, right?

Fast forward less than 24 hours to the matinee performance and all of a sudden, voilà, we have a show!  Not that the made-up blocking was magically fixed and the dialogue learned.  That would have been a true miracle in the Biblical sense.  But the kids were finally performing, and at the very least committing strongly to their (often wrong) choices.

I'm definitely not advocating this type of preparation - or rather lack of preparation - as a viable option for a performer.  But it sure beats the agony of witnessing long stretches of uncomfortable silence between two dumbstruck actors on stage, an acting "technique" we witnessed dozens of times (not an exaggeration) during both dress rehearsals.

Sigh.

Is it awful to wish that just once, these ill prepared youngsters would crash and burn during a performance?  If these same young people always succeed with a wonderful - if inaccurate and completely improvised - performance, doesn't it just refute everything we're trying to teach them about the work and preparation required for success?  Isn't it better for them to fail now when the consequences are minimal rather than when it's their first big work/college project?  If a train chugging at 40 mph leaves Sante Fe at 4:00 PM...oh, never mind.

I guess it just rubs me the wrong way to congratulate a young person who, from the audience's perspective, has given a wonderful performance even though that performance was pretty much based on luck and improvisation.  Oh well, I guess that's what blogs are for - bitching and moaning about things you can't really change.

Speaking of bitches, did ya'll catch the Tony Awards?  I guess that's rhetorical considering my audience.  I have to say, I'm somewhat surprised that this year's Tony voters decided to base their decisions on merit rather than popularity.  How else do you explain Billy Porter's win over Bertie Carvel, Tracy Letts' win over Tom Hanks, Vanya's win over Lucky Guy, Kinky's win over Matilda...Not complaining, but it's a nice change.

That opening number was pretty damn impressive as well.  Just thinking about coordinating the rehearsals for that 7 minutes of lunacy gives me a slight case of diarrhea.  And that "Kiss LA Good-bye" parody had just enough queeny schtick for the gays while supplying enough pushed-up cleavage to appease the eight straight dudes watching.

Of course, my favorite moment was Audra's so-wrong-it's-right rendition of Alicia Keys' "Empire State of Mind" and then dropping her mic, gangsta' style.  That bitch crazy.  Can't wait to see how NPH tops this next year.

(More pictures of the 2013 Young Artist production of Mozart's The Magic Flute here.)

Golden Age

Golden Age

City Center Stage 1

Saturday, January 12, 2pm 

I’m trying to catch up on some missed reviews, so although it’s been weeks since Trish and I saw Golden Age, I’ll try to wring my aging brain for recollections. 

First off, thank you TDF for a lovely set of third-row, center orchestra seats!  All the better to view Lee Pace in all his dreamy glory. 

The opera purists and fact-checkers in the audience will likely take issue with Terrance McNally’s fast and loose interpretation of history (not to mention the musical and verbal anachronisms).  But no matter, this is a comedy about the creation of art, not a historical drama, and McNally creates a believable backstage microcosm where the plentiful use of modern four-letter profanity doesn’t seem out of place. 

Lee Pace - did I mention how dreamy he is? - has the charm and charisma to make the egocentric Bellini a likeable, even sympathetic, figure.  He’s a man that is never satisfied musically (or sexually, for that matter).  Pace plays these proclivities with a refreshing matter-of-factness.

Bebe Neuwirth, as the diva Maria Malibran, is the only character in the play that is completely aware of her incredible talent as well as shortcomings.  She accepts and acknowledges the decline of her voice, yet is the only artist lacking in self-doubt. 

Malibran’s appearance - in flaming red gown, natch - may not be the most subtle symbol, but opera queens will recognize the comparison McNally offers.  What is most preferable, a perfect technique lacking in emotional depth or a flawed instrument connected to a vibrant emotional core?  Po-tay-to, Pa-tah-to - though from my interpretation, it seems McNally endorses the latter.

Though at times the script reads like a high-concept sitcom, McNally plays with the inherent insecurities of performers and artists, while scrutinizing the audience's ideas about art and the creation of art.  

It's an enjoyable afternoon with an eccentric group of characters, but I wish McNally had either pushed the comedy further into true farce territory, or gone a much darker route with the psychological breakdown of Bellini and/or the dueling sopranos.

Groping Grandpa (Sequal to Nasty Nana)

It seems I’m a love magnet to the geriatric set.  Once again, I found myself the center of some unseemly and unwanted attention at the opera house the other night.  I was set for a lovely evening with Anna Netrebko and dreamy barihunk, Mariusz Kwiecień, in the Met’s new production of Donizetti’s L’Elisir d’Amore, when the silver-haired “gentlemen” sitting next to me started making the moves. 

At first, I thought the tingling on my thigh was just my excitement over Mariusz's first entrance.  But soon I realized it was the back of my neighbors hand trying to inconspicuously brush up against my leg.  At first, I thought maybe he was just spreading out to get more comfortable.  But every time I moved my leg away, his hand somehow managed to find it’s way past the arm rest and against my thigh.  Ew, right?    

At least in the case of Nasty Nana, grandma shamelessly made her move in broad daylight and in full view of everyone in the store.  We could all later laugh and marvel at granny’s audacity and utter lack of social decorum and at the same time give her props for going out and grabbing (literally) what she wanted.  But groping someone in a darkened theatre - unless it’s “that” kind of a theatre, of course - is just a step too far…even for me. 

And before you ask, no, I did not give grandpa any weird signals.  In fact, he got to his seat just as the houselights dimmed for the overture so we didn’t even make eye contact.  I think he finally got the hint, though, after I shifted my entire body to the left side of my seat, leaving a gap between our shared armrest and my leg large enough for an anorexic model to fall through. 

Thankfully, I was able to avoid an awkward post-grope moment.  Just as the orchestra cut-off the final chord of the finale and before the ovation started, grandpa skedaddled from his seat and out the door faster than you can say “sexual harassment suit.”  I’m sure he was embarrassed enough for the both of us. 

So what did I think of the opera?  Well, that’s hard to say.  I was somewhat preoccupied trying to ignore the advances of my horny neighbor and mentally escaping to my "happy place."  I will say that Matthew Polenzani’s rendition of the second act aria “Una furtive lagrima” was captivating - at least captivating enough to pull gramp’s focus away from my leg and to the stage for at least a few minutes. 

The physical production was lovely if adequate.  A badly designed false proscenium blocked most of the action upstage and cut-off much of the set from anyone not sitting in the orchestra.  I guess that’s the Met’s way of saying “fuck you” to us cheapskates up in the nosebleeds. 

I’ve always been indifferent in regards to Netrebko, but in this production she was able to lighten up her usually dark soprano and surprised me with some well-floated top notes and mostly clean runs (though she splatted a couple of high notes towards the end of the second act).  She also genuinely seemed to be enjoying herself and was surprisingly funny.

As I mentioned before, Polenzani was the surprise of the night.  He’s always solid, but last night he nearly stopped the show (and my molester’s advances) with his “Una furtiva…”

Mariusz looked great, but his voice seemed a tad small for the house.

The chorus, as usual, sounded wonderful but was hampered by unimaginative staging. 

I’m sure the production will tape well, though, and I’m sure it will look and sound wonderful in the HD broadcasts.  

L'Elisir D'Amore

Met Opera House - Lincoln Center

Monday, Oct 1 @ 7:30pm 

Archive: Reviews for 2011

• Lysistrata Jones (Bway)
• The Blue Flower (Off Bway)
• Hugh Jackman, Back on Broadway (Bway)
• Bonnie & Clyde (Bway)
• Godspell! (Bway)
• Audra McDonald Concert (Carnegie Hall)
• Anna Bolena (Met)
• Follies...again (Bway)
• Sister Act (Bway)
• Newsies (Papermill)
• Follies (Bway)
• Anything Goes (Bway)
• Priscilla...again (Bway)
• Born Yesterday (Bway)
• War Horse (Bway)
• Master Class (Bway)
• Zarkana (Radio City)
• Catch Me...(Bway)
• The House of Blue Leaves (Bway)
• Spider-man...again (Bway)
• Die Walkure (Met)
• The Normal Heart (Bway)
• Le Comte Ory (Met)
• How to Succeed...(Bway)
• Book of Mormon (Bway)
• Kathy Griffin Wants a Tony (Bway)
• Priscilla Queen of the Desert (Bway)
• Next to Normal (Bway)
• Time Stands Still (Bway)
• La Traviata (Met)
• Angels Part 2 (OB)
• Donny & Marie (Bway)

Anna Bolena

The first thing you think of when you see the picture at left is probably not, "Those two gorgeous, young people must be opera singers."  I mean, where are the horned helmets?  The "healthy" midsections?  Well, it seems opera has finally caught up with the rest of society's embrace of all things superficial.  Not that that's entirely a bad thing (photo is real-life couple and opera superstars Erwin Schrott and Anna Netrebko).

Netrebko is actually a perfect combination of glamour and talent rolled up into a big, beautiful Russian package.  Who better to headline a new production of the rarely produced Donizetti opera, Anna Bolena.  On paper it seems like a no-brainer - international diva + hot, young supporting cast + new production should equal an electric performance.  Unfortunately, the production doesn't rise to the potential of its star.

There is a reason Anna Bolena is not a standard repertory work.  The first act drags along interminably and the music is too similar sounding throughout to sustain a three-hour long evening.  It takes a diva of the first magnitude to electrify the work.  Netrebko is up to the task and nearly succeeds, but she's hampered by a dull, clunky set, uninspired direction and historically correct, but unremarkable costuming. 

The gloomy lighting is sleep inducing.  The costumes are black on black against a dark set.  The direction consists of either the singers standing still or running back and forth across the stage for no apparent reason.  Thankfully, Netrebko's dark, warm voice and surprisingly flexible coloratura keep you from dozing off.

Watching Netrebko square off in the second act duet with rival, Jane (the imposing Ekaterina Gubanova), and seeing her thrillingly sung and sensitively acted closing mad scene are worth sitting through the soporific first act.

Netrebko's supporting cast all have vocally thrilling moments and were all surely cast for their good looks as well as their musical prowess.  With HD movie broadcasts to consider, how can you blame them?  Though a particularly swarthy Ildar Abdrazakov as Henry, made you wonder why Anne would ever choose the cute, but almost nebbish, Percy of Stephen Costello.  Then again, she gets to go home to real-life baby-daddy, Schrott.  Some girls get all the luck.

Thanks to Jill and Audrey (a Pineda Conservatory board member and family friend) who got in line earlier that afternoon to grab $20 rush seats - in the rear orchestra, no less!  We also got to lounge outside the opera house with hottie Dylan McDermott while I enjoyed my Lenny's sandwich.  Not together, of course.  He grabbed the free bench next to us while talking on his cell phone.  I pretended he was my date. 

Only in New York.

Metropolitan Opera House
Monday, October 17, 7:30pm performance

The Bat flies away and a western town is born

Despite two pathetically bad final dress rehearsals, one for each of the casts, the weekend performances of The Bat were surprisingly quite good.  Although I’d never want the opera company to present a bad show, it would perhaps teach the kids a lesson if their inconsistent commitment and sometimes lazy work ethic wasn’t rewarded with a great performance.  I know what you’re thinking - damn, Fausto, that’s some harsh shit.  Maybe.  But talk to me after you've had to re-block the same scene five times because no one bothered to write down their blocking. 

Of course, I’m also generalizing.  Several cast members consistently arrived at rehearsals prepared and committed to the process.  But how do you convince young performers that their work outside of the rehearsal hall is so vital to the success of a performance when they’ve seemingly put on a successful performance without this “vital” preparation?  I always find myself telling a cast, “Think of how much better the show would have been if you’d put in more effort during rehearsals.”  This never works.  All they remember is the enthusiastic audience ovation and a sea of smiling faces, most of whom are family and friends.  I know, still harsh, but I just keeping it real.

Or maybe my standards are too high?  I know most of these kids aren’t looking to become Broadway stars.  They just want to have some fun with their friends while padding their college applications.  I get it - sort of.  Maybe it’s just me, but I don’t understand why you’d bother committing to something - be it theatre or a sport or even knitting - and not strive to do your best.  Granted, I was a total nerd in high school, so maybe I just don’t understand the psychology of the “average” teenager because I never was one.

Oh well, maybe things will change next year.  And maybe the Mets will win the World Series.  And yes, Fausto actually just made a sports analogy!  So I guess anything is possible.

It’s now become a tradition to spend the day after the last opera performance building the sets for the upcoming summer season.  Tired and grumpy, Val and I hauled our asses out of bed early Sunday morning and headed to the Home Depot for paint and supplies before heading over to the theatre.  With a McDonald's breakfast wreaking havoc on my digestive system (but totally worth it), I began to transform the side stages into a dingy old west hotel room and the stage door of an old theatre for our Center Stage production of Crazy for You.

I don’t purport to be a scenic painter, but I did a pretty damn good job, thank you very much.  My only regret is agreeing to paint a faux brick effect on one of the side stages.  It looks fantastic, but took hours to complete.  There better be a lot of scenes taking place on that side stage.  I'm just sayin'. 

To save some money, not to mention hours of construction time, we decided to re-purpose the rolling flats from CDC's last production, Gypsy.  Just a fresh coat of paint and few cosmetic touches and violà - instant western town. 

zombies and drag queens

After exiting the Met Opera House at 11:55 PM Monday night following their new five-and-a-half-hour production of Die Walküre, I couldn’t bear the thought of then sitting through a four-hour play.  So the next day I reluctantly called the Public box office and told them they could sell my fifth row center orchestra ticket for that evening’s performance of Kushner’s new play, “The Intelligent Homosexual’s Guide to Capitalism and Socialism With a Key to the Scriptures” - doesn’t exactly scream light-hearted family fun, does it?    

Normally, I would have sucked it up and forced myself to attend both marathon performances, but Kushner isn’t exactly Neil Simon.  And given the fact that significant brain cell wattage had been expended in the last 24 hours digesting Wagner’s gorgeous but musically dense score, I was in no mood for challenging, political theatre, no matter how brilliant. 

Instead, I stayed home and caught up on the last few episodes of my favorite reality show, RuPaul’s Drag Race.  Those queens are downright hilarious (and terrifying)!  And that’s just what I needed, some brainless lip-synching fun with a couple of bitches. 

I’ll still get to catch that “Intelligent Homo” later in the month.  As a member of the Public, I can post date my ticket and show up on another evening as long as they’re not sold out.  Membership has its privileges!

Die Walküre

Metropolitan Opera House

6:30pm performance

I guess I should talk about the Wagner.  Well, it was really, really long.  Not that I have a problem with that, but after a nine-hour work day, I wasn’t exactly at my best mentally.  I admit the nearly two-hour first act almost put me to sleep.  Not because it was boring per se, but because I was so darn tired.  I quick $5 brownie from the concession stand got my blood sugar levels back up.

The much talked about 16 million dollar production with its 45 ton set piece is impressive at first sight, but the novelty wears as the opera progresses.  The hulking piece of metal just isn’t that flexible and is surprisingly monotonous visually.  Yes, it moves and twists and you can project on it, but it’s not until the third act, with the flight of the Valkyries, that director Robert Lepage realizes the full potential of his bulky giant.  It’s here we get to see the sisters “ride” the over-sized planks like horses and then slide down their “necks.”  Until then, the structure just sort of sits there.  Perhaps he has some surprises in store for us in parts three and four of the cycle?  We shall wait and see next season.

The singing was some of the best I’ve heard on that stage in some time.  I’ve gotten used to listening carefully to the smaller lyric voices that often get swallowed up in the huge Met barn.  But it was a pleasure to hear full, dramatic voices fill that immense auditorium.  The hottie tenor, Jonas Kaufmann, sounded especially good as Siegmund, his unusually dark voice sounding downright baritone-ish in mid register.  His sister-lover-wife, Sieglinde, performed by Eva-Maria Westbroek, was a good match with a similarly thick, dark sound. 

I cannot say enough about Stephanie Blythe’s Fricka.  See her in anything if you get a chance.  That voice is just magnificent.  Terfel was solid if a little stiff as Wotan, though his voice is just gorgeous to listen to (get his Rodgers & Hammerstein CD, Something Wonderful, like buttah!). 

I was on the fence about Deborah Voigt’s Brünnhilde.  I’ve seen her perform before the gastric bypass and I have to say, I think she’s lost some of the richness in her voice.  Her top seemed a bit shrill to me, though her mid register still has the warmth I remember.  Or perhaps she needed the second act to warm up?  - because it seemed the quality of her voice bloomed a bit more in the third act.

Oh well, I’m glad I saw it but have no real desire for a second visit.  Although I’ll likely catch parts three and four next season given my completist mentality.  Or is that just my OCD kicking in again?

On a side note, my good friend, Chris, was speaking to an actor friend of his who mentioned he was going to be a supernumerary at the Met in “some opera called ‘Die, (as in “death”) Walker.’”  --  Actors are so pretty but so dumb.  Or as Chris commented - sounds like a great title for a zombie opera.  Get on that John Adams (the composer, of course, not our deceased second President). 

Preperation-H time

Wish me luck.  After work today I'm off to the Met for its new five-hour production of Wagner's Die Walküre.  I've actually never seen a live performance of any Wagner opera, so I'm looking forward to testing my stamina on this one.  Go big or go home, right?  At least The Met agrees, with a 45 ton set (they had to reinforce the stage to handle the weight) that looks sort of like a big honkin' strand of DNA.  Still, five hours is a long time.  I might have to smuggle in a red bull or two.



Idiotically, I also bought tickets to see the new four-hour Kushner play down at the Pulic, The Intelligent Homosexual's Guide to Capitalism and Socialism With a Key to the Scriptures.  I should have known better from that title alone.  Anyway, it's going to be two extremely long and intense days of theatre-going.

Wagner and Kushner, back-to-back - my head might explode.  If I don't fall asleep first.

Le Comte Ory and burgers

Metropolitan Opera

Thursday, April 19

8pm perfermance

This is probably a dream cast for opera lovers.  Seriously, without another historical resurrection, Juan Diego Florez, Diana Damrau and Joyce DiDonato are as good as it gets.  As an added bonus, all three can actually (insert audible gasp here) act.   Unfortunately, the opera itself is sort of a mess. 

Bartlett Sher’s created and directed a stylish production and Catherine Zuber’s costumes show off some dazzling cleavage, but the story hobbles along in fits and starts due to an incredibly convoluted plot (even by opera standards).  When the lead trio of hams - in a good way - get to show off their coloratura and their comedic chops, the show whizzes along.  Otherwise, it’s slow going.  Though I never dozed off, I did find myself on more than one occasion drifting to thoughts of post-performance meal options.  But soon enough, I’d get slapped back to attention by an effortless high C or some other vocal feat.

The first act trio and ensemble that introduces us to Damrau’s character is the performance highlight, with all three singing actors at their best.  I truly suspect when this enters the rep with singers of less comparable acting skills, the opera will be a deadly, but pretty, bore.

My only “WTF” moment was the bed scene at the end of act two where Damrau and DiDonato (as a man) pull the old Cyrano trick, except with full body contact.  I understand the difficulty in staging this scene and yes, we’re expected to suspend our disbelief, but Ory is one horny bastard if he’s so turned on that he can’t figure out he’s in bed with two people, one of whom also has penis.  I mean, imagine if a counter tenor played the pants role?  That would be some truly non-traditional staging for the conservative Met.  Though my guess is that Florez would not be so open to a bout of tonsil hockey or dry humping from a dude, even for the sake of comedy.

The other highlight of the evening was the Cadillac burger at P.J. Clarke’s following the performance.  I only had a bite from Trish’s burger, but is was delish. 

I can’t wait to catch part two of the Met’s Die Walküre next month.  I’m still kicking myself for forgetting about my ticket to the sold out first part, Das Rheingold, last month.  Stoopid, stoopid, stoopid (picture me slapping myself on the forehead with the open palm of my hand).

I need a life

Congratulate me.  I'm 30 days sober today.  That's one month show-free.  Though I'm still suffering withdrawal symptoms, I've started to substitute with my DVR.  Though not the same heady high I get from the scent of a freshly cut Playbill insert nor as thrilling as hearing a full chest-belted high E, TV has its own unique pleasures. 

Last Saturday, for instance, Trish and I spent nearly 8 hours watching back-to-back episodes of Chuck.  Like any good addiction, at the start it's mildy amusing and you tell yourself you can take it or leave it at anytime.  By the fourth episode, though, watch out.  I could barely pry my eyes from that HD widescreen long enough for a bathroom break or for anything as superfluous as food. 

Otherwise, life without The Broadway has been pretty uneventful - long days strung together by the daily bitchy threads on All That Chat prophesying the end of civilization due to the continued presence of Spider-man on the Great White Way.  I'm no Spidey fan, but I can't wait for the glut of spring musical openings so we can stop hearing about the musical web-slinger.

We also recently sat through auditions for Pineda Lyric's young artist production of The Bat.  There's nothing quite like teenagers singing coloratura.  Not that there weren't impressive moments, but shifting hormones and high C's coupled with nervous teenage energy - that's just an accident waiting to happen. 

Val was actually able to cast a full company from the day's auditions.  Though if you were lucky enough to possess male anatomy, you were granted a lead role by default.  It's good to be a boy in high school theatre. 

Playing catch-up...

I’m so behind with my reviews so trying to play catch-up here, folks.

La Traviata, Met Opera

Friday, January 7

8pm performance

Time Stands Still, Cort Theatre

Saturday, January 8

2pm performance

Trish and I checked out the new production of La Traviata at the Met.  I, of course, was quite excited to see how it would compare to my highly acclaimed staging for Pineda Lyric (yes, I’m joking). 

There was some crazy shit happening on the Met stage!  Instead of a traditional approach, director Willy Decker’s stark production made ample use of symbolism, sometimes forsaking textual accuracy for the sake of emotional clarity.  For a better explanation, you can read James Jordan's review (he's also the editor of Parterre), which is far more detailed and erudite than anything I could compose. 

Decker’s modern-dress production is much more visceral and emotional than what could be accomplished through a traditional staging.  Without the social constraints of period etiquette and costumes, Violetta and Alfredo are free to be much more physical and sexual.  The textual inaccuracies didn’t really bother me.  I particularaly liked how Decker integrated Violetta into the beginning of Act 2, turning “De' miei bollenti spiriti” into a fun game of hide-and-seek.  I can’t wait to steal that little bit of staging when we revive it for Pineda Lyric.

Poplavskaya - try saying that five times fast - is a committed and thrilling actress.  She has a surprisingly dark tone (gotta' love those Russians) but her top is thin and some of the coloratura got away from her the night we watched. She and the orchestra were also at odds with tempi.  Poplavskaya would at times visibly beat time with her head to push the orchestra along and many rubato passages seemed to catch conductor and orchestra off guard (possible merchandising alert - Poplavskaya bobble-head dolls?).  Can’t be sure if it was singer or conductor at fault, but major sync issues going on.  

Polanzani’s tenor is "like buttah" - gorgeous phrasing and legato.  Nice to hear a tenor at the Met that doesn’t sound like he’s taking a shit above a high G.  He and Poplavskaya had some great chemistry, too. 

I’d like to give a shout out to Michelle Trovato, the Violetta in Pineda Lyric’s production.  I'd much rather listen to her than Poplavskaya any day.

Old Zeffirelli production...

New Willy Decker production...

________________________________

Cancer victim and now terrorist bomb survivor?  Laura Linney can't catch a break.  Someone book her a guest appearance on Glee, stat!  I love Laura Linney, but could someone cast her as something other than sarcastic, intense, brainy and/or oppressed?  Give the girl a break.  I mean, she’s expectedly brilliant in Time Stands Still, but between this and The Big C, she'll need some couch time herself with a good therapist.   

I didn’t expect anything less than brilliance from the remainder of the cast, but I was particularly impressed by Christina Ricci as the ditzy, young trophy wife.  Wednesday Addams is all grown-up and now a Brooklyn hipster.  Playing against her brooding, Indie-film persona, her Mandy is unexpectedly funny and endearing. 

I'm glad I caught this over the weekend since it's closing later this month.  I'm sure it will be clogging up regional theatre stages in the coming seasons given the small cast and the unit set.  My guess - look for a movie adaptation within the next five years.  This is ripe for expansion and would be serious Oscar bait given the political subject matter.  No doubt it will be recast with Julia Roberts (Linney role), Clive Owen (D'Arcy James role), Harrison Ford (Bogosian role) and Taylor Swift (Ricci role).  Sad. 

The party's over...

The cast party’s over and the soprano’s dead - again.  The last performance of La Traviata went off pretty much without a hitch.  The production itself was one of our strongest in years, with top-notch singers and musicians, good production values and more rehearsal time than usual.  Unfortunately, with the economy tanking and donations and funding nearly non-existent, we’ve been stretched thin.  The four of us (me, Trish, Juan and Val) seem to be pushing a boulder up Mount Everest.  To have me (the director) also doubling as stage crew, stage manager and prop master; Val (the producer) doubling as the box office, costumer and lighting designer; Trish taking care of wigs & costumes plus random administrative tasks and Juan handling every other backstage element while also performing a role in the opera - it’s just ridiculous.  Trust me, it’s not like we love doing everything ourselves, but that topiary won’t move itself into place.  And no one’s storming the theatre insisting on volunteering to help backstage either, so what's a lowly non-profit to do? 

A “mom-and-pop” operation isn’t quite as fun or quaint when you’re bordering on “grandma-and-grandpa” territory.  Yes, I exaggerate, but there’s a big difference between 30 and 40 years old when you’re dragging around set pieces and hanging backdrops.  At 30, it’s bohemian, at 40, it’s … well … hard work.  I woke up this morning unable to bend at the waist.  Yes, I actually threw my back out last night at strike!  Depressing? - Yes, but maybe it’s time to let the young-ins take over the heavy lifting (if we could find any that would back away from center stage). 

With Traviata over, at least I can temporarily enjoy the “freedom” of only having to work at my day job.  Yeah, right.  Now I have my nights “free” to get CDC’s - that's Cranford Dramatic Club, not the Center for Disease Control - new website up and running by Thanksgiving, publish and update both mine and Trish’s new websites and figure out what the heck Mrs. Claus is going to sing at this year’s holiday concert. 

Opera singers are all crazy.  I should know, having started out as one.  But working with young, professional singers on a regular basis as a director has only proven the statement as fact.  Okay, maybe I'm being a little harsh, but being on the other side of the table has certainly provided me with the skill set and experience to rival any psychiatric residency program.  I think all opera singers (and actors in general) should have to direct at least a couple of productions before being granted their respective degree or union affiliation. 

Directing is equal parts therapist, baby-sitter, cheerleader and politician.  Anyone who says it's all about creating art is full of shit and is probably a terrible director.  I'd equate directing a cast to adopting a bunch of grown children incessantly asking, "Who do you love best?" while singing high C's at you.  Yes, it's also the process of creating a thematic and visual unity, creating clarity and truth from outrageous stories and coaxing real and grounded performances often out of thin air.  But if you can provide just the right combination of ego-stroking, manipulation, compromise and honest criticism, the performances always seem to fall into place.  

Why the pointed rant?  I guess I'm just stressed out with all the rehearsals for La Traviata.  It's been a somewhat harrowing enterprise, given the fact we won't see a full cast until probably the first run through.  I was also the bad guy this weekend, having to cut dancers out of a number not because they couldn't execute the combination, but because I had to own up to the fact that my choreography just didn't work in the scene.  Now I know how a Broadway composer must feel when he's told he needs to cut his favorite song because it just doesn't move the plot along.  

Okay, enough of the self-pitying crap.  I will now official suck it up and stop whining.  Only two more rehearsals and then - gasp - TECH WEEK!  Did I mention this cast is going to sound amazing?  It's officially my last night off until we close the show.  I will now watch some TV and do absolutely nothing for the next few hours.

The new season is almost here!!!

I just spent hundreds of dollars on theatre tickets. You know what that means, kiddies. Fall, my favorite season in NYC, is just around the corner. The theatre and opera are gearing up, Chuck and Fringe are back, the weather is awesome and the underground subway stations no longer smell of pee.

My first must-see of the season isn’t until December, but it’s already the hottest ticket in town. It’s Tony Kushner’s first New York revival of his epic two-part play, Angels in America. Both parts are playing in rep at the tiny Signature theatre (less than 200 seats) and Zachary Quinto (Heroes’ evil Sylar and new Star Trek’s sexy Spock) will be spitting distance from me - so exciting. I literally spent half an hour online trying to get on their website on the first day of ticket sales. I guess the rest of New York had the same idea since the site kept crashing from the web traffic. Thankfully, an extension had been added, because the first three months of the run had already sold out by the time I was able to get through.

I also booked my tickets for the marathon performance of The Gatz at the Public, yet another two-part, seven hour play. What an odd trend. Anyway, the idea intrigued me - a group of people at an office start to read the text of "The Great Gatsby" out loud in real time. I know, it sounds like S&M for English teachers, but it got incredible out of town reviews so I’m going to take my chances.

I also jumped on a recent discount code for The Addams Family. I know, I know - but I love a good train wreck, especially when two bona fide Broadway stars headline. Since I didn’t pay full price, I thought, what the hell.

A few blocks uptown at the Met, I’m set to see Il Trovatore (which I’ve never seen live) with the dreamy cast of Racette, Radvanovsky, Zajick, Alvarez and Hvorostovsky. And for you non-opera fans, that would be akin to seeing Benanti, Baldwin, LuPone, Crawford and Hearn in…well…I guess that would never happen. But you get the idea. I’ll then be back two days later for the Met’s ridiculously huge production of La Boheme for a glimpse of new tenor hottie, Vittoria Grigolo. Between him and James Valenti (above) - yowzah - so much for the fat opera singer stereotype! And I almost forgot about Das Rheingold next Spring. It’s the first of the four Wagner Ring operas in a new production that makes even the most complicated Broadway set look like legos (check out the preview below). The stage had to be reinforced with three 65-foot girders to support the weight of the 45-ton set. It’s opening the Met’s season, but all the fall performances are sold out, so I have to settle for Mach of next year. Sigh.

Other upcoming shows on my radar: Evita (w/ Ricky Martin’s Che), Anything Goes (w/ Sutton Foster’s Reno), A Life in the Theatre (w/ Patrick Stewart and T.R. Knight), Driving Miss Daisy (w/ James Earl Jones and Vanessa Redgrave), Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown (w/ LuPone, Stokes Mitchell & Laura Benanti), Elf, How to Succeed ... (w/ Daniel Radcliff) & War Horse (from London’s National Theatre). So many stars - so little time and money!

Quote of the day...

I was browsing the opera blog, Parterre, today during a particularly slow day at the office and came across this gem posted by BETSY_ANN_BOBOLINK:

MANON from Opera Ottawa features Michael Schade and Nathalie Paulin, not negligible vocalists by any means, but not the sort of cast to make queens wet their jeans.

So for the next week, I will try to use the phrase "...make queens wet their jeans" at least once a day.  I encourage you to do the same.

My name is Fausto and I'm a...

Is there a 12-step program for reality show addiction? Because I just can’t stop. Thank you networks for the particularly cheese-tastic array of choices available for summer viewing. These are my drugs of choice:
Kathy Griffin: My Life on the D-List
Mall Cops: Mall of America
The Fabulous Beekman Boys
Losing it With Jillian
So You Think You Can Dance?

I literally had to delete shows from my DVR list because it can only record two shows at one time (sorry Intervention and Hoarders, you will be missed but not forgotten). And there are still shows that I want to see but am physically unable to squeeze into my 18 waking hours a day (Cupcake Wars anyone?). Here’s why I can’t live without them (OK, maybe that’s a bit dramatic, but I am a thespian and a homo - the perfect storm of theatricality):

Kathy Griffin - A gay man with a vagina, Kathy lacks any trace of subtlety and tact, but she is fuckin’ hilarious. I like that she calls celebrities (and herself) out on their bullsh*t and would be honored to have her as my hag.

Mall Cops - This show is brilliant. If I hadn’t known any better, I’d think it was a parody a la "Waiting for Guffman." I mean, a show about the dangers of being a mall security guard? Last night’s episode had the guards stopping an ice cube fight, chastising a fast food manager for blocking a fire exit and helping a special needs customer find his slushie. You can’t write that shit.

The Fabulous Beekman Boys - A gay NYC couple, one an OCD former doctor and VP with Martha Stewart and the other a former drag queen turned advertising exec, buy a farm upstate and attempt to run it using information gleaned from Google and advice from Farmer John, a gay animal lover whose love for his llamas literally brings him to tears in the first episode. ‘ Nuff said?

Losing it - I love watching people cry.

SYTYCD - The only talent show on TV that actually rewards people for having legitimate training. Imagine that?

And speaking of TV, I caught the first two acts of Live from Lincoln Center’s HD broadcast of Simon Boccanegra last night starring Placido Domingo. The man is 69 and still sounds incredible (although that wig - yikes!). I’m 40 and feel used up. It’s just not fair.

Met's double header

No, not those Mets, silly. Did you not notice the possessive apostrophe? We’re talking the Met Opera. Unless, of course, Audra takes up baseball - in which case, “Play ball, bitches!”

Over the last two weeks, Trish and I revisited two operatic war-horses, Carmen (photo courtesy of NY Times) and Turandot (photo courtesy of Met Opera). One re-emerged as a sleek and sexy Fatal Attraction-esque thriller, the other laid bloated and unwieldy as a beached whale. Yes, the story of the gypsy seductress is the most recognizable in all operatic literature and the famous “Toreador Song”, played as background music to commercials and cartoons, may very well border on self-caricature. But watch out Justin Timberlake, director Richard Eyre is bringing sexy back…to the Met stage no less! Hollah! Elina Garanca, my newest obsession (sorry Diana Damrau), gives us a Carmen whose bite is as nasty as her bark and she ain’t afraid to shake her money maker, either. Using a hyper-realism that just skirts cliché, Eyre’s Carmen is gritty, harsh and violent. Garanca is fearless and exudes a primitive sensuality you rarely see on the Met stage. The Act IV confrontation between Jose and Carmen was thrilling. Knowing full well the final written outcome, Garanca’s viper of a Carmen left me wondering if she might perhaps subdue Jose and actually get away. Alagna’s Jose was a hair shy of crazy - in a good way. “The more you love someone, the more you want to kill them” indeed! I could feel the bruises forming on Garanca’s elbows and forearms as she took repeated throws to the floor.

Granted, the production wasn’t perfect. The third act “love” pas de deux seemed superfluous. Yes, I know they were going for symmetry given the first act “seduction” pas, but it just seemed cheesy. Alagna, though generally vocally consistent (if a bit whiny at times), had quite a big vocal squawk in the third act that left Trish’s knee with the indent of my gripping hand. I’m also not quite convinced about the final tableau. I assume the bull is symbolic. Bull fighting as a metaphor for Jose’s final “conquest” of Carmen? Hmmm. It seems a bit too literal - though it does provide a visually stunning curtain closer. But these are minor quibbles. I only hope that in future re-stagings, they Met is able to capture the intensity and gritty realism of Alagna and Garanca (as well as Garanca’s hefty set of maracas - olé)!

If Garanca’s Carmen is a high-priced DC call girl, Zeffirelli's classic Turandot production is its sagging-breasted, worn out older sister. Yes, the set is ridiculously ornate and on the surface, beautiful. But after about ten minutes, the sparkles and gold dust stop distracting you and you realize just how much cover stick the old girl’s using to hide all the mileage. This revival wallows in opera cliché - meaningless and meandering stage direction and either over the top gesticulating or park-and-bark non-“acting”. I’m sure at one time the production was fresh and exciting, but now it’s just stale and overblown. When the set gets more applause than any of the performers, you’re in deep doo-doo.

And the singing? Yikes. The tenor, Frank Porretta, possesses a pleasant enough timbre, but is barely audible over the orchestra. So of course, what better way to amplify his less than ample endowment than by directing him to sing directly upstage, backside to the audience. Grazia Doronzio’s Liu, a pretty wisp of a thing, had volume but lacked emotional connection to anyone on the stage. I’d have gotten more interest and engagement listening to a good recording. In Doronzio’s defense, she seemed to warm up both vocally and emotionally around Liu’s death scene; but alas, I started caring just barely in time for the knife to slice through her gullet. The evening’s vocal saving grace lay in Lise Lindstrom’s Turandot. Her ice queen had the presence and vocal timbre to slice through orchestra and chorus. If not pretty, her voice had a steely edge that worked nicely for the character. Unfortunately, she obliterated anyone who happened to wander into the line of fire, including the poor tenor. Sensing this, Porretta valiantly and foolishly tried to match Lindstrom’s wall of sound. I could almost see the pressure building up in his head and waited for the blood-spurting explosion. Instead, we only got a few wobbles and near cracks in his upper register. Predictably, “Nessun Dorma” received applause almost before Porretta had cut-off the final note. Will I ever get to hear a thrilling performance of the aria in context? - seems highly unlikely.

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.

Show overload

Trish and I nearly OD-ed on musicals this weekend. With the unlikely triumvirate of Mamma Mia!, Toxic Avenger and Tin Pan Alley Rag (with an added viewing of last seasons La Cenerentola from The Met on Great Performances via DVR) our ears were confused and bleeding. Can one be musically bi-polar? Methinks “yes”!

I am almost embarrassed to admit that I actually enjoyed the movie version of Mamma Mia! Yeah, it ain’t gonna’ win any Oscars, but it was just so unapologetically stupid and cheesy that I couldn’t help but laugh along. I mean, Meryl must have known how ridiculous the script was, but she still committed to the role as if she were playing Lady Macbeth. Brava! Unfortunately, without the fun of Remington Steele belting out ABBA or Ms. Streep balancing in platform shoes and sequined-body suit, the stage show bores. The sole exception is the freakishly talented Carolee Carmello. Okay, I am bit obsessed with her, but she kicks ass. Her “Winner Takes it All” literally woke the sleeping audience just in time for the final scene of the show. Oy, and the chorus girls f*cking up the dance - and I use the term loosely as our high school kids could easily duplicate the Broadway choreography - during “Man After Midnight”? No joke, one girl messed up a step and then shrugged her shoulders at the audience. Really? Why not just flip us the bird and scream “Suckahs!” Oh well. At least I’ll be able to quench may obsession with Carolee’s crazy vibrato this spring when she is released from her Mamma-shackles to co-star in the upcoming The Addams Family musical on Broadway.

On paper it sounds iffy - a rock musical by Bon Jovi’s keyboardist based on an 80’s cult horror movie. Sometimes even the craziest idea just works. Hell, I’m sure Sondheim got an earful when he first pitched a musical version of Sweeney Todd. The Toxic Avenger ain’t Sweeney Todd, but it’s 100 intermission-less minutes of harmless camp fun with a five person cast ingeniously playing dozens of different characters. The score ranges from average to great, but always fun and often with clever lyrics. How can you not laugh during a show that includes songs titled “My Big French Boyfriend,” “Hot Toxic Love” and “Evil is Hot”? Granted, American Idol runner up Diana Degarmo is no actress, but girlfriend can certainly belt and riff with the best of ‘em. And for the three straight men who read my blog - mammary alert! You’ll get quite an eyeful of Ms. Degarmo’s ample bosoms straining to escape her very skimpy bra during one quite naughty blouse ripping scene. For the rest of us, there’s Nancy Opal’s show-stopping eleven o’ clock number, “Bitch/Slut/Liar/Whore.” And yes, it’s as good as the title implies. On a side note, I wish more shows had 4:00 PM matinees. You can enjoy a nice long brunch, throw in an extra mimosa or margarita and still sneak in a power nap before the show. Producers take note!

I honestly thought I’d be “musicaled-out” by Saturday night’s performance of Tin Pan Alley Rag. But hearing songs like “What’ll I Do” and “Blue Skies” after a weekend of ABBA and Bon Jovi only emphasized the lack of melodic, tuneful scores currently on musical stages. Not that I don’t appreciate a good pop/rock score, but there’s truly more complexity and emotional yearning in just that first upward chromatic phrase of “What’ll I Do” than in most current full musical scores. (Sigh) Oh well, fingers crossed that Sondheim still has another show left in his 79 year old bones. As for the show, it’s basically a musical theater version of an E! True Hollywood Story circa 1910’s. It was informative and entertaining but not necessarily very theatrically groundbreaking - this happened, then this happened and then I died. Now let’s shoehorn a song that fits the scene. Luckily, both Berlin and Joplin had interesting enough lives and a catalog of incredible music to carry this wisp of a concept along. Enjoyed it, but probably wouldn’t have enjoyed it as much had we paid full price. Thanks TDF!

Probably the best performance of the weekend was from our TV. Well, not literally, of course. Where the hell has Elina Garanča been hiding? I guess she hasn’t really been hiding, given she performs regularly in the world’s top opera houses and has had her performance in the title role of La Cenerentola transmitted internationally on TV. So more accurately, where the hell have I been hiding? Anyway, I now have another obsession. I'm usually not a sucker for mezzos (the notable exception being the goddess, Marilyn Horne), but Garanča's got the goods. Besides being friggin' gorgeous (straighties see below) she's got a machine-gun accurate bel canto and has an easy, natural acting style. The CD’s are already on their way from Amazon. Speaking of CD’s, I know I’m way behind the times, but I still can’t get myself to do the whole MP3 thing. Call me old fashioned, but I like leafing through a booklet. Somehow digital images and pixels aren’t the same as a having those glossy pages in your hand. (Extra big sigh)