Monday, April 25, 2005
Whole Lotta (loud) Singin Goin' On
Taking into account xenosphere's comment on the previous entry, I will decline the dare to discuss "heavy ladies" vis-a-vis
the perfomance of Bizet's Carmen that I had a chance to see at the Lincoln Center over the weekend. There were certainly weighty issues to mull over, but the specific body mass indices of any of the main performers were not any of said issues.
I warn you now that the following opinions are those of a totally ignorant opera viewer. I know nothing of the subtleties evident in a performance where the un-miked voices of singers can reach the fifth level in the New York State Theater . As I stated before , my ear has been limited to operas involving cuddly hedgehogs in a community opera production. A leap to "Carmen" and to the Lincoln Center was almost enough to cause a nosebleed. I enjoyed the performance; there were two intermissions. There was a grouse of men queued up for refreshments of the alcoholic kind at each dispensary of overpriced booze set up in the lobby. Discussions tended to stray quickly away from "arias" to the complexities of drafting for talent in the 4th round of the NFL college draft. Carmen and Don Jose may have been having their troubles in stage, but out in the lobby the topic of the idiocy of (insert your fav team here) draft pickers was the point of interest.
The set pieces were quite stunning as were the costumes. It was obvious why the Spanish Army never faired too well in battle; their brightly colored costumes made it easy to pick them off from long range. And, let's face it, what soldier goes around with a flower on the top of their hat? I understand the feathers that were popular with hats back in the days. But flowers? Was their a thimble of soil there? Was watering required? The four seperate scenes were quite convincing. Don Jose, the lead male singer, tripped over some faux stones a few times, prevaling through to the end of the performance with a noticeable limp. I know he was struggling through rather than just acting; we were struggling through his acting.
I don't mind and, in fact, enjoy musicals. Not generally, as in carte-blanche enjoyment, but specifically to a small selection of them. West Side Story, The Producers, and Stomp (my favorite musical because there is no singing). I'm even looking forward (in the distant future, as tix are hard to come by) to see Spamalot .
I can do that thing which is so necessary to enjoy a musical, suspend my belief. My ever-loving wife, on the other hand,
likes most musicals and she needs no such suspension. She loves to sing and can't fathom how she gave birth to children that don't have the urge to just belt out a song when things are going well....or not. She has a lovely voice, does the spouse, and a strong one. We have several vacuum cleaners and not a one is able to drown her out as she goes through her Housecleaning Song Repertoire. Growing up in her household was a unscripted musical of its own. That's for a post that she will do some day; write what you know, right?
But, this is straying from the topic, which is Carmen, specifically Bizet's Carmen . Was I hoping to see Miranda's Carmen? Yes, I won't lie, I was hoping that there would be allure, comedy, Brazilian music, and fruit. The orchestra, squeezed into the pit, was fine; the music for the opera was even hummable. But no fruit. No comedy. And no Carmen Miranda.
Katharine Goeldner, the Carmen of this performance, had a strong and effective voice. Her body movements and her facial expressions were also attuned to what her character, Carmen the cigarette factory worker and (as my ever-loving wife noted) town floozy, was. Her wild hair, her sassy sashaying and the placement of her feet (I didn't think checking for hernias could be conducted this way) combined to have the males on stage handing out wolf tickets by the batch load. Confined within the sappy and often conversationally-challenging lyrics, she was able to intrigue and to repel, sometimes within the same song. The men in the opera, aside from being drips, dunderheads, saps, cartoons, and creatures being blessed with minimal self-control came off as grist for Carmen's mill. The lead fop, John Bellemer as Don Jose, overstayed his welcome on stage. Bizet may have wanted his lead male part to be portrayed in this way. Or, perhaps Bellemer may have interpreted it this way. I was just a viewer, with a modicum of opera knowledge.
The belief that I was straining to suspend was coming back from its limbo status after the second intermission. Even the always-admirable daughter was softly guffawing into her coat. At one point, the translated French to English text appearred on the stage as, "I'll be telling you this sonny-boy..."
She laughed, perhaps a bit too loudly.
Now, there's a woman after my own heart.
Taking into account xenosphere's comment on the previous entry, I will decline the dare to discuss "heavy ladies" vis-a-vis
the perfomance of Bizet's Carmen that I had a chance to see at the Lincoln Center over the weekend. There were certainly weighty issues to mull over, but the specific body mass indices of any of the main performers were not any of said issues.I warn you now that the following opinions are those of a totally ignorant opera viewer. I know nothing of the subtleties evident in a performance where the un-miked voices of singers can reach the fifth level in the New York State Theater . As I stated before , my ear has been limited to operas involving cuddly hedgehogs in a community opera production. A leap to "Carmen" and to the Lincoln Center was almost enough to cause a nosebleed. I enjoyed the performance; there were two intermissions. There was a grouse of men queued up for refreshments of the alcoholic kind at each dispensary of overpriced booze set up in the lobby. Discussions tended to stray quickly away from "arias" to the complexities of drafting for talent in the 4th round of the NFL college draft. Carmen and Don Jose may have been having their troubles in stage, but out in the lobby the topic of the idiocy of (insert your fav team here) draft pickers was the point of interest.
The set pieces were quite stunning as were the costumes. It was obvious why the Spanish Army never faired too well in battle; their brightly colored costumes made it easy to pick them off from long range. And, let's face it, what soldier goes around with a flower on the top of their hat? I understand the feathers that were popular with hats back in the days. But flowers? Was their a thimble of soil there? Was watering required? The four seperate scenes were quite convincing. Don Jose, the lead male singer, tripped over some faux stones a few times, prevaling through to the end of the performance with a noticeable limp. I know he was struggling through rather than just acting; we were struggling through his acting.
I don't mind and, in fact, enjoy musicals. Not generally, as in carte-blanche enjoyment, but specifically to a small selection of them. West Side Story, The Producers, and Stomp (my favorite musical because there is no singing). I'm even looking forward (in the distant future, as tix are hard to come by) to see Spamalot .
I can do that thing which is so necessary to enjoy a musical, suspend my belief. My ever-loving wife, on the other hand,
likes most musicals and she needs no such suspension. She loves to sing and can't fathom how she gave birth to children that don't have the urge to just belt out a song when things are going well....or not. She has a lovely voice, does the spouse, and a strong one. We have several vacuum cleaners and not a one is able to drown her out as she goes through her Housecleaning Song Repertoire. Growing up in her household was a unscripted musical of its own. That's for a post that she will do some day; write what you know, right?But, this is straying from the topic, which is Carmen, specifically Bizet's Carmen . Was I hoping to see Miranda's Carmen? Yes, I won't lie, I was hoping that there would be allure, comedy, Brazilian music, and fruit. The orchestra, squeezed into the pit, was fine; the music for the opera was even hummable. But no fruit. No comedy. And no Carmen Miranda.
Katharine Goeldner, the Carmen of this performance, had a strong and effective voice. Her body movements and her facial expressions were also attuned to what her character, Carmen the cigarette factory worker and (as my ever-loving wife noted) town floozy, was. Her wild hair, her sassy sashaying and the placement of her feet (I didn't think checking for hernias could be conducted this way) combined to have the males on stage handing out wolf tickets by the batch load. Confined within the sappy and often conversationally-challenging lyrics, she was able to intrigue and to repel, sometimes within the same song. The men in the opera, aside from being drips, dunderheads, saps, cartoons, and creatures being blessed with minimal self-control came off as grist for Carmen's mill. The lead fop, John Bellemer as Don Jose, overstayed his welcome on stage. Bizet may have wanted his lead male part to be portrayed in this way. Or, perhaps Bellemer may have interpreted it this way. I was just a viewer, with a modicum of opera knowledge.
The belief that I was straining to suspend was coming back from its limbo status after the second intermission. Even the always-admirable daughter was softly guffawing into her coat. At one point, the translated French to English text appearred on the stage as, "I'll be telling you this sonny-boy..."
She laughed, perhaps a bit too loudly.
Now, there's a woman after my own heart.
Comments:
<< Home Verging on Pertinence Just some more disposable thoughts clogging up the hinterlands
I think subtitles at the opera are a real shame. Like the diehard Catholics feel about the liturgy, I think opera is better when you can't exactly understand what is going on. (Of course, it's imperative to read the libretto ahead of time.)
Shame about the lack of animals on stage these days. Even Aida productions are never done with authentic elephants anymore.
Shame about the lack of animals on stage these days. Even Aida productions are never done with authentic elephants anymore.
Some you win, some you lose. Last year I walked out on Placido Domingo, my hero, because the damned thing was just too dull and too guy-flounces-with-purposey.
At other times it's magical. Probably the wierdest producton I saw was of Mozart's Magic Flute, played by a theater company rather than an opera company. Very dramatic it was too: the "good guys", the forces of Law, became uniformed fascists; and the Queen of the Night, at the end of the opera, was "popped" in the head with a revolver. After singing so sweetly, too?
At other times it's magical. Probably the wierdest producton I saw was of Mozart's Magic Flute, played by a theater company rather than an opera company. Very dramatic it was too: the "good guys", the forces of Law, became uniformed fascists; and the Queen of the Night, at the end of the opera, was "popped" in the head with a revolver. After singing so sweetly, too?
What????!!! No fruit???!!! I TOLD you opera sucked, DV. Additional dental work required.
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# opined by 
: 9:18 AM, April 26, 2005
: 9:18 AM, April 26, 2005 << Home Verging on Pertinence Just some more disposable thoughts clogging up the hinterlands
