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in the dark
Mar. 8th, 2009 12:04 am.
I was back in a theater again today, this time for Puccini's "Madama Butterfly" broadcast live from the Met in HD at the local cinema. Tried to beat the line by buying from the automatic dingus, but went through several cycles of making all the choices and ending up with nothing before it finally came right out and said it was unable to help me. By then the line wasn't long, so I sailed through and got a coupon for a free small popcorn because of my diligent use of the chain's rewards card. This time, the number of the auditorium wasn't printed on the ticket, but I went the same way as someone who was picking up a flyer about the Met Opera and found the right room.
The joint was packed! I had watched the second showing of WATCHMEN in a house with six or eight other people, but this place had about that many empty seats, not counting the front two rows (from which the screen resembled a trapezoid). I found a seat all by itself at the back of the lower (front) level, next to the wall, and settled in with my popcorn and a large bottle of water.
This must be the first time I've watched an entire opera in years, and the first time I've watched one in a movie theater. It worked okay. I was wishing the colors were a little more contrasty, and for a while there was a wall light shining dimly down on me, so I felt like I was in a spotlight, but I got used to the first, and the second seemed to fade after a while. I had a hard time getting entirely into the suspension of disbelief. Cio-Cio-San is supposed to be fifteen. Well. During the first intermission, she made a joke about playing a character half her age and smiled impishly. But vocally, she was all over it. She had the range and the breath, and her acting was good.
She had good support from Suzuki as well. Dramatically, it worked better for me this way. I'm more vulnerable to a situation where somebody still has one friend on their side, somehow. The American Consul, Sharpless, was also a decent fellow stuck in a hard place having to give her bad news. Pinkerton was well performed, but I had a hard time clapping for him at the end because he was Pinkerton, damn him.
Two of the actors felt familiar. Suzuki reminded me of our Katisha from the CNU 2000 production of "The Mikado" that I was in. I was half-tempted to shout "Bikuri Shakuri O!" while she was singing. Okay, maybe one quarter tempted. I was at least tempted to think about it. Goro, the marriage broker, looked so much like our Pooh-Bah that I really looked at the program, half-hoping I'd see Eric Strong's name on it.
Aspects of the production were interesting. It was very Japanese (but not to the extent of casting Asian actors in major parts, I noticed). They had persons in black changing the spartan scenery, creating special effects, and working puppets. Yes, puppets. Butterfly's son was played by a puppet. This had pluses and minuses. The singers didn't have to worry about an unpredictable child every night, but I couldn't think of it as a human child without something akin to an effort of will. It was probably easier for the audience in the opera house, come to think of it. The puppet's acting was good, but it had a neck like a sausage, and that kept letting the air out of my suspension of disbelief.
One stroke of staging that almost electrified me came at the start of the second act, after Pinkerton has been gone for three years. It starts with him on stage. He sits in his chair, and she kneels before him -- the picture of domestic happiness. Then one of the moving paper wall panels glides by, and when it's gone (the blink of an eye), so is Pinkerton. Damn effective.
Anyway, it progressed to its usual ending, and by that time, nothing was distancing me from the emotion of the story. I sat in the dark with tears running down my cheeks, and not for the first time. I wish they hadn't gone to the curtain calls so soon, because I wanted to wallow in it for at least a few more seconds.
Outside the theater, I was somewhat surprised -- as always -- that it wasn't the middle of the night. It was raining a little, though, and that was appropriate enough.
.
I was back in a theater again today, this time for Puccini's "Madama Butterfly" broadcast live from the Met in HD at the local cinema. Tried to beat the line by buying from the automatic dingus, but went through several cycles of making all the choices and ending up with nothing before it finally came right out and said it was unable to help me. By then the line wasn't long, so I sailed through and got a coupon for a free small popcorn because of my diligent use of the chain's rewards card. This time, the number of the auditorium wasn't printed on the ticket, but I went the same way as someone who was picking up a flyer about the Met Opera and found the right room.
The joint was packed! I had watched the second showing of WATCHMEN in a house with six or eight other people, but this place had about that many empty seats, not counting the front two rows (from which the screen resembled a trapezoid). I found a seat all by itself at the back of the lower (front) level, next to the wall, and settled in with my popcorn and a large bottle of water.
This must be the first time I've watched an entire opera in years, and the first time I've watched one in a movie theater. It worked okay. I was wishing the colors were a little more contrasty, and for a while there was a wall light shining dimly down on me, so I felt like I was in a spotlight, but I got used to the first, and the second seemed to fade after a while. I had a hard time getting entirely into the suspension of disbelief. Cio-Cio-San is supposed to be fifteen. Well. During the first intermission, she made a joke about playing a character half her age and smiled impishly. But vocally, she was all over it. She had the range and the breath, and her acting was good.
She had good support from Suzuki as well. Dramatically, it worked better for me this way. I'm more vulnerable to a situation where somebody still has one friend on their side, somehow. The American Consul, Sharpless, was also a decent fellow stuck in a hard place having to give her bad news. Pinkerton was well performed, but I had a hard time clapping for him at the end because he was Pinkerton, damn him.
Two of the actors felt familiar. Suzuki reminded me of our Katisha from the CNU 2000 production of "The Mikado" that I was in. I was half-tempted to shout "Bikuri Shakuri O!" while she was singing. Okay, maybe one quarter tempted. I was at least tempted to think about it. Goro, the marriage broker, looked so much like our Pooh-Bah that I really looked at the program, half-hoping I'd see Eric Strong's name on it.
Aspects of the production were interesting. It was very Japanese (but not to the extent of casting Asian actors in major parts, I noticed). They had persons in black changing the spartan scenery, creating special effects, and working puppets. Yes, puppets. Butterfly's son was played by a puppet. This had pluses and minuses. The singers didn't have to worry about an unpredictable child every night, but I couldn't think of it as a human child without something akin to an effort of will. It was probably easier for the audience in the opera house, come to think of it. The puppet's acting was good, but it had a neck like a sausage, and that kept letting the air out of my suspension of disbelief.
One stroke of staging that almost electrified me came at the start of the second act, after Pinkerton has been gone for three years. It starts with him on stage. He sits in his chair, and she kneels before him -- the picture of domestic happiness. Then one of the moving paper wall panels glides by, and when it's gone (the blink of an eye), so is Pinkerton. Damn effective.
Anyway, it progressed to its usual ending, and by that time, nothing was distancing me from the emotion of the story. I sat in the dark with tears running down my cheeks, and not for the first time. I wish they hadn't gone to the curtain calls so soon, because I wanted to wallow in it for at least a few more seconds.
Outside the theater, I was somewhat surprised -- as always -- that it wasn't the middle of the night. It was raining a little, though, and that was appropriate enough.
.
