Dec. 6th, 2014 11:56 pm
Piange l'afflitta
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muckefuckOur opera subscription this year includes two opening nights, and somehow I've managed to dress down for both. My excuse this time was that I didn't even remember I had an opera until 10 a.m. this morning. In fact, I didn't even remember then; I texted Nuphy to invite him to join me at the Christkindlmarket and he was like, "I thought we'd stop by before Anna Bolena tonight." I asked him why he hadn't reminded me and he was like, "I sent you the dates." Yeah, you did, but that was seven trips to the hospital ago.
I still had time to dress up, of course, but my need to see my best pair of slacks ruined by some yahoo's mug of Glühwein was far too small--as small as my desire to see my wool topcoat smeared with sour creme, so I wore my parka. As it happened, neither of these misfortunes took place. Murphy's Law has something to say about that, I think.
I haven't seen Maria Stuarda, but I haven't on good authority (i.e. Nuphy) that Anna Bolena is no Maria Stuarda. It's the libretto that's to blame, it seems. Maria has the advantage of being based on Schilling. Anna is based on the works of two minor Risorgimento poets. You won't find any drama in it, only melodramma. When the score isn't flat, it's laughably obvious (I think "Weeping, she suffers!" may deserve an award for Least Necessary Line of Dialogue in a Grand Opera) or just laughable (Henry's "I'm outraged!" drew chuckles from the crowd; as Nuphy commented, "That isn't a good sign").
But bel canto opera is all about the singing, right? And we did have singers. John Relyea is strong and menacing as Henry VIII. I spent the first fifteen minutes of the opera pining for male voices, so his entrance came like a bracing splash of aftershave. Nuphy's secret boyfriend Hymel made less of an impression. Excellent technique and tone, but a voice a bit too small for this house. (Honestly, the opera is a bit too small for the house, but that's the Italian repertoire for you.)
I was genuinely fooled by Kelley O'Connor's trouser role. Nuphy had to check the programme to confirm that, yes, this was a female singer in drag and not a countertenor. Not only is her build remarkably masculine, but even her voice sounds more boyish than womanly. Jamie Barton as Seymour was never actually shrill, but she got too close for my taste, despite singing well throughout.
But the opera belongs to Radvanovsky as the eponymous heroine. She sings almost the entire three hours and--as per usual--needs to keep a good bit in reserve for her final scene, which she absolutely nails. I would've fallen asleep at that point if not for her. Nuphy cavilled that she didn't sound like she was really suffering, but you could've fooled me. One of her more piercing cries made me start in my seat.
The less said about the production, the better. As usual, we challenged the UofC professor with us to find some sense in it, but he made only a few half-hearted stabs, calling it "safe" and "practical". There was a certain elegance to the minimal staging and he admired the Rembrandtesque tableaux in which the chorus was arranged and lit, but to me that only emphasised the staticness of the action. The lighting seemed harsh in places and I caught at least one outright error. From our angle you could see the tape marks on the stage and, as usual, many scenic choices didn't work (such as the use of narrow bands of colour upstage).
Am I glad I saw it? Well, it was a break from the usual warhorses. Would I pay to see it again? Not really. More than anything, watching it made me want to rent a copy of The Lion in Winter to curl up with on the couch with![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
monshu.
I still had time to dress up, of course, but my need to see my best pair of slacks ruined by some yahoo's mug of Glühwein was far too small--as small as my desire to see my wool topcoat smeared with sour creme, so I wore my parka. As it happened, neither of these misfortunes took place. Murphy's Law has something to say about that, I think.
I haven't seen Maria Stuarda, but I haven't on good authority (i.e. Nuphy) that Anna Bolena is no Maria Stuarda. It's the libretto that's to blame, it seems. Maria has the advantage of being based on Schilling. Anna is based on the works of two minor Risorgimento poets. You won't find any drama in it, only melodramma. When the score isn't flat, it's laughably obvious (I think "Weeping, she suffers!" may deserve an award for Least Necessary Line of Dialogue in a Grand Opera) or just laughable (Henry's "I'm outraged!" drew chuckles from the crowd; as Nuphy commented, "That isn't a good sign").
But bel canto opera is all about the singing, right? And we did have singers. John Relyea is strong and menacing as Henry VIII. I spent the first fifteen minutes of the opera pining for male voices, so his entrance came like a bracing splash of aftershave. Nuphy's secret boyfriend Hymel made less of an impression. Excellent technique and tone, but a voice a bit too small for this house. (Honestly, the opera is a bit too small for the house, but that's the Italian repertoire for you.)
I was genuinely fooled by Kelley O'Connor's trouser role. Nuphy had to check the programme to confirm that, yes, this was a female singer in drag and not a countertenor. Not only is her build remarkably masculine, but even her voice sounds more boyish than womanly. Jamie Barton as Seymour was never actually shrill, but she got too close for my taste, despite singing well throughout.
But the opera belongs to Radvanovsky as the eponymous heroine. She sings almost the entire three hours and--as per usual--needs to keep a good bit in reserve for her final scene, which she absolutely nails. I would've fallen asleep at that point if not for her. Nuphy cavilled that she didn't sound like she was really suffering, but you could've fooled me. One of her more piercing cries made me start in my seat.
The less said about the production, the better. As usual, we challenged the UofC professor with us to find some sense in it, but he made only a few half-hearted stabs, calling it "safe" and "practical". There was a certain elegance to the minimal staging and he admired the Rembrandtesque tableaux in which the chorus was arranged and lit, but to me that only emphasised the staticness of the action. The lighting seemed harsh in places and I caught at least one outright error. From our angle you could see the tape marks on the stage and, as usual, many scenic choices didn't work (such as the use of narrow bands of colour upstage).
Am I glad I saw it? Well, it was a break from the usual warhorses. Would I pay to see it again? Not really. More than anything, watching it made me want to rent a copy of The Lion in Winter to curl up with on the couch with
monshu.