Hello, hello!

I'm awfully thankful I had that opportunity nine years ago to see a minimal staging of Der Kaiser von Atlantis at Emanuel Synagogue in Lakeview. Because if yesterday evening's performance by Chicago Opera Theatre were my first exposure to the piece, I'd most likely consider it a justly-forgotten novelty opera rather than something of lasting value.

We had numerous issues with this production starting with the fact that it was in English. I hate to sound snobbish, but translating rhyming verse is difficult to do well even when it's not being set to music, and neither bunj nor I thought this translation had been done well. Since the story is modern fairy tale told in a somewhat fragmentary fashion, a choppy libretto makes following the plot even more of a challenge. I could tell from the expression on monshu's face that he was having to strain at times to link up developments.

A major mistake was the casting of Cassidy Smith as the Drummer. She didn't have the pipes, and the orchestra simply overwhelmed her major dramatic opera, which is critical to the piece. And we felt the production did the work no favours. It was scarcely more elaborate than the minimal staging at Congregation Emanuel; if we didn't know better, we'd've thought we'd walked into a college production rather than a performance by one of the most respected opera companies in the Midwest.

I'm sure the COT crew were hampered by the space. Because of work being done on their home venue, they've been forced into DePaul's Merle Reskin Theatre, which is built on the model of a nineteenth-century provincial European opera house. The stage is tiny and shallow (unless walling most of it off was a conscious decision of the production designer). The arrays are squeezed into the boxes flanking the stage (the techs were working in full view barely fifteen feet from our seats), which helps explain why the lighting was so inadequate in spots. I valued the intimacy, but it made the mezzo's inability to project even less excusable.

Still, they could've come up with a better set than two staircases connected with a walkway. This had the effect of reducing the performance area still further, and monshu pointed out that having to navigate stairs while singing probably cramped the singers' range of movements, making for a rather static production. Bernard Holcomb's Harlequin was one of the least mobile I've seen and the puppeteering associated with the role of Emperor (sung well by Andrew Wilkowske) seemed an afterthought.

Holcomb's singing also came off as inexpressive. I know I've heard him do better on the Lyric stage. The only truly outstanding voice, in fact, was Emily Birsan, who had the lesser role of Bubikopf in Kaiser but shone as the title character of Die Kluge. Paul Corona, another Lyric graduate, did very well in both his roles, though I fail to understand why he was paired with Neil Edwards as the Loudspeaker (originally a single baritone role), who didn't have the strength, timbre, or the diction to match him.

All in all, the impression we had was that Die Kluge was the opera they really wanted to do, since that's where we saw the most effort and creativity on display. They kept the stairs, but the awkward space underneath the walkway was occupied by three large sheets on rollers which were used for projections (both front and rear) and sliced into to create windows, passages, and the like.

Moreover, the roles were better matched to the voices--even if I thought Holcomb was still weak as the Donkeyman. His plaintive mid-act aria could be a showstopper in the right hands, but I was simply bored. Corona reappears as one of three "vagabonds" who team up with a muleteer to defraud the Donkeyman, and their ensemble singing and hijinks were delightful. Any one of their numbers had more choreography than was in the entirety of the first opera.

The translation was still mediocre, but because the plot has a classic fairytale structure, it was easier to connect the dots. It's a tuneful work, with nods to cabaret and even a hint of jazz. But despite the connexions some have drawn between the mad tyrant (again voiced by Wilkowske) and Germany's mad dictator at the time, it doesn't seem to have anything much to say about the nature of power in the way that Kaiser comments on the absurdity of war. Perhaps in another decade, the latter will get a performance that truly exploits the full potential of the piece, but I doubt we'll see it in Chicago.

Tapas-heavy

As late as yesterday afternoon, I was having misgivings about our planned dinner at Mercat a la Plantxa. Rereading bunj's note, I noticed that in the same sentence he'd also suggested Cafecito and, given the lingering GI issues I was having, I mused that a cozy sandwich joint might be a better pick than a fancy tapas place.

Alas, I didn't listen, so I'm writing this review to serve as a reminder to myself. Mercat is the kind of place that gives tapas a bad name: where you can spend $40/person and still leave hungry. I should've ordered my diagnostic first; anyplace that can't pull off a decent tortilla española should just get out of the game altogether. Theirs was rubbery on the outside (a sure sign it had been cooked ahead), had parsley in it, and was topped with gobs of saffron aioli. As if that wasn't bad enough, strands of saffron were sprinkled around as a garnish.

Of the many ways to ruin a good dish, this was the classic more-is-more approach (coupled with a slapdash approach to the basics). I like saffron, but you don't need to cook with it much to recognise that a little goes a long way and too much is gross. Similarly, the kitchen has a penchant for putting chorizo in anything and everything, including our ham-and-cheeese croquettes and--yes--the "paella valenciana". (Don't let the Wikipaella team catch you doing that, vatos!) That only made their omission of botifarra from our "cepas y butifarra" coca all the more conspicuous.

Maybe their straight grilled meats and seafoods are better--certainly the charred endive was decent enough--but we'll never know because half-an-hour into service, our waiter disappeared. Not completely: he later showed up to shower attention on every table in our vicinity but ours, which meant 86ing the Old Man's hopes of an espresso and my chances of going to bed without a growling stomach. Might be worth going back for the roast suckling pig (it's a crime that none of the accompanying sides are available à la carte, since they're better than almost all their regular offerings) as it's pricey enough to guarantee a minimal level of decent service. Otherwise they're off my list.

And who needs them, now that I can get that itch scratched at home? Sunday morning, I unsuccessfully tried to dodge monshu's questions about what to fix for dinner. Vexed, I answered with one word: "Tapas". Now I can joke around with him about almost anything, but food is something he takes deadly seriously. He called my bluff. Within moments, he was back with the eponymous Casas cookbook, searching for recipes without tomatoes or capers.

In the end, he made sautéed mushrooms, prosciutto-wrapped asparagus (for some reason, the local market has stopped carrying serrano), and, as the pièce de résistance, albondigas swimming in a salsa de picada. All we were missing to complete the feast was some nice crusty bread. (We had a crisp Spanish white, but I wasn't up to drinking it.) As for cheese, he spiked a chèvre with some shallots and chives. They say hunger is the best sauce, but personally I think the envy of your condomates as they eye you eating your Mediterranean feast out on the deck is better.

一無所有

I've now seen a number of posts commemorating the 25th anniversary of Tiananmen Massacre and I find it interesting to note that not one of them has featured this image. This is the Goddess of Democracy, modeled on the Statue of Liberty and constructed in only a few days chiefly from papier-mâché and foam. For several days, this was the global emblem of the pro-democracy movement, but after it was destroyed in the assault, the image of Tank Man quickly took its place.

It's easy to understand why: Tank man is a powerful image. I find it hard to look at without getting choked up (or at least I used to before it became overexposed to the point where it began to appear in Apple ads). It symbolises the ability of a single person to take a stand against tyranny and oppression, and that's inspiring.

But it also leaves a lot out. The Goddess was a communal project, and that reflects how I remember the movement. At the VP Fair in St Louis, Chinese students at Washington University had a booth where they were selling calligraphy and paper cutouts in order to benefit their comrades back home. I still have a paper tiger and a pink sheet of paper with the words "I am a giant duck" packed away in a box in the basement. It was salutary for me to see that kind of cooperation. After all, not one of us in a million can be another Tank Man.