May. 12th, 2010 10:57 pm
Unsustainably filling
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muckefuckIf Nuphy had only told me what the source material was, I never would've agreed to come in the first place. But he sold me on the opera by repeating the magical words "Frederica von Stade's farewell performance" and "a role written especially for her". The role may have been scored with her in mind, but it came from a minor plat by a middling playwright. As I waited in vain for the clichéed dialogue to acquire any depth, I said to myself, "This is a like a made-for-TV issue movie from 1994". Or--as it turns--like a play written for an AIDS benefit in 1999 and never performed again.
That might or might not have driven me away, but for sure the name "Terrence McNally" would have. Back in the day, Nuphy dragged me to see Love! Valour! Compassion! and I loathed it. I don't have a problem with New York queers or "small" dramas in general--I can quote virtually every line of Parting Glances from memory--but McNally's characters were all uptight jerks of a particularly irritating WASPish NYC type (well, except for the Guido straight from Stereotype Central), none moreso than the narrator. Worse, every dramatic reveal was telegraphed from space.
And so it was with Three Decembers. Omigod, you mean Daddy wasn't killed by a hit-and-run driver? I NEVER SAW THAT COMING! Nuphy got a little defensive when I confessed I hadn't cared for it and retorted, "Yes, it's sentimental, but Puccini's sentimental, too." Yeah, and I also don't like Puccini, remember? But more to the point, Puccini's sentimentality is so grandiose it approaches the level of camp; you can allow yourself to get swept away in it if you want. I kept trying to do the same here, but every attempt to turn off my critical functions failed. There just wasn't enough there to nourish me otherwise.
Okay, by now I've convinced you all that I hated it, which is far from the truth. Plenty of operas with far worse plots are redeemed by their music, and that was partially true in this case. Only partially, because though the music was pleasant to listen to and held my attention for the short (90 min.) running time, it wasn't particularly memorable or inspired. There are only three voices, which allows for some really lovely duets and trios; the staging is so spare it tires. I never nodded off nor found myself mentally translating the supertitles to keep my mind from wandering, which is more than I can say for many Lyric productions.
All in all, it was the melodic equivalent of the meal we had beforehand. See, Nuphy wanted to meet in the sushi-Thai successor to MyThai, an unlamented mediocrity smack in the tourist trap row of South Michigan. I held out until I saw the generally positive reviews on Yelp. The new owner has smartened up the space quite a bit and acquired a liquor license. The tempura was bland and overbattered, but crisp, not too oily, and hot from the fryer, and the sushi was reasonably tasty and plenty filling. Even the price was roughly equivalent--rather than pay back Nuphy for my ticket, I just bought his dinner and called it even.
That might or might not have driven me away, but for sure the name "Terrence McNally" would have. Back in the day, Nuphy dragged me to see Love! Valour! Compassion! and I loathed it. I don't have a problem with New York queers or "small" dramas in general--I can quote virtually every line of Parting Glances from memory--but McNally's characters were all uptight jerks of a particularly irritating WASPish NYC type (well, except for the Guido straight from Stereotype Central), none moreso than the narrator. Worse, every dramatic reveal was telegraphed from space.
And so it was with Three Decembers. Omigod, you mean Daddy wasn't killed by a hit-and-run driver? I NEVER SAW THAT COMING! Nuphy got a little defensive when I confessed I hadn't cared for it and retorted, "Yes, it's sentimental, but Puccini's sentimental, too." Yeah, and I also don't like Puccini, remember? But more to the point, Puccini's sentimentality is so grandiose it approaches the level of camp; you can allow yourself to get swept away in it if you want. I kept trying to do the same here, but every attempt to turn off my critical functions failed. There just wasn't enough there to nourish me otherwise.
Okay, by now I've convinced you all that I hated it, which is far from the truth. Plenty of operas with far worse plots are redeemed by their music, and that was partially true in this case. Only partially, because though the music was pleasant to listen to and held my attention for the short (90 min.) running time, it wasn't particularly memorable or inspired. There are only three voices, which allows for some really lovely duets and trios; the staging is so spare it tires. I never nodded off nor found myself mentally translating the supertitles to keep my mind from wandering, which is more than I can say for many Lyric productions.
All in all, it was the melodic equivalent of the meal we had beforehand. See, Nuphy wanted to meet in the sushi-Thai successor to MyThai, an unlamented mediocrity smack in the tourist trap row of South Michigan. I held out until I saw the generally positive reviews on Yelp. The new owner has smartened up the space quite a bit and acquired a liquor license. The tempura was bland and overbattered, but crisp, not too oily, and hot from the fryer, and the sushi was reasonably tasty and plenty filling. Even the price was roughly equivalent--rather than pay back Nuphy for my ticket, I just bought his dinner and called it even.