Unforgettable Day in NYC

The first day of a two-day flying visit to NY turned into something worthy of a short story.

So I woke on the Tuesday at 4 a.m. to catch an early flight from the island in the company of two colleagues. We arrived in NY around 9 a.m. The hotel kindly had our rooms ready already so we could dump our stuff and head out for a big breakfast. Then we got to the photography studio. Then I got a message that my voice-over agent wanted a demo voice test that I could make on and send from my iPhone. But they needed it by 5:30 p.m. I figured I would be back at the hotel in plenty of time to make the deadline.

And then I got a message that I had a box seat for the opera that night (starting at 7 p.m.), but also that I would be meeting my boss.

I was in jeans...

I hightailed it to Macy's, flinging myself on the mercy of a couple of salespeople who were WONDERFUL. Armed with some new clothes and shoes I exited the store to find myself in rush hour and unable to find a cab. It was 5:10 p.m. My agent was hurrying me. I ducked into a doorway and held up the script, bellowing into my phone, trying to sound well-modulated and irresistible. Of course the script was to do with promoting tourism to the States. I e-mailed the test off, pointing out to the agent in my e-mail that the whistle sounds, car horns and sirens were all perfect ambient noise as I was in fact standing near 34 Street and Fifth Avenue. She found this very entertaining. I ran back to the hotel, got changed, rushed up to Lincoln Center, collapsed in my box seat (back row of the box thank goodness, so no-one could detect my breathlessness), and was swept up in the magnificence of Strauss's Die Frau Ohne Schatten. A totally wacky story line on paper made beautiful sense as it came to life on stage. I momentarily was swayed by sleep and remembered I had been up at 4 a.m. The opera was four hours long and kept me riveted. I collapsed into my bed near midnight.

And after a perfect sleep, I woke to the sound of a cello very sweetly playing. I couldn't make it out at first, but then realized it was an actual cello being played very near by. It turns out some sort of Italian youth orchestra was staying in the same little old hotel near Penn station.

A perfect day in NYC... IMO.

P.S. I got the voice over gig! :)

Perfection

I was at a wedding at the end of August, between two lovely young people involved in the classical music scene in the city: both talented and delightful. What struck me, apart from the expected pleasure (the beauty of bride, the emotions of the speeches, the joy of the crowd), was the musical selection. In my opinion, it couldn't have been done better. What made it more special was that the highly talented young opera singers who performed are all good friends of the bride and groom:

~ the processional music was "Soave sia il vento" (Così fan tutte) and then "Laudate Dominum" (Mozart)

~ during the register signing, it was Strauss's Morgen

 ~ the recessional was the love duet (piano version) from Götterdämmerung's Prologue

~ at the start of the reception the bride and groom danced to Ella Fitzgerald singing Night and Day

~ during a pause in the speeches, the groom told us that his new wife had always encouraged him to keep at his solo piano career; in her honour he played her favourite piece, Clair de Lune

~ An English language version of "Mann und Weib" (from The Magic Flute) used their names in place of "Mann" and "Weib" and opera singers popped up all over the ballroom to join in.

~ an e.e. cummings poem (used in Hannah and Her Sisters) was the reading during the ceremony:

somewhere i have never travelled,
gladly beyond somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond 
any experience, your eyes have their silence: 
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me, 
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me 
though i have closed myself as fingers, 
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully, mysteriously) her first rose

or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;
nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility: whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens; only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody, not even the rain,has such small hands

Total. Heartfelt. Perfection.

A Few Grateful Moments

~ I sat for a long time recently, in a sort of dream, my fingers idly stroking the wilting creamy petals of a vase of roses.

~ A while ago I slipped in a massive and ungraceful fashion on a large, invisible puddle in the supermarket. I literally went flying and came down - bang! - on my right hip. I had a couple of bruises and waited with bated breath for my body to start screaming in pain the next day, or the next. It never happened. I'm seriously grateful for still being pretty bouncy.

~ While shopping with my mum, we saw a stroller out of which peeked a pair of very tiny baby feet. Not so tiny as to be newborn with its shrivelled, wrinkly pinkness; these feet were probably a month old, with that pillowy chubbiness, yet still very small. At the end of those tiny pin-cushion puffy feet were teeny tiny toes, wiggling in slow motion, as though being stirred by a gentle breeze. Each toe was like a perfect small pearl. I recalled this hysterical Onion feature, as we both remarked on how nibblable those little toes were.

~ I was called back for a re-do of my first mammogram ever. Gulp. I thought of this clip. I had the re-do, then I had to wait for an ultrasound. I was told that the results would be sent to my gyno in a few days. But after my prolonged ultrasound, the technician asked me to wait while she showed the results to a doctor. I lay there ready for the worst. I lay there a long time, bargaining with God and making plans for the inevitable. Then I was told... I WAS OK!!! I felt a little... like this. Given my family history, cancer is likely to get me at some point... but not just yet!

~ Yellow leaves are falling everywhere, and the city is aglow with them

~ A year of neighbourhood reconstruction (mainly streets and sidewalks) and the noise of rattling windows at home and at work isn't over yet, but when it is - wow, everything will look fantastic! We have the PanAm games to thank for this... Toronto wants to look its best and as my 'hood is very near the athletes new accommodations, my neighbours and I are benefitting. So are the paving contractors!

Perhaps Something for Everyone

Some film...

Låt den rätte komma in (Let the Right One in, 2008)

"I'm twelve, but I've been twelve a long time." (Lina Leandersson as Eli)

The terrors of childhood are felt sharply in this Swedish film about a 12-year-old boy whose new neighbour is a young vampire girl. It's a hell of a life: his parents are divorced, he's being bullied cruelly at school, and he's living through a seemingly endless Swedish winter in an ugly suburban apartment block. His new friend is having a bad time of it too, and wreaking some bloody havoc. Director Tomas Alfredson (Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy, 2011) directs the young actors in natural and heartbreaking performances. There's some appropriate but tough-to-take gruesomeness. But this film is so worth catching.


Captain Phillips (2013)

"Someone give this guy a hug!" (BPG)

Based on a true story, Tom Hanks plays a freighter captain whose vessel is boarded by Somali pirates. You've probably heard how gripping it is, and it is... with a relentless soundtrack and a gritty, realistic look. I was warned I might not enjoy it, with my vertigo and all, seeing as they're bobbing on the ocean the entire time. Weirdly it wasn't a problem, and I was moved and thrilled, ultimately saddened for all the characters. /// SPOILER WARNING! /// The pirates themselves were ultimately tragic, victims themselves of despots, even though I wanted to throttle them. But my lasting feeling was - for God's sake - couldn't someone put their arms around Captain Phillips at the end? The guy in the rescue boat? The medic on the carrier? Come on!!!


Elysium (2013)

"I really need to see Blue Jasmine." (BPG)

The premise was pretty cool, and the special effects were great. I'll see Matt Damon in anything. That's the good part. The not so good part: Jodie Foster, who has always been excellent, maybe had something interesting in mind, but it turns out to be the worst acting job I've seen in a long time. I'm not sure what her accent was... I thought, well, perhaps it's some futuristic mid-Atlantic, French-accented thing. It didn't work for me. Plot holes... lots of them. A drawn-out ending that had me writhing in my seat. But like I said: Matt Damon.


Some television...

The Story of Film: An Odyssey (2011)

This excellent series is having its North American television premiere on TCM. Irish film maker Mark Cousins is behind this very personal and compelling story of film. Instead of using a professional voice over artist, he narrates the series himself, in a lulling dreamy Ulster accent. At first it took me by surprise, but I'm quite addicted to it now. This documentary is a real work of art, and tells the story not just of western cinema, but cinema all over the world. If you are fascinated by film, this is for you.


The Walking Dead (2013)

The first episode of season four exceeded all my expectations. I've become used to the rather slow, two-hour set up episodes that start each Mad Men season, and I was expecting something of the same here. Instead I was pinned to the sofa in horror as this clever, terrifying, thoughtful and gruesome episode made me wonder if I could handle any more. Let's see how I manage next Sunday. As for Talking Dead, the post-show round up seems a bit long now at an hour. I'd rather they went back to half an hour but lost some of the unnecessaries, like the poll.



Some theatre...

Schiller's Mary Stuart has been one of the big Stratford Festival hits this year. Added performances meant we managed to get in, which I'm so happy about as all the fuss was well deserved. The play is a great read (I first read it when the Canadian Opera Company did Maria Stuarda a few seasons ago). It came to life in full force with a cast of Stratford favourites: powerhouses Seana McKenna as Queen Elizabeth, Lucy Peacock as Mary Stuart and a great supporting case including Ben Carlson, Geraint Wyn Davies, and Brian Dennehy. The stage sizzled through the magnificent royal cat fight and I couldn't have asked for anything more... except for the awfulness of the seating in the Tom Patterson Theatre. Each year I try and avoid this venue, not for the stage which is a thrust stage and works well, but for the terrible audience conditions. As this isn't a theatre year round (it's a badminton court at other times I think), it has temporary bleacher type seating, and regular chairs, not flip-up theatre chairs, so there's no getting in or out of your row unless your whole row is ready to leave. How no-one has not toppled into a lower row and broken their neck is beyond me. The other two stages are fantastic of course, it's just this one venue I try and skirt... but when the offering is as good as Mary Stuart... I go along with it. Grrr.

Noel Coward's Blithe Spirit played at the Avon, at which I'd seen Tommy a couple of weeks earlier. We had great seats, about fifth row centre, and it was a Sunday matinee on a grey, rainy afternoon. Nothing could have been more charming than to settle into those seats and be swept up in the silly, sunny goings on in a beautiful English country house which is about to be shaken up - literally - by an wacky medium and a saucy spirit. As happens in a large festival company, scheduling dictates that actors often work together in two or three different shows in a season, so Seana McKenna, so magnficently glamorous and dangerous as Qieen Elizabeth the night before, was a wonderfully goofy and eccentric Madame Arcati, the medium who is about to discover how good her powers are. Ben Carlson, the previous night's conniving Lord Burleigh, was Charles, the master of the house, and James Blendick, Paulet in Mary Stuart, was an unsuspecting guest at dinner.

Funny aside: I've told my friend M how several years ago I was at the ballet when I sat in front of some very small, old ladies. They were concerned at my height and told me "Honey, we can't see past your head - you're blocking the WHOLE STAGE!" I felt this was slightly exaggerated but slumped down in my seat, at which point they both patted one of my shoulders and thanked me. On this occasion, we took our excellent seats and I heard a husband behind me say to his wife, "Do you want to switch seats with me again?" M nearly burst out laughing, and - to diffuse the hysterical laughter bubbling up in me -  I turned and said, "It's okay, I know I'm tall and have a big head... I'll slump a bit." They were very sweet and somewhat embarrassed. We all had a good laugh and later they assured me they had seen the whole thing. On both occasions I had been seated near the front where - traditionally - seats are not sloped, so it does make seeing past heads tricky. And in case you're wondering, no my head is not that big, I mean, it's not like I'm encephalitic or something!


On a side note...

There comes an interesting point in life where there are experiences you don't need to go through again. I have to admit, one of those is seeing Handel's Messiah. It's beautiful and it's long. But I don't have the attention span for long, static performances... HOWEVER, that all changed when I heard that this blog's favourite small, rogue opera compay, Against the Grain, is performing it this December. The performers will sing from memory. There's a choreographer. They claim that this isn't your grandma's Messiah but that she would love it too. It's restricted to people 19 and older (I think it has something to do with the drinking allowed onsite). 'Nuff said. If it's anything like anything like this fantastic group has done before, I have to see it. Read more here. Tickets are still available.


Some opera...

That preamble was my set up for the Canadian Opera Company's production of La Bohème. The connection is that Bohème is one of those pieces I've seen many, many, many times. Do I need to see it again? Well... in this case, yes. Conductor Carlo Rizzi made it sound like I'd never heard it before - fresh and energetic and romantic and lush. More so than I'd ever heard. The cast were perfectly cast, young, talented. Director John Caird made it all very real. I shed copious tears, those hot, splashing tears that scald your cheeks. Ahhh... it felt good, as only a great opera can. And tickets are still available for this one too, but there are only two weeks left of performances.

Peter Grimes, as mentioned here, also a must-see.

Peter Grimes and Silas Marner

"Eh, my precious child, the blessing was mine. If you hadn't been sent to save me, I should ha' gone to the grave in my misery."

From Silas Marner by George Eliot


"I've seen in stars the life that we might share:
Fruit in the garden, children by the shore,
A fair white doorstep, and a woman's care.
But dreaming builds what dreaming can disown."

From the libretto of Benjamin Britten's Peter Grimes by Montagu Slater, based on a part of George Crabbe's poem, The Borough


I did two things recently: I read George Eliot's novel Silas Marner and I saw a performance of Benjamin Britten's Peter Grimes.

What can I say about George Eliot, but that she is one of my favourite authors, for her expressiveness, her understanding of the human spirit, and for her gentle wit and unhurried story telling.

Peter Grimes is not my favourite opera, but I love Benjamin Britten's music and this production, directed by the brilliant Neil Armfield, starred Ben Heppner as Grimes, in a truly great performance, presented by the Canadian Opera Company through the month of October (yes, you can still catch this excellent production!).

It got me thinking about the protagonists, Grimes and Marner. They're similar in many ways. Both men are embittered loners, haunted by wrongs done to them, isolated and full of anger. Both have a female character nearby who wishes to reach out and help. Into each of their lives comes a child. From here in the stories differ greatly.

///SPOILER ALERTS!///

Grimes the fisherman has had one boy apprentice die in his care. He takes another from the workhouse. Ellen, the schoolteacher, yearns to help him care for the child, and both dream of making a family together. But Peter cannot consider it until he has made his fortune, and so, he drives himself and his young charge relentlessly. Ellen, seeking to bring some tenderness into both his life and that of the boy, tries to persuade him to ease up on the child, to treat him... as a child. Grimes won't have it, and strikes her angrily. The villagers, already suspicious and angry, set out to hunt him down. He unwisely chooses to go out fishing once more with his apprentice, and the boy dies in an accident. Well... and please forgive my glibness as well as my paraphrasing... but to lose one apprentice may be regarded as a misfortune; to lose two is unacceptable. Grimes is persuaded to take a small boat out to sea and sink it before the mob gets to him. There are glimpses in him of potential tenderness, reflections of how Ellen has treated the boy, but in his growing madness I can't help but wonder at where everything went horribly wrong. How a small, underfed, unloved workhouse child can fail to melt a heart is a mystery to most of us. Grimes is a rough brute, but also a victim. His final action truly does feel like the only course left open to him.

For Silas Marner, embittered and driven also to make a fortune, weaving is his whole life. Short-sighted and bent-over, he works tirelessly at his loom, slowly amassing a pile of gold which he keeps hidden in his cottage. It's stolen from him by an unseen thief. Silas's grief is primal. All he's lived for his miserly life is gone. But not long after - to make a long story short - he finds a baby girl who has toddled into his cottage on a winter's night. Her mother has died, and Silas, at first bewildered by the baby's golden curls, sees her, in his almost-blind way, as a replacement for his lost gold. But Eppie, as he calls her, is much more precious than that. And with the kind friendship of a married neighbour, Dolly Winthrop, he raises Eppie with all the devotion a natural parent could give, as she raises him from that twisted, lonely life, to a love-filled existence. It's such a heart-warming story. There are twists and turns I won't go into here, but it has a happy ending, the very best.

Is Silas Marner more idealistic and romanticized than Peter Grimes? Absolutely. They are very different takes on the human condition, and both worth embracing and considering. It's my very good fortune to have experienced both.

I've Seen him do Things With That Hook

It's a good day for humour and opera.

And then there's the Onion. Hee hee!

A Night in Toronto

A sold-out run indicates another triumph for Against the Grain Theatre. Their Figaro's Wedding, with a new, updated and English libretto (which set it in Toronto), traversed that fine line between laughs and poignancy that is a hallmark of Mozart's original masterpiece. Set in a downtown wedding venue, with the audience as guests who moved between two rooms to enjoy the action, this was a fantastic evening of biting wit and beautiful music. This is the third production I've seen from this small and potent group, and I urge everyone not to miss whatever they come up with next.

Here's a sample of the catchy social media they have used so effectively to draw in the sold-out audiences.




Pre-show we had dinner at Pomegranate, somewhere I've always wanted to try, being a fan of Persian food. The lamb was very tender, in fact all the food was perfectly cooked, and there was lots of it. But there was something wanting in the food, a certainly blandness in everything, even though it all looked very colourful. The fact that the bread was very generic seemed to me to be unforgiveable. Toronto is a great bread town! I wonder if the chef is Persian? One of my companions doubted it. I enjoyed myself but am unlikely to return.

Game-Changer

Peter Sellars is a rare talent, a brilliant director, and a loving and compassionate human being. I was lucky to attend this discussion and another. In both instances this last winter, where I got to hear him talk, he brought me to tears. Then I saw his production of Tristan und Isolde, and was blown away by this game-changing production. A large video screen dominated the stage, and showed video artist Bill Viola's stunning moving images. The singers, including Ben Heppner as Tristan, were accompanied sublimely by the COC Orchestra, and I felt those musical vibrations go right through me. Film + opera. My cup overflowed.

I've said it before on my blog - but for me the purpose of art is to take you places you weren't expecting to go. It's not always positive but it's always an adventure and sometimes (we hold out for those rare occasions) it's transformative.

Here's the video. I really hope you'll take the time to watch it. You don't have to be an opera fan!

Music and Opera Catch Up... Hey! Where're You Going Now?

The older I get, the harder winter is to take. It's too cold and dark. So, I retreat into even darker auditoriums and give myself over to the antithesis of the withering winter emptiness: music. Having said that, and with spring almost (not quite) upon us, there will be less days and nights in dark halls, and more days, face turned upwards towards the sun. Art, music, opera, theatre... Thank you for getting me through these last few months. Now I need... water, trees, sun. Light.

Music, in its most outrageously absorbing and intense format, becomes opera. There was plenty of it: Elsa van den Heever and Ramon Vargas were ravishing in Il Trovatore (at the Canadian Opera Company); there was also a clever Fledermaus which pulled out the Freudian undercurrents that lurk in all societies; in this case it was early 20th-century Vienna. It made an operetta I don't much care for much more interesting.

Elsa van den Heever was thrilling later in her Met debut, which I watched live in HD at my local cinema, her Elisabetta up against Joyce di Donato's beautiful Maria in Donizetti's Maria Stuarda. I love me a bucketful of Donizetti, and the music is glorious, but the Catholicism gets bashed over our heads way too much in the final scene. We get it already! Catholics: good; Anglicans: bad! Blimey, an editor would have been useful there. Also in HD from the Met I saw Sondra Radvanovsky and Marcelo Alvarez in Un ballo in maschera, a fantastic David Alden production, which set the story in the early 20th century, more beautiful and more meaningful than a Ballo has ever been for me before. The word "diva" of course means "goddess" and it's a perfect word for the sublime Susan Graham who was at the heart of Berlioz's epic Les Troyens. Was it four hours or five? Four I think I don't recall. I'm not sure my bottom could take too much more, but it was very beautiful, and the entire cast was perfection, with Brian Hymel (he was Don Jose here in Toronto a few years back) stepping into the killer role of Aeneas, almost effortlessly. Another epic afternoon was Parsifal. Five hours of Wagner. Great music, don't like the libretto, dripping as it does with some creepy, twisted religosity. Jonas Kaufmann hardly seems to exert any effort when he sings. He spent much of this performance shirtless (excellent) and we watched his diaphgram keenly. Again, it all seems effortless. Rene Pape was towering as Gurnemanz. I took a few naps, almost on purpose, as I was planning ahead for the latter part of my day: I fled the theatre after the curtain calls, just in time to meet my friends for a movie and dinner (my scheduling secretary must have been stoned). The Met in HD season concluded for me with a rare showing of Zandonai's Francesca da Rimini. The sets and costumes were all medieval lushness with touches of Art Nouveau and Pre-Raphaelite flourishes, I was in overload heaven. The music is beautiful but having heard it once, I don't need to hear it again.

Molly Johnson was growly and glamorous at Massey Hall (but could they have turned up the heat? I sat with my coat on. I am not a nostalgia-filled fan of Massey Hall. People rhapsodize. I've only ever been uncomfortable in that space, although the good news is that a recent donation of land next to it means that it can be updated. I think washrooms, bar area and heating/cooling systems will be addressed).

Poculi Ludique Societas, who recreate theatre from the Middle Ages and Renaissance, performend A Medieveal Chistmas: Go We Hence to Bethlehem's Bower at St. Thomas's Church. It was, as might be expected, a tad bawdy, and I was riveted by the angelic face of Alice Degan (as Mary), who looked - with her sweetly hooded eyes and long, blond tresses - like Mary stepped from a painting of the period.

Nothing about music here, but the Service of Lessons and Carols at Trinity College Chapel had us sitting at the back on these elevated throne-like seats. Nice! The candles were haunting as usual but we used to hold them through the entire service. We were bade to extinguish them very early. Sigh. I love candles in church, especially holding them, as it gives me something to concentrate on. I know, I'm doomed.

More recently, I took a long lunch hour and indulged in the Free Concert Series in the Richard Bradshaw Amphitheatre. These concerts (at least two a week during the season) are varied and generous. I was there for Christopher Mokrzewski (musical director of Against the Grain Theatre) and his program of Bill Evans/French inspirations piano works. Messiaen, Ravel, and Poulenc were interspersed with Evans in a captivating, virtuosic performance. To be in that space with that music, the great wall of glass beside us showing the city traffic silently undulating up University Avenue was mesmerizing. What a gift.

Did anyone make it to the bottom? In case you did, here's your reward.

Just me Waffling on About Stuff

My mind has been racing with, for my soul anyway, a few too many theatrical offerings. One of the great gifts of art, as I've said before, is to take you to unexpected places, surprising thoughts, moving revelations, and previously unasked questions. But when it gets too densely packed in, there isn't the room and the time to ponder what has been seen and felt. I need that space and time.

I'm resisting the gluttony our society offers in its many different forms, one of them being over stimulation from entertainment. It is, in its way, another form of addiction or, at least, indulgence for the sake of distraction. I turn on my tv less, and there are only four tickets on the pinboard for future events.

As the challenging months of January and February are passed and my senses perk up in the knowledge that with March underway, and spring is not far behind, I feel the urge to leave behind the dark and wondrous theatre auditoriums, and be outside, absorbing the greatest art of all, our natural world. Spring sap will be working its magic in me as well as my beloved trees. It's time to turn my energies to the physical connection I have with the rest of the world, to my own creativity, and to love.

But... I also need to catch up in this space on some of the great performances I've seen recently. There's been at least one game-changer.

Now I just have to write my thoughts down... dagnabit.

Don't Miss it Tonight!

"My ear felt fresh to the touch, rough, cool, juicy like a leaf."

Opening last night, closing tonight, Against the Grain's run of Kafka, Kurtág and Janáček is short and sweet. AGT likes to use a new and unexpected setting for each production, and this one is no less magical than last year's setting for The Turn of the Screw (one of the best experiences I had all season).

This current production takes place in a magically transformed yoga studio (thanks to designer Michael Gianfrancesco) near the Distillery District. Led by director Joel Ivany and Christopher Mokrzewski, the first half consists of Kafka-Fragments, opus 24, Kurtág's setting of Kafka's fragmentary words, in a virtuoso performance by Jacqueline Woodley, soprano and Kerry DuWors on violin. During intermission, the seating gets moved around, and the second half consists of The Diary of One Who Disappeared, superbly and sexily performed by Colin Ainsworth, tenor, and Lauren Segal, mezzo-soprano, with three supporting singers.

You may recognize that this is a superb line of of established talent. If you don't, don't worry. This is an unexpected evening, one which challenged me (the Kurtág, which I'd never heard of) and ravished me (the Janáček). You don't have to know anything or dress any particular way. The production company itself is young, friendly, energetic and immensely talented. If you have no plans tonight, I really recommend you do something for yourself and get yourself there. (It's not far from Mangia e Bevi or the Distillery if you're looking to eat out as well).

"There are countless hiding places, but only one salvation; but then again, there are as many paths to salvation as there are hiding places."

(Note, as for the libretto of The Diary of One Who Disappeared, according to Wikipedia, "the author of the text was anonymous and remained unknown till the end of 20th century. The true identity of the author of the Diary was revealed by Dr. Jan Mikeska in 1998, some eighty years after the verses were published. The originator of the poems was Wallachian writer Ozef Kalda.)

Quote of the Day

"They tell you that a tree is only a combination of chemical elements. I prefer to believe that God created it, and that it is inhabited by a nymph."

Pierre-August Renoir

I know a tree is more than that too. You can read about what I saw of the Impressionists (and a night at the opera) on my other blog, Ars Borealis.

My Elixir of Great Music

I don't know why previous listenings and viewings over my early years didn't impact me, but now the 19th-century Italian opera genius Donizetti has me in his thrall. From Maria Stuarda (Canadian Opera Company a couple of seasons back), to Lucia di Lammermoor (COC, then again a Met production, and the COC is doing one again this spring - can't wait), Don Pasquale and now L'elisir d'amore... I get drunk on this music for days, drive my workmates nuts whistling it (yes, I'm a whistler... strong lips... rrrrrrrRRRRRRrrrrrrrr).

It says a lot for the energy and talent of University of Toronto Opera School students that a Saturday evening performance of Donizetti's L'elisir d'amore managed to be delightful, funny and sweet, just weeks after I saw the Met's HD live performance, which was as perfect as I could imagine.

The Opera School consistently produces work that bodes well for the future of the art form, and all on the remarkable sets of Fred Perruzza, who - surely on a tiny budget - never fails to enchant.

The Met production boasted three of the cast from another Donizetti a couple of season's back, Don Pasquale. Anna Netrebko (dashing and sexy in a riding habit), Mariusz Kwiecien (as Belcore he was a handsome bully, and a potentially abusive boyfriend for Adina) and Matthew Polenzani (breathtaking in his big aria) were all in top form, but it was Ambrogio Maestri (oh God, what a name) as Dulcamara (last picture) who stole the show; a perfect basso buffo with everything you could ask for in a great singing comic actor.

This just couldn't be bettered.

Impressions from Montreal: Opera

Le Vaisseau Fantôme (The Haunted Vessel) is better known to me as Wagner's The Flying Dutchman, one of my favourite operas, and last week Montreal Opera was presenting it in one of my favourite productions (from the Canadian Opera Company). I was already planning a weekend there, so figured the timing would be excellent, and it was.

Cursed to sail the seas unendingly, only able to come ashore once every seven years for one day in which he must find a woman to love him unto death in order to release him from his curse, the Dutchman's lot is a rough one. This tale of the ultimate outsider who can only be redeemed by the necessarily blind and unquestioning love of a woman is rife with neurotic possibility. The music is sublime, of course, and the ending always poignant.

This Christopher Alden production luckily works in massive barn-like theatres like the Salle Wilfrid-Pelletier, as well as purpose-built opera houses. The slanted box-on-its-side, lined with rough wooden floors and chair pegs, has a Shaker feel to it and pushes the action and the sound out into the auditorium. The only set pieces within the set are a large wheel and a spiral wrought-iron staircase that comes up through the floor and disappears into the ceiling. The one set plays all parts and it works perfectly to portray an insular society, into which a mysterious sailor is likely not to be welcomed. The lighting by Anne Militello is creepy and glorious. One minute the stage is flooded with blood red, another with an acid yellow.

The Dutchman and his Senta are intensely sympathetic. Daland, Senta's greedy father, and the rest of her village, are suspicious and tribal in their attitudes to outsiders. When the villagers celebrate the return of their men, the rowdy Steuermann chorus is eerily disciplined in its barely contained rage. The villagers' costumes denote a 1930s Fascistic feel, with the Dutchman and his ghostly crew in what looks to be concentration-camp garb. The women are dressed in bilious green stoles, and all the characters bear raccoon-like eye makeup.

I wasn't blown away by the singing so the least said, the better. But I was here to witness again a thoughtful and potent production. And that's what I got.

Tempest Times Two

(Damn, I love alliteration).

It's been years since I've attended a Cirque du Soleil performance. I figured it was time to make a return to the big yellow and blue tent.

















The little company that could has made big. Started in the early 1980s in Quebec as a medley of jugglers, stilt walkers, and other street performers, the circus-that-didn't-feature-animals has become a massive international success story. I love the fact that at one point, the two biggest acts in Las Vegas were from Quebec: Cirque du Soleil and Celine Dion.

The latest touring show to hit Toronto is Amaluna, a name that vaguely and playfully is meant to represent "loving the moon." And, as you might suspect, Amaluna is woman-oriented. Apparently the usual ratio in Cirque shows of male performers to female is 3:1. In Amaluna, it's reversed. The concept for the production, directed by Diane Paulus is taken from Shakespeare's The Tempest. Except, instead of a Prospero, you have a Prospera. There is more of a thread of a plot than in other Cirque shows I've seen and it works well. Cirque du Soleil never strays far from its roots (the opening act consists of two young women madly moving around on unicycles), and yet it takes those skills to incredible heights, sometimes literally. The acrobatics are breathtaking, but always with a little twist, an extra subtext. The duo of a man and a woman suspended in mid air, fighting and tumbling above our heads, becomes a battle of sorts and, ultimately, very erotic.The clowning isn't the creep show it is in traditional circuses, but a more genuinely goofy and charming reflection on the sillyiness of human nature.

The thing I've never enjoyed about Cirque is the music, and yet I must admit it isn't Cirque without it. Redolent of soundtracks to films set in historic, exotic pasts, the music usually features a single woman's voice wailing in vague Eastern-tinged melodies through a powerful sound system. It always puts my teeth on edge, but I can't suggest another option. It just makes sense for Cirque.

I'm glad I went. I'll be back.

Then, this past Saturday, I went to the Metropolitan Opera's HD transmission of Thomas Adès' The Tempest. This opera premiered in 2004 at Covent Garden, and the Met presented it this season in a Robert Lepage production... Lepage who has also worked with Cirque du Soleil. I love these little connections. I have to admit, I'm not a fan of The Tempest... yet. I don't know why but I've yet to see a production of the play that really engaged me. This opera performance came the closest. The hotness that is Simon Keenlyside was Prospero (Adès wrote the role for him), and the rest of the cast was without fault. It did occur to me towards the end, that if, for some reason, Miranda and Ferdinand couldn't leave the island, they would be able to people their little kingdom with the most gorgeous gene pool. They were played by Isabel Leonard and Alek Shrader. Lepage is consistently remarkable and revelatory. Through his vision, Prospero set the tale, through his powers, in a recreation of La Scala... the opera house in Milan, because, after all, Prospero is/was the Duke of Milan. The magical elements were all there, the young lovers were completely believeable, but ultimately it was Keenlyside's embittered Prospero, the angry, rejected man of power, whose magic is the focus for all that pointless rage, that really made the show. Adès's music is dense and layered and I need more listenings of it. There were moments that were so beautiful, like the Act II love duet. And Adès, who was also conducting the piece, was intriguing in the intermission interview; modest and thoughtful.

Prospero (Simon Keenlyside) and Ariel (Audrey Luna) in the Met production, a recreation of Milan's La Scala opera house. Photo: Ken Howard/Met Opera

Die Fledermaus (The Bat)

So, I had two companions at the opera house the night I saw Strauss II's  Die Fledermaus ("flying mouse" = bat). One was very tall. One... not so much.

If I was ever going to take Bruce the Bat to the opera, it had to be this one.

We got there early and checked out our box seats as soon as the doors opened. Bruce had a good time after that at the bar, the shop, mingling. He's a social guy and had a good time.

Act I alone was worth the price of admission, bringing out Freudian-dreamscapes that made this the first Fledermaus I've ever truly enjoyed. Someone had thought this one out. Chocolate-box images were erased from my mind... relief.

 

Food, Opera, Film... Life is Good

Volano Theatre creates some of Toronto's most intriguing pieces of theatre. And they're not afraid of opera. Handel's 1707 opera, Cor Fedele (The Faithful Heart), lay unperformend for years until a complete copy was found in 1960 in Germany. In 2000 it had its world premiere in London, and this production, by Volcano, is its first Canadian staging.

Volcano sets the love triangle at the heart (heh) of the story in the historic Gladstone, Toronto's best-known boutique hotel. As the audience, we witnessed the first meeting of the lovers in the hotel ballroom, as we sat watching them ordering drinks, having their luggage taken away, etc. We were like ghosts and they were the reality. And then, as they moved to different spaces in the hotel, we followed. Except we didn't stay together. Each of the three characters had a guide who would take part of the audience with them. So, while a scene was being played out in one part of the hotel, another part of the story was unfolding elsewhere. In the end, the audience was back in the original room, and we saw the denouement.

The English libretto was new, written for this production, which wasn't surprising as Handel didn't set the words "Heartless bitch!" to music (at least I'm pretty sure he didn't!) I enjoyed it all; the moving around the hotel felt more gimmicky than vital,but I hadn't been part of this sort of audience before. What captivated me mostly was the last part, back in the ballroom, with some sumptuous singing by Emily Atkinson and Tracy Smith Bessette. You can read more here. We preceded the performance with hearty appetizers in the Gladstone Bar (we were there coincidentally for their half-price appetizers which happen every Tuesday).

I went with a friend and my parents to see First Position (2011) at TIFF, a heart-warming documentary on the young people who enter a prestigious dance competition, the Youth America Grand Prix. If you care anything for ballet and dance in general this is a must-see. The dedication of the dancers and their parents (some scarier than others), is moving and enthralling. This was preceded by dinner at Fune. Hooray! I love those little boats.

And then there was lunch last week with a good friend, catching up on encouraging news for both of us (vertigo relief for me, and one day I'll talk more about it on my blog, when I can bring myself too). Mangia e Bevi's patio was the choice. It was a good one.

What it's All About

Great art is a wondrous thing. I don't know how it works, but it works on me. I don't have to understand it, or even always like it, but I relish where it takes my thoughts and feelings. I can't live without it.

As it happened, I saw two more operas this spring.

The Canadian Opera Company's Semele caused a bit of a sensation. Visual artist Zhang Huan set the Handel opera in a 400-year-old temple. An actual Ming dynasty temple. The story behind the production was fascinating: a Chinese man, who lived with his wife and son some 20 or 25 years ago in the temple, was executed by firing squad for killing his wife's suspected lover. The widow sold the temple bit by bit to survive. Zhang bought what was remained of it and reconstructed it in his studio in Shanghai. The opera itself has a story set in Greek myth, about a silly girl who wishes for immortality. Her lover just HAPPENS to be the god Jupiter, but Juno, his wife, isn't happy about that - no wonder - and sets about her revenge. Zhang saw a link and so his production was born. He brought the universality of suffering and the impermanence of life to the stage in a manner I cannot imagine bettered. The overture was played as a silent black and white film was projected. The temple's story was told by the villagers and the widow. As a time lapse sequence showed the reconstruction of the temple in Zhang's studio, so the curtain lifted, and there it was. I was surprised to find tears in my eyes.

There was some fuss about the saucier goings on in the production: the temple's horizontal beams were all huge, two-headed phalluses, a two-person-operated donkey sported a ginormous erection, etc., etc., but it seemed that the greater part of the audience were as struck as I was. Of course, the vocal pyrotechnics and delicious stage presence of such stars as Jane Archibald, sent it over the top.

The final touch was the addition of a temple sweeper, a woman who silently appeared on stage at the start and end of the performance. She was, in fact, the widow herself. Just another stunning night of theatre at the COC (OK, some of you know that I may be biased, but I mean it).

A fraction of the production costs of Semele provided a no-less thrilling evening when I saw Against the Grain's production of Britten's The Turn of the Screw. This is a small, roguish company, made up of a handful of Toronto's finest opera/music talents, many of whom have been associated with the COC in some way. They've been around a couple of years, and their Bohème, which was performed in a pub, garnered attention and respect, and I could kick myself for not seeing it. It's not too late though! Waste no time, readers: do yourselves a favour and check them out next time they're in production.

The Turn of the Screw was performed at the Helen Gardiner Phelan Playhouse in a space that could hold no more than about 90, by my estimation. A long room, flanked on both sides by three rows of seats, with the performance area running down the middle, was simply decorated with broken tiles on the floor, and dried leaves gathered, no doubt, from the University of Toronto's playing fields just outside. The costumes were period, the piano was orchestral, the acting filmic, the singing excellent, the effect chilling. Afterwards, our small group retired to that lovely sunken living room to talk animatedly about opera, theatre and much more into the small hours.

Life is good. Art is necessary.

I love you, NT Live... but Live Opera Even More

Just as CBC episodes of Coronation Street are catching up to the UK schedule, we have Becky still on the street, but about to depart... and the actress Katherine Kelly did just that earlier in the year, to star in the National Theatre's production of Oliver Goldsmith's She Stoops to Conquer. So much fun, as was their Comedy of Errors, with Lenny Henry in a modern London setting of the play. They're doing some encores this summer and I think I shall have to see Frankenstein again.

Speaking of which, there is still time to catch the COC's Tales of Hoffmann, in its eerie, Gothic-Romantic setting in which, for example, the doll Olympia is actually a sort of Frankenstein creature herself. Great stuff, and lots of unforgettable choons.

Memories of the Knight of the Rose

Thinking of Der Rosenkavalier and my memories of it... today I watched this wonderful performance of the final trio, surely one of the most sublime moments in all music..

The Marschallin recognizes it's time to say goodbye to her much younger lover, Octavian. She reminds herself that,

"I promised to love him in the right way, even to love his being in love with another woman! But I did not expect to have to go through it so soon! There are many things in this world we never believe exist even when told about them. Only if it happens to you, then will you believe it, without knowing why. There stands the boy, and I stand here. With that girl over there, that stranger, he will find happiness - or what men believe happiness to be. God bless them!"

The young man, Octavian: "Something came, something happened. I want to ask, can it be? And this one question, I feel, is forbidden. I would like to ask, why is something trembling inside me? Was great injustice done? It's she that I may not ask that question of. And then I look at you, Sophie, and see only you and feel only your touch, Sophie. And then the only thing I know is - it's you I love."

The third point in this triangle, is the young woman, Sophie, the object of Octavian`s new love: "I feel as if I were in church. I think of holy things, and I'm full of fear. But I also think of not so holy things! I just don't know how I feel. I would like to kneel before that woman, and at the same time I would like to harm her in some way, because I feel that she's giving him to me and also taking away a part of him from me. I just don't know how I feel! I'dl like to understand everything, and I'd like not to understand a thing. I'd like to ask questions and not to ask questions. And I'm frightened. And I feel your touch and know only thing - it's you I love!"

Sublimely performed by Felicity Lott (Marschallin, Anne Sofie von Otter (Octavian) and Barbara Bonney (Sophie). Carlos Kleiber conducts the Wiener State Opera Orchestra in 1994.