Tuesday, August 16, 2005
I’ve met some hard-core opera fans here in Chicago that make me look like a dilettante. (One actually has a shrine to Callas in his living room.) Nonetheless, I have made friends among them and enjoy going to their places and listening to their vast archives of performances.
Recently, a film about Callas was produced by Zeferrelli so Val, my neighbor, got a copy. This gave us cause for a dinner party / “Callas Forever” viewing last night. I bring a bottle of white, Mark brings a bottle of Champaign, and Val has a bottle of red. (You see where this is going.)
We enjoyed dinner then started the movie. Excited, we watched intensively. As the movie progressed we found this enthusiasm dying a slow, painful death. The movie was, and this is a gross understatement, dreadful. It wasn’t campy enough to be funny, or good enough to be good. . . it had no redeeming qualities whatsoever. The movie took the middle of the road where cars hit it from both sides.
We managed to have fun, regardless. After the movie, we spent the evening listening to Horne, and Callas recordings and watching some hysterical interviews of people who knew Callas.
At the end of the night Val toasted to my birthday and gave me what seemed to be priceless birthday gifts: the actual clipping of Callas’s obituary in the New York Times (it made front page, by the way) and a 45 vinyl of callas singing the mad scene from Lucia.
Recently, a film about Callas was produced by Zeferrelli so Val, my neighbor, got a copy. This gave us cause for a dinner party / “Callas Forever” viewing last night. I bring a bottle of white, Mark brings a bottle of Champaign, and Val has a bottle of red. (You see where this is going.)
We enjoyed dinner then started the movie. Excited, we watched intensively. As the movie progressed we found this enthusiasm dying a slow, painful death. The movie was, and this is a gross understatement, dreadful. It wasn’t campy enough to be funny, or good enough to be good. . . it had no redeeming qualities whatsoever. The movie took the middle of the road where cars hit it from both sides.
We managed to have fun, regardless. After the movie, we spent the evening listening to Horne, and Callas recordings and watching some hysterical interviews of people who knew Callas.
At the end of the night Val toasted to my birthday and gave me what seemed to be priceless birthday gifts: the actual clipping of Callas’s obituary in the New York Times (it made front page, by the way) and a 45 vinyl of callas singing the mad scene from Lucia.
# posted by otas : 8:24 PM
