Thursday, September 28, 2006
Butterfly
Madama Butterfly, saw it a few years back. . . I was not feeling all that well when I went, the soprano was Guleghina, a talented singer. By the time the opera was over, I was indifferent to the opera. In fact, I was a little board. So when the Metropolitan Opera’s opening night gala was a new production of Butterfly, I could have cared less.
Max talked me into going by persuading me to get cheaper tickets. I became much more excited about the event itself, if not the opera, knowing that it would be a star-studded event after reading that the new general manager’s rolodex would be working.
So when I arrived at Lincoln Center on Monday to a swarm of paparazzi, tuxidos, rich people, champaign and pomp and circumstance, I was glad to have gone. Inside the Met was gleaming and a Japanese maple tree was placed in the center of the spiral staircases to commemorate this new Butterfly. Outside the house, swarms of people were in the plaza to watch the broadcast and Times Square was closed so the opera could be viewed from the Sony billboards.
It was cool. . . then the opera began.
It was amazing. The soprano was marvelous, the production was brilliant simplicity, and the singing – oh the singing – was wonderful. The second act, when Butterfly is hopelessly wating for her American husband who had abandoned her for an American bride, ripped your heart out. The act ended with a humming chorus that brought tears to my eyes, and many others around me (lots of sniffles).
The death of butterfly, is difficult to pull off. Her husband finally returns and an estatic Butterfly soon learns he’s now married and has returned to get the son she bore him. “One who cannot live with honor must die with it.” And she decides to kill herself. Her son walks into the room and she blindfolds him. She stabs herself in the neck.
In this production she kneels down for a little while after striking the fatal wound, wobbles in the middle of the black, empty stage. Two men dressed in black pull two long streams of red fabric from her and they are draped on the floor as a giant slash. She then falls dead. The visual effect was stunning. . . .all Butterfly’s pain was embodied in a red fabric slash through the met’s giant, black stage.
It was amazing.
Did I also mention that I also bumped into Jude Law during intermission?
What a night.
Max talked me into going by persuading me to get cheaper tickets. I became much more excited about the event itself, if not the opera, knowing that it would be a star-studded event after reading that the new general manager’s rolodex would be working.
So when I arrived at Lincoln Center on Monday to a swarm of paparazzi, tuxidos, rich people, champaign and pomp and circumstance, I was glad to have gone. Inside the Met was gleaming and a Japanese maple tree was placed in the center of the spiral staircases to commemorate this new Butterfly. Outside the house, swarms of people were in the plaza to watch the broadcast and Times Square was closed so the opera could be viewed from the Sony billboards.
It was cool. . . then the opera began.
It was amazing. The soprano was marvelous, the production was brilliant simplicity, and the singing – oh the singing – was wonderful. The second act, when Butterfly is hopelessly wating for her American husband who had abandoned her for an American bride, ripped your heart out. The act ended with a humming chorus that brought tears to my eyes, and many others around me (lots of sniffles).
The death of butterfly, is difficult to pull off. Her husband finally returns and an estatic Butterfly soon learns he’s now married and has returned to get the son she bore him. “One who cannot live with honor must die with it.” And she decides to kill herself. Her son walks into the room and she blindfolds him. She stabs herself in the neck.
In this production she kneels down for a little while after striking the fatal wound, wobbles in the middle of the black, empty stage. Two men dressed in black pull two long streams of red fabric from her and they are draped on the floor as a giant slash. She then falls dead. The visual effect was stunning. . . .all Butterfly’s pain was embodied in a red fabric slash through the met’s giant, black stage.
It was amazing.
Did I also mention that I also bumped into Jude Law during intermission?
What a night.
# posted by otas : 7:06 PM
