Friday, March 09, 2007
Another evening at the opera
After a failed attempt at the opera last week with Eugene Onegin, I got a ticket to see Verdi’s Simon Boccanegra at the Metropolitan Opera, and just got back from it. On the surface, it would seem like a ridiculous story. . . a woman (Maria) has a child (Amelia) out of wedlock with a man who later would become the doge of Genoa (Boccanegra), Maria is killed and Amelia is assumed to be dead. 25 years pass between acts before Boccanegra finds her in love with a rival of her father. Another rival poisons Boccangra but not before he is able to bring peace to Genoa and reconciliation with his enemies.
Who, in God’s name, could make that work? Verdi does. . . When Boccanegria and Amelia find each other, a divine duet portrays their emotions, ending with Boccanegra staring off in to the audience while projecting an even, soft line of sound, “Figlia” (daughter): That single word floated in the house like a feather delicately drifting in the wind. That note, that duet, that orchestration, that moment, lasting only minutes, invoked emotion that language, acting and visuals simply couldn’t do alone. I was then reminded what opera does for me: It picks up that thing, those emotions residing only in the corner of my eye; those feelings that words don’t quite get to, and brings them into the center of my senses with a magnifying glass. The music is where the drama lies, the composer is pulling my strings.
So it goes without saying that I had great time. The end brought tears to my eyes, sad, happy, elegant, dignified.
One of Verdi's famed father-daughter moments in the Met's Simon Boccanegra. (Verdi's two young daughters died in the same year, along with his wife -- his entire family.)
Who, in God’s name, could make that work? Verdi does. . . When Boccanegria and Amelia find each other, a divine duet portrays their emotions, ending with Boccanegra staring off in to the audience while projecting an even, soft line of sound, “Figlia” (daughter): That single word floated in the house like a feather delicately drifting in the wind. That note, that duet, that orchestration, that moment, lasting only minutes, invoked emotion that language, acting and visuals simply couldn’t do alone. I was then reminded what opera does for me: It picks up that thing, those emotions residing only in the corner of my eye; those feelings that words don’t quite get to, and brings them into the center of my senses with a magnifying glass. The music is where the drama lies, the composer is pulling my strings.
So it goes without saying that I had great time. The end brought tears to my eyes, sad, happy, elegant, dignified.
One of Verdi's famed father-daughter moments in the Met's Simon Boccanegra. (Verdi's two young daughters died in the same year, along with his wife -- his entire family.)
# posted by otas : 10:03 PM
