"All Nature seems at work. Slugs leave their lair--
The bees are stirring--birds are on the wing--
And Winter, slumbering in the open air,
Wears on his smiling face a dream of Spring!
And I, the while, the sole unbusy thing,
Nor honey make, nor pair, nor build, nor sing.
Yet well I ken the banks where amaranths blow,
Have traced the fount whence streams of nectar flow.
Bloom, O ye amaranths! bloom for whom ye may,
For me ye bloom not! Glide, rich streams, away!
With lips unbrighten'd, wreathless brow, I stroll:
And would you learn the spells that drowse my soul?
Work without Hope draws nectar in a sieve,
And Hope without an object cannot live."
- (Samuel Taylor Coleridge "Work Without Hope")
I've read a lot of Asian-American and Indian-American literature. My second English class focused quite a bit on "mixed" American writers. Korean-American, Indian-American, Japanese-American, Chinese-American, African-American, and the list, as I remember, goes on. It was an interesting period in my reading because I was reading literature that I would never have picked up on my own. Not to mention, much of it was in the form of short stories which I wouldn't find on my own. A lot of the work was photocopied specifically for the class out of books that I would never go near.
My favorites were the Indian writers. I think I lost my adoration for them a bit when I worked on Dharamvir Bharati's The Blind Age during sophomore year, though. Among these writers were Jhumpa Lahiri and Bharati Mukherjee (my favorite was Mukherjee's short story - "A Father"). Their work is so beautiful and honest and still retain a bit of grit. That being said, I'm very surprised that I never came across Kamala Markandaya. In fact, when I picked it up in the library's fiction section and finally looked to see what it was, my initial reaction was to return it to the shelf because I thought I HAD read it or that I should have, and I was not looking forward to reading something my teacher would have had me read. But then I glanced at the back and decided to check it out anyway.
I'm so glad I did.
It's the kind of novel you have to read the back of. Not because there's something lost in translation or because the story is hard to follow, but because you need to be prepared. I can best describe it as the story of a woman with nothing to lose who loses almost everything. It's sweet, it's damp and dirty, it's about tradition and modernity, it's honest and beautiful, it's tragic and it's wonderful. And even in its sadness, its tragedy, and its dirt, it is hopeful.
Even in its frankness, it is hopeful. In the first 2 pages, you know how it will end. You know all of the tragedies that will happen in this woman's life. And yet you're drawn in. You keep reading even though you know it's going to be a big bad scary path. And you're rewarded for going with her on her journey. The visual quality of Markandaya's writing allows you to escape into that world, pretty or not. Strongly - very strongly - recommended.
10.27.2009
10.25.2009
Charlotte Bronte - Unfinished Novels
Up until this point, I had read almost everything by Charlotte Bronte. I read Jane Eyre at age 17 (the perfect time, I think, to read it). I read Villette and Shirley shortly thereafter. I also, over the last 3 years, took it upon myself to read her juvenilia in the form of The Foundling, The Green Dwarf, The Spell, and The Secret as well as The Professor. I have yet to read Ms. Gaskell’s biography of the Charlotte, but I believe there's been some controversy over some of her facts and, to be frank, I hate biographies. In terms of her sisters, I’ve read Anne Brontë’s Agnes Grey and was completely bored. I’ve stayed as far away from Emily Brontë’s Wuthering Heights as humanly possible. The story makes me want to throw up a little bit. I’ve never seen a film version that’s redeemed it. So no Emily for me, either.
I’m really only interested in Charlotte. Most authors, especially those who passed on before their time, have tidbits and fragments and chapters of work that has gone unfinished. Dickens left us Edwin Drood. Jane Austen left us Sanditon, and Charlotte has left us Emma. In these cases, the authors have died before the narrative could continue. They were not voluntarily abandoned. Included in Pocket Classics’ edition of her unfinished pieces are works that WERE left alone voluntarily: “The Story of Willie Ellin”, “Ashworth”, and “The Moores.”
Perhaps the best way to introduce any discussion of Ms. Brontë’s unfinished works is with a quote from author William Makepeace Thackeray (Vanity Fair) that is included in the book as part of the preface to her final piece, Emma:
One evening, at the close of 1854, as Charlotte Nicholls [neé Brontë] sat with her husband by the fire, listening to the howling of the wind about the house, she suddenly said to her husband, ‘If you had not been with me, I must have been writing now.’ She then ran upstairs, and brought down, and read aloud, the beginning of a new tale. When she had finished, her husband remarked, ‘The critics will accuse you of repetition.’ She replied, ‘Oh! I shall alter that. I always begin two or three times before I can please myself.’ But it was not to be. The trembling little hand was to write no more. The heart, newly awakened to love and happiness, and throbbing with maternal hope, was soon to cease to beat; that intrepid outspeaker and champion of truth, that eager impetuous redresser of wrong, was to be called out of the world’s fight and struggle, to lay down the shining arms, and to be removed to a sphere where even a noble indignation cor ulterius nequit lacerare [ from the epitaph of Jonathan Swift, "cannot injure her heart anymore"), and where truth complete, and right triumphant, no longer need to wage war.
(Unfinished Novels, 96)
Emma begins with the aforesaid “repetition.” Like all of her completed novels, it begins in a school. And like all the others, it’s about a young girl in that school although it becomes quickly obvious that Emma is very different from Brontë’s earlier heroines. In fact, it reads even more similar to Frances Hodgson Burnett’s A Little Princess (which, it appears, WAS inspired by this or - rather - the original novella titled "Sara Crewe, or What Happened at Miss Minchin's" and Thackeray’s own Vanity Fair, published 7 years earlier (Ms. Brontë wrote this fragment in 1854, and it was published in 1860. Appropriate then, that Thackeray introduces it.
“Emma,” however, is not the longest fragment in the book. It is preceded, first, by a dredgy “The Story of Willie Ellin” which only makes a lot of sense in Charlotte’s voice if you know that she wrote it in the midst of editing sister Emily’s Wuthering Heights. It’s much darker than anything else of hers on the page. It’s also pretty lackluster and boring (cough). This is succeeded by “Ashworth,” the longest (45 pages) investment of the collection. This was my favorite piece I think because of its intricacies. It begins as the story of one man and carries on through to the story of his daughter. We assume that, had the novel continued past 45 pages, we would return to Mr. Ashworth (whose wife, by the way, dies after she asks him to pick her up at the window so she could see the sun….Cathy & Heathcliff, anyone??) but we are left in the care of his daughter, Miss Mary, who seems as lovely (though perhaps more sensible than) Mr. Thackeray’s own Amelia Sedley. Oddly enough for "Ashworth", it was handed down among various associates and relations of the Brontës and only “discovered” in the 1980s. Cool.
The third piece is, perhaps, the most interesting of those that Charlotte let go by the wayside. Titled “The Moores,” the focus is on Mr. and Mrs. John Henry Moore and, eventually, their respective relatives. The most markedly interesting aspect of this piece is the way the Mr. and Mrs. treat one another. In what seems like a scene right out of Vanity Fair or, perhaps, Dickens’ Great Expectations, the couple verbally harasses one another, Mrs. Moore ignores her husband and Mr. Moore tears a letter from her hand and burns it in front of her. To escalate matters, when Mr. Moore’s brother arrives and Mrs. Moore’s cousin takes to the piano, the men are narrated into a state of disgust in front of them. This is somewhat reminiscent of Edward Rochester’s playful disinterest in maintaining certain rules of decorum, a trait that makes him realistically and even modernly more endearing than the white-horse-white-glove-decorum-filled Austen heroes. Mr. Moore is, truly, a bit more extreme but his brother has the opportunity to become someone interesting, and it’s a shame that she put him aside.
As for Emma itself, we are cruelly torn away from the narrative right as our Matilda Fitzgibbon is stripped of her fanciful name and façade. Though the intro is somewhat academic and blasé, the world we enter into as the story progresses is terribly promising. It reads like A Little Princess, like The Secret Garden, like Vanity Fair, like Jane Eyre, like Great Expectations, like Mansfield Park and like Les Misérables. The real unfairness lies in our inability to foresee who little Matilda will become. Will she be redubbed as Emma? Will she grow up to be like Austen’s own Emma, who is proud and (unknowingly) cruel? Or will she be like Jane Eyre, subjugated and left to develop her character among those who are cruel or indifferent to her with one clear exception? An authoress by the name of Claire Boylan has completed the story in her own words (Emma Brown), making it into a well-made pastiche of Brontë's completed works. But we'll never really know what Charlotte wanted. In musing on this in relation to an unfinished painting of Titania, the fairy queen Thackeray says:
As I read this little fragmentary sketch, I think of the rest. Is it? And where is it? Will not the leaf be turned some day, and the story be told? Shall the deviser of the tale somewhere perfect the history of little EMMA’S grief and troubles? Shall TITANIA come forth complete with her sportive court, with the flowers at her feet, the forest around her, and all the stars of summer glittering overhead?
(Unfinished Novels, 97)
I’m really only interested in Charlotte. Most authors, especially those who passed on before their time, have tidbits and fragments and chapters of work that has gone unfinished. Dickens left us Edwin Drood. Jane Austen left us Sanditon, and Charlotte has left us Emma. In these cases, the authors have died before the narrative could continue. They were not voluntarily abandoned. Included in Pocket Classics’ edition of her unfinished pieces are works that WERE left alone voluntarily: “The Story of Willie Ellin”, “Ashworth”, and “The Moores.”
Perhaps the best way to introduce any discussion of Ms. Brontë’s unfinished works is with a quote from author William Makepeace Thackeray (Vanity Fair) that is included in the book as part of the preface to her final piece, Emma:
“Emma,” however, is not the longest fragment in the book. It is preceded, first, by a dredgy “The Story of Willie Ellin” which only makes a lot of sense in Charlotte’s voice if you know that she wrote it in the midst of editing sister Emily’s Wuthering Heights. It’s much darker than anything else of hers on the page. It’s also pretty lackluster and boring (cough). This is succeeded by “Ashworth,” the longest (45 pages) investment of the collection. This was my favorite piece I think because of its intricacies. It begins as the story of one man and carries on through to the story of his daughter. We assume that, had the novel continued past 45 pages, we would return to Mr. Ashworth (whose wife, by the way, dies after she asks him to pick her up at the window so she could see the sun….Cathy & Heathcliff, anyone??) but we are left in the care of his daughter, Miss Mary, who seems as lovely (though perhaps more sensible than) Mr. Thackeray’s own Amelia Sedley. Oddly enough for "Ashworth", it was handed down among various associates and relations of the Brontës and only “discovered” in the 1980s. Cool.
The third piece is, perhaps, the most interesting of those that Charlotte let go by the wayside. Titled “The Moores,” the focus is on Mr. and Mrs. John Henry Moore and, eventually, their respective relatives. The most markedly interesting aspect of this piece is the way the Mr. and Mrs. treat one another. In what seems like a scene right out of Vanity Fair or, perhaps, Dickens’ Great Expectations, the couple verbally harasses one another, Mrs. Moore ignores her husband and Mr. Moore tears a letter from her hand and burns it in front of her. To escalate matters, when Mr. Moore’s brother arrives and Mrs. Moore’s cousin takes to the piano, the men are narrated into a state of disgust in front of them. This is somewhat reminiscent of Edward Rochester’s playful disinterest in maintaining certain rules of decorum, a trait that makes him realistically and even modernly more endearing than the white-horse-white-glove-decorum-filled Austen heroes. Mr. Moore is, truly, a bit more extreme but his brother has the opportunity to become someone interesting, and it’s a shame that she put him aside.
As for Emma itself, we are cruelly torn away from the narrative right as our Matilda Fitzgibbon is stripped of her fanciful name and façade. Though the intro is somewhat academic and blasé, the world we enter into as the story progresses is terribly promising. It reads like A Little Princess, like The Secret Garden, like Vanity Fair, like Jane Eyre, like Great Expectations, like Mansfield Park and like Les Misérables. The real unfairness lies in our inability to foresee who little Matilda will become. Will she be redubbed as Emma? Will she grow up to be like Austen’s own Emma, who is proud and (unknowingly) cruel? Or will she be like Jane Eyre, subjugated and left to develop her character among those who are cruel or indifferent to her with one clear exception? An authoress by the name of Claire Boylan has completed the story in her own words (Emma Brown), making it into a well-made pastiche of Brontë's completed works. But we'll never really know what Charlotte wanted. In musing on this in relation to an unfinished painting of Titania, the fairy queen Thackeray says:
10.22.2009
And then the ogre and the pharaoh went out for a drink and lived happily ever after
SHREK
You'll recall my incident with TDF. The issue, of course, was my purchasing a tdf ticket for Shrek for the 13th and then being told, at the last minute, that - oopsie - you're going the 18th. I was sad BUT I could make it on the 18th so all was good. So after work on Sunday the 18th, I walked up to the Broadway theatre, very cautiously passed the box office rep my photo ID, and very carefully received a ticket from her. *Woohoo!*
I walk into the theatre and am immediately caught in a tide of children. Of course. I disentangle myself and walk up to the second level, sneak past the next tide of children bouncing away from the 2nd floor merch booth wearing their Disney-like-princess-crowned-ogre-ears-headbands, and walk up the final flight to the mezzanine level. My seat is in the 9th row of the mezzanine - center. I take my seat, take note of the scant leg room that forces the group behind me to rest their knees on the back of my seat (won't be putting my coat there...) and wait for the inevitable. Not that I'm not excited about the show, but the fact is I'm the only person currently in my row so INEVITABLY people will be showing up and needing me to stand and get out of the way while they crunch their way in.
While I wait, the bouncing girly ogre ears bound up the stairs and begin to fill the row in front of me. My view of the stage is fine and even with a few kids on their appropriately-green booster seats I'll be fine. Sitting in front of me are two families who have arrived together - A 30-something couple with two girls between the ages of 6 and 8, and a late 30-something-couple with a similarly obnoxiously aged girl, and a boy between 10 and 12. He chose not to don the princess ogre ears. I can immediately tell that these people will be the bane of my existence for at least 75 minutes. The kids were squirming, the parents were fussing, the kids were climbing over everything, the parents were letting them, the kids were crying for M&M's, the parents purchased them, and then ignored them (yes, at kids' shows on Broadway, many theatres have given in and offered snacks in the house itself. In Shrek's case they offer at least M&M's and bottled water, and not cheaply.)
Finally the people sitting next to me arrive, I let them into the row, and then I sit and wait for the last 10 minutes before the show begins, watching the children undermine their parents, and listening to the 19-ish group sitting next to me, only then discovering that they were at a musical, not a stage version of the movie. There's a difference. If it were just a stage version of the movie it would be a) crap, and b) bland, and c) not extremely musical. So they're sitting there reading the song list going "oh, I don't remember that song!.....ooh look the Donkey has a song!....What? But Eddie Murphy's not on the cast list!?....Oh look Christopher Sieber's in it! But they don't list that he played Mary-Kate and Ashley's dad on that show!....Yes it does! At the bottom!....Omg! You're so right! I guess I was right about him!....OMG I wonder if Mary-Kate and Ashley are at the show tonight!?.....OMG I wonder if they're sitting with Eddie Murphy!" ...................Literally. Word-for-word. Moving on.
The show's about to begin and the parents are still talking, children still squirming. The announcements begin (Daniel Breaker, who usually plays Donkey, is out. So are 4 of the ensemble girls. Should be an interesting night.) The show then begins with a voiceover by "Shrek." This is happening; the lights are changing, etc. And the kids are still talking. And the parents are still talking. Dodo #1 sitting next to me decides, at the same moment I did, to shush them. One of the mothers turns around and says "Uh! You're shushing children?!?!" My response: "No, I'm shushing YOU." She turns around, she's huffy, she quiets her kids, and life goes on. Unless you're 2 of the girls. They've decided that, in order to see the show, they have to put their booster seats on the ground, fold their seats into the upright position and sit on the top of the seat with their feet on the boosters. Yeah. Didn't fly for me. Didn't fly for the other mother either so...one point to her - she told them to sit correctly and cut the crap.
I'd hate to spend my entire reflection on Shrek with the audience, so I'll move on now. I love this show. It's really got a special place in my heart. I don't really like the movies. I think they're cute but I think I was over them the moment I was asked to rescue over at the Shrek 4-D Attraction when I worked at Universal. In case you've never been there, the show attendants are dressed.... like Shrek. Canvas tunic, brown smocky thing, brown ugly pants, boot-spats to go over the sneakers.... stupid hat. You can kind of see a team member in costume in this picture:
Anyway. My point? Oh. Right. Don't really like the movies. But the show is so....I don't know. I think the thing is, it's SO cliché with the love triangle that it's moved beyond it. The villain is something you don't see in other shows, the protagonists are all something very special, etc. And it's empowering, you know? Shrek and Fiona love each other because they do. Not because of superficial reasoning. And the show's really well done, too, especially for a kids show. It has its moments (like the really loud RAWR that Shrek does to get a rise out of kids) but it's kind of endearing. And at the end of the day it's really NOT a kids' show. There's SO much adult humor in it. SO much. Shrek is played by Brian d'Arcy James whom I have loved for so many years I'm not even sure when it began - though it was probably circa 2000 when I first heard Lippa's The Wild Party. Anyway, love him. Adore him as Shrek. He's kind of the reason I got off my ass to see the show. He's leaving the show on November 8th and I knew I'd regret not seeing him. In January he'll be doing a play called Time Stands Still for MTC with Laura Linney (blehhhhh!), Alicia Silverstone (not knocking it till I try it) and Eric Bogosian (SIGN. ME. UP. SCOTTY.) So his standby, the incomparable Ben Crawford, is taking over the Shrek role.
Originally they announced that the show had opened up a new block of tickets through April, but as of yesterday it'll be closing in January. It's too bad, really. Sutton Foster is Fiona and is, simply, SPOT. ON. The casting for the show is really golden and I'll be sad to see the show go. It's had a healthy run, but it hasn't been selling well the last couple of months. When I attended on Sunday, probably a third or more of the mezzanine was empty. This worked out for me because the idiots sitting in front of me found other seats and I had all the room I wanted for Act II. But that's never really good news for a show. A commercial, production, at least.
I have to say though, even with the lacking audiences and the squirming in the seats, the actors put on a fantastic show. I'm not big on spectacle. I never have been. My high school theatre education taught me to be cynical when it comes to spectacle and my college theatre education improved on that and taught me to be careful when it comes to spectacle. As a result I tend to just shy away from it. This is probably the most "spectacular" show I've spent money on since moving her...and I don't regret it one bit. It's very balanced, very well-measured spectacle, if you will. It takes what is flashy and wonderful to large, typical audiences and fine-tunes it into what the atypical audience member will appreciate. As for those typical audiences, they're paying $20 for 3-6oz bags of M&Ms and 2 16oz bottles of water, and not knowing the difference.
AIDA
Back in July, I made the decision to get myself a subscription to the Metropolitan Opera. I felt like it was one of my first steps as a real adult. Opera subscription - check. For the price that most Roundabout Subscribers are paying for 5 shows, I'm getting 8 operas - Aida, Les Contes d'Hoffmann, Hamlet, Tosca, Lulu, La Boheme, La Traviata, and Turandot. My first reason for wanting an actual subscription was that, last year, I saw Satyagraha at the Met and fell in love with their space. The second reason was that I had caught, on PBS, the Met staging of Lucia di Lammermoor starring Piotr Beczala and Anna Netrebko, and I fell in love with the music and decided I had a total girl crush on Anna Netrebko. She's doing both La Boheme and Les Contes d'Hoffmann this season, so I decided I had to go.
Anyway, I ordered my subscription in July and secured a seat in the 3rd balcony box on the right, which is technically partial view, but you don't miss much. Last night was my first performance, Verdi's Aida starring Violeta Urmana (Soprano, Lithuania) and Johan Botha (Tenor, South Africa). Amneris was supposed to be Dolora Zajick, but she was sick last night so Olga Borodina (Mezzo-soprano, Russia) (who's scheduled to do Faust this Friday) went on in her place. And. was. brilliant. I do wish I could have seen Ms. Zajick because I feel like I never get to see American performers, but I think they're going to air it on PBS so I'll get to see her then.
I love the story of Aida. At 16 I saw the Elton John musical and of course loved it, but it can't hold a candle to Verdi. When the lights went down (or, in the case of the Swarovski chandeliers:
, were raised up) and Daniele Gatti conducted the violins through the first few sweet, cruel bars of the overture, I actually wept. Listen/watch here: Aida prelude
Overall, the production is beautiful. One of the great things about the Met is they have so. much. money. So their production values are incredible. This giant effing piece of set sinks into the ground to reveal the new set and audience freaking applauds I mean it's intense production qualities. And I did feel that way all around with two exceptions. The first was this costume that they put Ms. Urmana in for the 3rd and 4th acts. Now, if you'll let me branch off for a moment, if you look at the trifecta of performance art: Opera, Dance, Theatre, you'll note their differences in terms of who they select to perform - for dancers you really have to be fit like a dancer. There are no exceptions. For opera, you really have to have the voice for the opera. There are no exceptions. In theatre, you really have to act (at least, that's the running theory-coughginagershoncough). As a result, in theatre you get some skinny people, some fat people, etc. In theatre, it's who makes the role best. For the most part, they go with what looks best. So if you've got a 200-pound woman and a 130-pound woman both vying for the same part in, say, After Miss Julie, they're going to go with the smaller woman, even if her acting's not as good. In opera, it's as if the production qualities are so fantastic that the audience doesn't mind suspending their disbelief when it comes to the performers. As long as they sound like fab opera singers, they can be 200, 300 pounds, etc. In the Elton John Aida, you had Adam Pascal as Radames. He looked the part. Fierce warrior, strong leader, etc. In this Aida at the Met, you have Johan Botha as Radamés.
Not a small guy. You've also got Violeta Urmana as Aida.
Fierce, yes. Skinny, no. So in Act III/IV they put her in this dress.... and, you know, I get that she's Aida. She's a slave. I get that. So she shouldn't look like she's wearing the same clothes as the princess, Amneris. I get that. But Amneris is not wearing a modern day couture gown; she's wearing Egyptian chic. So Aida should not be wearing something my mom bought at the Dress Barn (mom, I'm talking like 12 years ago). It's this turquoise short-sleeved ankle-length cottony dress that they've "slaved up" with fringe that comes from the edges of the sleeves, the waist, the neck, the hem and then across the bodice. It's so ugly. It's so wrong! They couldn't have found ANYTHING else for her to wear?!?! This is the only kind of picture I could find of it, from an earlier performance:
Hideous, right? Right. My second aesthetic complaint is about something their lighting/special effects team did. In Act IV, they've got this "flame bowl" that an actor is supposed to "light" with his torch but we all know he doesn't actually light anything because it would never light in time. Instead, for safety and timeliness reasons, the electrics department uses a fuse that they can light by assigning it to one of the dimmers on the light board. So instead of a light coming on at full power when the cue tells it to, a fuse box ignites and, voilà: fire in a bowl. Only these boxes, first of all, have to be connected to the dimmer and, secondly, don't just light. It's not like there's a little guy in the bowl waiting to be prodded so he can set the thing on fire. No. There's an explosion that happens to make the fire happen. So firstly, there's a cord coming from this damn fire bowl that runs offstage but, of course, everyone not in the orchestra can see this damn cord, and secondly, when it gets "lit" there's a burst and a cloud of smoke like a magic trick gone awry which, I guess, is exactly what it is. Only you can see the rabbit's tail up the magician's sleeve.
But aside from those two things, the production is enormous and beautiful. I cracked up when the audience applauded the horses being onstage. And, all in all, it was a wonderful evening.
You'll recall my incident with TDF. The issue, of course, was my purchasing a tdf ticket for Shrek for the 13th and then being told, at the last minute, that - oopsie - you're going the 18th. I was sad BUT I could make it on the 18th so all was good. So after work on Sunday the 18th, I walked up to the Broadway theatre, very cautiously passed the box office rep my photo ID, and very carefully received a ticket from her. *Woohoo!*
I walk into the theatre and am immediately caught in a tide of children. Of course. I disentangle myself and walk up to the second level, sneak past the next tide of children bouncing away from the 2nd floor merch booth wearing their Disney-like-princess-crowned-ogre-ears-headbands, and walk up the final flight to the mezzanine level. My seat is in the 9th row of the mezzanine - center. I take my seat, take note of the scant leg room that forces the group behind me to rest their knees on the back of my seat (won't be putting my coat there...) and wait for the inevitable. Not that I'm not excited about the show, but the fact is I'm the only person currently in my row so INEVITABLY people will be showing up and needing me to stand and get out of the way while they crunch their way in.
While I wait, the bouncing girly ogre ears bound up the stairs and begin to fill the row in front of me. My view of the stage is fine and even with a few kids on their appropriately-green booster seats I'll be fine. Sitting in front of me are two families who have arrived together - A 30-something couple with two girls between the ages of 6 and 8, and a late 30-something-couple with a similarly obnoxiously aged girl, and a boy between 10 and 12. He chose not to don the princess ogre ears. I can immediately tell that these people will be the bane of my existence for at least 75 minutes. The kids were squirming, the parents were fussing, the kids were climbing over everything, the parents were letting them, the kids were crying for M&M's, the parents purchased them, and then ignored them (yes, at kids' shows on Broadway, many theatres have given in and offered snacks in the house itself. In Shrek's case they offer at least M&M's and bottled water, and not cheaply.)
Finally the people sitting next to me arrive, I let them into the row, and then I sit and wait for the last 10 minutes before the show begins, watching the children undermine their parents, and listening to the 19-ish group sitting next to me, only then discovering that they were at a musical, not a stage version of the movie. There's a difference. If it were just a stage version of the movie it would be a) crap, and b) bland, and c) not extremely musical. So they're sitting there reading the song list going "oh, I don't remember that song!.....ooh look the Donkey has a song!....What? But Eddie Murphy's not on the cast list!?....Oh look Christopher Sieber's in it! But they don't list that he played Mary-Kate and Ashley's dad on that show!....Yes it does! At the bottom!....Omg! You're so right! I guess I was right about him!....OMG I wonder if Mary-Kate and Ashley are at the show tonight!?.....OMG I wonder if they're sitting with Eddie Murphy!" ...................Literally. Word-for-word. Moving on.
The show's about to begin and the parents are still talking, children still squirming. The announcements begin (Daniel Breaker, who usually plays Donkey, is out. So are 4 of the ensemble girls. Should be an interesting night.) The show then begins with a voiceover by "Shrek." This is happening; the lights are changing, etc. And the kids are still talking. And the parents are still talking. Dodo #1 sitting next to me decides, at the same moment I did, to shush them. One of the mothers turns around and says "Uh! You're shushing children?!?!" My response: "No, I'm shushing YOU." She turns around, she's huffy, she quiets her kids, and life goes on. Unless you're 2 of the girls. They've decided that, in order to see the show, they have to put their booster seats on the ground, fold their seats into the upright position and sit on the top of the seat with their feet on the boosters. Yeah. Didn't fly for me. Didn't fly for the other mother either so...one point to her - she told them to sit correctly and cut the crap.
I'd hate to spend my entire reflection on Shrek with the audience, so I'll move on now. I love this show. It's really got a special place in my heart. I don't really like the movies. I think they're cute but I think I was over them the moment I was asked to rescue over at the Shrek 4-D Attraction when I worked at Universal. In case you've never been there, the show attendants are dressed.... like Shrek. Canvas tunic, brown smocky thing, brown ugly pants, boot-spats to go over the sneakers.... stupid hat. You can kind of see a team member in costume in this picture:
Anyway. My point? Oh. Right. Don't really like the movies. But the show is so....I don't know. I think the thing is, it's SO cliché with the love triangle that it's moved beyond it. The villain is something you don't see in other shows, the protagonists are all something very special, etc. And it's empowering, you know? Shrek and Fiona love each other because they do. Not because of superficial reasoning. And the show's really well done, too, especially for a kids show. It has its moments (like the really loud RAWR that Shrek does to get a rise out of kids) but it's kind of endearing. And at the end of the day it's really NOT a kids' show. There's SO much adult humor in it. SO much. Shrek is played by Brian d'Arcy James whom I have loved for so many years I'm not even sure when it began - though it was probably circa 2000 when I first heard Lippa's The Wild Party. Anyway, love him. Adore him as Shrek. He's kind of the reason I got off my ass to see the show. He's leaving the show on November 8th and I knew I'd regret not seeing him. In January he'll be doing a play called Time Stands Still for MTC with Laura Linney (blehhhhh!), Alicia Silverstone (not knocking it till I try it) and Eric Bogosian (SIGN. ME. UP. SCOTTY.) So his standby, the incomparable Ben Crawford, is taking over the Shrek role.
Originally they announced that the show had opened up a new block of tickets through April, but as of yesterday it'll be closing in January. It's too bad, really. Sutton Foster is Fiona and is, simply, SPOT. ON. The casting for the show is really golden and I'll be sad to see the show go. It's had a healthy run, but it hasn't been selling well the last couple of months. When I attended on Sunday, probably a third or more of the mezzanine was empty. This worked out for me because the idiots sitting in front of me found other seats and I had all the room I wanted for Act II. But that's never really good news for a show. A commercial, production, at least.
I have to say though, even with the lacking audiences and the squirming in the seats, the actors put on a fantastic show. I'm not big on spectacle. I never have been. My high school theatre education taught me to be cynical when it comes to spectacle and my college theatre education improved on that and taught me to be careful when it comes to spectacle. As a result I tend to just shy away from it. This is probably the most "spectacular" show I've spent money on since moving her...and I don't regret it one bit. It's very balanced, very well-measured spectacle, if you will. It takes what is flashy and wonderful to large, typical audiences and fine-tunes it into what the atypical audience member will appreciate. As for those typical audiences, they're paying $20 for 3-6oz bags of M&Ms and 2 16oz bottles of water, and not knowing the difference.
AIDA
Back in July, I made the decision to get myself a subscription to the Metropolitan Opera. I felt like it was one of my first steps as a real adult. Opera subscription - check. For the price that most Roundabout Subscribers are paying for 5 shows, I'm getting 8 operas - Aida, Les Contes d'Hoffmann, Hamlet, Tosca, Lulu, La Boheme, La Traviata, and Turandot. My first reason for wanting an actual subscription was that, last year, I saw Satyagraha at the Met and fell in love with their space. The second reason was that I had caught, on PBS, the Met staging of Lucia di Lammermoor starring Piotr Beczala and Anna Netrebko, and I fell in love with the music and decided I had a total girl crush on Anna Netrebko. She's doing both La Boheme and Les Contes d'Hoffmann this season, so I decided I had to go.
Anyway, I ordered my subscription in July and secured a seat in the 3rd balcony box on the right, which is technically partial view, but you don't miss much. Last night was my first performance, Verdi's Aida starring Violeta Urmana (Soprano, Lithuania) and Johan Botha (Tenor, South Africa). Amneris was supposed to be Dolora Zajick, but she was sick last night so Olga Borodina (Mezzo-soprano, Russia) (who's scheduled to do Faust this Friday) went on in her place. And. was. brilliant. I do wish I could have seen Ms. Zajick because I feel like I never get to see American performers, but I think they're going to air it on PBS so I'll get to see her then.
I love the story of Aida. At 16 I saw the Elton John musical and of course loved it, but it can't hold a candle to Verdi. When the lights went down (or, in the case of the Swarovski chandeliers:
, were raised up) and Daniele Gatti conducted the violins through the first few sweet, cruel bars of the overture, I actually wept. Listen/watch here: Aida preludeOverall, the production is beautiful. One of the great things about the Met is they have so. much. money. So their production values are incredible. This giant effing piece of set sinks into the ground to reveal the new set and audience freaking applauds I mean it's intense production qualities. And I did feel that way all around with two exceptions. The first was this costume that they put Ms. Urmana in for the 3rd and 4th acts. Now, if you'll let me branch off for a moment, if you look at the trifecta of performance art: Opera, Dance, Theatre, you'll note their differences in terms of who they select to perform - for dancers you really have to be fit like a dancer. There are no exceptions. For opera, you really have to have the voice for the opera. There are no exceptions. In theatre, you really have to act (at least, that's the running theory-coughginagershoncough). As a result, in theatre you get some skinny people, some fat people, etc. In theatre, it's who makes the role best. For the most part, they go with what looks best. So if you've got a 200-pound woman and a 130-pound woman both vying for the same part in, say, After Miss Julie, they're going to go with the smaller woman, even if her acting's not as good. In opera, it's as if the production qualities are so fantastic that the audience doesn't mind suspending their disbelief when it comes to the performers. As long as they sound like fab opera singers, they can be 200, 300 pounds, etc. In the Elton John Aida, you had Adam Pascal as Radames. He looked the part. Fierce warrior, strong leader, etc. In this Aida at the Met, you have Johan Botha as Radamés.
Not a small guy. You've also got Violeta Urmana as Aida.
Fierce, yes. Skinny, no. So in Act III/IV they put her in this dress.... and, you know, I get that she's Aida. She's a slave. I get that. So she shouldn't look like she's wearing the same clothes as the princess, Amneris. I get that. But Amneris is not wearing a modern day couture gown; she's wearing Egyptian chic. So Aida should not be wearing something my mom bought at the Dress Barn (mom, I'm talking like 12 years ago). It's this turquoise short-sleeved ankle-length cottony dress that they've "slaved up" with fringe that comes from the edges of the sleeves, the waist, the neck, the hem and then across the bodice. It's so ugly. It's so wrong! They couldn't have found ANYTHING else for her to wear?!?! This is the only kind of picture I could find of it, from an earlier performance:
Hideous, right? Right. My second aesthetic complaint is about something their lighting/special effects team did. In Act IV, they've got this "flame bowl" that an actor is supposed to "light" with his torch but we all know he doesn't actually light anything because it would never light in time. Instead, for safety and timeliness reasons, the electrics department uses a fuse that they can light by assigning it to one of the dimmers on the light board. So instead of a light coming on at full power when the cue tells it to, a fuse box ignites and, voilà: fire in a bowl. Only these boxes, first of all, have to be connected to the dimmer and, secondly, don't just light. It's not like there's a little guy in the bowl waiting to be prodded so he can set the thing on fire. No. There's an explosion that happens to make the fire happen. So firstly, there's a cord coming from this damn fire bowl that runs offstage but, of course, everyone not in the orchestra can see this damn cord, and secondly, when it gets "lit" there's a burst and a cloud of smoke like a magic trick gone awry which, I guess, is exactly what it is. Only you can see the rabbit's tail up the magician's sleeve.
But aside from those two things, the production is enormous and beautiful. I cracked up when the audience applauded the horses being onstage. And, all in all, it was a wonderful evening.
10.17.2009
I lost my list...
I've been keeping track of the books I've read, starting each May. Since May I read like....15 books? And I've lost that list. Fail. BUT I'm using Librarything.com now and it's awesome. My collection is here.
10.13.2009
"A Big Bright Beautiful world.....but not for me"
All I wanted to do tonight was see Shrek. I had it all planned out -- I'd go tonight at 7pm so that I could leave right from work and then come home, maybe watch Biggest Loser, and then get to sleep in because I work 12-8 tomorrow. That's all I wanted. So, on Sunday night (very late) I ordered my ticket for Shrek on TDF. I received my confirmation email. All's good. I was really really excited because I adore Brian D'Arcy James and he's leaving the show soon and I just knew I had to see him in it.
I hadn't really listened to the music from the show at all until about two weeks ago. Before that I'd listened to maybe one song? And then it came on while my iTunes were on shuffle. Specifically "I Think I Got You Beat" and I was surprised at it. I liked it! So I sat down on the train and listened to the whole thing and was completely in love. That whole cast just makes me giggle. So I've been excited for two days.
This morning I got up and went to work and realized, half an hour or so into my commute, that I was wearing a Shrek-colored shirt. I was anticipating it so much that I'd ogre-ized myself subconsciously. All day at work today I had this knot in the bottom of my stomach. I thought I was just hungry because I did not ingest many calories at ALL today. On top of that, I had NO nasty callers today. None. That's gotta be a record for me. (Do you feel it yet? Can you tell something's wrong here?) So work ends and I sat at work for an extra hour not on the clock because the show wasn't til 7. I was going to check my email but other people where on the computers so I sat at my desk.
At 6 I got up and went towards the Broadway theatre. I had a tickle at the back of my throat so I stopped in at Duane Reade because I didn't want to cough all through "When Words Fail." I get to the theatre and get out my I.D. I walk to the box office window where a friendly-looking older guy is waiting to help. I pass him my I.D. and he looks in the cubby......no tickets for my name. Still very VERY friendly (I wish I'd gotten his name because he was SO nice) he asked how I had gotten the tickets (by this time I'm re-living flashbacks of when Carlos couldn't find my staff comps at Bye Bye Birdie because Jaimie had fucked up) and I told him it was TDF. He grabbed the TDF list and checked it 4 times....not on it.
A little downtrodden... (okay, a LOT downtrodden) I ask what I can do (even though I already know the answer) and he says I should call TDF and get the order confirmed and perhaps they'd be able to sit me somewhere else tonight. I know better than to ask for TDF's phone number. TDF is....difficult, to say the least, and they DO have a phone number but their offices are only open 10-6 and they don't give a shit if you've got an issue with your tickets. Thanks, TDF. So I step outside and turn my phone back on and get onto the internet where I check my email. Perhaps, I'm thinking, I should have done this while I was back at work. I'd had that knot in my stomach like something was wrong--I thought I was hungry or that, maybe, it was somewhat-conscious concern that someone wouldn't be in the show tonight (by the way, Chris Seiber IS out tonight so I'd have seen an understudy for Farquaad which, I'd already said, I didn't want to do).
I go to my email and the VERY first thing I see is an email received at 5:23 (it's now 6:35). It's TDF. It's basically a copy of my confirmation email but the date is no longer 10/13. It's 10/18. The show is still 7pm, but there's a notation below it, saying that my initial confirmation was incorrect. Sorry for the inconvenience. What? Apparently even though I know I confirmed 10/13 as my date and have an email to prove it, that's WRONG and I actually have this Sunday evening. Now....I'm very sad. I can make the Sunday performance. I WILL be going, but I was SO excited to see it tonight--second only to my 11-yr-old anticipation of seeing Phantom of the Opera with my dad....that sounds pathetic, I know, wtf it's SHREK! But....that's what it is.
I wanted to come home and blog about how much I love Brian D'Arcy James and his cohorts. Instead, I'm just blogging. From the email and from my tdf account I can't tell what went wrong. I have no idea why fate decided to choose me today. But it did. Maybe I'm just not meant to see Chris Hoch understudy the part of Farquaad. Who knows? It's very fortunate that I can make it this Sunday at 7pm otherwise I would have to call that TDF number and hound them until they paid for a month of my rent or something. I don't know. I just don't get how that happens. Of course, I shouldn't say that. One of MY co-workers managed to sell tickets to Pal Joey for March 12th when it closed on March 1st. I should know that anything is possible. But I'm still sad. Not enough to go out and buy ice cream over it (ew) but I am sad. And I'll probably watch Biggest Loser and then mope and watch some Brian D'Arcy James on Youtube and somehow go to sleep not wholly unhappy. There's still Sunday. For now, I give you, awesome.
I hadn't really listened to the music from the show at all until about two weeks ago. Before that I'd listened to maybe one song? And then it came on while my iTunes were on shuffle. Specifically "I Think I Got You Beat" and I was surprised at it. I liked it! So I sat down on the train and listened to the whole thing and was completely in love. That whole cast just makes me giggle. So I've been excited for two days.
This morning I got up and went to work and realized, half an hour or so into my commute, that I was wearing a Shrek-colored shirt. I was anticipating it so much that I'd ogre-ized myself subconsciously. All day at work today I had this knot in the bottom of my stomach. I thought I was just hungry because I did not ingest many calories at ALL today. On top of that, I had NO nasty callers today. None. That's gotta be a record for me. (Do you feel it yet? Can you tell something's wrong here?) So work ends and I sat at work for an extra hour not on the clock because the show wasn't til 7. I was going to check my email but other people where on the computers so I sat at my desk.
At 6 I got up and went towards the Broadway theatre. I had a tickle at the back of my throat so I stopped in at Duane Reade because I didn't want to cough all through "When Words Fail." I get to the theatre and get out my I.D. I walk to the box office window where a friendly-looking older guy is waiting to help. I pass him my I.D. and he looks in the cubby......no tickets for my name. Still very VERY friendly (I wish I'd gotten his name because he was SO nice) he asked how I had gotten the tickets (by this time I'm re-living flashbacks of when Carlos couldn't find my staff comps at Bye Bye Birdie because Jaimie had fucked up) and I told him it was TDF. He grabbed the TDF list and checked it 4 times....not on it.
A little downtrodden... (okay, a LOT downtrodden) I ask what I can do (even though I already know the answer) and he says I should call TDF and get the order confirmed and perhaps they'd be able to sit me somewhere else tonight. I know better than to ask for TDF's phone number. TDF is....difficult, to say the least, and they DO have a phone number but their offices are only open 10-6 and they don't give a shit if you've got an issue with your tickets. Thanks, TDF. So I step outside and turn my phone back on and get onto the internet where I check my email. Perhaps, I'm thinking, I should have done this while I was back at work. I'd had that knot in my stomach like something was wrong--I thought I was hungry or that, maybe, it was somewhat-conscious concern that someone wouldn't be in the show tonight (by the way, Chris Seiber IS out tonight so I'd have seen an understudy for Farquaad which, I'd already said, I didn't want to do).
I go to my email and the VERY first thing I see is an email received at 5:23 (it's now 6:35). It's TDF. It's basically a copy of my confirmation email but the date is no longer 10/13. It's 10/18. The show is still 7pm, but there's a notation below it, saying that my initial confirmation was incorrect. Sorry for the inconvenience. What? Apparently even though I know I confirmed 10/13 as my date and have an email to prove it, that's WRONG and I actually have this Sunday evening. Now....I'm very sad. I can make the Sunday performance. I WILL be going, but I was SO excited to see it tonight--second only to my 11-yr-old anticipation of seeing Phantom of the Opera with my dad....that sounds pathetic, I know, wtf it's SHREK! But....that's what it is.
I wanted to come home and blog about how much I love Brian D'Arcy James and his cohorts. Instead, I'm just blogging. From the email and from my tdf account I can't tell what went wrong. I have no idea why fate decided to choose me today. But it did. Maybe I'm just not meant to see Chris Hoch understudy the part of Farquaad. Who knows? It's very fortunate that I can make it this Sunday at 7pm otherwise I would have to call that TDF number and hound them until they paid for a month of my rent or something. I don't know. I just don't get how that happens. Of course, I shouldn't say that. One of MY co-workers managed to sell tickets to Pal Joey for March 12th when it closed on March 1st. I should know that anything is possible. But I'm still sad. Not enough to go out and buy ice cream over it (ew) but I am sad. And I'll probably watch Biggest Loser and then mope and watch some Brian D'Arcy James on Youtube and somehow go to sleep not wholly unhappy. There's still Sunday. For now, I give you, awesome.
10.07.2009
Shall we all meet in the autumn?
Every season has its indicator. For winter, it's the change to bitter cold. For spring it's the new buds on seemingly dead trees. For summer, it's a change in the quality of the sunlight. For autumn (at least, for me) it's the smells that linger in the air. It's the aroma of apples - as if still on the branch - in front of fruit vendors. It's the wafting smell of a wood-burning stove coming from a house or restaurant probably a mile away. Its the incomparable scent of crinkling leaves underfoot. Perhaps they have a scent of their own or perhaps they've just been coated in the dust that floats down from the wings of autumnal fairies. I like to think that autumn smells russet, orange, pumpkin-colored and spaghetti-squash-colored. As a child, it smelled like wax crayons and pencils, like glue and watercolors. Autumn smells like a harvest, like an ending and, in the heart of a schoolchild, like a beginning as well. It is as if the world becomes painted in autumnal splendor and what we smell is the colors melting vibrantly off the page to reveal a snowy white blank slate of winter, to be re-sketched in spring, re-shaded in summer, and painted again in autumn.
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