![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
I saw the back of Placido Domingo's head!
I went to Madame Butterfly at the Met last night. Not my first opera, but my first opera at the Met and my first time with this particular opera. My goodness, that was amazing.
It's a hauntingly beautiful opera, which I only had a passing familiarity with. I mean, I knew the plot and I'd performed "Tutta la Primavera" in high school, but I didn't know the details or the rest of the score. It's just gorgeous. I really can't decide if my favorite part is the amazing duet at the end of act I when Pinkerton and Butterfly make love in the garden, or the humming chorus at the end of the first part of Act II. It's incredibly haunting--Butterfly sees Pinkerton's ship in the harbor, and flies around in a frenzy decorating the house and dressing up. And then she sits with her maid and her son waiting for Pinkerton to arrive at any moment. And the chorus starts to hum in the background. No words, just this soft humming. And time passes and the sun slowly sets and the little boy falls asleep next to her, as the chorus hums. And you realize they're never going to actually start singing and he's never going to come. It's incredibly sad.
I knew Pinkerton was a jerk, but I really had not appreciated fully just how much of an ass he is. She's delusional, yes, but he completely takes advantage of that despite being warned by multiple people. In some ways, the character I felt most bad for (besides the son, of course) was Kate, the American wife. Who probably thought she married a decent guy and has now discovered that her husband's a selfish jackass. She tries so hard to do the right thing, while her heart must be breaking.
Anyway, this particular production was also just amazing. In the garden scene, dancers dressed completely in black hold lanterns that dance around Butterfly and Pinkerton like fireflies, bobbing gently in place and then lifting away gracefully as they approach. There are showers of rose petals and layers and layers and layers of curtains made from widely spaced petals that drop infinitesmally slowly to shroud the stage. The effect is just overwhelmingly lush and romantic and fits the music beautifully. And Butterfly's son is actually a Japanese puppet with incredibly lifelike movements. (The cook and the housekeeper are puppets too, which was kind of inexplicable, though.)
I was underwhelmed by Robert Dean Smith's Pinkerton--I felt like he was straining. But Liping Zhang's Butterfly was just dazzling. It's a terribly demanding role--once Butterfly walks onto the stage, she basically doesn't leave. And she just made it effortless. I'm often not a huge fan of operatic sopranos, to be honest--to get the proper fullness, a lot of them sound heavy to me. Hers is simply ethereal.
And Placido Domingo was the conductor. So while I have not actually heard him, I have in fact now seen him. At the Met. Or at least, the back of his head.
The one real problem with going to the opera is that it's loooong. I mean, I didn't mind at the time--comfy seats, engrossing performance. But it meant I didn't get home until almost 12:30 last night. Where I discovered that Chuckro, on autopilot, had put the chain on the door and I was locked out. He didn't hear me knocking. I finally had to call him on the phone from the hallway. He punished himself for that one--I only had to wait an extra minute. He was the one who had to wake up in the middle of the night to let me in.
It's a hauntingly beautiful opera, which I only had a passing familiarity with. I mean, I knew the plot and I'd performed "Tutta la Primavera" in high school, but I didn't know the details or the rest of the score. It's just gorgeous. I really can't decide if my favorite part is the amazing duet at the end of act I when Pinkerton and Butterfly make love in the garden, or the humming chorus at the end of the first part of Act II. It's incredibly haunting--Butterfly sees Pinkerton's ship in the harbor, and flies around in a frenzy decorating the house and dressing up. And then she sits with her maid and her son waiting for Pinkerton to arrive at any moment. And the chorus starts to hum in the background. No words, just this soft humming. And time passes and the sun slowly sets and the little boy falls asleep next to her, as the chorus hums. And you realize they're never going to actually start singing and he's never going to come. It's incredibly sad.
I knew Pinkerton was a jerk, but I really had not appreciated fully just how much of an ass he is. She's delusional, yes, but he completely takes advantage of that despite being warned by multiple people. In some ways, the character I felt most bad for (besides the son, of course) was Kate, the American wife. Who probably thought she married a decent guy and has now discovered that her husband's a selfish jackass. She tries so hard to do the right thing, while her heart must be breaking.
Anyway, this particular production was also just amazing. In the garden scene, dancers dressed completely in black hold lanterns that dance around Butterfly and Pinkerton like fireflies, bobbing gently in place and then lifting away gracefully as they approach. There are showers of rose petals and layers and layers and layers of curtains made from widely spaced petals that drop infinitesmally slowly to shroud the stage. The effect is just overwhelmingly lush and romantic and fits the music beautifully. And Butterfly's son is actually a Japanese puppet with incredibly lifelike movements. (The cook and the housekeeper are puppets too, which was kind of inexplicable, though.)
I was underwhelmed by Robert Dean Smith's Pinkerton--I felt like he was straining. But Liping Zhang's Butterfly was just dazzling. It's a terribly demanding role--once Butterfly walks onto the stage, she basically doesn't leave. And she just made it effortless. I'm often not a huge fan of operatic sopranos, to be honest--to get the proper fullness, a lot of them sound heavy to me. Hers is simply ethereal.
And Placido Domingo was the conductor. So while I have not actually heard him, I have in fact now seen him. At the Met. Or at least, the back of his head.
The one real problem with going to the opera is that it's loooong. I mean, I didn't mind at the time--comfy seats, engrossing performance. But it meant I didn't get home until almost 12:30 last night. Where I discovered that Chuckro, on autopilot, had put the chain on the door and I was locked out. He didn't hear me knocking. I finally had to call him on the phone from the hallway. He punished himself for that one--I only had to wait an extra minute. He was the one who had to wake up in the middle of the night to let me in.
no subject
And I LOLed over the chain on the door. Oh dear.
no subject
no subject
(Apparently if a roommate doesn't respond, they assume that you've stopped breathing or something.)
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
Gorgeous production.