The Menagerie

Reviews

There probably won't be any opera reviews this season -- I may try to get to Aida in the spring, but I didn't subscribe.  One of the reasons I love opera is the connection with the historical, and I'm put off with the number of avant-garde (or would be) productions. Also, there are no more opening Saturdays, just opening Fridays.  Ugh. 

I'm so opinionated, though, I couldn't help myself but review other things in my life, so here's a smattering of my recent diversions. 

Wives and Daughters (DVD).  I enjoyed North and South (the book) and bought Wives and Daughters (the book) in the hopes I'd get around to reading it.  I didn't, but I also had the DVD set, so over the course of a couple of nights, when I was feeding Eden, I watched all 300 minutes.   

There's no unifying theme to it, say like Pride and Prejudice, but it has a similar classic chick lit appeal.  In a nutshell, a young woman  gets an evil stepmother and a scheming but charming stepsister, and there are love interests and secrets and missteps along the way.  It's Elizabeth Gaskell, which means it's on the syrupy side (none of the biting social commentary of Austen - Gaskell is kinder and gentler), but for all that, I enjoyed it.  Eden seemed to.   A

How Doctors Think.  I've been wanting to read this for months, ever since I heard an interview with the author on some NPR show (Fresh Air, maybe) and I read the first chapter online.  I heartily recommend it to anyone who, like me, is spending a god-awful amount of time with specialists and having dozens of tests performed.  It's somewhat chilling -- I didn't really want to know just how often radiologists screw up -- but very practical.  For example, "I'd like to see X sooner -- maybe in two weeks instead of four weeks," is pediatrician talk for, "I'm quite concerned about your child, but am using soothing and neutral language so you don't get alarmed."   (And now I'm not annoyed that the doctor doesn't want to see Eden very much -- the first month she was followed closely, but now we just go in every couple of months, like normal.  It had bothered me, but no more!)   A-

Intervention.  I watched this show on A&E yesterday.  I don't go in for reality
TV (other than "Who Wants to be a Superhero" - at least the first run), but it was on and I was interested.  I watched an episode with a narcotics drug user and an episode featuring a woman with a severe eating disorder.  The narcotics boy was sad and predictable.  The eating disorder girl bugged the hell out of me -- whiny and insecure and bitchy.  I couldn't stand to watch it to the end of the episode -- hopefully someone put her on an SSRI.  C+

Das Leben Der Anderen.  I'd been wanting to see this since it first came to Portland, but life interfered.  Finally out on DVD, Matthew and I got it through Netflix.  It was fascinating for a number of reasons - for one, I really enjoyed seeing Matthew go down memory lane (his father was Army Intelligence in W. Germany and they lived there during the 70s).  Second, the similarities of the Stasi then to the American intelligence complex today - well, it was impossible not to draw the comparison.  Third, it's simply a damn good film.  Fourth, I studied German for five years, and enjoy any opportunity to listen to it spoken. 

And finally, it was the most upbeat German drama I have ever seen.  Only two suicides! Das Happy-End, indeed.  A

The Blighted Cliffs: Book One of the Reluctant Adventures of Lt. Martin Jerrold.   I'm usually pretty skeptical of age of sail naval fiction.  For one, I'm a detail freak when it comes to both historical fiction and the age of sail, and an error or two will ruin a book.  Also, I'm familiar with the lives of "real" naval heroes of the era, and can't stand it when events in those lives are blatantly ripped off and called fiction.  My experience has usually been that if the details are right, the novel is dry and dull, or if the writing is good, the details are spotty.  I don't bother most of the time. 

This series -- written by someone younger than I, which I found disconcerting but cool --  was different.  For one, there's humor.  For another, the hero is a scapegrace.  There are some weaknesses -- I felt the author tried too hard with some of the humor (a bit too Fry and Laurie), the female characters were  two-dimensional, and I wasn't entirely happy with the way the hero interacted with those female characters.  But the story was compelling and historically accurate, and most of the characters were intriguing.  I'm hoping the weaknesses are resolved in later books.  B+

Eureka.  Matthew and I have been following Eureka from the beginning, but it's declined this past season.  Our take is that the show went from quirky to grand far too quickly, and once a show has gone there, well, there's no going back. The same two scientists work on whatever random problem appears, in every episode, while good ol' Sheriff Carter (with his 111 IQ) always suggests some folksy remedy that the two brilliant scientists somehow managed to overlook, but is always the key to the problem.  B-

House.  The first episode of the season was lame.  I can't believe I'm dissing a House episode, but there it is. Who cares if he "needs" his team or not?   I'm not sure why the writers keep belaboring this issue, but just get them back ASAP. (Last season's opener completely dispensed with the previous finale with little to no denouement - annoying at the time, but this time it was like watching that eating disorder girl on A&E.)  C 

Scrubs.  Matthew and I have recently watched the first two seasons.  Entertaining, quirky, but am I the only person in the world who doesn't like Zach Braff?  The guy bugs me. We watch it for the secondary characters. B+ 

Gemini likes Wagner!

Or, another lay review of my night at the opera. 

Last night was Portland Opera's opening of The Flying Dutchman.  I was somewhat grumpy going in, because I knew it was going to be performed with no intermission, something not pregnant-woman-friendly. ("Intense, non-stop theatrical experience" was how the artistic director described it: he should have to pay for my massage therapy appointment, because my back is still killing me from staying in one position that long.)   If I could have donated my ticket at the last minute, I probably would have.  But...as it was, I'm glad I went. 

First, the music was wonderful.  I guiltily enjoy Wagner (see below), but only in small doses, which makes the Dutchman the perfect opera to attend. 

Second, it was the most technically proficient production I've ever attended at PO.  The chorus was delightful and exuberant.  The performers were awesome.  (Disclosure: I'm always particular to the baritones, having married a man with a wonderful baritone.)  I wasn't always sold on Senta's performance -- her vibrato sometimes bugged me, but I'm not so familiar with the opera that it couldn't have been as written -- but all in all, just stellar jobs all around. 

But, oh, God, the staging and the costumes.  The staging was more minimalist-artsy dreck that is supposed to be "controversial."  I guess the stage director is a big famous guy who gets rave reviews from afficianados (artistic director's quote: this was "avant-garde stage director Christopher Alden's unique take").  Not being an artiste, the best I can describe it is the sort of post-modern bomb shelter that my law school classrooms resembled. I'm not sure about controversial, but I did think it was ugly and detracting from the story.   

The costuming was kinda-sorta Edwardian, but I came away from the performance thinking the costume designer must hate women.  (I can't recall if the designer was a woman or not.) The men's costumes, aside from the Dutchman (more on that later) were fine.  But the women?  Absolutely unattractive the whole opera through. Think sensible shoes and unattractive work frocks.  In "dressy" mode, think 20s-era prostitutes with flourescent green furs.  Yeah.

And what was up with all the staggering around the stage?  When not pretending, a la Star Trek, to be tossed about on a capricious sea, from one side of the stage to another, the performers were zombie-walking on and off the stage.  Ugh.   

But the thing that shocked me the most was that the Dutchman was wearing striped prisoner pajamas under his coat.  Now, I know we're trying to get at the notion that he was a prisoner to fate/curse/destiny/whatever, but is there really anyone on the planet who doesn't know how Wagner was co-opted by the Nazis?  The striped prisoner PJs kept reminding me of the photos of the liberation of the camps (not that the Dutchman looked particularly emaciated).  This image wasn't helped by the Dutchman's prisoner-attired crew, draped around the uneven scaffolding under the main set, either.  It's hard to forget the pan-Germanic crap Wagner helped spawn, and the torch carried on by his (posthumous) daughter-in-law, Winifred -- not to mention her relationship with Hitler.   

Maybe that's the bit that's supposed to be controversial.  I just found it to be in extraordinarily bad taste. 

But seriously, the baby likes Wagner. She was very active the whole time.  (Although Matthew pointed out, perhaps she was protesting, rather than enjoying.)  I guess we'll have to play the Dutchman for her after she's born and see.

UPDATE: Apparently the Nazi thing is deliberate. The production is supposed to be set in Nazi Germany, with the Dutchman as the Wandering Jew and sensitive Senta as being concerned for the plight of the Jews.  This does NOT come across in the production: the costumes are too anachronistic to be Nazi-era and there are no other visual cues hinting at a late 30s/40s setting.  I stand by my 'bad taste' analysis.

Things not to do at the opera (Norma edition)

1. Climb over a row of seats to get to yours. Thankfully, this woman wore pants.
2. Leave your cell phone on, so that it rings JUST as the conductor raises his baton for the overture. You'll be booed and hissed, and get a special glare from the conductor.  (Amusingly, during the overture I saw  Christopher Mattaliano -- the grand poobah -- check his to make sure it was off.)
3. Be the asshole whose phone rings later in the first act, several seats down from me, and right behind Christopher Mattaliano.
4. Put your bare feet on the railing separating the first balcony from the boxes.  (This would be the daughter/granddaughter of the seat-climbing woman.)
5. Talk during an aria.  (Always behind me!)
6. Almost pass out during intermission. 

OK, the last one is mine.  I had the rare pleasure of seeing people I knew at the opera -- a L&C professor and his wife -- when I was suddenly lightheaded, broke into a sweat, and heard the characteristic ringing in my ears that meant I was going to pass out or throw up (I never can tell), neither of which I was keen on doing at Keller.   

I'd stashed a couple of Cadbury eggs into my purse and ate one, and the problem cleared up -- low blood sugar.  Big shock from the woman who is always eating and always hungry these days, no?   I had another chocolate egg, but that wasn't going to get me through an hour plus of opera, and it was the three minute call -- not enough time to eat anything there.  So...I went home and missed the second act.  (And ate.)

Review-wise -- the first act was not overwhelming.  I don't think this is the performers' fault, but Bellini's -- the (supertitled) libretto was full of ominous, dark, passionate sentiments, but the score was something you'd expect to be spoofed as opera on Looney Tunes.  (That by itself probably isn't surprising -- LT did a wonderful Barber of Seville with Bugs and Elmer, avail. on YouTube,  and Bellini and Rossini were contemporaries.)

And then there is the suspension of disbelief.  I can deal with Scots singing in Italian (Lucia di Lammermoor), but for some reason, I kept wanting to giggle at the Celtic priestess named Norma.  It just...I don't know.  It can't simply be me, because Matthew keeps chuckling to himself when he walks by the program on the kitchen counter, too. 

But of course, this has nothing to do with the Portland Opera, but the opera itself.  Maybe the bel canto masterpieces are all in the second act (in the first act, there was one lovely duet that had an odd dissonant note that I wonder about).  My only real complaint was the lighting, which changed as often as you'd expect at a rock concert.  It was jarring and, well, not all that illuminating. 

NaNo Day 6

I'm plugging away on the novel. Strangely, I didn't feel like doing much writing this weekend, and ended up shopping and napping instead. I'm making up for lost time this evening, though -- I figured out I really needed to be wrapped up with a Pendleton throw with my laptop, and I'm closing on my day end goal of 10,020 words (to be on target).

I set Chapter 2 at the opera. I was going to do that anyway -- it was in the outline -- but going to the opera on Saturday made it easier. I enjoyed watching the crowd Saturday with my writer's eye (most of the time I am oblivious to what is around me, unfortunately) and picking up on details I've missed in the past. Instead of Faust, I had my patrons attending Turandot (the best thing Puccini ever did IMHO).

Speaking of the opera, I really didn't remember that blurb about kids at the opera being on the PO's etiquette page before, did you? Maybe supertitled etiquette primers will be next!

Shelley’s Guide to Opera Etiquette

This is my fourth season subscribing to the Portland Opera, and my fourth season attending first Saturdays (the opening performance night). I did this in part because I made the assumption that operagoers on first Saturdays would be true afficiandos and would be more likely to a) dress up, making the evening more visually interesting for me and b) know how to behave themselves. I was right on the first count -- between the botox on parade, the prom and bridesmaid dresses, and the trophy wives, I have an absolute ball people-watching. On the second count, I was dead wrong.

Before I started going regularly, I read a book about opera, how to best appreciate it, and how to behave at the opera. (This should not be surprising to anyone who knows my family: when Chrystals decide to do something, they read a book about it first.) Unfortunately, some of the behavior I’m witness to at Keller was never covered in the book I read, making this post necessary.

At the opera these days is something called supertitling, where the lyrics of the opera are projected on a screen above the stage. (Based on my limited French, Italian, and somewhat less limited German, I can tell you that the lyrics that are projected are not always accurately translated and are often simplified -- this bit is fine with me, as it would be a travesty to have the audience staring at the supertitles and not the performers.)

Portland Opera: you already tell people to turn off their electronic devices right before the performance using the screen. How about a nice etiquette primer before the performance, too? Or perhaps arm the ushers with those long wooden poles that my ancestors used to keep congregants in line during church services. The guide you have on your website is just too mamby-pamby to be useful.

[These are the things I hate the most. I will probably roll up my program and bop the closest offenders on the head if they pull these again.]

Talking. My bad luck that I’m invariably seated next to a couple in which she knows everything about the performance and he doesn’t. And she feels compelled to give him a play-by-play account, because he’s too stupid to read the program himself. (And lady, the rest of us figured out the chorus was in the balcony before you had to point and exclaim about it. FIVE TIMES.) STFU.

Coughing. So, one of the weirdest parts of opera is that it takes place during cold and flu season. Not only does this mean that performers catch ill and are either not at their best or just not there (last night’s Faust, for example, had been flown in the night before to fill in for the expected tenor – he did a smash-up job, too), but that means the audience is also not necessarily feeling well.

The noble thing would be to stay home. But you paid $60 for your ticket? Well, go anyway (as you obviously lack noble virtues.) For God’s sake, think of the people around you who also paid $60 for their tickets. Purchase cough drops. Unwrap them before the curtain goes up. And cover your *&!*@ mouth.

Booing. Opera is one of those weird art forms that still claims to be a people’s art. This would make more sense if it was, I dunno, less expensive. But because of its past, certain behaviors are permitted at the opera, like not only cheering a wonderful performance with “Bravo” or “Brava,” but booing a bad performance.

The key word there is performance.

When the performers are taking their bows and you are applauding, try to remember that the guy who sang Mephistopheles put just as much work into that role as the woman who sang Marguerite. Irrespective of the fact he’s the DEVIL – yes, after three acts, we’ve already noticed that he’s the bad guy! -- try to remember his hard work and don’t boo him when he’s taking his bows, you damn hayseeds.

Cell phones. I haven’t heard one go off in several performances, but in that performance, there were THREE. After that, the supertitled message started appearing at shows and there hasn’t been another problem. I’m telling you, Portland Opera, it’s time for my hints to start appearing pre-performance, too.

Children. I’m sure there are wonderfully behaved six year olds out there who do fine at the opera. I’ve never seen any, but I’ll own they exist. (I, for one, fell asleep at the symphony as a child. At least I was quiet about it.) Unfortunately for me, the children seated around me whine, complain to Mom, ask inane questions that Mom unfortunately insists on answering, squirm and kick my chair. I don’t know what makes you want to take your kids to see Faust (Marguerite goes crazy and kills her child) or – my favorite parental gaffe from last season – Don Giovanni (rapist led down to hell), but maybe you should start with something on DVD. Like, you know, the Magic Flute. Maybe you can find a cartoon version.

Coats. On the first floor, to your left as you enter the glass doors, is the coat check. Check your coat. I'm not sure if you skip it because you don't know the coat check exists or because you're too cheap to tip the guy manning the booth, but just do it. Maybe you like sitting in a narrow seat with your coat draped in your lap or sitting on it with it draped over the back of your seat, but the people behind you probably don't like having it hanging over their feet. I don't want to trip on it on my way in and out of my seat, and you would be much happier not having it with you. Trust me on this.

Hats. Gentlemen do not wear hats indoors. Ever.

Don Giovanni

The opera was wonderful.  The staging was simplistic (I confess to loving the lavish sets more) but worked well.  The principals were magnificent, though there were a couple of weak links in the minor parts.  It had abundant humor, which is important in a dark opera. The male singers were heavy on the baritones and basses and light on the tenors (I'm not a tenor fan).   As operas go, it was an A- in my book.

However, things always go wrong for me at Mozart operas.  For "The Marriage of
Figaro," I moved house and miscalculated timing, and so missed the opening opera of the 2003-4 season.  For "Abduction from the Seraglio" in the 2004-5 season, I was sick and to leave after the first or second act, because I was afraid I would pass out.  And so I was a little apprehensive last night, even entertaining freakish nightmares about miscarrying during the performance.  My good luck that didn't happen.

But I was stuck between the Amazing Allergy woman on my right and Romper Room to my left, one row back.  Between AA's snorts, wheezes, and sniffs, a six-year-old girl and her mother conversed about the opera. Loudly.  Pointed looks didn't work.  My evil "Luther Aaron" look didn't work.  It was awful -- and I haven't even gotten to the point where Mom decided to sing along!  I was waffling about trying to get an usher involved or simply having a talk with Mom during intermission when Mom and daughter left...loudly.  In the middle of an aria.  It was hideous! 

Thankfully, they didn't return after the first act, and by that point, AA didn't bother me much anymore.  I'm just in awe -- as much as I think you should get kids interested in the arts, why the opening night of a major opera, which is always the most formal?  Why would you pick a performance that would run until 11 PM?  (The Portland Symphony has Sunday afternoon concerts that would be perfect for kids.) And for Pete's sake, why Don Giovanni?  It's about a rake who rapes, seduces, lies, murders, and ends up getting dragged into hell by demons -- not exactly childhood fare, even allowing for the Harry Potter set.  And although we can assume the kid doesn't know Italian, those supertitles are there for anyone to read.  Sheesh. 

But the opera was lovely, and I doubt AA or Romper Room will be making a return appearance. There are at least two more performances left -- get tickets and go!