This past Tuesday, I left after my final class prepared to go see Candide.  (My preparation involved meeting up with a dear friend and grabbing dinner.)  As we entered the lobby of the theater, I thought back to my experience at Candide's final, non-dress rehearsal: directors conferring at the production table, cast members plopping down with a book after an extravagant musical number, ensemble members chatting quietly on the sidelines.  Remember how I said that the show was mesmerizing with virtually no set, costumes, or props?

 

When I entered the theater, I was overcome with immense anticipation.  What would the set look like, since the show is already so appealing by itself?  The set, as it turned out, succeeded in engaging the audience even more.  In this production of Candide, the story is presented as if by a troupe of traveling actors on a pageant wagon.  The effect is very welcoming; the production fully embraces the fact that we are all sitting in a darkened room to watch a story.  In fact, the cast walks through the audience at many times during the performance!

 

Out of the troupe of players comes Richard Kind, who narrates as well as plays various roles.  In a recent interview, Kind said that he wanted to focus on making clear the drastic changes in plot throughout the story of Candide; he succeeded with flying colors!  Even as a longtime fan of Candide, I have never understood the story more.

 

The rest of the cast of characters are just as strong: Daniel Reichard wins hearts as a tenderly oblivious Candide, Lauren Worsham and Judith Blazer are equally hilarious as two generations of spunky beauties, and the juxtaposition of Kyle Pfortmiller's beautiful baritone and youthful antics was hysterical.  One of my favorite standout performances was that of Jessica Wright as Paquette.  Maybe it was the surprising power and timbre of her voice, maybe it was her naïve playfulness, but I look forward to seeing more from her.

 

For all of you who have yet to see Candide, be sure to check out New York City Opera's Opera-For-All program.  You get to sit in the first two-three rows of the entire theater for only 25 dollars!  If you sit in the first couple rows, the cast will walk right by you, and if you're lucky, Richard Kind might just sit on your lap!  As for me, I'll be seeing Candide again next week!

Despite my love of Verdi, I had never really gotten to know his final opera, Falstaff.  The day before the performance, I had an impromptu conversation with New York City Opera dramaturg, Cori Ellison, about the events in Verdi's life surrounding his final composition.  I learned that Verdi was eighty years old when the opera premiered; he collaborated via mail with librettist (and composer in his own right -- see his opera Mefistofele) Arrigo Boito, from his home in Sant'Agata, Italy.  People criticized his supposed inability to write a comic opera because his first and only other attempt, his early Un Giorno di Regno, was a rather large flop.  Story has it Verdi himself was sitting in the orchestra pit on the night of the premiere performance of Un Giorno, and he heard the audience's negative reaction.  (Yikes!)  To save himself any further embarrassment (at eighty, no less), his writing of Falstaff was a confidential matter.  The opera went on to be a solid success, proving that the master of the tragic opera could, in fact, lighten up.

 

I was very excited to get to know Verdi's light side.  I always love seizing the opportunity to experience with a fresh palate something others have revered since long before me.  Such was the case last Thursday night.  I brought my dear friend Adam, a vocal performance major at New School's Mannes College of Music.  He was already familiar with the opera, and he was just as excited as I was.  I knew that was a good sign. 

 

The cast was, across the board, a line-up of fully-realized characters, whacky, zany, and delightful.  Jan Opalach began singing opera to play this role, or so it would seem from the panache he exuded as he relished John Falstaff's élan.  Other standouts included Ursula Ferri as Mistress Quickly, a performance so crystal clear and hilarious, I forgot that she was singing -- and in Italian.  Adam was particularly impressed by Stephen Powell's chops as Ford and Pamela Armstrong's Alice.

 

What I liked most about the production was the set.  Simple but effective, its two main walls were visually appealing, yet neutral enough for the numerous ways they would be employed throughout the performance.  After growing accustomed to the largely interior locales of the first two acts, the set for Act Three's night scene seemed especially pleasing: a mammoth tree dimly lit center stage with the moon above.

 

The opera itself thrilled me.  It was structured in such a way that the action was constantly unfolding, often at the breakneck speed of farce.  Maybe it was the fact that Adam and I had just seen the Metropolitan Opera's Tristan und Isolde two nights prior, but we looked at each other in shock at the end of the night, both completely astounded at how quickly an entire opera had flown by.

 

Cori had one more thought on Falstaff that I have saved for the end, because it's my favorite: Verdi's farewell to his audience is anything but solemn.  The opera ends with a fugue, "Tutto nel mondo é burla," that says, "Everything on earth is a joke, everyone on earth is a fool."  I love imagining the eighty-year-old Verdi putting down his fountain pen after completing the fugue, knowing full well the final message from the master of tragedy.

Last week, I got to watch the final rehearsal run-through of Candide, and I am so excited for this production to open!  If you couldn't tell by the gushing in my Madama Butterfly entry, I love Candide.  It appeals to lovers of both opera and musical theatre, but not only that -- it appeals to lovers of wit, sarcasm, laughter, fast action, beautiful music, and madcap adventure!

 

Lauren Worsham was playing Cunegonde at the rehearsal I attended; she, Daniel Reichard and Richard Kind all seemed to be having as much fun playing the roles as I had watching them.  I was also incredibly impressed by the supporting players; they made the entire show a delight.

 

In the rehearsal room, with no set, no costumes, bright rehearsal room lights, and people milling about, Candide still had me grinning, and still had me hooked.  I'll let you all know how the final product is once I've seen it on opening night!

 

 

I brought my friend, Michael, a film student, to Madama Butterfly this Sunday.  His only previous opera experience was seeing John Adams' Doctor Atomic at the San Francisco Opera when it was first commissioned: he didn't like the music of Doctor Atomic.  I wondered how Butterfly, a staple of opera repertoire everywhere, would fare with him.

 

Butterfly's first moment relaxed me into the production with its sheer appropriateness.  At lights up, we see Pinkerton approaching the house he has just leased from Goro, the marriage broker, who is with him -- in silhouette!  The effect is reminiscent of Byobu, the Japanese art of screen painting.  Once the screen doors separating the audience from the action are opened, though, we realize that the set for the jagged incline to the house is, incongruously, a set of neat steps painted sky blue.  Once screen doors appear on the upstage side of the house, however, the space seems comfortably transformed into an effectively intimate playing space.

 

As Benjamin Franklin Pinkerton, James Valenti sang with a clear, ringing top; his youthful energy translated well for Pinkerton's childishness.  Shu-Ying Li displayed a great handle on the role of Cio-Cio-San (her bio says that since 2002, she has sung in over twenty productions of the opera), singing with intensity and a beautiful pianissimo that only got better into as the performance went on.  Standout moments for me included the juvenile way Pinkerton rolled on the floor out of excitement at the prospect of meeting his bride, and Cio-Cio San's hilarious description of American divorce court.

After the opera, Michael and I had a conversation about what he had just seen:

 

Me: What would you say was your favorite element of the performance today?

 

Michael:  I really liked how they did the lighting of the sun and the color changing.

 

Me:  What would you say was the element that you most had trouble connecting to?

 

Michael:  I don't really listen to classical music.  I get interested when I hear about a Philip Glass opera or a Steve Reich opera, but that's the extent of my classical music taste -- very modern, very specific.  As for this, I feel like I am seeing it but not fully appreciating it because it is such an acquired taste.

 

Me:  What about this new exposure to opera intrigued you?

 

Michael:  What really appealed to me was that it reminded me of film.  There was something that felt kind of cinematic about watching that opera, because there's music all the way through.  And like a movie, there's music all the way through to carry your emotions, even when they're just walking around and not singing.  That was interesting.

 

Me:  What, to you, is the biggest difference (aside from obvious differences) between taking in an opera versus taking in a movie?

 

Michael:  In film, you're sitting up close and it's easier to get immersed into that other world.  With opera, there's a lot of exposition to build to the last act when you are really into the character and their struggle.  People are impatient; that's probably why less young people are seeing plays and operas.  We are the generation of the moving image; for instance, I just mentioned the sun.  I just mentioned how I liked the sun and how the color of the lighting changed; that's the result of putting the audience into this world of the character.  She was at that sunrise and the music was playing and the sun slowly changed color.  That was like her waiting and going through all of those emotions.  You could feel it and see it without her singing it and saying it.  That's what I like about film; there's less focus on talking, on saying what it is.  It's more about showing the audience what it is.

 

Me:  What about opera could you see yourself growing more loyal to with time and more exposure?

 

Michael:  The music.  My music taste is always changing, shaping, evolving.  When there's music playing throughout and there's someone singing their emotions, I like that.  I love music; it's such a big influence on me.  Music plays to your emotions, and so do non-musical plays.  

 

I agree that opera is a very different experience than any other performance event.  When I saw my first opera, Puccini's La Bohème, I was -- more than anything -- intrigued; it was not an obsession at first glance.  After exploring it further, my mere curiosity grew to devotion.  When I went to see Bohème, I had already acquainted myself with the music; it was the experience of live opera in front of me that was unfamiliar.  My biggest advice to Michael and anyone else who might be exploring opera for the first time is simply this: listen to the music before you go.  If you are planning on going to a concert, it usually helps if you know what kind of band is playing.

 

Also, for any opera beginners (and/or devotees), see Candide!  It's ridiculously funny and Bernstein's score is simply to die for.  If any of you do go out and buy the CD or borrow it from the library, some standout songs are "The Best of All Possible Worlds," "Glitter and Be Gay," and "Make our Garden Grow."  I am going to observe my first rehearsal of Candide soon; I'll let you all know the scoop!