I walked into school on Monday morning, the morning after I saw New York City Opera's production of Candide, and was greeted by a few of friends who asked how I had liked Candide.  I could not think of a response.  I stared at them, completely mute, for a good minute until one of them repeated, "Sonia... how was Candide?"

 

"How was Candide?" I asked, "HOW was CANDIDE?  It was Voltaire's genius plus Bernstein's genius plus New York City Opera's production genius.  It was geniusly genius!"

 

"Right..." they all said, backing away slowly.  "'Geniusly genius...'"

 

My voice teacher, who was at a different performance, thought that the production was a bit "too much;" too long, too overdone, too big.  While I could possibly understand the complaint about the show's length, I wholeheartedly disagree that it is overdone.  In fact, I wholeheartedly disagree with any negative comment about this production.  In my mind, there is almost nothing that could detract from the genius of the music, the text, and the way New York City Opera put it all together.  In fact, I think that New York City Opera managed to perfectly compliment the absurdity of the text with the elaborate set, costumes and props.  I was a fan especially of the small stages on the big stage that allowed the different story lines to flow together very smoothly.

 

The "Note on Candide" in the program really spoke to the genius of both Voltaire and Bernstein.  The note describes the "conglomeration of tango, polka, mazurka, barcarolle, Neapolitan bel canto, Germanic Chorale" and the other types of music that Bernstein wrote into the score.  This mélange of genres helped highlight the radically different places that the characters travelled to, and the individualities of each character.  The paragraph on Candide (the novella, not the opera) made me laugh out loud during intermission.  It describes the meaning of the names Voltaire chose for his characters (i.e. Cunegonde from the Latin for "vulva.")  The only thing I could think after reading this note was, "Dear god, could these two men have been any more detail oriented?"  It's no small wonder that the amalgamation of these two works is so ridiculously perfect.

 

I feel like I have to say a thing or two about the singers.  At first I found the fact that they were all mic'ed a bit strange.  I know that Broadway singers tend to be mic'ed and it's not that this made me think any less of the singers, but the sound felt so out of place at the State Theater that I didn't quite know what to make of it at first.  Once I got used to it, however, I found the singers to be very impressive.  I've heard that it isn't easy for Broadway singers to make the transition into a sound that is more suited to an operetta.  If this is in fact the case, these singers did a praiseworthy job of it.  A few of them were also far younger than most singers you see onstage in an opera (Lauren Worsham, who plays Cunegonde, graduated from college in 2005!); I always find it extremely exciting to see young adults who are already so successful.

 

Candide's finale, "Make Our Garden Grow," is really one of the most beautiful things I have ever heard.  It is the perfect way to end an operetta that is abundant with firework-y and hilarious musical numbers ("Glitter and Be Gay," "The Old Lady's Tale"). "Make Our Garden Grow" juxtaposes perfectly with all of these; it is beautiful, simply and unarguably beautiful.  I'm not a particularly sentimental person, but this song always makes me a bit teary, and seeing it live made me that much more emotional.

 

This is the best of all possible music, the best of all possible novellas, and the best of all possible productions.  See it.  Seriously.

I will preface this entry by saying that I have an unwarranted but fairly strong aversion to Puccini's music.  I went to New York City Opera's production of Madama Butterfly feeling apprehensive about the experience.  I wondered how I would be able to sit through three hours of Puccini when I could hardly listen to three arias in a row at home.  I was pleasantly surprised to find myself enjoying almost every minute of Madama Butterfly.  I will not chalk this up to the music -- my Puccini aversion is still alive and well -- but the incredible singing and the striking lighting and sets made it all seem worthwhile.

 

I was not particularly blown away by the first scene.  I think this is because, having never seen this opera live before, I found the affectation of Japanese mannerisms and customs to be slightly awkward and very strange.  I found myself wondering if the opera would make any sense at all if it was set in another time period, or a different country.  I later decided that no, it absolutely would not, but it was an interesting thought all the same.  The love scene at the end of the first act captivated me; the floating orchestral and vocal music with the white costumes against the indigo sets were so incredibly striking, both aurally and visually.

 

Madama Butterfly is one of New York City Opera's most popular and most praised productions; this could explain why I noticed so many tourists in the lobby at intermission.  It was fairly exciting to see people from so many different countries at one performance in New York.

 

The second act began as enticingly as the first act ended.  Madama Butterfly's big aria, "Un Bel Di" was sung superbly and acted so delicately that it really blew the audience away.  The applause lasted a good while longer than any other ovations I can remember at New York City Opera.

 

The visuals in the second act were what really made this show special for me.  I was shocked by how effectively they used lighting, props and the set to convey the different emotions that Butterfly was feeling.  From the shower of rose petals on the ivory sheet during the excitement of the flower duet, to the red sun that lit up the stage when Butterfly stood waiting in vain for Pinkerton; and finally, the simplicity and slight disarray of the set when Madama Butterfly finally decides to take her own life.