Saturday, November 21, 2009
Then I moved to Chicago.
Lest that sound too much like Mecca, I will admit that Chicago is not exactly a world-renowned center for the operatic arts - that honor is reserved for places like New York and Milan - but it does have an opera house, with a resident opera company, and it performs regularly. It also has a student rush ticket program by which a student can get tickets that don't sell for $20. On the main floor. So, naturally, I bit.
I went to see Giuseppe Verdi's Ernani, which is not a well-known opera, but I've always preferred the slightly less conventional. So I bought my ticket a week or two in advance, dressed up (rocking the vest, as usual), and took the Metra downtown. I managed to find the Civic Opera House (stage pictured above) and obtain my ticket with little difficulty. I sat in row W, right side, on the main floor (that picture above is my view from that seat). Not too shabby for $20. Damned uncomfortable seat, though. I suspect they're original to the building (1920s - and you think I'm kidding but I'm not).
As we waited for the first act to begin, I couldn't help but listen to the couple behind me (I was surrounded by couples, it seemed, and wished I had brought my other half along, but he wasn't interested in seeing Ernani). The guy sitting behind me was Italian, the girl American, both obviously students who, like me, had gotten their tickets through the rush program, which is open to all the universities in Chicago (there are quite a few). Although the girl sounded a bit ditzy, she was having a fairly intelligent conversation with her boyfriend (who, despite being Italian, had never been to an opera before) about opera and such. But then the conversation turned to dancing and she mentioned that she had taken dance lessons at one point. She had learned the samba, the rumba, the cha-cha, and the Vietnamese waltz.
"Vietnamese?" he asked.
Maybe it was Venetian, she mused.
He hadn't ever heard of a Venetian waltz either.
It was supposed to be very graceful and dignified, she said.
Silence. Then: "Do you mean Viennese?"
And curtain. (Except not really, because minutes later she tapped me on the shoulder and asked if I could take a picture of her and her boyfriend in their seats. I gladly obliged, though I think they'll find that the dignity of being at the opera doesn't really come across in a poorly lit, over-flashed photo of two white people in dark clothing. None of my business, though.)
At last the curtain rose, and Ernani began. Two intermissions and three hours later I stumbled out into the night. It was a fairly good performance. The soprano who played Elvira (Sondra Radvanovsky, an American) was without a doubt the best part. The central difficulty of opera - and the way in which, in my limited experience, I have seen the most opera performers fail - is that you have to sing and act. Not one or the other, both. Radvanovsky did it, and well - her three males counterparts were all rather wooden by comparison. I won't presume to judge their singing, since I don't know the score well enough, but whenever Elvira was on stage I looked at her, even if someone else was singing, because she was the most interesting thing going on. And the audience agreed with me - Ms. Radvanovsky got far more applause than any of the other performers.
Now the plot, in my humble opinion, is not terribly convincing - though I'll let you read the synopsis and decide for yourself - and I would have been perfectly happy had the entire fourth act been cut. Ernani is one of Verdi's early operas, though I find fault not with the music (which was plenty interesting) but with the libretto, mainly some of the jumps in the plot. We are forced to "suspend our disbelief" in places, and when you combine some singers who don't act very well with a plot that feels forced, you can have trouble. But in any case, I can say I've seen Ernani, I've been to Chicago Civic Opera House, and I had a lovely time. There are some excellent performances coming up in early 2010 - who wants to join me to see Faust?
Saturday, November 7, 2009
And sometimes one is the invitee - as I was for the second time since I've moved here. One of my friends won two tickets to a Chicago Cultural Center tour of Chicago's Greektown, and invited me to join him. We hadn't seen each other since I last visited him in April, and I had a (homemade) scarf to give him, so I said yes. Also, lunch was included. Who am I to turn down authentic Greek food?
After I found my way to the cultural center - conveniently located across the street from the terminus of my Metra line - we loaded onto a bus and my friend began wondering if he could hit on the tour coordinator, a mildly good looking Greek guy (if you go for that sort of thing - I pegged him as straight from minute 1). Pondering this question, we drove to the church above, which is actually the Greek Orthodox Annunciation Cathedral, despite the modest exterior. (I don't have interior photos because I felt that would be disrespectful, but to give you an idea, here's a photo that the internet kindly provided upon request.) Although not terribly large, Annunciation Cathedral is a very attractive building inside, replete with mosaics, painted walls, chandeliers, and all manner of lovely things. It makes all but the most baroque of American Catholic churches seem dull by comparison - though it is the seat of an archbishiopric, so I suppose I should check out Chicago's Catholic cathedral before I make that kind of judgment. Ooops, too late.
We returned from our rather entertaining walk and visited a museum displaying art by Greek-Americans; one of the exhibits was focused on Cyprus, a situation I know only a little about. As I understand it, the Turks invaded Cyprus to protect the Turkish minority there from the depredations of the Greek majority, but the Turkish solution was to divide Cyprus politically, which made no one happy. Fortunately for the future of world peace, I know a candle store in Greektown with the solution to this problem in a bottle. Just be careful - those contents are under pressure. Do not expose to heat or store at temperatures above 120 degrees. Keep out of the reach of children and shake well before using. And remember not to point it at yourself.