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Boheme -- details
May. 3rd, 2003 09:17 amOne of the things that doesn't always amuse the people I know, is the sudden and particular importance certain things in my life can take on. The punchline, though, has always been that what galls, is my ability to let the experience hit me in such a way, that it seems all and entirely well deserved for me to have built up in such a way in my mind.
I waited on line a bloody long time for those tickets yesterday. Longer than was necessary, but I'd never done ticket rush before and I wanted to be sure it worked, especially since Amanda has a limited amount of time here. And so I sat on the concrete for hours, alternately and together with both Kat and Amanda and conversing with a lovely and strange boy who was seeing the show for, I believe, the ninth time. I saw the playbills get delivered for the night, and the armoured car come 'round to get money from the boxoffice for deposit, and the laundry drop off the freshly cleaned costumes.
In the background of this was the 24/7 video loop about the production, which engraved not just a particular aria into my head, but certain phrases by the production team -- something that went from funny to annoying and back several times. Perhaps most delightful though was watching people interact with said video loop. People would lean against the wall where these monitors were to make cell phone calls, only to jump away and scream when all of a sudden there is opera, very loudly in their ear. Others would stop to watch, some shaking their head at it, others, seemingly unlikely, utterly transfixed. I don't know enough about opera to know why or when it's become something of a secret vice, but it seems in a lot of ways like it has -- and I think part of that, other than a discomfort with classical forms in American pop culture, is that it's just not ironic enough. And thank heavens.
When we finally got the tickets, at 6pm, I made the profoundly stupid decision, despite a really cloudy sky, to go check my email. "Don't worry," I said to Amanda, "it's not going to rain, the air hasn't changed." And then it did. Downpour. Deluge. And I hate rain, hate water I can't control splashing on my face. Hate being soaked through. The results of this were that I ran five blocks in the rain to a Duane Reade to get stockings to go with my dress and an umbrella and changed for the theater in a McDonalds bathroom, having something close to a panic attack on an off through that entire process. This was important to me, it was not going according to plan, and my hair had exploded.
As I mentioned earlier I believe in looking nice for the theater. I believe theater is a communal experience and we are all obligated to serve our parts in it as well as we might. For audience this means being polite, attentive and well-groomed in a manner appropriate to the occassion. This doesn't mean a new dress for every show or any show or expensive tickets (as someone posited in the debate in a previous post). I saw Boheme last night for $21.25 in a lovely red dress that was both appropriate and festive that I bought several months ago for $10. Theater is in part what we make of it, and people who stubbornly refuse to believe this, or that grace and comfort are both possible on a limited budget drive me up the wall. The world has expectations of us, and this is not always a bad thing.
Anyway, I had a bit of a freak out, which really wasn't about the above digression, but somehow, we got to the theater in time, my hair wasn't the worst it's ever been, my dress didn't have any spots on it, and my body language returned to something resembling a happy, confident, and slightly absurdist woman, which is about how I want it on most occassions.
Because the curtain never closes during Boheme (something that could probably bear a few paragraphs of analysis in and of itself), we did not have that incredible moment of sudden dark, where we all take a collective breath and wait as we do, pressed back into our seats as when the airplane takes off. But that is my only complaint (and one purely about my own pleasures) regarding the unbelieveable sets -- which not just looked incredible but were so clearly an amazing feat not just of technology, but of logic and math. Obviously, I think we've all known Catherine Martin is an incredible designer, but I don't think I've ever been so knocked over by something aesthetically and logistically that all I could do was mutter, "what a mind" in several places.
The sets also swallowed us up, being in the front row, as they were built out and around and into the boxes, so we had balconies surrounding us, lights overhead, and while it made for some awkward viewing and sore necks, was utterly charming, perhaps the most so that when during the parade segment of the second act, a cannon of streamers is fired at the audience. We laughed, as some of them made it off the stage towards us, but then all of a sudden there are streamers being tossed onto our heads by actors on those set balconies for what seems like minutes, and it goes on and on, and we just sat there I think, every single one of us, agape and laughing in wonderment at these strange blessings.
Of course, Boheme, being what it is, is also devastating, and while much has been made of the acting ability of the performers, I hadn't expected it to be as good and raw and emotional and true as it turned out to be. God bless people who can cry and cry ugly and cry real in service to the story and its characters. I sobbed through most of Act 4 (although not its hysterical opening which once again demonstrated the really delightful chemistry between the boys playing the Bohemians) and so did most of the audience I suspect, in whatever degree to which they do these things.
Those weren't the only moments I cried during the show. But that other business, was perhaps mine alone. I have always prayed in the dark, and have always been grateful to witness the talismans of others.
I waited on line a bloody long time for those tickets yesterday. Longer than was necessary, but I'd never done ticket rush before and I wanted to be sure it worked, especially since Amanda has a limited amount of time here. And so I sat on the concrete for hours, alternately and together with both Kat and Amanda and conversing with a lovely and strange boy who was seeing the show for, I believe, the ninth time. I saw the playbills get delivered for the night, and the armoured car come 'round to get money from the boxoffice for deposit, and the laundry drop off the freshly cleaned costumes.
In the background of this was the 24/7 video loop about the production, which engraved not just a particular aria into my head, but certain phrases by the production team -- something that went from funny to annoying and back several times. Perhaps most delightful though was watching people interact with said video loop. People would lean against the wall where these monitors were to make cell phone calls, only to jump away and scream when all of a sudden there is opera, very loudly in their ear. Others would stop to watch, some shaking their head at it, others, seemingly unlikely, utterly transfixed. I don't know enough about opera to know why or when it's become something of a secret vice, but it seems in a lot of ways like it has -- and I think part of that, other than a discomfort with classical forms in American pop culture, is that it's just not ironic enough. And thank heavens.
When we finally got the tickets, at 6pm, I made the profoundly stupid decision, despite a really cloudy sky, to go check my email. "Don't worry," I said to Amanda, "it's not going to rain, the air hasn't changed." And then it did. Downpour. Deluge. And I hate rain, hate water I can't control splashing on my face. Hate being soaked through. The results of this were that I ran five blocks in the rain to a Duane Reade to get stockings to go with my dress and an umbrella and changed for the theater in a McDonalds bathroom, having something close to a panic attack on an off through that entire process. This was important to me, it was not going according to plan, and my hair had exploded.
As I mentioned earlier I believe in looking nice for the theater. I believe theater is a communal experience and we are all obligated to serve our parts in it as well as we might. For audience this means being polite, attentive and well-groomed in a manner appropriate to the occassion. This doesn't mean a new dress for every show or any show or expensive tickets (as someone posited in the debate in a previous post). I saw Boheme last night for $21.25 in a lovely red dress that was both appropriate and festive that I bought several months ago for $10. Theater is in part what we make of it, and people who stubbornly refuse to believe this, or that grace and comfort are both possible on a limited budget drive me up the wall. The world has expectations of us, and this is not always a bad thing.
Anyway, I had a bit of a freak out, which really wasn't about the above digression, but somehow, we got to the theater in time, my hair wasn't the worst it's ever been, my dress didn't have any spots on it, and my body language returned to something resembling a happy, confident, and slightly absurdist woman, which is about how I want it on most occassions.
Because the curtain never closes during Boheme (something that could probably bear a few paragraphs of analysis in and of itself), we did not have that incredible moment of sudden dark, where we all take a collective breath and wait as we do, pressed back into our seats as when the airplane takes off. But that is my only complaint (and one purely about my own pleasures) regarding the unbelieveable sets -- which not just looked incredible but were so clearly an amazing feat not just of technology, but of logic and math. Obviously, I think we've all known Catherine Martin is an incredible designer, but I don't think I've ever been so knocked over by something aesthetically and logistically that all I could do was mutter, "what a mind" in several places.
The sets also swallowed us up, being in the front row, as they were built out and around and into the boxes, so we had balconies surrounding us, lights overhead, and while it made for some awkward viewing and sore necks, was utterly charming, perhaps the most so that when during the parade segment of the second act, a cannon of streamers is fired at the audience. We laughed, as some of them made it off the stage towards us, but then all of a sudden there are streamers being tossed onto our heads by actors on those set balconies for what seems like minutes, and it goes on and on, and we just sat there I think, every single one of us, agape and laughing in wonderment at these strange blessings.
Of course, Boheme, being what it is, is also devastating, and while much has been made of the acting ability of the performers, I hadn't expected it to be as good and raw and emotional and true as it turned out to be. God bless people who can cry and cry ugly and cry real in service to the story and its characters. I sobbed through most of Act 4 (although not its hysterical opening which once again demonstrated the really delightful chemistry between the boys playing the Bohemians) and so did most of the audience I suspect, in whatever degree to which they do these things.
Those weren't the only moments I cried during the show. But that other business, was perhaps mine alone. I have always prayed in the dark, and have always been grateful to witness the talismans of others.
