It was a busy week, what with the Doobie Brothers/Chicago concert Wednesday and the opera Friday and the Pride Parade Sunday.
Let's start with Friday. Anne planned the Opera evening, becuase she's been to the opera several times before. I've only been once, with Mom, some time in the early seventies. It was in the days of the St. Louis Municipal Opera, before the current Opera Theater of Saint Louis. Mom and I saw Die Fledermaus. I remember it was funny, and that I was perplexed that an obviously English opera had a funny German-sounding name. (They translate the opera for us here in Saint Louis, and even then they still project the subtitles on the wall. I suppose they do that everywhere in America.)
Anne planned for simply lovely weather, and we took advantage of all the opera trappings: the valet parking, the pre-opera picnic lunch in the garden, the pre-opera liquor, the desserts, and the flunkys who flank every door and open it when they see you headed their way.
Anne also scored us primo seats, Dead Center, mezzanine. Seats so good that the General Director of the Opera came by to schmooze with the people in the seats right next to us.
Lovely weather, lovely company, lovely venue, lovely seats. The opera itself? Was it Kafka-esque? Why yes, it was, since it was an opera based on Kafka's The Trial. Was it atonal? Why yes, since it was Phillip Glass' adaptation of Kafka's The Trial. Was it elevating? No, but it was interesting. And the music which underlay the meandering libretto was very lovely, and ominous. Anne commented."We can't expect the libretto to have a resolution, since the story probably won't."
And, it had quite a few funny moments, because underwear is funny in any genre. And there was some great work with staging and shadows. And there were and menacing minor characters that just stood on stage and judged. The costuming went full chiaroscuro: there were seven shades of grey and exactly one gold coverlet.
The work itself was a nice counterpoint to the lovely evening. I will admit, it was hard to buy in to Kafka's rage against the system while the system was working so well for us, what with the lovely cocktails on a lovely summer night at the opera.
Just buying you off! OK, I'm jealous.
Posted by: Hattie | June 27, 2017 at 02:12 AM
This sounds quite lovely. I might be willing to go to an opera if I could get all the stuff you got along with it - valet parking, lunch, drinks, servants.
I bought tickets to the opera last year - my husband loves opera, but I am not so keen on it. I spent about an hour on the phone being convinced by the opera salesman to buy the tickets. The seats turned out to be lousy - we couldn't see a crucial part of the stage. This was a traditional opera but updated. The cast performed entirely in bare feet, on sand. If one is going to see off-the-wall opera, one needs to see the whole scene.
Posted by: Common Household Mom | June 27, 2017 at 03:02 PM
Hattie - Well, you should be. It was lovely.
Common Household Mom - Oh, that's bogus. The salesman should have warned you!
Posted by: theQueen | June 29, 2017 at 08:32 AM