Sunday, November 10, 2013

Two Boys, One Disturbing Opera

Two Boys
Metropolitan Opera
Saturday, Nov 9, 8PM

So I finally made it over to Lincoln Center for my first opera of the 2013-14 season, the American premier of Nico Muhly’s, Two Boys, loosely based on events surrounding a 2001 murder in Manchester, England.

First off, I gotta’ give the Met credit for trying to lure the young’ens into the opera house.  It was positively Twilight Zone-ish seeing those hallowed, red-carpeted staircases (usually overrun by gray-haired socialites and frumpy opera queens - moi included!) swarming with nattily dressed 20 and 30-somethings. 

Obviously, the subject matter (a murder perpetrated through internet fraud with homo-erotic and pedophilic overtones) is the stuff our TMZ-obsessed youth go wild over.  But as the opera unfolded, it occurred to me that this type of techno-identity crime is just a natural progression from the masked sexual hijinks of a Figaro or Così.

More amusing to me was hearing opera singers belt out strings of profanity and modern sexual slang (examples: “he just blew me” “I told you, seven and a half inches”) with such glorious tone from the immense Met stage – not to mention simulated masturbation.  I’ll admit to suppressing an occasional giggle due to the SNL skit-like anachronism of it all.

Though I enjoyed the performance as a whole and, for the most part, riveted by the bizarre intricacies of the story, I found much of the solo writing melodically unsatisfying.  The orchestrations are appropriately atmospheric and moody but too often sound like the soundtrack to an Alfred Hitchcock movie a la Philip Glass. This lack of variety in orchestral texture and musical tempi created a sometimes gorgeous hypnotic quality; but just as often lulled me into drowsiness.  But then again I’m a sucker for a big ole Puccini aria.

The full ensemble numbers, however, are just f*&cking gorgeous.  It’s in these interludes that Muhly’s gift for musical texture and harmony truly shines.  Instead of the obvious use of electronic sounds (cue "Axel F" from Beverly Hills Cop.  Anyone, anyone?  Bueller, Bueller?) to signify online chatter, Muhly uses overlapping choruses and purely acoustic instrumentation to create an almost undulating wall of sound that perfectly symbolizes the amorphous fluidity of cyberland.

Alice Coote has a warm blanket of a mezzo voice that you just want to wrap yourself up in.  She’s a great, natural actress onstage as well.

Paul Appleby had the daunting task of portraying a 15-year-old teen murderer and pretty impressively pulls off the physicality and mannerisms.  And though he’s only 30, his voice fills the Met’s barn of a theatre.  It will be interesting to see how the voice develops over the next decade or so.

A boy soprano performed the role of the 12-year-old victim which definitely upped the ick factor in some of the bedroom scenes.  But not to worry, nothing was actually simulated onstage, just a lot of innuendo and awkward intimacy.

It was nice to see the Met step into this century with the tasteful use of projections to enhance the bare, minimalist set and staging.  


The choreography was interesting, if a bit bizarre.  I mean, I get it.  Ballet wouldn't exactly be appropriate, but the jerky movement felt a tad Spring Awakening-y to me.

Addendum 11/25:  I totally failed to mention that the young boy soprano, Andrew Pulver, is a Pineda Lyric Opera Young Artist and was a featured soloist in our recent production of The Magic Flute.  Congratulations, Andrew!  And pat on the back to Pineda Conservatory.

Monday, November 4, 2013

Fun Home

Fun Home
Public Theatre
Sunday, Nov 3, 3PM

I can't believe it's been nearly a month since I last enjoyed a live theatre performance.  Sure, I get plenty of show biz pizzaz during my workouts at Mark Fisher Fitness, but even buff trainers in red bikini briefs and top hats can't replace this theatre queen's need to hear a Broadway diva belt out a show tune live.

What, pray tell, could possibly counteract the elevated testosterone levels coursing through my body from three weeks of deadlifting and split squatting?  Why, an old fashioned, downtown lesbian musical, of course!

As my close friends know, I love any entertainment mode that can move me to tears - preferably a really good ugly cry.  I consider these moments therapy, since my limited budget doesn't allow me the conventional office and couch setting needed to heal my undoubtedly damaged psyche.  But that's a topic for another post.

Earlier in the week I had bumped into friend and Playbill reporter, Michael Gioia, and actor, George Salazar, on the N train (on my way to a work out, no less, and on their way to a matinee of Spider-Man - don't judge, they were seeing a friend who was going into the show that day).  They assured me that Fun Home would fulfill all my ugly crying needs.

Perhaps my expectations were set too high (aside from my friend's recommendation, the show has garnered across-the-board rave reveiws).  Or perhaps I was just too physically tired and emotionally drained from weeks of heavy exercise and food depravation.  Whatever the reason, I found myself disappointingly dry-eyed by the end of the performance.

Not that I wasn't moved.  The show is beautifully written and acted with a sincerity and uncloying earnestness rarely seen on uptown stages.  And the score is probably Tesori's best since Violet (which, incidentally is being revived on Broadway next year with Sutton Foster. Yay!).  It feels and sounds contemporary, but without the familiar pseudo-pop/rock/folk sound that Jason Robert Brown does so well and that seemingly every theatre composer under the age of 40 tries to duplicate (most, unsuccessfully).

I did come close to having a Kleenex moment during my favorite songs of the show.  After having her first sexual experience with a women, the main character, Alison (played by three different actresses at different ages), sings unabashedly about how she could happily spend the rest of her life in bed with this woman who took her heart (and virginity).  I was smiling so hard my cheeks ached and I had to hold back tears of joy over this awkward teenager's moment of self discovery.  Or maybe I was too closely identifying with the denial and confusion I experienced in my own awkward youth.  Again, a topic for another day, or more appropriately, a therapist's couch.

The three characters playing Alison are all sensational.  Though I definitely now have a show boner for Alexandra Socha's geeky, sexually-confused college-aged Alison.  I just wanted to run up on stage and give her a big hug and tell her everything was going to be OK.

And Hallelujah!  Judy Kuhn finally gets to show off her soprano voice again.  The theatre dork in me still thinks lovingly of my first Broadway show, Les Miserables, and jizzing over Ms. Kuhn's floated high C.  You never forget your first time.  As put-upon wife, Kuhn's character could have easily come off as an annoying bitch.  But Kuhn lends a humanity and vulnerability to the character's seemingly cold facade.

Michael Cerveris is, as usual, giving a flawless performance of yet another oddball outsider.  He seems to be Broadway's go-to guy to play creepers who look like they might molest your child.

And I have to give a great big "thank you" to an old college friend, Margie Kotler Hinsdale (whose super talented and adorable son happens to be in the cast).  She was able to hook me up with a discount code for a great seat at the last minute.
"I'd rather be nine people's favorite thing thana hundred people's ninth favorite thing."

Jeff Bowen, Lyrics "[Title of Show]"