*~*ciao adriana: ascolta mi dispiace dirtelo ma opera chic mi ha detto che non vuole restare con te ma rimanete cmq amici*~*
Ew. Just ew...to last night's secondary production of Adriana Lecouvreur at Teatro alla Scala. I actually went last night only to see if La Scala had implemented my request to place little tippy miniature toy dogs in little ruffled collars to run frantically throughout the scenes. But my demands were not met, and imho the artistic integrity of this production is suffering gr8ly. gr8ly.
OC left after Act III's spendid ballet scene, an outted junkie for ephemeral moments of elegance and grace. And I knew that if I *really* needed a fix, at the OC Headquarters awaited the Adriana Decca Tebaldi/Del Monaco/Simionato Santa Cecilia recording. (Will the real Adriana Lecouvreur please stand up?) heh
I strolled down to La Scala casual -- as most of the La Scala Milan boujie contingent is still off cavorting and skiing in the mountains -- in dark rinse str8 leg Lucien Pellat Finet jeans, topped with a black/white gingham Chloe blouse, Tod's black ballerina mocs, and a vintage Pringle black cashmere cardigan to combat chills. yay.
Irene Cerboncini appeared in Act I in a completely different dress than our lady of the bewbs Daniela Dessì had donned for la prima. Whereas Dessì looked like a hot mess, Cerboncini (having a few inches on her), was in a more conservative gown (with a much higher neckline), sans golden knickers. Aria “Io son l'umile ancella” was another hot mess, and Cerboncini could have benefited from more warm-up time. The audience responded with lukewarm applause and not a single brava was hurled from the loggione (although I don’t think any of the loggione regulars would have been caught dead there last night). But Cerboncini's acting was engaging, and she worked it with a less fierce bent than Dessì. The chemistry between Mario Malagnini's Maurizio and Cerboncini was superficial, and they did those lame, obscured neck-kisses circa Hollywood 1940.
Act II's "Acerba voluttà…O vagabonda stella" from Principessa di Bouillon's secondary Anna Smirnova was, well, it was. Act III's ballet greeted me again with that awesome puffy cloud machine, that I would totally buy and put in the house and ride like every day, but it probably uses-up too much electricity, which is as precious as saffron or kopi luwak ‘round these parts.
Act IV had the fragrant Milan air slapping me in the face. cya! peace in the middle east! From here I promise myself no more sloppy seconds. Play or get played…