Opera Chic

Don Carlo at La Scala...The Final Verdict

O how O.C. wishes she could serenade you with luxurious, exciting tales from this year's Teatro alla Scala opening night premiere, but then she'd have to fabricate some insane tall tale about how the singing was stellar & the direction was brilliant & the casting was sublime and half-naked co-eds straight from the pages of Bruce Weber's A&F Quarterlies whisked her from her Bentley into her palco and tipped her sips of Hennessy Cognac from her silver & crocodile Prada flask. None of that happened. Instead, OC passed the holiday of Sant'Ambrogio witnessing one of the most depressing and anticlimactic opening night in recent memory.

Palazzo Marino was done up in Christmas lights covering the windows, absent of all the flashy love it was kissed with last year. Not many celebrities bothered begging for tickets to the ultra-VIP event, but instead we saw more skanks and old men in smoking, and loads of politicians that must have been gifted with tickets for their support of March 2008's winning bid for Milan's victory in Expo 2015.

By contrast to the night of suckage, OC spent a relaxing afternoon strolling around the ritzy (and packed) sidewalks of via Monte Napoleone, Via Sant'Andrea, and Via della Spiga, where she coincidentally saw Scala GM Stephan Lissner (unmistakable quaff of gray hair) plus female accomplice enjoying the windows. Then she shopped-up a lovely appetite for lunch at BiCE, where many of Milan's society fakers&shakers were also enjoying a moment of respite before the drama-infused la prima. Spotted at BiCE was that scarily plastic man of the eternally relaxed brow, Renato Balestra, and OC almost tossed her insalata di carciofi to the floor in shock.

Then it was back home to get out of her Stella McCartney sweater dress and into something a bit secksier...so O.C. decked herself out in the Alexander McQueen cap-sleeved princess dress in black crepe and chiffon, black silk knit Prada stockings, Prada RTW Fall 2007 black heels, a '30s vintage Girard-Perregaux watch, black Burberry Prorsum long&lean wool lady coat, and a small Alexander McQueen black ribbon clutch. Slammin.

We should have known the night would be off to a chaotic and start, as paparazzi were just really freaking annoying this year, the crowds were more obnoxious. This all converged when a rogue complaint was hurled at Gatti as he took his place on the podium to inaugurate the 08/09 season.

Gatti's conducting was overall big, ballsy, bold and layered with lots of nuance. In the house, it was the right balance. At least we give credit to Gatti for trying to correct the downer drain of stark, drab, and vacant spaces that director Stéphane Braunschweig envisioned for the environs. It seemed Gatti was trying to balance and paint the orchestra in more richness than it warranted, which at least breathed a bit of viscera into the endless swaths of blank, plaster walls and endless wooden flooring...and since the production was so flat, detached, and superficial, Gatti at least made up for that by infusing the orchestra with layers&layers of sound. For OC, it worked...we like our opera rugged and raw with dirty beats, and c'mon, this is the freaking season opener. It's supposed to be a take no prisoners, sweep the leg night we demand and paid some serious euros for. On the podium, Gatti's idiosyncrasies were grand and he kept pushing for a bigger sound. The overture was rich, the horns and strings absolutely delicious, and the brass supurbly controlled. We liked the way Gatti shaped every phrase, and at so many points, OC just closed her eyes to block out the depressing effortlessness of the scenery.

The curtain opened to a boring, white, stone alter in the middle of the stage, echoed by a dozen vertical panels that spanned across the back. Blue light flooded the stage to add to the frigidness of the scenery, except for the alter which had been focused in the spotlight. Marion Hewlett's lighting prowess was so insultingly derivative (green light for the garden, red light for "Gloria a Filippo! Gloria al ciel!", blue light for the early morning prison). With the big budgets that are extended to Scala collaborators, OC doesn't understand where Hewlett tucked away her profit, as her conception of lighting lacked of imagination, interpretation, and really was one of the shallowest delves we could have projected onto the psychology of the plot.

The chorus of monks appeared dressed in black capes and white under robes, with their hoods raised. Under the careful and experienced direction of Maestro Bruno Casoni, they were always on point. Casoni is the one key player at Scala that the loggionisti will never, ever criticize or turn on, and lucky for opera fans, Casoni is always the saving grace to any opera (at last night's la prima, after all the insane booing at the final curtain call, Casoni was showered with praise and "Bravo Casoni" as he bent to pick up a stray rose from the stage).

When Stuart Neill, our Don Carlo for the evening, finally came out of hiding, whispers and twitters fell all around. His physical size filled OC's Scala neighbors with uncomfortable squirming. I won't apologize for my fellow spectators, but to see a man of such, um, stature, is not really a common day thing in Milan. Braunschweig's direction was just too ridiculous for him (we know it had worked for Filianoti) but it should have been modified for Neill's girth. As he had to kneel down at the tomb in the first scene, it was immediately apparent that he was not a man used to kneeling down. It made the action look unnatural and broke any sort of spell that had been cast. Even worse was during, "qual voce a me dal ciel scende a parlar d'amor!", Neill had to deliver the lines lying on the floor, which was absolutely comical.

For me, Neill wasn't it. But at least he seemed to have more understanding of his role than his colleagues. Neill, with good reason, was completely washed in nervousness. His unfocused energy was sparkling across the stage, which led to a lot of jerky movements and clenched fists. His "Io la vidi" was not terrible, and OC doesn't particularly mind his stark, un-giftwrapped voice, but that introduced the small vignettes that we saw all night of miniature, baby versions of the main characters, a motif of the past and simultaneously the present. OC hated it, and didn't find it endearing or clever at all. Rather, it reduced the whole story to a pretty simplistic account.

Then popped out the Marquis, Rodrigo, sung by Slovakian baritone Dalibor Jenis and we weren't totally impressed. The chemistry between him and Neill wasn't convincing. They were like frat kids who bumped into each other at the local bar. Which brings us to our main complaint: no one was convincing in the cast (except Dolora Zajick and to a lesser extent Ferruccio Furlanetto, but we'll get to him in a bit). What we saw last night were not figures of Spanish royalty. It's like the servants had come out to play, and had stolen the costumes of their employers. We didn't get that sense of sixteenth century inbred royalty that we were longing for, and it was vaguely disappointing.

After the page sang his little lullaby, we were introduced to American mezzo Dolora Zajick as Princess Eboli wearing a gorgeous red day coat over her dress, her bewbs like a 10+++ on the shelf scale. Good lord. "Nei girdin del bello" was O.K., but for that she got only a lukewarm applause. But Zajick was daring and feisty, and at times drowned out Neill's voice with her chesty projection. She was greatly lauded for her "Ah! Piu non vedro..." and rightfully so.

The chemistry between Stuart Neill and Elisabetta of Valois's Fiorenza Cedolins wasn't terrible, but again, we wanted so much more. With Cedolins, we've come to expect a practiced and carefully studied delivery, devoid of particular depth or stylizing. When we saw her in the season opener last January for La Fenice's Puccini Rondine, we succinctly summarized: "Unless you have an undying Cedolins fetish -- OC doesn't, as she finds Cedolins correct, attractive, and with a good dose of charisma but essentially uninspiring." And we stick by the same observation. She wasn't bad, but she was cold, distant, and flat. Her  "Tu che le vanita' conoscesti del mondo" was really very good, sung in a gorgeous dark green dress, her full queen regalia.

But Cedolins's interpretation basically encapsulates the major issue we had with the evening: The pathos and viceral energy...passion and longing of Don Carlo was stripped and discarded. There was no interpretation...well, at least, only by Gatti, which fell flat on its face because he had no cooperation from the cast or crew involved in the staging. It's like the singers and Gatti existed on a seperate plane. There was no dialogue, no sublime answering and responding between cast and orchestra. They were both locked away in very myopic, muffled places, and that was very, very frustrating.

Scene V brought Philip II, King of Spain as Ferruccio Furlanetto, the only singer who we think actually worked in the cast at face value. Furlanetto's singing was decent enough, but we noticed by the end of Act II before the first intermission, he had run out of steam. But his acting and interpretation as Philip was stellar. Authoritative and menacing, he at least was a realistic King of Spain.

Now comes that infamous moment after the first intermission where Gatti took to the podium and was booed mercilessly. OC already explained what happened, and you can read here. Again, the booing wasn't concentrated to a few people...rather it stemmed from all over the house.

Thibault van Craenenbroeck's costumes were neither here nor there. We saw period dress for the royalty, but oddly at one point, 1940s working class gear for the chorus. What's going on here? The schism between the proletariats and the ruling class? Oh, please. But at least we had the impression that the costumes were expensive and well made, which was uplifting.

The last act was a perfect example of sceneographer Alexandre de Dardel's major malfunction. King Philip in his library was simply an empty room with a chair. The characters just weren't big enough to fill the minimalist space. We couldn't imagine it, and it needed so much more. Il grande inquisitore's Anatolij Kotscherga was even worse, but he was torn to shreds during the curtain call, so we're guessing he understood...his "tranquili lascio andar...un gran ribelle" was almost shouted in a cracked voice.

At curtain call, we were honestly expecting worse, and were surprised at how civil the audience acted. At first. For the collective call, not many booing or whistles were heard. But during the individual calls, grande inquisitore's Anatolij Kotscherga was slammed almost as hard as the trio of Stefan's Alexandre de Dardel, Thibault van Craenenbroeck, and Marion Hewlett (we linked the youtube here). Dolora Zajick's Eboli, Fiorenza Cedolins's Elisabetta, and Ferruccio Furlanetto's Filippo II were highly praised with some isolated boos for Cedolins interspresed, Dalibor Jenis's Rodrigo and Diogenes Randes's frate were given tepid applause...but Stuart Neill for his title role was both booed loudly and simultaneously praised, which he deflected by bending over and whispering to his mini-mi. Gatti was given the same treatment...roundly booed by some and praised by many others. The curtain call lasted a cursorily polite time, about 7 minutes in all, one of the shortest OC has seen in the theater and certainly the shortest for a prima in recebnt times, and we're guessing not for the reason that everyone was rushing for the after-theater parties and dinners.

Milan's Merchants Vibing Off La Scala La Prima Fever

Following a yearly tradition, a handful of Milan's various downtown shops loaded their front displays with Verdi's Don Carlo paraphernalia for Scala's 2008/09 season opener. We saw it in 2006 for Verdi's Aida, and again in 2007 for Wagner's Tristan. The first three are from Sant Ambroeus's window, boasting an edible Verdi puppet and decorated Don Carlo panettone.

 

 

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Above & below: Larusmiani on via Montenapoleone and via Verri

 

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(Above: a shoe store downtown)

Supahstars! La Scala 2008/09 La Prima Brings Out Fashion Designers & Their Adoring Skanks

It's always curious to see the mixed crowds who turn out for Scala's St. Ambrogio season opener...the awesome mix of larger-than-life Italian celebrities, cleavage pouring out of the bustiers of even the homliest women, ancient grey farts stuffed into tuxes, and the various skanks who get it all wrong. This year was rather disappointing...the crowds were painfully boring. Tho we did spot a few celebs who are known outside of Italy: Stefano Gabbana & Domenico Dolce, Valentino Garavani, Valeria Marini, Roberto Bolle, and Renato Balestra.

Above we see poor Stefano Gabbana ambushed by Valeria Marini at last night's la prima. Stefano also spoke to the papers as an ersatz critic, and said that the the gloomy staging was "cemetary-like". ~zing~!! Here's oooo so much more:

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Ew. Just ew. Now we srsly need to cleanse our eyes...Here's Roberto Bolle:

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**click the magic link below to see tons more photos from the evening. You won't regret it!**

Curtain Call: "Vergogna" = Shame

(Video found on Youtube, *not* taken by Opera Chic -- her seats were much better, anyway!)

A General Theory of the Latest Scala Drama: Why Management Is Trying To Blame Filianoti For The Boos That Sunk Don Carlo's Opening Night

A few interesting facts re: this Don Carlo drama before bedtime (it's almost dawn here, seriously: too late for champagne, too early for cappuccino, might as well go to bed).

• The freshly-demoted Giuseppe Filianoti was present at Scala tonight, not on stage obviously but in a third-level box (together with other friends/relatives of cast members, among them his replacement Stuart Neill's girlfriend). He left after Act I.
• The boos -- over here, a whistle is never just that, there must be like a whole conspiracy behind it or the Italians just don't have as much fun -- ruined what had been hyped as the first Dec 7th Opening Night conducted by the frequent guest conductor whom most observers consider the front runner to get, eventually, one day in a not so distant future, the coveted job of Music Director of la Scala (as we mentioned earlier, a post previously held, these last 75 years, by Serafin, de Sabata, Toscanini, Giulini, Cantelli, Abbado, Muti).
• Scala GM Lissner came out clearly, right after the show, with unusually undiplomatic words: "The boos? Clearly the payback for the Filianoti situation, in the opera house it is well known". Meaning that it was an organized protest to undermine Gatti "guilty" of having de facto fired Filianoti, even if technically the tenor's still under contract, but his schedule has been reshuffled with Stuart Neill's -- now Filianoti is demoted to second cast (the smart money says he won't appear in any shows with the second cast, leaving open the question, and the additional drama, of who will be hired on such short notice to complete the run as Don Carlo with the second cast).

The conspiracy theory that supposes Filianoti somehow orchestrated an anti-Gatti riot by egging dozens of spectators on, convincing them to boo, etc, is made less easy to believe by the fact that booing and whistling were quite widespread -- not massive but certainly not the work of a few hit men.

It also remains to be seen how would someone like Filianoti, a singer only occasionally present here and not exactly the most powerful man in the Italian opera business, would manage to infiltrate so many accomplices in the theater on a night when tickets are incredibly scarce, monstrously expensive, by and large given out to sponsors and VIPs, and even cast members get just a few tickets -- in some cases just one ticket! -- for friends and family to the Sant'Ambrogio opening night. Again, it's not impossible to fill the stalls with a personal claque, obviously -- not impossible but very complicated on Dec 7th of all nights.

 An alternative hypothesis if you're conspiracy-minded is that a spontaneous movement of spectators moved by Filianoti's plight chose to boo Gatti in unison without having been somehow influenced by the singer or his entourage. Impossible? No. Very Likely? Bah.

If this conspiracy theory were true it would obviously leave the management and Gatti off the hook, erasing the painful fact that la Scala, in the post-Muti era, has had four Dec 7th opening nights -- Idomeneo/Bondy/Harding in '05, Aida/Zeffirelli/Chailly in '06, Tristan Und Isolde/Chereau/Barenboim in '07 and Don Carlo/Braunschweig/Gatti -- and this Don Carlo is by far the one that got booed the most -- even the Zeffirelli Aida, the one with Alagna (before he fled on the second night he regularly performed on Dec 7), didn't get as many catcalls, except for Alagna. Only Gatti, very likely the future Music Director -- if and when GM Lissner decides to give up some of his considerable power by sharing command of the place -- got such a bad reaction. Again, Opera Chic herself liked his work. But she can see why people would honestly find his conducting too uneven -- those speed changes -- and his vision of the score too unorthodox (the last two conductors who led Don Carlo here were Abbado in the 1970s and Muti in the 1990s, and both gave a much more even and conservative reading of the score).

Gatti -- whom Opera Chic personally liked and applauded heartily, as you can read in the post below -- is not the only one who got booed tonight, but on curtain call a nice chunk of the cast got hit by whistles and boos, too (not Zajick, OK); director Braunschweig and his team got a pretty good share of whipping, too.

Now the question is, did tne director -- whom Filianoti praised in his post-demotion interviews with two newspapers -- get booed also as "payback" by Filianoti loyalists?  By Gatti enemies? Really? The costume design lady, too? Sets? What about the seriously underperforming Grande Inquisitore, were the boos he had to endure at curtain call an act of payback to hit Gatti and sink the prima?

It's Opera Chic's right as an American to find all this drama here both entertaining and appalling. 

Maybe the Scala management is right, maybe this all happened because Gatti was a marked man, and people wanted to damage his profile and reputation to undermine him.

Maybe, his reading of the score was just too unpalatable for many (on this point OC disagrees) and the singing was substandard for such a big night (here OC agrees) and the staging really was just too drab and didn't really make any dramatic sense.

This analysis -- for full disclosure, as you can read in these last two days posts on this blog -- comes from someone who's really not a partisan here, from someone who would not have hired Filianoti in the first place, who thinks Filianoti has been treated very shabbily and in a manner unbecoming a world class opera house, from someone who generally likes Gatti and liked his work with the orchestra (not with the singers) tonight, and who thinks Braunschweig's work as director of Don Carlo was just dry, unfocused, and essentially forgettable.

Lots more on this Don Carlo with lots of pictures, reviews, conspiracy theories, and the usual in depth Opera Chic coverage tomorrow.

'night

Long Dong Carlo @ la Scala: The Teaser Review

(above: Stuart Neill or Giuseppe Filianoti.......hmmmmm?)

A few choice slices of opera sashimi for OC's readers to munch on as OC -- who just got back from opening night at la Scala, the paparazzi frenzy, the following festivities and the final paparazzi chase scene before getting home -- takes a well-deserved shower.

As you already know thanks to our off-the-cuff Blackjack post from la Scala, conductor Daniele Gatti got seriously booed by part of the audience -- not hundreds of people, because the applause was there, too, but certainly the nay-sayers were not just a few lone crazies -- after the first intermission. The booing somehow got less nasty after the second intermission; and at curtain call, Gatti got ovations but also some pretty sharp boos and whistles; thankfully, for Gatti and the Scala management, the director Stephane Braunschweig and his design/costume team got massive boos, much much worse than Gatti; and the Grande Inquisitore who replaced "indisposed" (yeah, right) Matti Salminen, the Russian Anatoly Kotscherga, was probably as badly treated as the director. Most of the cast got a pretty warm reception, except Kotscherga, even Giuseppe Filianoti's last-minute replacement Stuart Neill (who got some boos, too). But the only singer to really get a big, big ovation was Dolora Zajick (probably the wildest cheering, and with good reason, was enjoyed by the Maestro del Coro, Bruno Casoni, for the reasons we'll explain in a sec).

OC's ideas of this wildly uneven night, of this awful mess of Piazza della Scala?

Very quickly, before OC writes her actual review post later (or tomorrow if she's too sleepybonZ): Gatti got booed in part because some people clearly didn't like the way Giuseppe Filianoti was replaced 24 hours before opening night -- a night televised worldwide -- by Gatti and GM Stéphane Lissner. Some, clearly didn't appreciate the somewhat untraditional way Gatti shaped the score, with some very deliberate, thoughtful tempi and some impressive accelerations -- this was not your grandmother's Don Carlo, nor was it Abbado's or Giulini's. It's a DC for the present time, with ideas, with the patience to shape  slow tempi and the audacity to crank that big orchestra when needed. OC really liked Gatti's ideas -- she liked his pacing, the sheer beauty of the orchestral sound, the creamy, heartbreaking strings, the precisely calibrated brass. It's Verdi Grand Opera brilliantly analyzed through the lens of Meyerbeer and Wagner -- Gatti is a Bayreuth conductor and you're not, by0tch. Detractors think he got "too German", whatever that means, "too brash". Look, whatever. Rent Karajan's. Gatti created a lot of moments of great beauty. Probably not a general theory of Don Carlo as a whole, the way very few others did in the past, but a very worthy effort nonetheless. OC defends his work, musically.

Because it was a musically brilliant night, wrapped in the unique sound of maestro Bruno Casoni's chorus, clearly the best in the world when it comes to Verdi, certainly a top 3 (in the world) chorus for most of the rest of the repertoire. Seriously, it doesn't even translate to recordings, that magic; you hear the Scala chorus live, singing Verdi, and you get the feeling that's the sound Verdi heard in his own head as he was writing the score.

What really didn't work, and the blame is shared by Gatti and director Stephane Braunschweig for this, was the disconnect between that fantastic sound, those daring choices made by the conductor, and the singers interpretation.

It pains Opera Chic's heart that even Ferruccio Furlanetto, that maestro of unlimited powah and great charisma, only sporadically focused enough to go beyond his singing -- that was obviously very good, mostly, even it wasn't Furlanetto's best night either -- to actually create a character on that stage, to give life to Filippo II. The night's best singer, Dolora as Eboli, fighting off sharp pain in an arm she injured earlier during rehearsals, who really blessed us in the audience, created gorgeous sounds -- with truly uninspiring diction -- but again she lacked focus. Same for the flat delivery of Fiorenza Cedolins, Elisabetta, who didn't really make mistakes, good solid -- if limited -- singer that she is. The Grande Inquisitore was just bad, essentially speaking loudly, in an unclean manner also, through his part, totally killing the sense of dread that permeates this most awesome of Verdi stories -- that way, OC considers Don Carlo, far from being her favorite Verdi musically, to be the opposite of Trovatore. DC is a wonderful, touching, elaborately crafted scary story that shows like few others atheist Verdi's desperate search for meaning, while Trovatore presents a ridiculous, shallow, almost comically trashy piece of pulp that's nevertheless chock-full of fantastic, memorable tunes (try writing something as simply, genuinely touching and beautiful as "Il Balen del Suo Sorriso," Dick Wagner, you old douchebag you, OC double dares you with sugar on top).

Filianoti's replacement Stuart Neill? He actually looked like he hadn't simply replaced Filianoti -- he looked like he had eaten him. Neill, unfortunately, is a Mack truck of a man that the clueless director unmercifully forced to lie on that tomb with frankly comical results. If what you want for Scala's opening night of a major Verdi work is a tenor who actually hits the notes, probably all of them -- we didn't have a score in our Alexander McQueen purse sorry -- without charisma or sense of character, without showing that he cares about getting the girl, without really making you care for the way Destiny continually puts him in check until the final checkmate, well, if you don't care about any of that -- if you don't care about a warm, clean sound either -- then Neill did a good job as Don Carlo. This was la Scala's opening night, and he was the lead. Not enough, really. He's not bad at all, he's probably a solid singer, but not "Dec 7th at la Scala good" either.

ok shower time now later thx bi

 

La Scala Finally Speaks (Sorts Of): "Neill seemed to be in better shape than Filianoti"

In a badly fact-checked Associated Press dispatch (Pavarotti sang Don Carlo here in 1992, not 1982; Alagna sang Aida two years ago, not last year) la Scala, through their communications director Carlo Maria Cella finally addresses the enormous news of their decision to replace 24 hours before opening night tenor Giuseppe Filianoti with second-cast Stuart Neill (read below for all the breaking news since last night):

La Scala spokesman Carlo Maria Cella said the musical director had full discretion to substitute casts members at any time. "Neill seemed to be in better shape than Filianoti," Cella said Sunday.

Which is a very low key way to address this huge can of worms -- no one can rememeber a lead being replaced with another singer 24 hours before opening night of the season, the traditional Dec. 7th gala.

There is also another problem: la Scala has had no music director since Riccardo Muti was ousted in early 2005; new General Manager Stéphane Lissner has used a roster of guest conductors these last three years -- with Daniel Barenboim flauntin' the vastly ceremonial title of maestro scaligero his idol Wilhelm Furtwaengler once held even if it's the GM Stephane Lissner who's calling all the shots, just try asking Barenboim if he really really really wants to take credit, or blame, for the Scala's general musical achievements, or lack thereof, these last three years -- but no conductor is in charge of affairs as Music Director, period.

Daniele Gatti has a good chance of becoming, in the next three years, the next Music Director (a title held in the past by -- in chronological order, going backwards -- Riccardo Muti, Claudio Abbado, Guido Cantelli, Carlo Maria Giulini, Victor de Sabata, Arturo Toscanini, Tullio Serafin).

Gatti's best advised to lay low in this mess, despite Filianoti's accusations of having been stabbed in the back by Gatti whom Filianoti in the newspaper La Stampa called "childish".Lay low and pray Neill doesn't suck, and the loggione has mercy on him.

Especially if, as the gossip in Milan rages today, the decision to pull the trigger on this last-minute replacement hasn't exactly been unanimous in this productions' quarters, Gatti is best advised on sticking to musical matters in the press declining to comment about casting decisions. No sane conductor would want to jeopardize a very good shot at the Musical Directorship here by straying away from the message. Which is "Neill was in better shape", period. Without commenting on how could they possibly have realized only 24 hours from la prima that Filianoti's voice wasn't up to speed.

Coming soon: the hilarious stories of their frantic search for a third tenor in case of a -- almost certain -- eventual pullout by Filianoti who despite having not, repeat, not been fired but simply had his schedule reshuffled, feels rightly dissed -- only hours before la prima.

But now, entertaining as the backstage drama is, Opera Chic has got to go la Scala for the actual show -- you try navigating the sidewalks here in Prada five-inches stilettos.

Updates only in case of bad emergency via Blackjack.

Filianoti Goes Nuclear: "Scala Stabbed Me In The Back"!!!

In today's Corriere della sera, Giuseppe Filianoti goes nuclear, slamming Scala management who announced to him that he wouldn't sing the first two performances of Don Carlo, both tonight and on the 10th. And he accuses conductor Daniele Gatti of having betrayed him. He also insists that since he hasn't been fired, he'll show up tonight at the opera house to sing as scheduled (creepy echoes of the Alagna fiasco from 2006): "It will be my farewell to la Scala". All translations copyright Opera Chic Blog. Don't be sneaking...we see you...

"I have been betrayed by la Scala, stabbed in the back at the last minute. Last night they told me I wouldn't sing the premiere. They want to tell the world I'm sick, but I'm not. I'm perfectly fine, ready to tackle a role I feel confident about."

"What happened? I'd like to know, too. We have been rehearsing for two months. I've always sung in full voice and everybody has been very encouraging: Gatti, general manager Lissner, my colleagues. Everything seemed to be OK. Then, after the general rehearsal of the other night, open to students, Gatti began to have doubts. Why was I underpowered, why did I lack focus, why did I screw up a couple passaggi... Gatti decided only days ago to reintroduce the Lacrymosa at the end of Act III (ed: Verdi wrote 58 measures that he later pulled out of the final score to use in a later work-- they're now world famous as the Lacrymosa of the Requiem, almost no conductor reinstates it in Don Carlo) and that's where I admit I made a mistake. It's not enough to consider me unfit. It was also a general rehearsal, I wasn't committed 100% vocally. I wanted to save my energy for la prima".

"I sung this role in Zurich this past September, Gatti and Targetti (ed: the scala voice coach) heard me there and were very encouraging, 'You are the best, we'll do a wonderful work together,' they said. I was happy. I canceled commitments for Thais in Turin and a Lucrezia Borgia with Domingo in Washington, Pelleas in Rome... But you never refuse la Scala. I sung the Prima in 2003, Moise et Pharaon with Muti... different times... I miss Muti, la Scala back then would never have treated an artist like this, Muti protects his singers, always."

"I didn't expect such treatment from Gatti. Yesterdays they called me for a meeting, they said they didn't want to embarrass me in front of the whole world. They said they'll declare me to be 'sick' and to have more credibility, they'll pull me from la prima and the second night. I'll be able to sing the rest of the run, they said. For my own good, they said. They're not firing me, they just reshuffling my dates around."

"I can defend myself. I'm not a rookie. My nerves are fine. My voice, too. Gatti projected his fears on to me. I'm not afraid. I'm from Calabria, I'm tough, I'm 34, I have contracts all over the world... the Met... Barenboim for Verdi... The audience booing is part of the game in opera, the greatest singers ever have been booed, Callas, Pavarotti. It's not just me: tonight even Matti Salminen (ed: as announced yesterday by Opera Chic) will not be there... He's a great bass, 'sick' as well! An outbreak. The reality is this administration at Scala only cares about business."

"People at la Scala know me since I was a kid. I sang here many times, Falstaff, Armide, Nina pazza per amore... I know everybody. Everybody is stunned. It's impossible, they said. The director hugged me, he said he couldn't understand, he was desperate. He's a very sensitive man. He's in trouble. Stuart Neill, who will replace me, doesn't have Don Carlo's physique. Lots of singers have fought with la Scala... Marcelo Alvarez, Alagna, now me. The world's best tenors stay away from here, there must be a reson. I'll never be back here as long as they'll keep acting this way. But tonight I'll come to the theater, I have not been fired. They won't allow me to go on stage, obviously. It will be my farewell".

Opera Chic's take? She understands Filianoti's terrible dilemma -- regardless of his vocal health, he couldn't take this demotion quietly. Just couldn't. He's right to try to spin things this way. His future is at stake.

As OC wrote last night, they shouldn't have hired him. Fighting with Marcelo Alvarez has been a very dumb move. They needed someone like Marcellone. But once you hire Filianoti, warts and all, with his known history of past vocal trouble and his known history of trying to tackle heavier roles -- he's a tenore lirico -- with mixed results, well, you can't hire Filianoti because he has name recognition and then dump him 24 hours before the premiere. It just isn't done. It's not respectful. And singers everywhere now know this could happen to them, too, under this management.

If they really figured out 24 hours before the premiere that Filianoti was in trouble, after everybody's doubts in the past year, and after weeks of reports of Filianoti's trouble during reherasals, well, what does that tell you about the organization there?

The Filianoti Fiasco: Why It Happened, And How It Could Have Been Avoided

**To read the breaking news of tenor Giuseppe Filianoti's withdrawal from the lead in tomorrow (Sunday) night's premiere of Don Carlos at la Scala scroll down or click here.**

These last few months Opera Chic has been trying to keep an open mind re: how good a choice Giuseppe Filianoti was as Don Carlo for la Scala's premiere, despite her many serious doubts.

Why? OC is on the record as a Filianoti fan -- a beautiful voice, a sensitive interpretazione, intelligent phrasing, talent and heart (OC also couldn't find one colleague who spoke badly of Filianoti as a person, a rare occurence in this most backstabbing of businesses -- the man seems indeed to be a good man).

But in 2007 Filianoti got sick, seriously.

And only six months ago Opera Chic heard him live, as Tito -- not exactly Verdi Grand Opera -- and that's what she had to say:

"Filianoti's appearance was perfect for the greasy and slick Tito. His voice, however, was definitely worrisome, and frankly has been for a bit now. Technically, he hit all his notes, and his understanding of the role was spot-on. But when he did reach those higher registers and punched forward the precise tone, his remaining voice was audibly exhausted. Every time he reached up, he fell back down to recovery. His voice is now like a sweetly-loved teddy bear, all the fur rubbed off from too many bedtime kisses and scary dreams. It's worn through in spots."

"Filianoti is 33."

"He pushed hard his notes, all throat, and the sound became the kind of strained voice you'd think would make him bright red in the face. Act II, Scene XI, Tito's aria, "Se all'impero, amici Dei" was pretty scary on the arpeggio, and Abbado slowed down the orchestra. But Filianoti, hit each and every note, and made it strikingly obvious."

Why would la Scala, with all their troubles, choose someone not exactly equipped by nature -- vocally -- to tackle at least at this stage in his career and life, the role of Don Carlo, a very difficult beast to tame lately for lyric tenors in trouble.

Why indeed...

Because a year ago La Scala did alienate -- then fight with -- a much more rational choice for the role, Marcelo Alvarez, who had agreed to do Chenier and Don Carlo here in Milan. Until he felt dissed, and canceled. Opening the door for the Filianoti casting.

So, is it all just an accident -- like, Filianoti caught the flu this morning?

Is it all Filianoti's fault, that he was maybe barely prepared? That's what those who need to leave the Scala management off the hook will tell you. For all his post-mid-2007 vocal problems, Filianoti comes prepared. He always has. And trying to blame all this on a simple "abbassamento di voce" when this kid has been in trouble throughout the rehearsals? Just bad form.

Was the Scala management prepared?

After barely escaping a strike that would have hit the 12/7 traditional prima for the first time since it's inception almost a half century ago, they now find themselves with an enormously embarrassing cancellation 24 hours before a premiere televised worldwide.

24 hours.

They can only pray that either Filianoti's understudy Neill is good -- a star is born? Maybe -- or that tomorrow night those snarky loggionisti up there decide to have mercy on the understudy who got shot out of obscurity like a human cannonball. A sold-out la Scala, viewers on two different European satellite channels -- Arte and Classica -- and people following the live feed in HD in cinemas all over the world will be watching, and listening.

Opera Chic, obviously, will be there in the opera house, and you won't.

Breaking News WITH UPDATES: Filianoti Out of Don Carlo @ La Scala...Stuart Neill To Replace Him...

In case you missed it, read here to understand the reason for the whole "Filianoti Fiasco".

***update***

Opera Chic has learned that earlier today (Saturday) attempts have been made by la Scala to find a third tenor who could appear in at least some shows to give some relief to Stuart Neill who has become as of now the lead tenor in the production.

*****update*****

Filianoti, contrary to some Milanese rumors, has not, repeat, NOT, been fired by Daniele Gatti. He obviously needs rest and may appear at a later date; but certainly not tomorrow night and not on the night of the tenth. Whether Filianoti will be eventually replaced completely and will step down, is not clear at this point. But he has not been fired.

*******update*******

Matti Salminen's not feeling that great either; he was too under the weather to appear as the Inquisitor in the "General Rehearsal 4 teh kids" thing they had on Thursday, and Anatoly Kotscherga replaced him (not that memorably, it is said). Well, Salminen might have to give up tomorrow night, too. The good news is, as of now, Furlanetto and Cedolins are feeling good (not really Dolora Zajick who injured her arm but is going on stage as scheduled).

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BREAKING NEWS

Second-stringer American tenor Stuart Neill will sing in tomorrow night's Don Carlo, for the hyped opening night of the 2008/09 la Scala season, replacing tenor Giuseppe Filianoti. 

Reports from Scala's general rehearsal of Thursday night's Don Carlo (it's usually open to the friends & relatives of Scala workers, but this year 1700 tickets were sold for 10 euros to kids under 26-years-old, friends & relatives of Scala workers enjoyed a few days earlier the final rehearsal for the second cast) were not promising for Filianoti, who left much to be desired of Verdi's heroic lead. Starting out well, but progressively losing steam in Act III, and finishing in Act IV with a very evident vocal strain.

EUR 2,400.00 = USD 3,072.22 = 1 Ticket For A Box Seat @ Scala's Opening Night

Famously hard-to-find tickets to la Scala's opening night, scheduled for Sunday night here in Milan, have emerged late this afternoon on la Scala's website.

A nice seat in a third-level, lateral box will only set you back three thousand and seventy-two dollars and change.

If you have that kind of money, knock yourself out, they won't be there forever!.

A partial view box seat for the 4 hour long opera, will set you back about a thousand dollars less than that -- just crane up that neck!

Black & Blue: Bartók & Dallapiccola's Gloom & Doom @ La Scala

Although OC would have much rather been partying all nite loooong with her fellow interisti, she's glad she made it to la Scala this evening for opening night of the Dallapiccola & Béla Bartók double-header.

It's always a delight -- che soave zeffiretto -- when eeel maystrau Harding shows up in Milan, our gentle little Zephyr, to blow his gentle breezes around the stuffy theater.

A cold, scary, and lugubrious Luigi Dallapiccola's Il Prigioniero was stuffed full of brassy and jarring metallic tones. Raw and exposed nerves were threaded through the score -- although a lighter, crystalline approach could have worked equally as well, as we'll explain tomorrow in the full review. Dark but rotating sets peppered director Ferdinand Wögerbauer's vision of the chilling tale, and Vito Priante's diapered performance was balls-out. It was sw8, from the chorus that paraded past the action to il grande inquisitore, tenor Kim Begley, a nightmarish terror looming over the others on stilts.

Infractions were committed by the orchestra, that really didn't wear Dallapiccola (btw in Italian Dallapiccola means literally "By the little one", ymmv) comfortably -- as it is sometimes the case here, too many professori d'orchestra are long on arrogance, short on the ability to deliver the goods -- everything was regained fully for Béla Bartók's Il castello del duca Barbablù...a textured and tight reading with a Strauss-inspired coating, delicate and subtle without being emasculated. Elena's Zhidkova's Judit was excellent both in acting and technique.

An entertaining detraction from the evening was a cranky loggionisti who shouted a message after the first pause into the absolute silence of the darkened theater, waiting for Maestro Harding to make his reappearance.

After an interminable pause that lasted like an hour, a lone voice rang out from Galleria 2, "L'intervallo e' stato troppo lungo". ("The intermission was too long!") ha ha omg. i would have done it myself, but my larynx is too short to do this (2 inch cubic). A moment of disbelief, and the theater broke-out in spontaneous applause of support. omg anarchy @ the theater! mutiny!

the evening ended with a few rounds of curtain calls, and Harding sustaining a nice round of cheers from the satisfied audience. More tomorrow. If u can stand it!

Tonight We're Gonna Party Like It's 1984: Lorin Maazel's Opera @ Scala -- The Teaser Review

OC just took in the Milan premiere of Lorin Maazel’s 3 & 1/2 hour opera, 1984, at la Scala so you don’t have to. Actually, if you happened to have not been there, there are still p l e n t y of tickets left for the next six performances…discarded by a desperately provincial Milan audience with a proven track record of not being keen on contemporary opera (not to mention, it's in English omg teh horror). There are like thousands of operas out there, but I’m sure as hell not going to see a couple hundred because they happen to be written in the wrong language.

Earlier tonight, Maestro Maazel shot magic spider webs from his enchanted +8 orchestra-slaying baton and cold killed it. Every nuance of the orchestra was inextricably tied to the tip of his magic wand. It was almost as interesting watching the flick of his baton and sweep of his hands as watching the opera. A L M O S T. Maazel should get down from the podium right now and kiss the golden rose petals that director Robert Lepage walks on, the gold leaf toilet paper that he wipes himself with, and the gold-thread monogrammed towels that he dries his car with. The direction was slammin off the hook. The super-triplet trifecta of Carl Fillion’s scenery, Yasmina Giguere’s costumes, and Michel Beaulieu’s lights vividly pushed along Maazel’s patchwork (but thrilling) composition, bathing the production in perfect idiosyncrasy, chiaroscuro, motivation, and milieu.

The cast was, well, not the same one from the 2005 Royal Opera House, which was notably rounded-out by a bare-chested Simon Keenlyside. We had instead Julian Tovey as star Big Brother devotee Winston Smith, who gave everything he had and poured himself into the demanding role, but failed to draw much visceral empathy from yours truly. And yay for La Scala’s editors/checkers (there must be someone with that job description in the famously bloated, constantly cash-starved Scala personnel, 4 times larger than the Met's) for screwing-up the spelling of his name on their in-house playbill as “Julian Tovaj”. omg bootleg as heyll that’s what.

Full review + much moar tomorrow, included all the yummy things Lorin Maazel said to the Italian press in the last week to prepare the audience for his Orwellian thunder. While you're waiting for OC's recap, Rai3 transmitted it live, so you can go look for it on the intertubes if you're so inclined. Cause OC was there and you weren't.

Get ur Fill of La Fille du Régiment @ The Metropolitan Opera: The Full Opera Chic Review

(above: impromptu promo space outside of the Metropolitan Opera for La Fille du Régiment.)

We were privy to ours in Milan one year & two months ago, Vienna had theirs one year ago, and now it's New York's chance to hear the applause-inducing man-chine that is Juan Diego Flórez perform his vocal-chord-defying bravado by encoring, "Ah! mes amis, quel jour de fête!" (o hai utubes has the clip from the same production) with the "Pour mon âme" cabaletta. For this Donizetti La Fille du Régiment, Flórez belted eighteen high C’s in the span of mere minutes, and effortlessly attacked, strong-armed, devoured and digested those pesky notes.

Flórez. The man should change his name to singular form like Madonna or Elvis, Beyonce or Liberace. He's the perennial favorite, the undefeated champion of high C's. o lawdy i'm still shaking like a leaf. ok, playin. When he encored "Ah! mes amis" at the end of Act I, OC was all like 'o hai this again?' I mean, it's like kinda how Milan is at any given time 6-hours ahead of NYC, so I guess all those extra hours added up, and you NYers got your high C "Pour mon âme" encore in some weird time warp fourteen months later. :-P~~

For the Metropolitan Opera encore, Flórez hit his high C’s effortlessly and confidently, without breaking a sweat, much less staccato from the dress rehearsal, but with a definitive crystalline punch. It was delivered with a lovely bel canto that warmed and froze the clearly smitten Metropolitan audience simultaneously. After three minutes of applause he stood perfectly still with a bowed head, breaking only once to acknowledge the audience. After his amazing encore, the packed house gave him a standing ovation.

The other Flórez crowd-pleaser was his Act II, “Pour me rapprocher de Marie,” an extraordinarily paced aria that he sung sumptuously, with perfect pitch and a delicate, mature understanding, which provided a lovely contrast from his more aggressive and high-energy "Ah! mes amis". Another Flórez accomplishment of the night is his apparent weight gain, which must account for a delicious wedding cake. He looks amazing, a far cry from a sickly, gaunt, thin tenor we flinched at when we saw just three months ago at la Scala in recital.

Onto the performance: fo’reals, if u want a perfect synopsis of the operatic arc, go here to OC’s La Fille dress rehearsal review from Friday, April 18, 2008.

Not terribly much had changed with the staging, although obvs, cast & crew gave like 125.9%. N e wais...Marco, marco, Marco: tonight's conducting by Maestro Armiliato, an unsung conductor with a passion for strong, driven performances and famous among orchestras for his memory (glancing @ scores is 4 lam3rZ) was elegant, once again...animated, sprite, infectiously joyful, but a few instances were just too muscled and large for la Dessay and the ensemble.

OC noticed that some of the visual gags had been completely cut from Laurent Pelly’s direction, and the comic relief had been overall toned down. This fared well for everyone, audience included, as when the giggling got out of hand, harsh shushing erupted from quite a few patrons. Tiny things were cut, which nevertheless went a long way to create a more seamless drama -- as opposed to the dress rehearsal with the constant vie @ visual gags that gave a disjointed, unhinged, and irritated feel to many of the dramatic moments.

The chorus still needs to spend some extra time doing crunches or drills or whatever will not make them almost drop the entire "Allons, plus d'alarmes!" on the stage floor, a moment at the beginning of Act I when OC truly thought that things were going to quickly fall apart, messy, slimy pits all over the floor. Harrowing.

What killed was the not so analogous props during Act I. Here we have Marie doing her awesomely choreographed ironing routine, "Au bruit de la guerre", and in the background are all the laundry washing tools from WWI…like the wooden slat washboard and big iron tubs...yet la Dessay is hemming away at the ironing board with a white plastic iron, something you'd pick up at Sears. It was lost on me. Is it a statement on feminism? Cuz I ain't no Gloria Steinem.

Although on paper & paychex it was JDF's night, the evening belonged to la Dessay. Flawless dialogue crackled through Act I, along with a gorgeous coloratura that she controlled even as she was carried offstage horizontally or flopped over piles of laundry. She is one of the most musically spirited singers on stage, with excellent control, flawless diction, and face it...she's just frikking kewl. She slays you with a huge voice that betrays her lithe body, unleashed at the most unexpected moments, peeling and flaying the gold leaf off the highest rows in the Family Circle. (While we're at it: Gelb, my man, during your reign, plz rename "Family Circle" to something a little edgier. I mean, what the hell? Family Circus, my Disney a$$. Rename it after one of Dante's Circles of Hell. Anything. Something.)

Dessay gorgeously belted her tireless voice throughout the gigantic armory that they call The Metropolitan Opera house, a feat which is quite a challenge stacked against the smaller, more intimate opera houses in Europe. "Chacum le sait, chacun le dit" started with confident, secure top notes, and ended without straining, filled to the end with gorgeous coloratura, soaring and rich, all the while Dessay acted-off her felty 21st Regiment pants.

Act II's "C'en est donc fait" received one of the highest regards of the evening from the audience, who threw down a chilling tsunami of brava at la Dessay. She was inundated with so much applause, that she sprung forth from the 21st Regiment, motioned for the audience to stop the applause with a decisive cut of her arms, and then leapt back comically and egregiously to her blocked-out position.

This performance, the Marquise of Berkenfield and the Duchess of Krakenthorp had toned-down the interjections of Americanisms, and Krakenthorp seemed a bit detached, less fierce, but both characters still brought the el oh els.

During curtain call, Dessay came out holding Maestro Armiliato's baton, brandishing it at the audience as she took her bows. Between acts, there were too many B-C-D celebrity sightings to relay, but before the opera began, Florez's new father-in-law was front & center on the grand staircase with a posse of fellow blonds, La Trappa looked vary dazzling in Swarovski, and many of the famous faces from the Honorary Committee were in attendance glaming-up the place (check out the names below, click 4 bigger). It was a rilly rilly random mix...Gossip Girl Leighton Meester? hellys naw. Rufus...again with his mother? Yawnz0r. Naomi Campbell in a black jacket and black pants; Stefano Pilati in a weird sparkly YSL cardigan and bedroom slippers; Chuck Close; Olatz Schanbel, designer of US$ 400 plush bathrobes and nice pj's, always a woman of breathtaking beauty, living evidence of her big fat hairy genius of a pajama-wearing husband's impeccable taste, in stunning red; Emmy Rossum in sky-high heels and a sweet black puffy dress; and UFO-like sightings of Anna Wintour, but OC didn't spy her; Susan Graham munching at the first intermission; & most disheartening of the night? JDF colleague Ramón Vargas booking out of the front doors 15 minutes before show time and rushing-off into the approaching dusk. We <3 u Vargas…stay 4 teh show!

We at Team OC are happy that New York City can finally bask in the glow of that same magic we had @ la Scala 14 months ago, when Juan Diego Flórez encored "Ah! mes amis, quel jour de fête!" We're like the first ones who could sit through Flórez singing a triple-header of Wagner's Ring Cycle without any intermissions, but to be quite honest, tonight's encore felt like sloppy seconds.

(above: Gossip Girl Leighton Meester @ the MET for la Fille)

(above: Rufus Wainwright @ the MET for La Fille with his mam)

(Stefano Pilati and La Naomi)

(La Editrix)

Olé for Olatz!

Headline Round-Up From La Scala Prima

How cool is it that the Italian newspapers carry front page headlines from Teatro alla Scala's December 7th la prima? The season opener was widely covered in Italian media, and of course, here on the Opera Chic blog. We only picked-up Corriere della Sera and la Repubblica [ed: updated with La Stampa] @ the newstands for the coverage, and already there was too much to read!

 

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Baci @ Classica For the Following Post

(**Please go here if you're looking for Marcelo Alvarez's surprise La Scala cancellations...)

OC gets down on her knees and sends giant, soft kisses to Classica Italia for last night's re-broadcast of the December 7, 2007 Tristan und Isolde live from Teatro alla Scala. How sweet it was to stay in last night and nurse my lingering Tristan und Isolde hangover with the hair of the dog that bit me: moar vagnair. Although this time, Triscuits Underpantsies went much better with OC draped across the couch, wrapped in 00s Eres & 90s Paul Costelloe under a 80s Bardelli cream cashmere blanket & sipping on some gin & juice Cremes Gaja red. Yah, it was teh bomb and yah u wish u were here.

We have to say that live, Barenboim's warmth and delicate mastery of the orchestra didn't translate as we had wished to the plasma, nor did the impact of Meier's acting. The suckiness of Act II lulled me again to sleep, but I was roused promptly by some of Meier's howling. So it's all good. 

Here below are screenshots of the spectacle. And damn...on 42" plasma, Meier's forehead barely cracked an inch under her most forced of laments. And now the legal stuff: The following shots are pictures taken from a television broadcast, and are not promotional materials of Teatro alla Scala.

 

Above: Act I, The chorus & Kurwenal, sung by Gerd Grochowski

Above: Act I, scenery.

Above: Act I, Waltraud Meier singing Isolde.

 

Above: Act I, Waltraud Meier singing Isolde.

Above: Act I, Ian Storey singing Tristan.

Above: Act II, Waltraud Meier singing Isolde and Brangäne's Michelle De Young

Above: Act II, Ian Storey singing Tristan & Waltraud Meier's Isolde

   

Above: Act II, Ian Storey singing Tristan & Waltraud Meier's Isolde

Above: Act II, König Marke's Matti Salminen

Above: Act III, Barenboim arrives for Act III's awesomeness

Above: Act III, Dying Tristan & Kurwenal's Gerd Grochowski

Above: Act III, You're all gonna die!

Above: Waltraud Meier's Isolde takes a final bow @ curtain call

Above: König Marke as Matti Salminen @ curtain call

Above: Ian Storey singing Tristan @ curtain call

 

Above: Barenboim @ curtain call

Above: Director Patrice Chéreau

Tristan & Isolde Invade Milan (And Give OC A Splitting Headache)

OC is v a r y  s l o o o o w l y recovering from a Wagner-induced hangover today, which not even the strongest caffè macchiato & brioche have yet chased away. Since the last time La Scala performed Wagner’s Tristan und Isolde, OC was just planetary fumes, she thought she’d go out in style: I arrived last night @ the Piermarini in Alexander McQueen round, bubble toe platform stilettos with white stitching, sans stockings (c’mon…those are for old Milanese grannies), and a matching McQueen black silk suit: cigarette skirt covering my legs, and a fitted matching jacket with a ribbon tie. Underneath instead of ridiculous jewels (OC wanted to go as minimal as Patrice Chéreau’s streamlined production), I wore a Dior white silk ruffle collar blouse. Then to hold lipstick & cash, a vintage Lanvin patent leather clutch, and over everything, a vintage black Chanel wool jacket found this summer at Resurrection Vintage in Los Angeles (although we passed on the Chanel fanny pack).

Sadly last night, OC was in the minority for her choice of outerwear, as there were more old women in fur than you could shake Toscanin's baton at: fur wraps, fur collars, and miles of fur jackets. It honestly made OC a little queasy, all that old, natty, syrupy fur wrapped around black dresses. And yes, as always, black was the color to be seen in, a safe and predictable wardrobe standby @ the Piermarini. And all VIPs -- doctors, lawyers, former heads of media houses, architects -- all the old European money marking that glistens as bright as the ancestral jewels and that scary plastic surgery on the blondest of former brunettes.

OC arrived easily at the theater, having learned from last year the most crowded and anxiety-ridden routes to avoid. Awesomely, this year was markedly less skankeriffic, and displayed more Milan elegance as opposed to last year’s load of horribly appointed escorts and their balding lawyer pimps. @ this year's Teatro alla Scala la prima, the Italian newspapers have a few lovely photo galleries, which you can find online: 24 photos here, 20 photos here, and 5 photos here [ed: found 7 photos here @ Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung].

To describe the scene outside, the police close-off the entire Piazza della Scala, with the statue of Leonardo pleasantly looking on, and many surrounding streets as most arrivals stream from via Manzoni. Cops in riot gear lollls heh and police on horseback roamed the cleared areas in the streets, and tons of tourists and locals stood behind the metal barriers to get a good look at the arriving VIPs. A mountain of paparazzi hovered by the front doors. Across the piazza, there is almost always a large demonstration in front of Palazzo Marino (City Hall) where this year, almost 1K VIP guests would be dining after the performance, making a fuss for the heads of state (this year it was a protest from Alfa Romeo – we want moar hoarspowah!!). Again, this year arriving at the theater under overcast skies (better for OC so she didn’t have to figure out where to put her Tom Ford sunglasses during the performance), but leaving the theater in the cold Milan rain was such a huge pain in the a$$ when hauling around all this gorgeous vintage.

The smell of fresh paint greeted us @ the theater, all the burnt-out bulbs had been replaced, and garlands of red roses were hanging over the central Palco reale (the prestigious President’s Box), where sat Italian President Giorgio Napolitano, with the premiers from Austria, Germany, Qatar, and Greece...among others). There were cameras throughout the auditorium, as the show was being broadcast live via Italian Classica channel, and on the French ARTE channel.

A few minutes after 5’o clock, applause for the five heads of state in the central Palco reale, as Italian president Giorgio Napolitano entered. The lights went down, and then an announcement (in Italian, natch) that requested a moment of silence for a Fiat workers who had died the day before in Torino at the German steelmaker plant ThyssenKrupp. [«La direzione, gli artisti, gli ospiti e i lavoratori del teatro invitano a un minuto di silenzio in commemorazione del grave incidente sul lavoro avvenuto a Torino».]

Everyone stood and kept silent, as we shifted around our clutches. Then a final Grazie to mark the end of the silence, and Barenboim took to the podium in all black: a black button down shirt, black jacket, and black pants. Can’t this man wear a freaking frak for once? White tie it's where it's at. This is la Scala. Then Big B raised his magic wand and led the orchestra in the national anthem.

Applause and show time:

The overture began, showcasing Barenboim’s thorough understanding and embrace of Wagner, washing the audience in the most gorgeous strains of orchestral brilliance. Act I's curtain rose on a very dark and misty stage, Tristan’s ship. Slowly a weak light strengthened, and revealed a stone wall background with a cutaway arch. The arch framed a high platform about the size of a tennis court, where all the action took place, which was nice because it pushed everything to the center of the stage for those @ the theater with not-so-central seats. Luggage, wooden boxes, and steamer trunks were stationed all over the floor, and our Isolde, Waltraud Meier, was crouched in a large, sunken section in the middle. Costumière Moidele Bickel had dressed Meier in a long black jacket of fine wool, with a black silk slip beneath. A long, dirty blond wig covered her normally short reddish, brownish wavyish ‘do. Out came her maid, Brangäne, sung by Michelle De Young, who was equally drab in a long grayish, blue jacket with a matching dress underneath, and a white blond bun pulled behind her head.

The excellent Scala chorus appeared, a mixture of men in port-appropriate clothes, suspenders and lots of pirate caps, and some shirtless, but not like in a hot way. They were also clothed in all grays and blues, gritty, a very smoky palette. Then we hear Kurwenal, Gerd Grochowski, and were pleased. But not with his Dragonballz blond wig. Ew. He was also in a rubbery-looking motorcycle suit, with a gray trench coat too, of course. Tristan's Ian Storey was equally given a long gray trench coat. Brangäne and Isolde had a nice convincing dynamic. Meier was off to a great start in Act I, and I was expecting worse. The dirty-blond extensions worked for her, and she had a great stage presence. After Meier drank, she was wrapped in a red coat, which brought a nice burst of color to the drab stage and scenery. Patrice Chéreau’s overall direction didn’t really work for OC. It came across as totally generic for that minimalist thing. It was just too shallow held against Barenboim’s creamy and full conducting, and was a bad match. With Act I over, the crowds loved it, and answered to the curtain call with feet-stomping and screams of bravi all around.

The first intermission came at 6:30 pm, and OC was gifted with a headache, which was expected. The break was a very long 45 minutes, and Act II began at 7:15 pm. The curtain rose again to gloominess and darkness, another stone wall, blue light coming into the scene from the right, and a few cutouts. König Marke’s castle. I had thought that Act I was barely visible, but this was ridiculous yay. After 45 minutes of intermission, I was expecting um, something more. This act was really terribly boring and lame. Everyone around me seemed to be snoozing, and I can’t honestly deny that I didn’t drift off a few times. Brangäne was in the same costume as Act I, and Meier again in a red robe, very boxy and large. I wasn’t crazy about Ian Storey, which didn’t bring the impression I was searching for. The dynamic between Storey and Meier went well enough, but Meier’s singing took a nosedive, and was barely sustainable.

After their big duet, the back of the castle splits apart, and yay, it’s finally daylight. Two giant pine trees and some better lighting make the action turn a bit more exciting, and my eyes can at last make-out something colorful on the stage. The fight between Melot and Tristan was vary cool, with a very shaolin warrior feel to it with everyone holding long sticks. The second pause came at 8:30 pm, and again lasted for 45 minutes.

At 9:15 pm, we sat for the final installation of Triscuits & Iced Tea. There was insane applause this time when The Big B stepped up to the podium. It was thrilling. Everyone was excited for the prelude, especially OC after suffering through Act II. Which was off the hook. Oh noes, the curtain rose again on that same brick wall. Ugh. This time we had some stairs on the left and a big bed on the right (well, a concrete slab) where Tristan was laying, to represent the castle @ Kareol.

Then Tristan dies, crawling around the stairs, blood all over...Melot dies, and Kurwenal says bi. Meier is singing her butt off, and OC’s mild headache has turned into a throbbing hummingbird. Then Isolde dies, blood on her temple, and it’s over, and it’s 10:30 pm. Dang. Followed ten minutes of applause for the curtain call, and tons of flowers raining down on the stage, singers included.

At the end of the night, we just weren’t impressed with Storey’s Tristan. He saved his a$$ in Act III, but was overall a downer. Meier was much better than expected, and excluding her Act II blow-out, we were happy to have her singing Isolde. Barenboim led the orchestra on a gorgeous Wagner quest that made us not hate his composition a little bit less, although we always truly hate the playa.

Corriere della Sera annually does a special 20-ish-page supplement in their December 7th newspaper (screen shots -- not production stills -- below), which includes interviews, production shots, special advertisements, and the T&I libretto. You can find the link for the December 7, 2007 pdf download here. Enjoy~

Saved the Best for Last

YOURE WELCOME

Famous Faces from The Metropolitan Opera's Opening Night

A few shots from The Metropolitan Opera Season 2007-08 Opening Gala:

Also in attendance were Vera Farmiga, Deborah Norville, Cady Huffman, John McEnroe & Patty Smyth, and Tovah Feldshuh.

^^^^^(Above: Plácido Domingo)

^^^^^(Above: Jane Fonda)

^^^^^(Above: Blythe Danner)

^^^^^(Above: Mary-Louise Parker)

^^^^^(Above: Zac Posen)

^^^^^(Above: Barbara Walters)

^^^^^(Above: Bob Balaban)

^^^^^(Above: Bianca Jagger)

^^^^^(Above: Walter Cronkite)

^^^^^(Above: Willem DaFoe)

Why then Ile fit you. Lucia's mad againe

Since Opera Chic was there and you weren't, watch Natalie Dessay stylishly go bananies in these three videos from the Met's Lucia

Short and Sweet: Impromptu Curtain Call on the Grand Tier

Two clips from last night of the spontaneous final curtain call that Dessay, et al granted to the spectators below, who were watching faithfully on Robertson Plaza the live simulcast of the September 24, 2007 Lucia di Lammermoor season opener. 

Met Madness: Lucia di Lammermoor Season Premiere

(The 2nd intermission was spent outdoors, and checking-out the huge plasma).

Okay, since a majority of you listened to the Lucia di Lammermoor simulcast via internet, and certainly a minority of you had been in attendance at either Times Square or Lincoln Center’s Josie Robertson Plaza yesterday night to catch the performance on the plasma screens, there won't be a play-by-play. You can go here instead for the excruciatingly delicious details, which OC reported during the September 20th Open Rehearsal. Now, here are the most exciting bits!

(teh paps)

(the plaza)

First of all, the last time OC went to the MET season opener a few years ago, there were like 12 paparazzi hanging-out front, and anyone could just walk up to Al Roker, Sarah Duchess of York, or Jamie Lynn Sigler as they appeared before the lobby, like all us ticket holders did. It was totally egalitarian and uncomplicated. Now the reception zone is wacktarded, with too many paparazzi lining the fenced-in red carpet that there are freaking risers erected so they can cram in two rows of the agency photo-snappers. Plebeians are staunched at the entrance to Lincoln Center, where they congregate with digital cameras, Poland Springs, and the ubiquitous flip-flops. The downside is that the average photo buff can’t hang around the receiving area and take shots of NYC legacy, but the upside is that NYC legacy can’t get assaulted by roving stalkers. It’s win/win really.

OC did the walk of fame into a packed lobby, a few moments before Bianca Jagger and Mercedes Bass, and almost ran into Mayor Bloomberg. O hay here are a few pics.

(The lobby before the opera.)

(The Grand Tier before the opera. Private par-tay.)

(Bloomberg in the lobby...looking good!)

(I have no idea who that man is. Not a single clue.)

(Bianca Jagger.)

So who did we see? <-- Definitely not Mercedes Bass. Too many heiresses and heirs, a handful of singers, and lots of NYC "celebrity". But who OC really was looking for was Chris Meloni, on/off appearance-gifter at select NYC events. No Melonis. :-< Seating was late, no one wanted to squash their Zac Posens into their damn seats, and in total, the performance, which was supposed to finish at 9:52pm, was over more like 10:30pm, with curtain call stretching almost another ten minutes. There were about half a dozen attendees in kilts. Yeah, kilts. I appreciate the effort, but the opera is not a costume party tia. Should I go in full Japanese geisha regalia for the next Madama Butterfly? Or dressed as a matador for the Carmen? Actually, that could be kinda hawt.

Most women were dressed in killer gowns, gorgeous quaffs, and sumptuous clutches. Most men were in sleek tuxedo. OC ditched the originally planned, too-flamboyant Diane von Furstenberg gown (no, not a wrap...waaaay too casual) for a much simpler von Furstenberg black dress, and worked it well. NYC is as big on black as we are in Milan for an evening at La Scala (yah, here’s a tip for you future attendees at Scala: when in doubt, wear black; you’ll fit right in). And although our pal Rachel Zoe stresses how poorly black dress photographs on the red carpet, we did it anyway.

Before the performance, Gelb came out in a black on black suit/shirt combo (tux was still at the cleaners?) and announced that the performance was dedicated to the late greats Pavarotti and Sills, and then requested a moment of silence, which was incredibly, truly silent. Then the orchestra played the Star Spangled Banner, and the entire audience sang along. That’s not a joke. Since there was a fair share of professional singers in the crowds, our version of the Star Spangled Banner sounded much better than the sing-a-longs at Yankee Stadium. Also: the MET Orchestra.

Overall, there were quite a few changes made from the Thursday, September 20th rehearsal that were noticeable in tonight’s earlier performance.

Most of all, everyone was just so much hammier. The acting, emoting, and blocking were so much more theatrical and intense than before witnessed. Everything was souped up, even the silent fringe actors like the sedative-administering doctor during the Act III, Scene I il dolce suono, and the busy-body wedding photographer during Act II, Scene II sextet, were suffused with a new hyper-narrative. Dessay was the most noticeable detractor from her prior performance, and Act III’s il dolce suono [mad scene] was off teh hook.

(Special Opening Night Gala insert in the program with names of all the benefactors.)

There were also a few opportunities where things did not go as smoothly as they had previously. In Act I, Scene II, the Lucia/Alisa duet ‘ah, giorni d’amaro pianto’ was a prime example. Dessay was blocked to leap mid-aria from the rocks of the park onto the bare stage. In the rush of it all as she leapt, her ankle gave out, and she fell softly on her a$$, missing a few notes in the shock of omg omg I just bust a$$ while broadcasting in Times Square. Dessay, the consummate pro, covered it up well, only later accepting an outstretched arm from Michaela Marten’s Alisa at the end of the duet to help her off the floor. Dessay acknowledged instantly the accident, and as the applause filled the house (with loads and loads of encouraging, forgiving, understanding brave), she hung her head humbly to the side. She also referenced the slip in her grand, final curtain call, pretending she had a bad leg that fell from under her (more below).

Another kink was during the very beginning of Act II, Scene I in Enrico’s apartment. As witnessed during the September 20 dress rehearsal, the transition to Scene II’s wedding banquet occured when servants came into the apartment and removed the drop-clothes from the furniture, and deconstructed the window shades. However, quickly into the first scene, one of the covered windows lost its shade, which tumbled unprovoked to the floor. Mariusz Kwiecien [Enrico] waltzed slowly over to the scene of the crime, regarded the fallen curtain with a slight shrug, and the audience giggled accordingly. It was pretty looooolllll.

Later during the signing of the marriage contract [see here for a blow-by-blow of the debate], Zimmerman took the feedback proactively from Dessay, who was perplexed to as why the audience laughed at a very critical and disturbing part of drama ["It's not funny," "It's terrible!"] Instead of Enrico grabbing Lucia’s hand and signing the contract manipulating her, she indeed does it of her own volition, and hilarity thankfully, did not ensue.

Aside from that, Dessay’s il dolce suono was magnificent, fragile, and terrifying. As much as I hated the narrative technique of the sedative-administering doctor, this time it worked, as Dessay held her recently-pricked arm and worked her way down into an exhaustive stupor before finally collapsing. She cut back on the maniacal laughter, and this time emitted an ear-shattering scream, like a trapped and bewildered animal, which sounded from the depths of a truly haunted woman. I don’t know what she’s channeling, but dang don’t stop, girl! Her applause afterwards was deafening and howling, lasting an indefinite parsec.   

One other noticeable concern was tenor Marcello Giordani’s suddenly failing voice during the final scene. His Tombe degli avi miei was breathtaking, with a premeditated, teasingly-slow pace. But by the time he got to Tu che a Dio spiegasti l’ali, his voice was weak, with a hard edge. There’s no doubt that he’s definitely in need of a few days off. Regardless, he rawked the entire first two acts, just as he had established himself as the indisputable star during the September 20th Open House.

During final curtain call, Natalie lifted her skirt to show her boots, and mimed a comedic fall & slip, alluding to the earlier scene during Act I at the fountain of the Siren where she almost ate it…and then she made a bunch of other highly slapstick motions…[like that one you gave to passing truckers on school field trips to get them to blow their air horn].  I <3 this woman. Opera would be so freaking boring without her.

Levine’s conducting was predictably excellent, but on the second listen, he still doesn’t get it. I will forever <3 the afro’d maestro, but his Lucia leaves OC with the knowledge that she’s heard one of the greatest living conductors, but not one of his finest interpretations.

At the end of the entirely too-long evening, a Lucia that lasted four hours couldn’t possibly sustain the packaged hype that the MET machine churned-out for the past few months. Enjoyable and packed with talent, Zimmerman’s direction becomes a bit too ghoulish bordering on campy, starting and ending with zombie Lucia. We also didn’t like how many sets seemed wrought with detail and intricacies (like the Act I fountain of the Siren), while others (Act III Wolf’s Craig Castle) extraordinarily dull and careless. And the mad scene is kinda incongruous: I mean, a wooden staircase in a Scottish castle? Is it really that hard to get some faux pierre up in here?

(Pavs singing Una furtiva lagrima on the big screen from out front of the Metropolitan Opera House. Intermission got boring, so we headed outside to view the jumbo-tron).

(Netrebko showing-off the goods on the big screen).

(This is what you guys looked like to us from the Grand Tier).

Later today video will appear right here at OC blog of that additional curtain call on the Grand Tier, so check back l8r.

I'll Be Bustin Routines & Rhymes All Night

The season opener earlier tonight at The Metropolitan Opera was off tah heezy. It was a memorable, if not exhausting Lucia, which ran almost forty minutes overtime. Stay tuned for moar details, tons of images, and v v v v videos!!

For now, here is one of the better images from tonight to give you a taste of what's to come:

ZOMBIE NATALIE!! DONUT EAT MY BRIANS!! DAMN YOU ZIMMERMAN! THIS IS ALL UR FAULT!

//^^^^above image was snapped after curtain call finished, and Dessay, et cetera stopped by the Grand Tier balcony to take a curtain call for the audience watching in Lincoln Center’s Josie Robertson Plaza.

How did that vvvvvvvvv become that ^^^^^^^

 

MET Rocks a Block Party 'til Your Hair Turns Grey

(Promos from the front page of The Metropolitan Opera's website found here)

OC will be there. Will you?! If not, luckily it won't be that difficult to keep track of opening night festivities of The Metropolitan Opera's 2007-08 season. With its marked success from last year's new Minghella production of Madama Butterfly, the NYC Metropolitan Opera will once again broadcast live to Times Square the September 24, 2007 opening night/la prima/evening gala performance of Donizetti’s Lucia di Lammermoor, while a simultaneous relay will be played on a giant screen at Lincoln Center’s Josie Robertson Plaza. Although the event at Robertson Plaza is free, advance tickets are required for attendance to the broadcast in Lincoln Center Plaza, and were available first-come, first-serve at the Metropolitan box office from 12 noon yesterday, Sunday, September 23, 2007.

If you’re feeling more social, you can head down to Times Square, where the simulcast, live from the MET, can be seen on the following outdoor plasmas starting at 6:30 pm: Toys “R” Us, Reuters, NASDAQ, and Panasonic’s AstroVision screen, all @ broadway between 43rd and 45th streets.  Approximately 1,500 seats will be available for the public on a first-come first-served basis in the <3 of Times Square, with additional standing room provided. RUN!!! The Times Square relay is free, and tickets are not required. Thank you, Deutsche Bank!

For those who aren't in NYC, the performance will also be broadcast live on Sirius's channel 85 (you must be a subscriber) as well as being streamed live from The Metropolitan Opera’s website, (you don’t have to be a subscriber, but the trade-off is that you will have to install the bloated Realplaya software). If all else fails, you can try to catch a silent peek on a Times Square webcam.

We must admit that we've been reading The Metropolitan Opera's clever new production countdown blog for Lucia di Lammermoor since the inaugural entry on September 11th. Featuring daily interviews and insight from cast and crew, we feel it has brought us closer to the lol Lucia madness lol that is currently making NYC hysterical. EEYSTERICAL!

With fifteen hours to go until la prima, and running out of promos, Saturday's entry focused on the opera's furriest stars, the two Irish Wolfhounds that appear at the beginning of Act I. Tomorrow will mark the theater debut for Murphy and Gracie, the 2 1/2-year-old Irish sweeties owned by Robin Coen. The dogs will be in black tie for tonight's performance, of course.   

(Photo credit: Marty Sohl, taken from http://blog.metoperafamily.org)

Prima la Prima: Moda NYC

**Warning: This post is full of spoilers and may contain traces of milk, peanuts, egg, and/or crustacean shellfish. If you’re going to get cranky about it, quiet plz tia tia.

>>>>>>>>>>SPOILERS AHOY!!!!!!<<<<<<<<<<

Yesterday’s Open House at the NYC Metropolitan Opera House was a huge success. Doors opened at 9:00am and guests were invited to sample different booths, à la 6th grade science fair, including lighting technicians, costumiers (lace makers), set models, Ms. Cecilia Brauer on armonica, and a half-dozen more.

At 11:00am began the trifecta of rehearsals for Donizetti's Lucia di Lammermoor. Act I ran for roughly 44 minutes, and was introduced by Peter Gelb, who made a dedication of the performance to Beverly Sills. He called the rehearsal a “working performance”, and asked that the audience refrain from leaving their seats at the end of the acts until the house lights went up, in case Jimmy had to retool any of the passages. Levine took to the podium in a relaxed casual set, black cotton pants and an ample black polo shirt. The orchestra also wore t-shirts and jeans, kicks and corduroys.

The overture started, and a white screen that filled the entire diameter of the stage illuminated, with a solitary black branch reaching down from the upper left-hand corner. A covered by a rolling, bluish fog, which symbolized the patch of woods of the Ravenswood estate near the castle. The white screen rose, to reveal yet another layer of scenery:  a black, thick, stage-sized screen, with a gigantic door cut-out, that allowed just a window of the background scenery to be seen. The rocks remained, leading to a big hill, where appeared Normanno and the rest of his searchers. There were two gigantic, live dogs, scouring the hills with the retainers! Sweeet! Doggies! The black felty cutout screen was totally boring, and seemed unfinished.

Levine and the orchestra was in great form, but now returning from the strains of Filarmonica della Scala after a year and a half of indoctrination, Levine and the MET Orchestra have a trademark patina, a very comforting and expected sound, which is not completely adept at interpreting bel canto as I would have hoped. Maestro Levine covered the orchestra tremendously with gorgeous color and depth, as always, a perfect match in the opera hall. Bright and brisk, but lacking something quintessentially bel canto. Levine stated [afterwards at the Q&A] that he had never done before a full opera version of Lucia, and we were duly honored to be part of the performance.

Scene II began as the retainers clear-out, and snow began to fall from the sky, visible through the gigantic window cut-out. Miraculously, the black felty screen finally rose, revealing a breathtaking scene: Twilight in the park, the crumbled fountain of the Siren, and a great hill covered in spiny trees. Purple, stormy winter skies and dead foliage scattered over the rocks. Just when you are recovering from the gorgeous atmospheric splendor, Dessay appeared in a full Victorian black coat and ruffled floor-length skirt. Very goth, very pure. During “Regnava nel silenzio”, the spirit of the young girl who was murdered by her jealous lover became personified as a zombie ghost in a full white gown and platinum hair, and drifted towards Lucia, caressed her, and then disappeared into the fountain of the Siren. RINGU!!!!!!!! omg I almost ran out of the theatre crying. *four people died from watching that videotape!*

And that was the end of Act I. There was a 45 minute break between each act, with the first one serving-up lunch bags for sustenance. The lunch bags contained one (1) apple, Macintosh, byotches; one (1) bottled water, Evian; two (2) cookies, chocolate and white chocolate; three (3) sandwiches, hammykins, creamykins, and lunchykins; one (1) complimentary all-access 2007-08 Met Opera season pass. What’s that? You didn’t get a complimentary season pass in your lunch-bag? Looks like your mom’s not a Jif® mom. oh well sucks 4u!

Act II ran for 44 minutes, and began with another white silkscreen, this time tangled with a veritable forest, much like the promo textile pieces hanging on the MET façade these days. The curtain rose onto Enrico’s apartment, a huge hall in minty-limey green, two floor-to-ceiling windows on the left, and two smaller doors on the right. Set designer Daniel Ostling explained that he had come across this similar color frequently on his visits to Scotland. The only props were massive mounds of furniture covered in drop clothes, and an uncovered desk upstage on the left. Dessay was in a beautiful indoor cotton dress, adherent to the Victorian style with a green bow tied around her waist.

Dessay’s interplay with Mariusz Kwiecien’s Enrico was captivating, and at times powerful (except when he grabbed Dessay’s hand to sign the marriage contract, which backfired Zimmerman’s not-comedic direction, perplexed the singers, but somehow managed to titillate the NYC crowds). Kwiecien said at the Q&A that he loves to play the bad guy on the stage, because it is such a departure from his real-life good-guy persona.

The audience witnessed during this scene the lighting technicians tinkering with the lights, one of the first reminders that this was indeed a “working performance”. After the stellar duets between Dessay and Kwiecien, servants came into the room and prepared the great apartment by stripping it clean of all the dust clothes and window coverings. They revealed two giant chandeliers (these are sooo from Act II, Scene II of Zeff’s La Traviata, that I fittingly expected matadors and gypsies to storm the hall and start dancing), candelabras, and giant palms. Scene II’s wedding guests arrived, and Mara Blumenfeld’s excellent costume prowess was demonstrated. She chose to use lustrous silks, all in grey and white. The entire chorus was outfitted in subtlety grand ball dresses, in grays with white polka dots, stripes, and solids, very Dior Fall 2007 couture.

Marcello Giordani’s Edgardo was immense, displaying a gigantic scope of singing and unflagging color. He last made his Open House appearance last year as Pinkerton in Madama Butterfly, and admitted that the last time he sang Lucia was eight years ago. Arrived Dessay in a magenta dress (which, IMO was too high on magenta and blue…a true red would have been more visually stunning. But curiously enough, Mara Blumenfeld explained that during the Victorian era, red was an acceptable and popular color for wedding gowns. Also, the marriage and signing of the marriage contract were usually two different ceremonies in the Victorian times, which is why she chose to dress Dessay in a different gown for the scene). John Relyea's Raimondo looked the hawtness dressed in his sassy party pants.

The sextet was pretty insane, and Michaela Marten’s Alisa proved a solid, strong voice, at a few passages even singing over Dessay (but my suspicions are that Dessay was saving her voice to be in top form for Monday’s la prima). Dessay was like a little puppet, so petit and graceful, and so willing to be manipulated by all those around her. The aberration to the scene was an olde tyme photographer who arranged a marriage portrait among the guests while the singers were getting their sing on. From a historical p.o.v, the attention to detail was nicely accurate, and it helped pushed the narrative, but I’m not sure it was necessary. And that was the end of Act II.

Act III, at 62 minutes, began with wild ejaculations for Jimmy as he walked back out to the podium. Again we saw the trademark white screen with branch silhouettes in black, but this time there were six. As the orchestra began to introduce the banquet hall inside the castle, lightening flashed across the screen. The screen raised and revealed another one of those full-stage, black felty cut-outs, with a tiny window up top, and a small set of stairs in the center. This was the ruins of Wolf’s Craig Castle, and pretty freaking lame. Edgardo sat at a desk again, and lightning flashes were projected onto the black felt. omg so boring. This scene barely registers in my memory because it was so nondescript.

Finally, the black structure raised to usher-in Scene II, the scene of the festivities, which was not the most impressive scenery, but we are regardless happy for a bit of color. A long hallway landing, railed, and running horizontal to the top of the stage, was lowered. Connected to that, and spiraling downward to the stage floor, was a large staircase, at least 7-people wide. The chorus appeared again, all in sumptuous silvers, while Lucia in her white wedding dress ran across the top runway, the oblivious guests below. Costume designer Mara explained that the dress was inspired by Charles Frederick Worth’s 19th century fashion house.

Raimondo announced Lucia’s sickness, as she ran around the upper landing, making stabbing motions at her veil, and then dropping the bloody prop from the top banister, as it floated down to the chorus below and cleaved the masses. Dessay ran wildly down the stairs, and here began the ethereal glass H-armonica. Dessay was wearing to-the-elbow white gloves, which were marked on the fingers in blood, also staining her bodice, and the hem of her dress. She laughed like a madwoman (but not cackling) and tumbled down the last two steps, falling to the floor in a dead faint.

Her voice was clear, and all the ornamentation she allowed greatly enhanced the dramatic action. She looked like a little doll in her dress, fluttering around stage like a wiry puppet. She draped herself over the prompter box as the chorus huddled around her, and peeled off her white gloves, a woman deranged. She retreated to the stairs and manically laughed again as she tried to annihilate the veil with her hands. Superb. She was as light as air, nervously twitching and spastically emoting as a woman in trauma. At the end of the mad scene, she received tante brave as she held a pose draped still over the arms of two men. She was amazing. Well deserved cheers. She wasn’t the rage of Callas but more the madness of a desperate woman. When Zimmerman was questioned in the Q&A, she replied that she wanted to make her Lucia more fragile than usual, and created a marked difference in her sanity as the opera progressed, marking her descent into madness more poignant.

Scene III: the staircase rolled away, the top banister landing was absorbed into the ceiling, and the cemetery of Ravenswood Castle is established. Nighttime clouds and a large moon were projected on the back of the stage, completely bare. An arch lowered from the ceiling and framed the background, in the center a brambly tree and a few tombstones. Here Levine called on Edgardo at “Tombe degli avi miei” to take a few measures pause before his entrance, and stopped him to re-block the scene. When Marcello Giordani finished the aria, he was met with a well-deserved, sustained applause and tanti bravi.

The train of mourners arrived from the Lammermoor Castle, and I particularly liked Zimmerman’s attention to detail, as she had sprayed-down the mourners’ black umbrellas with glistening moisture, adding greatly to the realism of a cold, Scottish rain. Edgardo’s last was “Tu che a Dio spiegasti l’ali”. Zimmerman reanimated the spirit from Act I now as Lucia, who came from the tombs and caressed Edgardo, then stabbed him in the stomach, holding him as he died. She was done-up in pale-face, as a zombie bride, too bulky for her, and a little too campy. The End. During curtain call, Dessay, the methodical ballerina, bowed and touched her fingertips to her toes. The rehearsal was over 2:45pm-ish, and then another 15 minutes of Jimmy retooling a few key parts with the orchestra. 3:00 pm began the Q&A panel with all the key singers and production team, and then until 5:00 pm was the queue to walk across the MET stage.

Dessay, during the Q&A, was as witty, self-deprecating, and clever as usual. When asked about her preparations for the role, answered that she collaborated with Zimmerman, and focused on adding layers to her character. When asked about how she stays healthy, she said she eats seeds in the morning [like a little bird!], and tries not to catch any diseases.

I don't think I could have said it better than that. 

//sarahb has some great photos from the open house on her blog here. 

Putting teh Saix Back in Dessaix.

OC is back from the thrilling Lucia di Lammermoor OPEN HOUSE earlier at the Metropolitan Opera, and must first hang up properly her Marni jacket, Marc Jacobs silk shell, and lovingly put her YSL's back in their silk baggies. Manners, manners.

Here I will drop just one quick anecdote from earlier this afternoon. Later tonight I will post pictures, scene-by-scene replay, and loads of **spoilers**! 

kicked out teh haus..you. were. kicked out teh haus...said HRH Natalie Dessay to the NYC audience after the performance, disapproving of the house's laughter during the Act II, Scene II's signing of the marriage contract (la mia condanna ho scritta!). The query was begged by Dessay during the Q&A, m.c.'d by Margaret Juntwait, which followed the performance (from 3:00-3:30 pm). As Dessay grabbed the microphone and turned the questions back on the questioners, she asked earnestly and frankly to the house: "Why did you laugh during the contract scene?" [...] "Why is it funny?" [...] "It's not funny." [...] "It's terrible!"...leaving the rest of the panel to clumsily clarify the meaning of "irony". Awkward.

<3 <3 <3 u Sexay Dessay.

|^^^^^^^^^^^\||____
|.The Dessay Truck..|||'""|""\__,_
| __Dessay 4evar __ l||__|__|__|)
|(@)@)"""""""**|(@)(@)**|(@)

Moar Margaret

(...continued from here.)

Margaret Garner, the modern American opera set to the English libretto of award-winning writer Toni Morrison, is quite a rush: There are dramatically challenging & powerful scenes, calling on a comprehensive spectrum of onstage acting: where at the hands of her husband, the young heroine witnesses the death of her boss's foreman on her family's kitchen table; the lewd degradations of her owner and his high society friends and the burning shame of oppression…all gradually vacuuming into the downward spiral of bearing witness to her husband's hanging, the violent slaying of her two young children, and her own inevitable reckoning on the gallows. All of this very heavy stuff, mashed and rolled into Morrison's at-times burdened libretto, and Danielpour's at-times burdened score, but almost always steam-rolling through the deficiencies with superb direction, determination, and passion. 

Morrison, with a Nobel Prize in Literature on her mantel since 1993, had previously dabbled in the haunted story of the 19th century Kentucky baby-cide runaway slave, Margaret Garner, using the tale as inspiration for her 1987 novel Beloved, portrayed by the character Sethe. The opera's story strays from Beloved, much less about haunting (thank gawd) and more about the blood & tears of living, although liberties are taken when contrasted with the historical case. NYCO even boasted paperback copies of Beloved throughout their various gift kiosks (right next to the $9.00 Garner libretto).

However, Morrison's libretto can be at times embarrassingly predictable. Act I, for example, has our lead singing a lullaby to her child. Two days later (and many, many glasses of Manischewitz later), I can still recall the rondo lyrics easily something as, "Sleep in the meadow, sleep in the hay; baby's gonna dream the night away"). The libretto hovers poetically, but could stand alone effectively as narrative. After the stylized libretti of long-dead poets in olde tymee prose, Morrison's is filled with just too many superfluous words to be sung fluidly. Watching the supertitles, there were prepositions that could have easily been pruned from the libretto for a more poetic integration.

(MORRISON!!! In the crowds...with sparkly silver shoes, a lovely grey silk pjamay dress, and two gorgeous clips in her hair)

Off to a late start of almost 15 minutes, the curtain raised on a pitched stage, framed by two sky-high white columns, the background strips of weathered wood evocative of a giant barn and a WPA-inspired landscape. It is 1856, Kentucky, and the all-black chorus of slaves begins as a stirring mass. Native New York composer Richard Danielpour's swelling, Broadway-esque music, set to an infectious libretto with equally tenacious tunes such as, "A Little More Time," and the catchy ditties can be imagined as soundtrack-occupying refrains. The inspiration is a strange meld of classic Verdi-esque exposition and American Broadway, which creates an unpredictable elixir. Trickling down to the singers, among a few arias, it seemed that the musical cues were not discernable: the overt, jerky cues given by conductor Manahan to the leads during Act I were especially stressful.   

The success of the opera lies in the charisma and draw of the singers internal and external strife, as the enthusiastic standing ovation at the end of the evening demonstrated. Seven debut performances littered the program's copy, including the four meatiest roles of Margaret, her husband Robert, his mother Cilla, and Maplewood Plantation owner Edward Gains.

The audience favorite of the evening was undisputedly Robert Garner's Gregg Baker, a baritone of like 6'6" who was required to howl, lament, carry firearms, and block-out mortal kombat moves throughout the long performance. Hovering a foot over tenor Joel Sorensen's Casey, one of Gain's henchmen, he wrestled the poor tenor to the floor (and table), throwing him around like a bundle of sticks in a death match. In fact, the Act I (scene II) strangling of Casey was so powerful, the audience (unbelievably) broke into spontaneous applause after the dramatic cunning between the two men pronounced Casey dead. Or maybe we were relieved that there would be no more cringing from the smattering of the racial slurs that pepper the libretto.      

Robert's mother Cilla was sung by soprano Lisa Daltirus, and she transformed as if melting into the role of a woman like 3x her age, superbly singing through each scene. Of course, mezzo-soprano Tracie Luck slammed it as Margaret, strong and rigid. The other star of the evening was Timothy Mix's interpretation of meanie (half Scarpia/half Germont) plantation owner, Edward Gains, who had apparently been called into the role quite recently when the original bariton cancelled due to a family emergency. 

But again, when the clashes between Morrison and Danielpour surface, the heightened dramatic impact elevates the discomfort, and shoulders the success of the opera. One of the most chilling scenes occurs in Act II: After Robert Garner is found hiding in an underground shed for the murder of Casey, he is apprehended by roving lawmakers and prepared to be hanged. Margaret is present before her children, and they all witness his slaughter, but she decides that her children will not live in bondage, and cuts them down with a knife. She is led away, while the corpses of the two children and her husband haunt the stage. It is then in a scene almost too gripping to watch that the slave chorus flows tenderly through the aftermath and slowly gathers the dead bodies for ceremony. It is a direction so frank, startling, unforgiving, and at times heartbreaking.

The opera premiered on May 7, 2005 in Detroit at the Michigan Opera Theatre with the lovely Denyce Graves as Garner. But as the opera parks itself in the fifth venue, and you still get that feel of seeing something unique, an organic work that keeps trying to engage the audience. With a new production by the excellent Tazewell Thompson, this version rawked my stockings as well as the stockings of those in my ginormous 50-person row (can I just ask what is up with those orchestra rows that stretch for like a million consecutive seats without an aisle break at the NY State theater? Fire hazard anyone?). Stark, cool, and as undetached as Garner herself, we’re glad to have the NYCO for productions like this.

Margaret Garner at New York City Opera: So Flipping Insane, Hank Aaron Showed Up

No Oprah @ the opera, but we'll gladly take Hammerin' Hank. The former MLB playa cleverly dragged himself out of retirement last night, and made it to the New York City Opera for a good reason: A delicious evening passed with the season opener and new production premiere of Richard Danielpour/Toni Morrison's opera Margaret Garner, which was sheer pleasurable omg hawtness.

If one was so inclined to get their freak on with the NYCO, tickets (starting at $500), allowed you to join cast and VIPs for a pre-performance dinner and a post-performance toast. Tempting, but a new pair of leopard-print louboutins (or the marc jacobs backward-heeled shoes) remain unclaimed... Tonight's performance also marked, like, the third consecutive official opening night of New York City Opera's 2007-08 season, leading to confusion muddled amid agendas and schedules alike (their 3-night Opera-For-All festival had taken residence in Lincoln Center's New York State Theater for the past three days, throwing-off the official start date, which even the New York Times critics had trouble discerning).

Between the NYCO debuts of just about every principal, the visceral & intellectual & adept acting, the raw RAWR power & energy, and the perfect synthesis of lighting/costumes/sets, this new production proved to be a kicka$$ offering from this season's samplings. Also there were two dead babies. Also two hangings. A poetic, yet narrative, libretto provided the perfect venue to showcase the provocative production. Danielpour's composition was a total synthesis between the classic strains of Verdi, the jazzier sounds of Gershwin, and the playfulness of Lenny.   

Aside from it all: every so often, you get the opportunity to experience a living composer and a living librettist. What's your excuse? 

MOAR tomorrow. RAWR.

hOh Noes Look What You've Done Angiola The Drama Llama Is Back!

Critics savage last night's Traviata at La Scala, question the management's judgement, cut Gheorghiu down to size, scold Maazel and zero in on director Cavani; show-stealing Leo Nucci lurks in the wings; an All About Eve scenario begins to develop; the "when is Angela leaving Milan" countdown begins among Scala insiders; and more.

Much More.

Teh Drama Llama is back in full force at la Scala; Opera Chic has delayed her flight home indefinitely; stay tuned for wall-to-wall coverage according to this website's shameful tradition when it comes to classical music drama developing at la Scala.

Stay tuned for more juicyness...

Angela Gheorghiu Gets A Loggionisti Pardon, Survives Almost Unscathed; Lorin Maazel Almost Pulls An Alagna, Refuses To Show Up For Curtain Calls *~>UPDATED<~*

BREAKING

This just in: Opera Chic has just come home from la Scala's Traviata, Angela Gheorghiu's opera debut in the theatre where her husband Roberto Alagna got booed off the stage last December in Aida.

More later, very soon, but for now: Angela Gheorghiu got sporadically booed by loggionisti but was lucky enough to be saved by the lameness of Maestro Maazel's conducting -- it was poor Maazel who ended up taking one for the team, a bit like the dude who went hunting with Dick Cheney and got shot in the face and then apologized to the VP.

Anyway: in the audience we were all bracing for a skewering of la Gheorghiu but we got instead an anti-Maazel torrent of boos right before the start of the third act. Maazel actually had to wait a full 90 seconds until all the booing had died down, because it would have drowned out the pianissimo of the Scala orchestra.

It went downhill from there. And Angela was home free.

Stay tuned for more...Opera Chic needs to showah

VVVV UPDATE VVVV

The drama llama that is the Alagna-Gheorghiu couple keeps on giving, but sometimes in a weird way: as I said, everybody thought Gheorghiu was going to get a brisk a$$kicking by loggionisti tonight (the sad truth is that they mostly hate her for having uttered some slightly flippant remarks about Callas -- something like "I don't imitate any other sopranos, Callas included", or words to that effect -- more than for her, frankly, too-small voice).

OC had only heard Gheorghiu live once before tonight's trainwreck -- a recital at la Scala, and it's unfair to judge a soprano's power from a recital like that one. But in that big house, tonight, Gheorghiu's voice REALLY sounded small. And her acting, well, she has charisma but not really tons of it.

Instead, she did get some booing -- mostly concentrated on the left side of the second galleria where a small team of loud Angela-haterz vocalized some nasty BOOOOOOOOOOOs after her big arias of the first and second act. They were clearly there, but they were kinda drowned-out with the general applause anyways.

The surprise, though, was Lorin Maazel's conducting: OC is on the record as being a fan of the maestro's knowledge and his competence, but this is the night where he embodied all the limitations his haterz keep talking about -- that he just goes thru the motions like a high-priced hack.

It was a very bad night for the maestro, a night that smelled of lack of preparation with the orchestra (because come on, these people have been subjected to Muti's Verdi drills for 20 years, and in the last two years they have delivered two perfectly fine Verdi performances for Maestro Chailly, a muscularly hot Rigoletto and a correct if uninspiring Aida, it can't be the orchestra's fault; and Maazel is a man who knows his scores. Tonight's debacle just reeked of laziness on the maestro's part).

What happened? Well, he tried to flesh out the first act doing that "elegantly aloof" thing that he sometimes does very well, only it collapsed on him: very stilted phrasing, overlong tempi, a sense of shallowness. Act II is where things really fell apart, never to recover.

And the loggionisti's impatience cost him a nice round of boos and nasty catcalls ("Poor Verdi", "Poor Italy", "Conduct a band of amateurs instead" among the finest examples).

He had to wait for the insults to stop coming, he just couldn''t give the downbeat to begin Act III, they'd have drowned the music out.

This is a small clip taken from the Rai radio feed, keep in mind the applause has been pumped up by the mics, at la Scala the boos and catcalls sounded much stronger than you hear in the clip below -- but they came from up on high in the second Galleria, basically from the roof, and the performance was being filmed for a DVD and broadcast live on radio and via Internet. The file's here:

http://download.yousendit.com/AD76100013D382A1

Irritated by the sneering loggionisti (his Italian is amazing, so he understood every nuance of sarcasm), Maazel refused to join the rest of the cast for the curtain calls (very sporadic boos, mostly applause for the cast, even an attempt of a standing ovation in the middle of the platea). Not an Alagna-style tantrum, OK, but Maazel's a big boy, he can take the abuse. Just show up and face the loggione, your career speaks for itself -- to OC he demonstrated lack of sportsmanship. If you show up for the cheeering you have to show up for the abuse too -- to show leadership.

Gheorghiu started a bit tentative, but got better in Act II and finished pretty strong even if I could have cared less for the OMFGLOOKATMEMYLUNGZARECOLLAPSING shtick, that gets old really quick. Her voice is small, even for la Scala. Her acting -- bah. She looked great, tho -- she has lost weight and she is now a tall(ish) really slender (think Atkins-style, with arms even too thin for her frame) 40-something with big b00bs. Not enuff to make OC go gay (Netrebko is our honorary "Soprano I'd Go Gay For") but not bad ma'am, not bad at all.

Ramon Vargas instead started pretty strong and ran out of steam pretty quick, and by the time he slapped her around throwing cash all over the stage like a drunken sailor who just won a poker game in a Thai bordello, poor Ramon was really gasping for air, his lungs more damaged than the TBC lady's. His diction is also pretty bad when it comes to Cs and Zs -- it's easy to fix for a Spanish speaker and OC is surprised he hasn't done that already. But we like Ramon so we're biased.

Wanna know more: (like, how sucky was Liliana Cavani's staging? We liked the Pescucci costumes tho, exquisite)?

Wait until tomorrow. OC haz spaken.

Why Can’t Anyone Just Leave Poor Lenny Alone?

[Do not insert a "best of both possible worlds" joke here]

First it was the NYC elementary school that thought it would be cool to do a biographical sketch in the very cemetery where Lenny’s body resides. Then Carsen took out his beat-down stick and whacked with all his might to create something simultaneously kind of laudable, but incomprehensibly *not* Bernstein’s Candide.   

Herpes jokes, a grabby-hands Pangloss, Cunégonde as a “shiksa b*tch”, the immigrants to the New World referred to as, “wops, kikes, spics, [insert additional offensive slang here], and the KKK dancing a hoe-down. It’s like, okay Carsen, WE GET IT. I mean, just how many times can you hear "West Failure" (for “Westfalia”) before it gets old?! Yeah, um: 3x.

Amazingly, through all the racial slurs and barbs, Carsen had at least enough sense to not drop the n-bomb…but then again, even if he did, I don’t think the audience would have cared, as there was indeed a warm reception for Carsen’s antics at La Scala tonight. Lots of cheers when Carsen (wearing one of the most hideous -- dark purple and white striped -- suits I’ve seen in my entire life) came onstage to take his curtain call. A smattering of boos, but really just a miniscule dollop compared to the wild cheering. For the American experience, Carsen leaves one with a complete dichotomy of both nostalgia and embarrassment. Embarrassment for the egregious metaphors and couched social criticisms via an extremely altered libretto. Or as the La Scala flyer states, “Liberamente adattato da Robert Carsen”, freely adapted. "Liberamente adattato" my a$$. That was straight-up misappropriation.

Carsen, your anti-establishment, anti-globalization, anti-TV shtick is hijacking Lenny’s musical/operetta/opera (I’m sooo not getting into this debate fyi tia) REPORTED REPORTED!!   more tomorrow...

Inland Empire, ti presento Richard Jones' Direction of Shostakovich's Lady Macbeth

Remember when we wrote here about David Lynch directing Dmitri Shostakovich’s Lady Macbeth? Well it seems that Richard Jones has already beaten him to the task. Back tonight from Teatro alla Scala's la prima, too tired to go for drinks, I'm falling into bed after this quick recap:

Yes, this is the same staging seen at the Royal Opera House’s 2006 production with Pappano on the podium, and I put forth exactly the same praises and detractions as I had previously read. I found that the direction clashed overtly with the musical cues of Shostakovich's heartbreakingly beautiful and equally jarring composition. There were just too many moments when the visual images set forth by Jones just didn't match at all with Shostakovich’s intricate score. But independently, they both kicked a$$ in their own way.

Yes, we had our pig-masked rapist spraying a stream of white foam directly into the unmentionables between Aksinya's splayed legs, we had our Katerina/Sergey humping-against-the-wall scene, we had our headless body of Zinovy wrapped in plastic being dragged-off the stage. Everything that was promised we served. The end result was a riveted, enchanted, slightly horrified audience, exhausted from the spectacle of 3.5 hours of pathos and visceral imagery, monsters and tacky wallpaper, set in the twisted nightmare of a dark David Lynchian canvas.

This was Inland Empire version 2.0, from the scenery to the overall tone, and I felt again I was stuck inside that freaking horrible rabbit-head puppet apartment! omg whatever u do DONT LOOK BELOW!!!!vvvvvvvvv omg I’m going to bed but I just know I’m going to have nightmares. ok now I'm unsure of what to write...everything's a little weird in here. even pagliaccio is scared <:"[

Lady Macbeth: Pulp Fiction @ La Scala

Even if the Soviet house organ, Pravda (it was, OC understands, like a knockoff fashion magazine, only with badly-dressed Russians in it and very few photos anyway) really hated it and they wanted to gut poor nerdy Shostakovich like a sturgeon for it, Opera Chic is a huge fan of Shostakovich's ms. bada$$ opera, Lady Macbeth of Mtsensk .

And Nikolai Leskov (picture above), the writer of the pulp novel that inspired the libretto, Леди Макбет Мценского уезда, was actually pretty cool. Russian text here.

Now OC has got to go at la Scala for la prima of the opera, she does not want to make the paparazzi wait too long.

Leoš Janáček’s Jenůfa at Teatro alla Scala

Concluding from here: From the mastermind directing and staging of Stéphane Braunschweig comes a chilling, minimal wash of the Czech opera Jenůfa at Teatro alla Scala, trapping the performers in a world as stripped-down and bare-bone as the raw emotions and oppressive tragedy found in the libretto. Opera Chic had heard the buzz prior to the performance, and knew that the design team channeled the genius of Donald Judd, Dan Flavin, and Mark Rothko, (in co-production with Teatro Real Madrid, and created at the Paris Théâtre du Châtelet in 1996) and there was no way she would miss it. Another draw was to satiate her flaming crush on Anja Silja, which intensified after attending a NYC Jenůfa-centric lecture between Silja and Karita Mattila at the MET Opera.

Act I opens with dark-brown paneled walls, stacked and rising to the ceiling, set as a framing element for the entire stage. The floor is painted stark white. Jenůfa sits tending to her plant, while a narrow slit opens in the floor behind her, from which the giant red turbines from the mill circulate behind her, perpendicular to the floor. It’s stunning, and provides a very cutting image, and greatly foreshadowing the morbid presence of the mill and what tragedy is to come. Costumes are either swaths of bright red cloth, creamy whites, or blacks, and pop from the dark brown wood panels of the staging (in the article below, you can see Števa returning with the other musicians and conscripts).

Throughout the opera, the shadows cast from the superb lighting create their own independent show, deepening the pathos and visceral impetus that breaks-down between the characters. Long mellow shadows mix with harsh, bright, cutting plays of light…thanks to the genius behind lumière Marion Hewlett's clever technique. The theme of cutting, sharpness, and jagged ripping was transformed into the lighting, creating visual elements of the same nature.

Act II, the room in the house of Kostelnička, has been shown as two simple walls pushed together to form a deep triangle. At the point of the triangle, furthest away from the stage, is the cradle of the baby. When Kostelnička decides to kill the child and snatches the baby from the cradle (no not teh babee!), the room spits open, shattered, splintered, with sharp, white lights creating physical seams and stratifications on the stage floor. It’s very effective and powerful. At the point where Laca enters the room and reaffirms his love to Jenůfa, that huge motherfather fan comes up from the stage and divides Kostelnička from the couple, the shows splicing and cutting the forms. Throughout it all, Anja Silja sang her freaking head off. She made Emily Magee’s Jenůfa appear impotent and plastic.

Act III was the same basic staging as Act I, but included stark yellow/green lighting, and pews evocative of the church. Maestro Lothar Koenigs conducted blithely, pulling staccato and coldness from the orchestra when needed, and then morphing into a sweet legato. It was perfect.

(pretty bad photo of curtain call with Jenůfa front and center) 

At the curtain call, Jenůfa was more or less snubbed, given a polite applause for her capable performance. But the real applause went for the creative team (Braunschweig, Hewlett, and Thibault Vancraenenbroeck for costumes), Lothar Koenigs’ conducting, Miro Dvorsky’s Laca, and certainly for the most bada$$ lady singing on stage today: Anja Silja.

~~Here's a bonus that was spotted during la pausa:

If ur invited as someone's "escort" to la prima, don't dress like ur @ the Kentucky Derby. yeee-haw! Dress + hat does not automatically = class tia tia. ladies, your fashion crimes are hijacking my will to live. (btw, no one has worn a hat at la scala since like Verdi).

   

Take No Prisoners: Jenůfa Premiere

OC returned a few hours ago from la prima of Janáček's Jenůfa at Teatro alla Scala, and has quite a few stories to tell (which will have to wait until tomorrow when a rosy-cheeked and bright-eyed OC has gotten a few hours of beauty sleep under her tired little head).

Amid endless curtain calls, wild cheering for conductor Lothar Koenigs, Miro Dvorsky's Laca, and of course, omg omg Anja Silja's wrenching Kostelnčka, it was immense. Scenery stripped bare, collapsing space, dynamic light, like a visualized Rothko -- this production put the holla back in La Scala.

It was Anja's show. ok anja you won at the opera.

I could totally see her backstage before the performance ripping water fountains off the wall and being like WHO WANTS A PIECE and then running amok knocking over vending machines. The woman is unstoppable.

Recap: Adriana Lecouvreur at Teatro alla Scala

Last night being la prima of Adriana Lecouvreur at Teatro alla Scala, Opera Chic had to be there. As Milan is entering warmer temperatures since the return from the Dolomites (with temperatures in the 70s -- *Fahrenheit obvs), yesterday evening called for lighter dress. I slung on a Junko Koshino little black dress that I scored from a friend, paired with Boule De Neige black stilettos, topped with a cream vintage Moroccan silk shawl and a black Yves Saint Laurent Muse bag; an ultra-chunky 1970s Rolex Submariner men's watch, and some 80s vintage Barneys blinging gold chains.

It seemed like none of the swanky Milanese regulars were out to represent last night, still on vacation in Switzerland (teh lamez0rs) or Toscana (meh), and La Scala was at half capacity, filled with mostly tourists and out-of-towners. Instead of the usually-crammed six-seat palchi, last night favored a more comfortable two. By the beginning of Act IV after the second intermission, only three-quarters of the platea (orchestra floor) was filled, and many palchi vacant. sigh. We can irresponsibly shift blame of the absence and apparent unpopularity on the fact that Easter holiday in Milan provides a giant break from work and school, allowing flight to the mountains for holiday. However, the truth is much more irritating and depressing.

As Opera Chic has already mentioned here, few snobs are more dangerous (or more misguided) than the anti-Cilea snobs. Because around here, apparently Francesco Cilea has been totally blacklisted by the kewl kids for, like, decades. He was considered like Catalani, a horribly lowbrow one-hit wonder who only ever wrote one good aria, in his case, “Io son l'umile ancella”, OC’s like most favorite, resonating aria evar (which you can hear Dessì sing on her website via real media here).

For that reason, when they asked Carlos Kleiber which opera he'd like to conduct next and he answered to the adoring Milanese snobs, "Adriana Lecouvreur, of course, a most elegant opera", and the room fell immediately silent -- only Mascagni, our beloved genius, has been more widely dissed by the alleged opera-experts here. So Cilea doesn't really get the love he deserves.

Luckily, Daniela Dessì is insanely popular here, getting countless ovations and herds of bouquets and wild cheers. Adriana Lecouvreur, though, is still box office poison at La Scala. Which is why OC had the most enjoyable evening, almost alone in her palco box (instead of sharing it with five other mouth-breathers).

Act I had us backstage at the Comédie Française, and the scene of the elegant and resonating aria, “Io son l'umile ancella”. Dessì was slow to warm (as well as the orchestra until they found their full sound around the end of Act I), and the aria did not captivate as it has in the past with OC’s favorite Adriana Mirella Freni (who sung the same staging of Adriana Lecouvreur at La Scala in 1989 with Gavazzeni conducting, found on this DVD). But the lackluster aria didn’t matter, as the loggionisti have a well-known, publicly-flaunted gigant0r crush on her, and they shouted at least four brava at the end of the aria. (look at me im in love with dessì ever since i started goign to opera ive been in love with her).

Costumes were sumptuous, and everyone was clothed in eighteenth century, French court pieces. Lighting was superb for the ailing Opera Chic (still struggling to readjust to the headaches that the Milan air always brings) and was very dim and soothing, leaving most scenes in tepid light.

Dessì, in costume (within a costume) was bedecked in long gold knickers, platform golden pumps, and a royal blue kimono/dutch robe with a tiara. Not lots of bewbage, tho. The play-within-a-play action consistently happens deep, deep, deep in the back of the stage, where a glass-cage pyramid traps the proceedings. The glass triangle occupies the stage throughout the four acts, so anyone with crappy seats in the side palchi is basically screwed, and will not catch the subtle, elegant nuances. teh suck 4u!!

Fabio Armiliato’s Maurizio was amazing, and begin adeptly with La dolcissima effigie. A full, lovely voice and great presence, the chemistry between him and Dessì was pretty hawt, obvs.

After the first pausa into Act II, we had Luciana D'Intino's Principessa di Bouillon interpretation of Acerba voluttà…O vagabonda stella, and it was powerful…as the orchestra had found their place, and the audience went insane with more brava than they had hurled at Dessì. Luciana D’Intino, as Dessì’s nemesis, garnered great respect and praise from the audience, rightfully so.

IMHO, this opera would be so much better if there were little tippy dogs running around the stage with little ruffled collars...like Adriana having on-leash a little toy breed like a little yorkshire terrier or little pomeranian running around at her heels pewping themselves. I know they drop pewp everywhere and fight/bark and are totally unpredictable and run underfoot, but couldn't they give them doggy valium or something?? These high court scenes are always bland, devoid of little doggies! OC demands a revision! I am not amused! Bring these doggie puppets to my sight!

Act III at the Hôtel de Bouillon is sumptuous, and the ballet even better. With Dormi, dormi, o pastorello!, the gorgeous ballet unfolds: Juno, Mercury...and Athena riding down from the heavens in a chariot of mechanized, stylized clouds (soooo marvelous...it is worth every every € of a €€€€ seat just to be hypnotized by those trippy puffy clouds), and  ending with Venus tipping from her shell. Adriana was put in a coral-orange gown, that once again, did not flaunt the bewbage. ;__;

Act IV is Adriana in bed behind the glass pyramid, where she later wakes and sings her awesome death scene. Her Poveri fiori was outstanding, and when she was done singing, it appeared as if the loggionisti wanted to have her baby, gauging by the insane reaction. The death scene was outstanding, and resonated deeply. Her insanity was so gripping, that one almost couldn’t wait for her to expire. Die already crazy lady! *shakes fist* This final scene was also the uncovering of Dessì’s cavorting bewbs, and they were off teh hook. It was like the final unveiling of her hidden super powers, her cleavage as a delicious weapon.

The final curtain call was a well-deserved ovation for Dessì, Armiliato, and D’Intino. Endless bouquets of flowers rained-down on Dessì from the upper gallerie. Milan is a fickle b*tch, but when you are praised here, the captivating emotion and laudation is almost unfathomable...OC doesn’t endorse those trite “20 things to do before you die” lists and whatnot, but watching that kind of raw admiration and approval is definitely something to be added to that list of adventures.

Hmmmm:

• Sneak aboard a NASA Shuttle to the International Space Station √
• Race with the bulls in Pamplona √
• Seduce a Venetian gondolier √
• Get wasted on mint juleps at the Kentucky Derby √
• Hear La Scala’s loggionisti go insane for one of their coveted √

okay i can die happy k tnx bi.

Adriana Lecouvreur at Teatro alla Scala

Here are some images to hold you over until tomorrow's review (with more pictures)!

Above: Daniela Dessì's curtain call of Cilea's Adriana Lecouvreur la prima, April 10, 2007 at Teatro alla Scala, Milan.

Above: Curtain call after Act II of Cilea's Adriana Lecouvreur la prima, April 10, 2007 at Teatro alla Scala, Milan.

(Above: Adriana Lecouvreur la prima, April 10, 2007 at Teatro alla Scala...yay for daylight savings time!) 

Salome: It pretty much rawked.

From last night’s la prima of Strauss’ Salome at Teatro alla Scala, the staging is basically the same as this DVD from a few years ago, which is the Royal Opera House, Covent Garden BBC filming that was conducted by Christoph von Dohnányi, and starred Catherine Malfitano as Salome, and Jochanaan as Bryn Terfel. It is also somewhat the same as the Salzburg Festival production from 1992, with a few modifications.

For those who are thinking of going: if you sit anywhere stage right for this production, you won’t see anything. I mean nothing. Bondy has implemented a very user-unfriendly, deep staging that left a few of OC’s friends from last night (who had very expensive palchi) very dissatisfied.

(Image of Bondy-directed Salome from the 15 euro production catalog.)

The scenery resembled an underground utility space evocative of the maze-like concrete structures that stretch under many USA colleges. Jochanaan’s cistern was a cavernous, menacing trench in the ground (heh: he was a cave troll), which was flanked by an angled ramp, where much of the action and flitting of Salome took place (she took a full roll down it during the Dance of the Seven Veils, wrapped like a mummy in a silver scarf, and shedding the layers as she tumbled downwards).

Nadja Michael's Salome adhered to her latest quotes and description from La Repubblica. She came across as an immature, annoying, spoiled sixteen-year old girl. Her swimmer’s form gave her an agile, toned, athletic edge, and she leapt around the stage as lithely as a gymnast. She commanded a full voice, with deafening passages that somehow even soared above Harding’s super-thunderous conducting. She rose to the demand of the incredibly difficult music, and was petit enough to be somatically-convincing of the part (at thirty-seven years, she is nevertheless petite and fresh-faced enough to pull-off a teenager). La Danza dei Sette Veli was choreographed by a ballerina, and retained that signature. The dance was difficult (and was lauded more for technique/skill rather than interpretation), and had so many opportunities for the soprano to stumble or falter, but she pulled it off wonderfully.

Jochanaan was Falk Struckmann, with a powerful voice, and a towering presence. The one thing lacking in this Salome was the complete absence of sexy. It just wasn’t there. The combination of cold blue lighting, with the rawk-hard body of Nadja Michael, and the fact that she remained covered in her diaphanous layers just didn’t bring tha passion. She had stated in that La Repubblica article, “La mia danza e' si piena di erotismo...” But I saw more erotic behavior on that C-SPAN Senate hearing on School Food Nutrition.

Harding was fluent, and purveyed a huge, distressing sound. The loggionisti lost their pewp during his curtain call, but he was well-deserving. Chilling at parts, especially during "Ah! Ich habe deinen Mund gekusst, Jochanann." He proficiently suffused the score with full expression during Salome’s delirious moments of joy, and then turned the sound absolutely chilly during moments of insanity. He was amazingly proficient.

And those “few egregious moments” yesterday?: As Herod's Jewish guests arrived in full white beards and tallitot, there were a few grumblings from the loggione, mine included. They were clearly arguing theology in an exaggerated debate, one even wielding a scrolled torah. Ok fine. whatevs. But what I don’t understand is this: at one point, there were a dozen Hassidim lined-up stage left, two rows deep, pressed against the wall, and praying/davening to mimic the Western Wall. F-wording F, what the hell was that all about?

The worst transgression? Later in action, when Salome demands the head of Jochanaan from Herodes, and he tries to placate her desire with the hidden jewels and riches of her mother, six of the Hassidum come out of the wings, acting in the background. They stand together, rending their hands in greedy desire, jostling each other, pointing insanely at the jewelry, and holding each other back from rushing to steal the tempting pile of jewels that Herodes slowly displays. lol greedy jews omg they want those emeralds so bad. I normally like Bondy, but in this production he came across as an a$$h0le, and I have no idea what would make anyone think different.

Nicely, the gore-factor wasn’t there either (OC isn’t a big fan), with Jochanaan’s head wrapped in a sparsely bloody white cloth. At the finale, Salome was squished to death by four riot gear cops with full-blown shields that crowded her. Like she stole a new dvd player in a riot or something and they caught her.

Oh noes. Opera Chic has just wandered into a wireless blindspo

Initial Report: March 6, 2007 La Scala Salome la prima

(OC is teh suck at using the new camera. Here is a blurry, over-exposed curtain call for your enjoyment! yay!)

I went to Salome at La Scala tonight because I constantly crave the brief flicker of warmth that only La Scala can provide me. heh. just playin.

I actually went because thanks to Harding (thou art that of questionable popularity & following), la prima wasn’t sold-out, and tickets were abundant. I also went because of rumors that the loggionisti would find Luc Bondy’s direction so dreadful, that hearty booing would possibly ensue during curtain call.

Well, apparently everyone was feeling civilized tonight, and the only disapproval heard was a smattering of jeers for Iris Vermillion's Herodias. Harding’s conducting was full of pathos, frantic and visceral, and completely adept, that he was treated to waves of apropos cheers. Nadja Michael's Salome was immense (more on her lithe dancing tomorrow), and she was appropriately commended. Falk Struckmann's Jochanaan was yummy.

Despite a few egregious moments (mostly concerning really horribly exaggerated stereotyping), it was a pretty banging night -- regardless of the fact that it had been rendered completely devoid of sexiness, and was overall pretty damn sterile.

...and btw, a kind reader sent OC a recording of the finale, which can be found via a YouSendIt link here.

Big Trouble in Little Cairo: Verdi's Aida at Teatro alla Scala

The day after La Prima at Teatro alla Scala, and I'm still trying to digest the entire night. It came and went in such a whirlwind of activity, I almost wish it were here again... 

I spent the last week fretting over what to wear, naturally, as I had been told that at La Prima at Teatro alla Scala, I would be among the company of the world's most prestigious opera critics, authors, Eurotrash, celebrities, dignitaries, politicians, presidents, designers, and banking moguls. Okay, whatevs. I mean, this girl has done NYC, has gone to loads of exclusive parties, and surely can do Milan. Right? *cringes*

Well, I had previously survived the grueling trial of Teatro alla Scala's annual Concerto di Natale last December 2005 (where Barenboim conducted Beethoven’s Ninth which RAEWKED! btw tia), which happens to be the second-most prestigious event of the annual Teatro alla Scala opera season. And I am proud to report that I had been victorious, surviving the night relatively unscathed, so I knew already the art of floating like a butterfly and stinging like a bee.

Therefore, I went as classic and black as possible, not wanting to draw too much attention, and bought a pair of Emma Hope brass button shoes in black suede, a Nancy Gonzalez crocodile clutch, a classic Ann Demeulemeester short-sleeved black silk dress with the matching silk scarf, black sheer stockings, and a Nanette Lepore black velvet and white embroidered ribbon coat.

You'd think that I had it going on, but stacked-up to the gratuitous opulence of miserable model/escorts, fashion designers, and Belgian ambassadors’ wives, I looked rather plain. But I looked good. We had a very eclectic mix last night at the theater of World Cup soccer players, washed-up actresses, diplomats, oil tycoons, finance ministers, tanned media executives, ancient Italian bankers, and a load of skanks with horrible plastic surgery, swathed in more fur than PETA could ever douse in bloody buckets of pig blood throughout their lifespan.

 

The women boasted shoulder-less gowns with full-arm satin gloves, white fur stoles, gigantic pearls between layers of velvet and satin, etc. The men in mostly white tie, and a few diplomats and generals sported those braided, gold aiguillettes like the French Garde Républicaine (which make me laugh because I always think of The Nutcracker).

As European celebrity is still quite new to me, I luckily could not identify most of the famous (really, ignorance is bliss). But I was able to recognize basically only the Inter Milan soccer players (thanks to the 2006 FIFA World Cup and the whole Zidane/Materazzi head-butting hilarity) who had flocked to the celebrity event. Last night saw the appearance of Marco Materazzi (now with less head-butting), Julio Cruz, and Luis Figo. I also recognized Italian “actress” Valeria Marini for her freakishly and painfully immense silicone lips, and also a Donatella Versace sighting. Ewwww. 

We arrived in darkness (with a 6:00 pm curtain time) but thankfully dry (it’s been raining and overcast here in Milan for basically the last month), as I had my hair blown-out to a stick-straight style earlier that afternoon. Getting into the actual theater was quite a challenge, as there were more police in attendance with equally ubiquitous road blocks that had been erected throughout Piazza della Scala, Via Verdi, and Via Manzoni. It was chaos. Finally entering the theater on such a drab, rainy night was a pleasure, and the energy and warmth in the lobby was overwhelming, red carpet and all, flowers everywhere.

As we entered the auditorium (a.k.a. “Little Cairo”) Frengo had greeted the audience by channeling his inner interior-designer, and had mounted floral arrangements of dried green palm-fronds and Egyptian flowers. On both sides of the central Presidential Box, there were placed two gigantic, six-foot fronds with white Egyptian water lilies, and salmon-pink roses. Also sitting in the Presidential Box was a cast of characters that would have made me crap myself if I had known who they all were at the time. We had Letizia Moratti, Karolos Papoulias, Ivo Sanader, and Romano Prodi. Also stationed throughout the rings of palchi were bouquets of smaller palms and flowers. It was a nice touch, but I started thinking that maybe Frengo at some point was talked-out of pulling a “P-Diddy East Hampton White Party”, and maybe wanted to required that all guests show up in Egyptian-inspired costume.

Chailly appeared in a full tuxedo, but with his charlatanistic scruffy face. I believe now that there is really nothing in this world that will ever make Chailly go with clean-shaven cheeks, because not even Frengo's fastidiousness and overbearing dictatorship could touch his whiskers. Regardless, the opening overture was delicious. Chailly choose a full, strong sound for the night, and although it was large, it wasn't overpowering. It was just lovely.

The curtain rose on Act I and bathed the entire auditorium in a gold light, with the gilded sheen rising from the scenery to the costumes. The entire stage was filled with an immense frieze covered in hieroglyphics and figures of ancient kings and pharos. Frengo had channeled Lynda Carter’s Wonder Woman, and Alagna appeared in a completely golden tunic, golden robe, golden tiara, golden breastplate, golden shin-guards, golden Wonder Woman wrist-guards, etc...Boy was ghetto-fabulous, but I was worried he was going to OG (death by an overdose of gold).

Alagna’s (btw, when I spell-check “Alagna’s”, MS Word suggests to me “Lasagna’s”) loalz. heh. Sorry. Aaaaanywaay, Alagna’s inaugural outfit heralded the appearance of platform sandals. Alagna was seriously standing on at least four inches of wood there. As he changed outfits throughout the night, the platforms remained, but in coordinating colors to match his robes. No wonder Alagna was so cranky with this production. Everyone else wore these light, little elf-like sandals with upturned toes. The costumes and design were so meticulous, and even the chorus was given as much attention as the leads. It was really magnificent.

Urmana was given some sort of dreadlocked black wig, which really made her look like the Predator monster unmasked from the Alien vs. Predator movie. She was draped in amazingly-slimming magenta and purple robe, which actually worked well for her robust physicality. She had opted for a rather dark slathering of theatrical greasepaint all over her body, much darker than Alagna. There were half-dozen guards stationed in blue tights and gold accented-blue robes, who had been given a washing of blue grease paint, which made me think of that episode of Arrested Development with Tobias and The Blue Man Group. heh.

Frengo introduced a clever method of using shiny gold rods, weaved into valances, that were stationed throughout almost every act as a kinetic element of the scenery. To me it seemed like the visualization of electricity. I thought it was brilliant, and really liked the effect, although I've been known in some circles to have a Calder fetish. Sometimes the silver rods were lowered past the entire stage to create distance and blocking, and other times they were raised to the very top of the scenery to create a sort of polishing finish.

Alagna sang adequately, but started-off a bit strained. Celeste Aida was a little thin; his platforms were maybe on too tight. Seriously, one day after and I still can't believe he agreed to wear platform sandals. But the audience loved his inaugural aria anyway, and there were loads of bravo and compliments. But in the end, Alagna got his arse served and his voice completely sung-over by the sheer awesomeness of the two lead ladies, Violeta Urmana's flawless Aida and Ildiko Komlosi's Amneris.

Act II opened with another golden wash of the stage. This grand opera was really give the appropriate treatment, thanks to Frengo. There must have been like five-hundred chorus members on the stage. I swear, it was a sea of gold. A giant gilded sphinx head loomed behind, while four more gigantic, towering statues of various pharos flanked the aisles. The audience began to note the presence of skinny topless male slaves, clothed only in short tunics. When it came time for Act II's Marcia Trionfale, Frengo and choreographer Vladimir Vassiliev gave the flawless ballet-dancer Roberto Bolle a tiny man-thong, with a giant golden cod-piece on the front. Of course, he danced superbly, but omg that cod piece omg! It was almost painful to watch Bolle take his curtain call and strategically, calculatedly prance between the curtains by walking backwards with an embarrassed smile. Bolle was also accompanied by nubile female and male secondary dancers, clad in tiny golden and white bikinis, and of course, more thongs than a Victoria's Secret catalogue. Gah. But the scene was awesome. But I also kind of felt like I was at Les Folies Bergère.

Act III recreated a giant desert oasis, and this scene marked the end of opulent gold and twinkling light. The scenes were now bathed in a very dark, blue lighting that washed over the singers. Frengo had kept the giant pharos sphinx head from the previous act in the background, but moved to the center of the stage a gorgeous island replete with like a dozen full-sized palm trees. It was insanity. Really, like a full forest in the middle of the stage. The singers never even set foot into the enclave. It was just scenery. Alagna and Urmana were now wearing darkly colored robes. Alagna's was black and grey with silver detail, and Urmana's was a dark sky blue with bronze details. Their duets were lovely and rich, and Alagna tried so hard to match Urmana’s power. Act III also marked the end of Orlin Anastassov’s Ramfis, who was replaced by Giorgio Giuseppini

Act IV was equally dark, and the palm-tree island was replaced by a stark concrete temple, with a bare altar in the middle. Again a giant Egyptian deity loomed in the background. Everyone donned heavier robes, and it was like a fabric bazaar exploded onto the actors. I think Frengo layered on the fabric too much, as during the curtain call, Ramfis almost lost his tunic under his sandals, as the audience gasped in anticipation of seeing his golden codpiece. But the finale was gorgeous, and Frengo slowly lowered a cage of the trademark metal pipes, and behind it he released two winged men appearing as phoenixes, which could have been really ghey, but was instead pretty cool.

Curtain call brought everyone on the stage, from a visibly-moved Frengo, replete in his nominal cashmere scarf (last night he wore a creamy white one), under a cascade of roses and flower petals. We also had the always-fezzed costume director Maurizio Millenotti, as well as choreographer Vladimir Vassiliev. Amneris's curtain call was amazing, and the audience lavished her with applause. Violeta Urmana almost lost it during her applause, and was holding-in her tears the entire time. She kept squeezing her eyes, covering her face with her entire hand, and pinching with her thumb and index finger and covering the rest of her face to hold back the tears.

The opera, despite its numerous intermissions, seemed like a breeze. The house was full of energy and tastily perfumed celebrity sweat. Since there was no way I was going to bring an umbrella to the theater (nor would it have fit between my Chanel compacts in my Nancy Gonzalez clutch) when we left the theater a bit after 10:15pm, it was pouring! Normally it would have been hilarious to watch us all holding our long couture skirts off the wet sidewalks, and hold our vintage clutches over our lacquered hair to shield the pouring rain...well, hilarious if I was watching it all happen from a café across the street in a warm Burberry overcoat and a pair of dry Wellingtons. But it kind of sucked.

I'm sad to state that my Emma Hope suede shoes are destroyed, and my Nanette Lepore velvet jacket looks like it melted, but to see Urmana crying and Frengo humble and shaken (it was stated that Frengo said of La Prima , "La più bella serata di tutta la mia carriera"...Translation: "The most beautiful of all of the nights of my career"), to see Bolle in a golden thong and Alagna in three different pairs of platform sandals was worth the price of the shoes and the jacket combined.

veni vidi vici verdi: La Prima at Teatro alla Scala

These last hours of the Festa di Sant'Ambrogio find me at long last showered, de-perfumed, de-lacquered, de-jeweled, and de-frocked, as I made a triumphant appearance and back again to Teatro alla Scala's prestigious La Prima…and more importantly, I returned home in one piece despite the encompassing roadblocks, rain, and crowds. Again I need to thank my benefactors for granting me the exclusive ticket, and chance to rub toned and tanned shoulders with the assorted European celebrities, skanks, ambassadors, and athletes that flocked to Piazza della Scala for tonight’s festivities.

Too tired to write you kind readers tonight with all the details, I just want to reiterate, before I rest my spinning head on my pillow, some of the more lovely minutiae. First of all, Frengo’s rumored dissatisfaction with Alagna’s stage presence clearly surfaced (via the famous Maurizio Millenotti’s costumes) in the guise of platform shoes. I am not kidding. Alagna had strapped to his feet a pair of wedgies that would put even the most stylish twelve-year-old teen in Milan to shame. They had a base of at least two-inches, and then rose to four-inch heel in the back. Oh the humanity. Also thanks to the ubiquitously-fezzed Millenotti, Act III delivered an Egyptian-styled, golden thong (with an enormous codpiece), which hung securely on an very naked and nubile Roberto Bolle.

Chailly was delicious, and appeared as his normally-scruffy self encased in a beautiful full white tie (including a white tie). He conducted magnificently, with a huge, dramatic, enormous sound. Urmana sang her gorgeous lungs to their full capacity, although the black-face (more like tan-face) that they had decided to use was a little too distracting. Although curious was that Alagna refused to besmirch his precious pores with the tan grease-paint that was slathered on Urmana, and instead opted for a much reddish-flushed, more natural tone. He’s such a diva!

The house tonight enthusiastically welcomed Zeffirelli's new Aida, and the energy was immense. Applause was almost gratuitous at some points, and there were more than enough 'bravi' and 'bravo' to sustain the entire new season alone.

Oh curious readers, please stay posted for a full report…this Opera Chic must invest in some serious beauty-sleep!

prima la prima

(The calm before the storm: Teatro alla Scala this afternoon eerily quiet!)

The opera world is gearing-up for Thursday night's La Prima of Verdi's Aida, and the city of Milan reciprocates accordingly. This afternoon's casual stroll into the heart of the city revealed chocolatey-treats and Verdi-love.

First I stumbled across a small bar Le Spighe alla Scala on Via Verdi, 2. Centrally-displayed in the front window among a sea of sweets, were small dark-chocolate pieces of chocolate with the Teatro alla Scala façade stamped on the front:

   

Then walking forward down Via Verdi towards Il Duomo, BMW has erected a gi-normous billboard boasting the face of Maestro Verdi:

I ♥ this city.

Mozart + women in pants + bewbs = good times

(Click here to view one photos from the night of the performance.)

(Click here to view i dont know how many additional high-resolution photos from the performance.)

For la prima (“opening night”) of Mozart's Ascanio in Alba at Teatro alla Scala, the night started poorly, despite my carefully chosen outfit. I had decided on my Isabella Tonchi silk herringbone brown skirt under a Comme des Garçons sable georgette ruffle shell (that I had bought at 10 Corso Como) and a Paul Costelloe cashmere oatmeal sweater-jacket (gifted from mother-in-law) thrown over. My swag was held in my vintage Gucci midollino, and I wore a pair of stacked Balenciaga round-toe burgundy pumps. Yeah, 'cause that's how I roll.

By my own negligence, I had not read the libretto before I attended, so I had to piece together the story with the clues provided by the sets. Despite the omnipresent gender confusion of "women in pants" (with four female sopranos singing two male roles, "Finkel is Einhorn! Einhorn is Finkel!" kept repeating in my head), I endured by splicing together root infinitives and vaguely familiar nouns. But I fared poorly: After being spoon-fed the eloquent and poetic libretti of Piave, Boito, and Da Ponte, I was completely adrift in ancient Italian of three centuries ago.

Ascanio in Alba was conceived when a fifteen-year-old giovinetto Mozart was requested by Hapsburg royalty to write an opera, which he successfully finished in three-and-a-half weeks (unfortunately, his myspace page and LJ suffered greatly during this committment). It was commissioned by Empress Maria Theresa to commemorate the wedding of her third son, Archduke Ferdinand of Habsburg to Princess Maria Beatrice d’Este of Modena. The matrimony took place in Milan on October 15, 1771 at Il Duomo, and the opera premiered on October 17, 1771, at the old Teatro Regio Ducale di Milano (where the Tourist Information pavilion to the right of Il Duomo now stands.

Btw, how cool would it be to have Mozart write an opera for your wedding? Best. Gift. Ev4r! Am i rite? It would totally pwn all that crap from your registry at Tiffany & Co. I mean, today’s equivalent is just so sad: Elton John playing piano at a washed-up celebrity's wedding, or 50 Cent rapping at the bar mitzvah of some socialite New Yorker's son: "Go shorty, it's your bat mitzvah, we gon' sip on Bacardi like it's your bar mitzvah!'

The 2006 version of Ascanio in Alba at La Scala, under the direction of Franco Ripa di Meana opened with a sparse, white space (stage boundaries of white, wooden floors, and white panels). You can find gorgeous sketches of his work here. At the front of the stage was a plexiglass runway of deep blue, which symbolized a stream. The chorus frolicked, about 50-60 in number. They were a youthful brigade of angels, clothed in white knickers, white dress shirts, and white riding jackets, with wings poking between their shoulders. They all wore red, styled wigs. Meh.

The first act was lovely. When Venus arrived, she was ensconced in Old Master landscape paintings of Arcadia, which were wheeled-out from the curtains, and ornamented with stuffed, life-sized sheep. As the opera progressed, the chorus transformed into costumes of town people, replete in dressed and knickers of turquoise, burgundy, and mustard.

Aceste’s appearance was stately, and he was seated in a throne atop a long, white platform that - via a trick of lighting - bloomed with small paper flowers as the arias progressed. One of my favorite mid-act scenes was a lively pastoral, complete with herders and farmers who sat on their flock of stuffed sheep. The sheep were put on casters, and were rolled past three broad strips of bright-green astroturf in a mock race. It recalled to me those turn-of-the-century, portable pinball games that were made with delicate paper cut-outs, resplendent in verdant greens, murky yellows, and carmine reds.

More stunning, however, was the final scene of Act I, when the preparations for the wedding were made. While Venus sang her, “Là dove sale la Colle”, a handful of chorus appeared in court apparel. They bore among themselves a giant blueprint, while one brandished a red-white striped Venetian pole. Simultaneous to the aria, at the back of the stage had been implemented a giant movie screen. Projected onto this, they showed a black/white biographical film of the rebuilding of La Scala.

The film was shown in time-lapse format as a frenzy of activity, with small vignettes spliced together. They showed images of giant cranes hovering over Piazza alla Scala, concrete cascading down the sides of molds, and wooden renderings of the La Scala horseshoe-shaped auditorium. When the film flickered-out, a transparent screen (which was lit so that you could still see the chorus behind) was raised slowly from the floor, as they sang, “Di te più amabile, Né Dea maggiore”. Sketched onto the screen was the entire façade of Teatro alla Scala, drawn in the simplified style of Giovanni Battista Falda’s architectural studies of Rome. It was stunning, and effective in implemented a beautiful billet doux to both Milan and La Scala.

Act II began with another stark set, save a giant platform target in the middle of the stage. After a few recitatives, an oversized golden bed (with Fauno reclining between white satin sheets ), was lowered slowly from the ceiling. As Silvia and Ascanio boarded the bed (Fauno still lying between them), he began singing, “Dal tuo gentil sembiante”.

But halfway through the aria, (s)he rips-open his/her shirt, and was singing topless. WTF? Did I really just see teh bewbs? I was in the second galleria, so maybe I was high from the reheated air mingling with old ladies perfume, but I swear she was topless. The only reason that I doubt myself is that not a single person in the audience batted an eye. I swear it was dead calm in that auditorium. I looked around in giddy anticipation hoping to catch someone’s incredulous gaze. But no. I mean, there could be satyrs and elephants fornicating on stage, and no one in La Scala flinches. Meanwhile, Karita Mattila gets naked for three seconds during the “Dance of the Seven Veils” at the NYC MET two years ago, and it’s the most controversial (and, c’mon: most anticipated) event of the 2004 season.

Act II progressed, and aside from the topless orgy part, there was only one other scene: On a blue platform appeared our three heroes, who were nestled in three egg-shape forms, resplendent as gorgeous portraits in Faberge. Then the chorus came out in modern-day dress, and lifted saplings that were strewn across the platform, heralding the end of the opera.

It was really a gorgeous, youthful, and lovely interpretation. Despite being La Prima, it was tight. I enjoyed it thoroughly: the agile singing, the youthful conducting, and the provocative sets. As of this recap, Corriere’s Enrico Girardi has written that it was, "Una ventata d’aria fresca" (a gust of fresh air), which is totally accurate. Lorenzo Arruga of Il Giornale also wrote a glowing review, and word-of-mouth equally designates praise to singers, director, and conductor.