I went to the opera tonight, it was a date with my sister. We’ve never done the opera before; we’ve seen a lot of plays, been to the symphony, done a myriad of other cultural events but never the opera.
As we settle into our seats I remember how we suffered through Les Miserables; musicals are fine, just not a fan of talk-singing. I love a good number but if it’s dialogue, just say it. But this is opera, I anticipate a bold, lush and transporting evening.
Here’s the thing with La Boheme, not much happens. The director’s notes even say that. A bunch of starving artists share a ‘garret’ (stunning set design but from the size it’s the garret of a château), one of them, the poet, falls for a sickly ‘Etsy’ girl called Mimi, not her real name. Meanwhile his painter pal is in an emotionally abusive relationship with Musetta (subtlety is not a strong suit of the genre). His jealousy and her promiscuity are not an eHarmony match.
But the harlot with the heart of gold is the only one who does something for the dying girl – she sells her earrings to buy the girl a muff for her frozen hands (one of the famous songs is about Mimi’s cold hands). She also pays for a doctor and medicine but it’s too late.
I’d be lying if I said I loved it; it took me too long to figure out I could ignore the sur-titles. Now I could just enjoy the music. The story has been told before; the experience wasn’t about what was being sung, but how it was being sung – loudly and in Italian with gorgeous symphonic music. It got pretty ecstatic at times.
I never found out why people called her Mimi when her name is Lucia but my take away was a pretty stunning reminder that it’s not always about the content of the story but how you tell it. And a good time might not be about what you’re doing, but who you’re with.
0 Comments