Poster for the 1896 production for Puccini's La bohème. Artist: Adolfo Hohenstein (1854-1928)
Wednesday evening Nan and I went to the Touhill for a performance of La Bohème, our first hard-core arm-waving baritone-bellowing opera, the kind where the fat lady sings, though neither of the ladies in this performance were fat. The kind where everything’s in a language you don’t understand, and even if you did understand the language, you might not understand the words because they’re sung in such a stylized manner. I knew nothing about this opera, didn’t associate it with any music I was familiar with, and had the vague notion it had something to do with cows.
Now that I’ve exhibited my usual lèse majesté, I have to tell you, I liked it. A lot.
Part of it was the great seats Nan purchased, third row behind the orchestra pit, twenty feet from the performers.
Part of it was the thrill of seeing the magic created before mine very eyes, much the way I felt at the St. Louis Symphony last weekend.
Part of it was the lecture we went to before the performance where an enthusiastic young opera student, eyes shining with excitement, not only presented a synopsis, but suggested nuances to look for and explained why it made her cry every time she listened to it.
Part of it was the supertitles projected above the stage allowing the non-cognoscenti to appreciate the subtle humor in the story as opposed to just getting the gist in the synopsis (spoilers *).
Without the supertitles, about all you could tell was: she’s angry, he’s happy, they’re sad. And what are those guys with the brooms hollering about? I’ve always thought of opera as all grandiose all the time, but the supertitles allowed me to appreciate the occasional banality. There was a scene between Marcello and Musetta where the supertitles make it clear that, in spite of the histrionic gestures, elaborate vocalizations, and incomprehensible Italian, what’s happening on stage is the 19th century French equivalent of a domestic dispute on a Cops episode. (Mauvais garcon, whatcha gonna do? Whatcha gonna do when they come for you?)
Before the performance, I told Nan I couldn’t understand how something so staged and stilted could make someone cry in spite of hearing it over and over. By the time the curtain came down, I understood.
La Bohème at the Touhill was performed by Teatro Lirico D’Europa.
- Poppa
* They meet. They argue. They separate. They reunite. She dies.
It was a tiny bit more complicated than John’s simple/funny tagline.
They meet. THEY FALL IN LOVE. They argue. They separate. They reunite. She dies.
But still, pretty simple.