This turned on to be my week for opera. Saturday afternoon we once again
went to The Met at the movies and saw the live transmission of Die
Walkure in wonderful HD, sound, and close-ups. It was a marvelous
performance and even the Met's crazy, pricey new set (the 40-ton monster) was
better than in Rheingold last year. Eva-Marie Westbrook in her Met
debut was a charming Sieglinde and Jonas Kauffman a stalwart Siegmund. Once
again Bryn Terfel brought off his portrayal of Wotan well. I think I enjoy the Walkure Brunnhilde the most and the slimmed-down Deborah Voigt gave it
plenty of personality. Everyone's voice was brilliant--and I even found
Stephanie Blythe, a very very large woman in the old Wagnerian tradition, fit in
as Fricka. I think I forgot how exhilarating the whole opera is, so that when
Act III begins with the famed Ride and by the time it ends with the glorious
Fire Music, you are already won over and in fine spirits.
An added
fillip comes with the immediate interviews right as the leads come off-stage,
done in this instance by none other than Placido Domingo. It humanizes the
performers. And then there were the previews of the 11 operas the Met will
broadcast to the theatres next season. What could be better than to end it with
Nathalie Dessay (if memory serves me right) bursting into the Sempre
libere from Traviata?
We actually got to the theatre late
and had to sit up front. But the seats were very comfortable and leaned back
quite far, so they turned out to be excellent. Even though we were late, the Met
was later. The computer controlling the 40-ton monster set went on the blink and
it was not until about a half hour later that the performance began.
Last night (Tuesday) Eileen and I took in the rarely-performed Iphigenie en Tauride, revived this season at both Washington Opera,
where we saw it, and the Met, for none other than Senor Domingo. This Gluck
opera once was a mainstay of the repertory but it has disappeared for many
years--the Met revived it a few seasons ago after a lapse since 1912. Gluck was
regarded as something of a change agent in opera, moving away from the trilling
of the early periods. He was a German composer working in Paris, so of course
there is a ballet (a requirement set by the Paris Opera in the 1800s) which is
more ludicrous than most of them. Mostly, however, the opera is very very
static. You do enjoy Patricia Racette's wonderful singing in the title role as
the priestess who was the sister of Orestes and Electra in the good old House of
Atreus. (Unhappy families can be unhappy in wildly bloody ways!) And it was
delightful when Domingo materialized as Oreste and just began singing in that
luscious tenor he still maintains at a good level at his advanced age. I think
the piece plays better as a Greek drama--it's not a tragedy, incidentally. A
friend with whom I spoke today told me she had seenit near Sparta at a
rediscovered ancient theatre and that it was wonderful in that original form and
forum.
The opera was popular 100 years ago at time the delightfully
mordant Saki referred to it in one of his most classic stories, The
Reticence of Lady Anne:
"The bullfinch lazily filled in the interval with an air from Iphigenie en Tauride.
Egbert recognized it immediately because it was the only air the bullfinch
whistled and he had come to them with the reputation for whistling it. Both Egbert and Lady Anne would have preferred something from The Yeoman of the Guard, which was their favourite opera. In matters artistic they had a similarity of taste. They leaned towards the
honest and explicit in art, a picture, for instance, that told its own story, with generous assistance from the title. A riderless warhorse, for example, with harness in obvious disarray, staggering into a courtyard full of pale swooning women, and marginally noted, "Bad News," suggested
to their minds a distinct interpretation of some military catastrophe. They could see what it was meant to convey, and explain it to friends of duller intelligence."
P.S. Saturday night was a slight detour from the lyric stage to 1940s Hollywood as represented by the Berlin and Vienna emigres who wrote songs for the movies and the opera composer Erich Korngold who wrote the score for Errol Flynn's famous rendition of Robin Hood. I had not
heard about Friedrich Hollander, who wrote all kinds of wonderful songs but then there also were wonderful songs like "The Saga of Jenny" from the Kurt Weill-Ira Gershwin Lady in the Dark, a fascinating musical play put together by the master showman Moss Hart. And what better to end the evening than a rousing run of "The Boys in the Backroom" by a singer mpersonating Marlene Dietrich?
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
Friday, April 29, 2011
Encamped in Canton
This has been an enjoyable couple of days based in North Canton, Ohio, which has several malls and about every chain store and restaurant in America. There's one nonstop each day each way between Akron-Canton airport and National. It's a small plane and given the various weather problems this week, it was running late Wednesday night so I arrived about 1 1/2 hrs late, which was no big deal as I had no plans for that night anyway. The Budget folks had closed and left me a sign telling me to pick up the car down the hall at Avis--but everything worked, including my being a Priority Club member at Holiday Inn, which got me a free breakfast each day here, assuming that was what I needed.
Thursday turned out to be a bit cloudy and threatening in the morning as I headed for the Pro Football Hall of Fame, about five minutes from where I'm staying. The Hall is pretty good--lots of memorabilia, good TV clips of famous plays and games, and good action photos and bios on the biggest stars, like the exhibit on all-time runners, which featured Jim Brown, Walter Payton, and Emmitt Smith. Records exist of all the ancient teams that were once in pro football like the Pottsville (Pa.) Maroons, who claimed they were robbed of the title in 1926.
I guess to me the only shortcomings were an overemphasis on historically-significant owners and commissioners, particularly Pete Rozelle. Just reminds you re the current labor situation that they see it more as a business and less as a game. At least they haven't removed O. J. Simpson's bust from the Hall of Fame but there's no other mention of him and rather minimal reference to one Howard Cosell, despite a large exhibit on Monday Night Football, where you have to look hard to find his picture.
Went onto Akron and visited Dr. Bob's House, where once resided the co-founder, with Bill W., of AA. It's on a red-brick street in an old middle-class residential section of an old city and actually, they're renovating the foundation of his real house, so you get to see his stuff moved into the house next door which is almost identical. I liked stuff like his old doctor's bag and Royal manual typewriter and that the woman on duty invites you into the kitchen for coffee on the house.
Decided I had the time to make it to Cleveland to take in the Rock'n'Roll Museum & Hall of Fame and the day cooperated, having become sunny and almost warm, if windy. As with everything else, it seemed, this museum was undergoing its first major renovation--lucky me. But they really do have tons of artifacts--clothing, guitars, letters, etc all associated with all sorts of performers and the interpretation given rock is a broad one. Some of the history stuff is fun--the re-creation of the Sun Records studio in Memphis (made famous in Million Dollar Quartet) and lots of stuff connected with the early rock DJ Alan Freed. Wonderful films and tapes all over the place and plenty of opportunities to stop and listen to artists of your choosing.
Best part I thought was a theater showing clips of the artists inducted each year. They put together great collages of the half dozen people elected each year to the Hall. Even exhibits devoted to Rolling Stone, all the many British groups beyond the Beatles and the Stones, Cleveland locals, Motown, Elvis, Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix etc etc etc. Could have spent a lot more time--and even enjoyed the store, particularly for the fantastically eclectic collection of CDs, DVDs, etc of groups and artists. Anyone you can think of that had any connection to pop music in our time is there--I got a kick out of finding CDs by Mama Cass, Jerry Vale, Pete Seeger, Del Shannon, and Dusty Springfield. The cashier pointed to one guy and said he's the one who picks out all the recordings they feature on sale.
I opted not to stick around Cleveland for an Indians-Royals game last night at Progressive Union Park (nee Jacobs Field). The Tribe has been winning like crazy--nine straight--but the fans haven't come back yet, as several recent games had attendance under 10,000. There's an Indians store right here in North Canton and I barely resisted getting a jacket with a huge version of Chief Wahoo, America's most politically incorrect mascot/symbol, on the back. Also held off at the Pro Football Hall of Fame store, where Raiders regalia kept jumping out at me.
Today at the 50th anniversary conference of the Horatio Alger Society, my reason for the trip, there were three presentations--one on an obscure author of boy's books set in Northern Maine, a second on the big four of boy's series authors in the 19th century--Alger, Oliver Optic, Edward Ellis and Harry Castlemon, and a last one on what universities were like in Alger's college days, viz., Harvard between 1848 and 1852.
Then we had the auction and I managed to get a couple of books I wanted. Prices were down largely because a couple of regular high rollers were not on hand--some of us wished we were buying the books now we acquired over the years. Last night I went out for dinner with Carol Nackenoff from Swarthmore and her husband Jim, who actually grew up here in North Canton! They wanted to go to a highly-regarded Serbian place in Barberton (about 20 minutes from here) that specializes in Serbian fried chicken! Like most Balkans cuisine, it was fairly heavy. Tonight's dinner was at a restaurant built in what was once the headquarters (next to the airport) of the 356th Fighter Group. Echt amerikanische but pleasant enough and I liked the old pilots club decor.
And tomorrow morning early I head out--it's been good.
Thursday turned out to be a bit cloudy and threatening in the morning as I headed for the Pro Football Hall of Fame, about five minutes from where I'm staying. The Hall is pretty good--lots of memorabilia, good TV clips of famous plays and games, and good action photos and bios on the biggest stars, like the exhibit on all-time runners, which featured Jim Brown, Walter Payton, and Emmitt Smith. Records exist of all the ancient teams that were once in pro football like the Pottsville (Pa.) Maroons, who claimed they were robbed of the title in 1926.
I guess to me the only shortcomings were an overemphasis on historically-significant owners and commissioners, particularly Pete Rozelle. Just reminds you re the current labor situation that they see it more as a business and less as a game. At least they haven't removed O. J. Simpson's bust from the Hall of Fame but there's no other mention of him and rather minimal reference to one Howard Cosell, despite a large exhibit on Monday Night Football, where you have to look hard to find his picture.
Went onto Akron and visited Dr. Bob's House, where once resided the co-founder, with Bill W., of AA. It's on a red-brick street in an old middle-class residential section of an old city and actually, they're renovating the foundation of his real house, so you get to see his stuff moved into the house next door which is almost identical. I liked stuff like his old doctor's bag and Royal manual typewriter and that the woman on duty invites you into the kitchen for coffee on the house.
Decided I had the time to make it to Cleveland to take in the Rock'n'Roll Museum & Hall of Fame and the day cooperated, having become sunny and almost warm, if windy. As with everything else, it seemed, this museum was undergoing its first major renovation--lucky me. But they really do have tons of artifacts--clothing, guitars, letters, etc all associated with all sorts of performers and the interpretation given rock is a broad one. Some of the history stuff is fun--the re-creation of the Sun Records studio in Memphis (made famous in Million Dollar Quartet) and lots of stuff connected with the early rock DJ Alan Freed. Wonderful films and tapes all over the place and plenty of opportunities to stop and listen to artists of your choosing.
Best part I thought was a theater showing clips of the artists inducted each year. They put together great collages of the half dozen people elected each year to the Hall. Even exhibits devoted to Rolling Stone, all the many British groups beyond the Beatles and the Stones, Cleveland locals, Motown, Elvis, Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix etc etc etc. Could have spent a lot more time--and even enjoyed the store, particularly for the fantastically eclectic collection of CDs, DVDs, etc of groups and artists. Anyone you can think of that had any connection to pop music in our time is there--I got a kick out of finding CDs by Mama Cass, Jerry Vale, Pete Seeger, Del Shannon, and Dusty Springfield. The cashier pointed to one guy and said he's the one who picks out all the recordings they feature on sale.
I opted not to stick around Cleveland for an Indians-Royals game last night at Progressive Union Park (nee Jacobs Field). The Tribe has been winning like crazy--nine straight--but the fans haven't come back yet, as several recent games had attendance under 10,000. There's an Indians store right here in North Canton and I barely resisted getting a jacket with a huge version of Chief Wahoo, America's most politically incorrect mascot/symbol, on the back. Also held off at the Pro Football Hall of Fame store, where Raiders regalia kept jumping out at me.
Today at the 50th anniversary conference of the Horatio Alger Society, my reason for the trip, there were three presentations--one on an obscure author of boy's books set in Northern Maine, a second on the big four of boy's series authors in the 19th century--Alger, Oliver Optic, Edward Ellis and Harry Castlemon, and a last one on what universities were like in Alger's college days, viz., Harvard between 1848 and 1852.
Then we had the auction and I managed to get a couple of books I wanted. Prices were down largely because a couple of regular high rollers were not on hand--some of us wished we were buying the books now we acquired over the years. Last night I went out for dinner with Carol Nackenoff from Swarthmore and her husband Jim, who actually grew up here in North Canton! They wanted to go to a highly-regarded Serbian place in Barberton (about 20 minutes from here) that specializes in Serbian fried chicken! Like most Balkans cuisine, it was fairly heavy. Tonight's dinner was at a restaurant built in what was once the headquarters (next to the airport) of the 356th Fighter Group. Echt amerikanische but pleasant enough and I liked the old pilots club decor.
And tomorrow morning early I head out--it's been good.
Saturday, April 9, 2011
Cornhusking
This was a very quick trip but even with one day mostly a rainout--leaving aside the hours I was working--some perceptions about Lincoln, Nebraska, came through. First of all, Lincoln isn't as small as I expected. It has a population that exceeds 250,000. The day we arrived, that was bolstered by the simultaneous arrival, almost all of them at our hotel, it seemed, of the annual state gathering of the Future Farmers of America, which is big stuff out this way.
Probably should have expected something like that when you decide to stay at the leading hostelry, the Cornhusker Marriott. The FFA members are high-school age, clean cut in their navy FFA sweater-jackets with gold lettering and black trousers or skirts. The room clerk was being thoughtful in asking us to wait for available rooms so she didn't have to put us "on a floor with the kids." We spoke to a few who had medals for raising dairy cattle.
The rain kept me from seeing the campus of the University of Nebraska across town but we met in a room of the skyscraper state capitol, which is quite a building in itself. It looks to be about 18 storeys high with a dome. Inside there is a marvelous three or four-storey open space with gothic stonework, rose windows, and mosaics, most devoted to agricultural themes.
In the main hall are sculptures of some famous Nebraskans, from George Norris, the U.S. Senator who may be remembered more for the Norris-LaGuardia Anti-Injunction Act than the Tennessee Valley Authority, both of which were his accomplishments; to General Pershing of World War I fame, to, of course, Nebraska's most famous literary figure, Willa Cather, and not to forget the immortal William F. Cody, aka Buffalo Bill. The Supreme Court sits at the end of one of the four corridors, a distinguished chamber featuring inlays and woodwork.
The prudent Plains denizens even anticipated the need for an intermediate court of appeals so built a notable chamber for it across from the Supreme Court's courtroom back when the capitol went up--in the 1920's, although the court itself didn't come about until the 1970s. Until that happened, it was used for legislative hearings.
The legislative chamber is close to the central hall and you will note I said chamber in the singular. There is a 40-member Senate which makes Nebraska the only state with a unicameral legislature. They got rid of the Assembly in 1934, in what was regarded as a progressive move supported by Senator George Norris; one major argument was that the conference committees that resolved differences in bills enacted by the two chambers met and acted secretly. It is surprising to look to the other side of the great hall at the center of the building and see only two small closed doors that denote where the second chamber once met. The Senators, by the way, are elected on a nonpartisan basis.
We stayed over mainly to meet with the Chief Justice and another judge leading the caseflow management effort who had been sitting in Omaha the first day. Our meeting place was a restaurant in an old house, nicely remodeled to serve its current purpose with much memorabilia -- mainly posters and lithographs -- befitting its name, Billy's. That, of course, referred to perhaps the most famous, if non-native, Nebraskan of them all, the three-time Presidential candidate, William Jennings Bryan, the Boy Orator of the Platte.
Probably should have expected something like that when you decide to stay at the leading hostelry, the Cornhusker Marriott. The FFA members are high-school age, clean cut in their navy FFA sweater-jackets with gold lettering and black trousers or skirts. The room clerk was being thoughtful in asking us to wait for available rooms so she didn't have to put us "on a floor with the kids." We spoke to a few who had medals for raising dairy cattle.
The rain kept me from seeing the campus of the University of Nebraska across town but we met in a room of the skyscraper state capitol, which is quite a building in itself. It looks to be about 18 storeys high with a dome. Inside there is a marvelous three or four-storey open space with gothic stonework, rose windows, and mosaics, most devoted to agricultural themes.
In the main hall are sculptures of some famous Nebraskans, from George Norris, the U.S. Senator who may be remembered more for the Norris-LaGuardia Anti-Injunction Act than the Tennessee Valley Authority, both of which were his accomplishments; to General Pershing of World War I fame, to, of course, Nebraska's most famous literary figure, Willa Cather, and not to forget the immortal William F. Cody, aka Buffalo Bill. The Supreme Court sits at the end of one of the four corridors, a distinguished chamber featuring inlays and woodwork.
The prudent Plains denizens even anticipated the need for an intermediate court of appeals so built a notable chamber for it across from the Supreme Court's courtroom back when the capitol went up--in the 1920's, although the court itself didn't come about until the 1970s. Until that happened, it was used for legislative hearings.
The legislative chamber is close to the central hall and you will note I said chamber in the singular. There is a 40-member Senate which makes Nebraska the only state with a unicameral legislature. They got rid of the Assembly in 1934, in what was regarded as a progressive move supported by Senator George Norris; one major argument was that the conference committees that resolved differences in bills enacted by the two chambers met and acted secretly. It is surprising to look to the other side of the great hall at the center of the building and see only two small closed doors that denote where the second chamber once met. The Senators, by the way, are elected on a nonpartisan basis.
We stayed over mainly to meet with the Chief Justice and another judge leading the caseflow management effort who had been sitting in Omaha the first day. Our meeting place was a restaurant in an old house, nicely remodeled to serve its current purpose with much memorabilia -- mainly posters and lithographs -- befitting its name, Billy's. That, of course, referred to perhaps the most famous, if non-native, Nebraskan of them all, the three-time Presidential candidate, William Jennings Bryan, the Boy Orator of the Platte.
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Some Bright Signs
Those of us who live here inside the Beltway occasionally realize that the so-called experts who devote immense amounts of column inches, especially in the Washington Post, to gauging the latest political breeze or whisper, are influenced by those who shout the loudest. So for what seems like years now, we've been hearing about the asserted power of the tea-baggers and other species whose significance is built up by such as Fox.
But all the sincere protests at state capitals from Madison to Columbus that followed the GOP attack on collective bargaining rights has made some of the pundits sit up and listen. Some even suspect that the next elections may turn out differently in those states and many others. I even feel I'm getting an answer to my question--Where were those folks last election day? The answer is that they didn't realize the true evil that corporate America, as represented by the corporate American party, the Republicans, had planned to wreak on the working people of this country.
First, their tax cuts for the rich have created more inequality in the U.S. than we had known for generations. Second, they have set out to wreck the last institution that stands up for working people: the unions. Seeing all these normal, fired-up people willing to stand up for their rights in state capitol buildings wasn't enough to dissuade the GOP from its planned course. Only a huge landslide against the party of the rich and the greedy next time will accomplish that goal.
I hope the Democrats now will show some bravery hitherto hidden and stand up for their constituents. Maybe they will stop trying to show that they are kind-hearted Republicans, only willing to cut less than the GOP. We know that the Dems are also bought--by Wall Street and other major contributors. Can they stand up to their cashflow? Democrats always had to run against the GOP-dominated press in the old days. Now they have to run against Fox and the Murdoch media machine.
They have to start by being clear about what's needed. No more tax cuts for billionaires--or even millionaires. No compromise on Social Security or health care or education or environmental regulation. The media and the GOP would have us forget about the crooked coal companies that fought the outnumbered mine inspectors for years and then bought a judicial election in West Virginia so blatantly that the Supreme Court, if only by 5-4, said it was too loathsome to allow the result to stand.
The Democrats mainly have to remember that they represent working people, yes, of all kinds and colors, but the similarities matter more than the differences. Enough of multicultural posturing that just divides our constituencies. Let's focus on what brings us together. Let's take care of the real majority--plain, hard-working citizens, employees, people who work for a paycheck not a dividend coupon.
Tax the runaway corporations where it hurts--when they want to sell their products in the U.S. If they want to run away, let them pay a large penalty to get their goods back in here. Tax the greedy rich -- especially the Wall Street types who got away scot-free with their thievery. Tax outfits like Wal-Mart who think that not enough people care about the rights of workers--women and men alike--to stand up against their sleazy discrimination and payoffs in poor communities to get their stores opened. Clinton showed that a fair tax structure will balance the budget and write down the debt. As Carville put it and we have failed to follow, it's always the economy, stupid.
But all the sincere protests at state capitals from Madison to Columbus that followed the GOP attack on collective bargaining rights has made some of the pundits sit up and listen. Some even suspect that the next elections may turn out differently in those states and many others. I even feel I'm getting an answer to my question--Where were those folks last election day? The answer is that they didn't realize the true evil that corporate America, as represented by the corporate American party, the Republicans, had planned to wreak on the working people of this country.
First, their tax cuts for the rich have created more inequality in the U.S. than we had known for generations. Second, they have set out to wreck the last institution that stands up for working people: the unions. Seeing all these normal, fired-up people willing to stand up for their rights in state capitol buildings wasn't enough to dissuade the GOP from its planned course. Only a huge landslide against the party of the rich and the greedy next time will accomplish that goal.
I hope the Democrats now will show some bravery hitherto hidden and stand up for their constituents. Maybe they will stop trying to show that they are kind-hearted Republicans, only willing to cut less than the GOP. We know that the Dems are also bought--by Wall Street and other major contributors. Can they stand up to their cashflow? Democrats always had to run against the GOP-dominated press in the old days. Now they have to run against Fox and the Murdoch media machine.
They have to start by being clear about what's needed. No more tax cuts for billionaires--or even millionaires. No compromise on Social Security or health care or education or environmental regulation. The media and the GOP would have us forget about the crooked coal companies that fought the outnumbered mine inspectors for years and then bought a judicial election in West Virginia so blatantly that the Supreme Court, if only by 5-4, said it was too loathsome to allow the result to stand.
The Democrats mainly have to remember that they represent working people, yes, of all kinds and colors, but the similarities matter more than the differences. Enough of multicultural posturing that just divides our constituencies. Let's focus on what brings us together. Let's take care of the real majority--plain, hard-working citizens, employees, people who work for a paycheck not a dividend coupon.
Tax the runaway corporations where it hurts--when they want to sell their products in the U.S. If they want to run away, let them pay a large penalty to get their goods back in here. Tax the greedy rich -- especially the Wall Street types who got away scot-free with their thievery. Tax outfits like Wal-Mart who think that not enough people care about the rights of workers--women and men alike--to stand up against their sleazy discrimination and payoffs in poor communities to get their stores opened. Clinton showed that a fair tax structure will balance the budget and write down the debt. As Carville put it and we have failed to follow, it's always the economy, stupid.
Sunday, March 27, 2011
Oscar Wilde Surprise
You don't need me to tell you that The Importance of Being Earnest is one of the great theatrical pieces of all time, a classic of its period that works even when not performed by a great cast, similar to Sheridan's School for Scandal a century earlier. But last night we saw Oscar Wilde's Ideal Husband at the Shakespeare Theatre here in D.C. and much to my surprise, although it shouldn't have been, it was an absolute delight.
I should remember by now not to trust Washington Post reviews of anything; I used to limit my avoidance to movie reviews but their drama critic found this production tedious or boring or whatever. It was none of the above. First of all, Wilde's great lines--or bon mots--are almost as classic as in The Importance. The man was a theatrical genius--he could make a play work with a very simple plot with hardly any interesting complications but absolutely fantastic dialogue and killer lines.
I do need to remember that sometimes people put these plays down because they can't cut through the Brit accents. Here I don't think the accents--put on mostly by Americans--were especially thick. In fact, all the players were so good that I have trouble recollecting anything special about what turned out to be a truly fine ensemble. Even company veterans such as David Sabin and Floyd King contributed fine performances that did not break the effect of the ensemble production. There are often several layers of meaning in Wilde's epigrams.
You think you perceive what he's getting at but then another layer kicks in--and then there may be a double reverse, where he has trapped you in a logical snare that turns in on itself. I think what I enjoyed the most was that there is a whole lot of stage play concerning purloined letters but aside from some fun in one scene in particular--although not in any way the equal of the screen scene in School for Scandal--the play ends up by making the letter thefts almost inconsequential, which is all to the better.
Wilde, of course, falls into a category with Swift and Shaw, the Irishman who could most deliciously satirize the English. Since his several successful plays culminated in this one, followed by The Importance, his demise after his imbroglio over his gay relationships is all the sadder, in that he might have produced even more marvelous delightful theatrical experiences.
I should remember by now not to trust Washington Post reviews of anything; I used to limit my avoidance to movie reviews but their drama critic found this production tedious or boring or whatever. It was none of the above. First of all, Wilde's great lines--or bon mots--are almost as classic as in The Importance. The man was a theatrical genius--he could make a play work with a very simple plot with hardly any interesting complications but absolutely fantastic dialogue and killer lines.
I do need to remember that sometimes people put these plays down because they can't cut through the Brit accents. Here I don't think the accents--put on mostly by Americans--were especially thick. In fact, all the players were so good that I have trouble recollecting anything special about what turned out to be a truly fine ensemble. Even company veterans such as David Sabin and Floyd King contributed fine performances that did not break the effect of the ensemble production. There are often several layers of meaning in Wilde's epigrams.
You think you perceive what he's getting at but then another layer kicks in--and then there may be a double reverse, where he has trapped you in a logical snare that turns in on itself. I think what I enjoyed the most was that there is a whole lot of stage play concerning purloined letters but aside from some fun in one scene in particular--although not in any way the equal of the screen scene in School for Scandal--the play ends up by making the letter thefts almost inconsequential, which is all to the better.
Wilde, of course, falls into a category with Swift and Shaw, the Irishman who could most deliciously satirize the English. Since his several successful plays culminated in this one, followed by The Importance, his demise after his imbroglio over his gay relationships is all the sadder, in that he might have produced even more marvelous delightful theatrical experiences.
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Elizabeth Taylor, R.I.P.
She was just the most beautiful woman who was a movie star in my lifetime. And she could act.
That was Elizabeth Taylor, Dame Elizabeth Taylor, the title awarded for good works by a queen who remembered that Liz was born English. The first picture I saw her in was Ivanhoe, opposite the stolid Robert Taylor, no relation, in the title role, and she was Rebecca, the ultimate Jewish princess and a doctor no less! (It's been a week for reviving my contact with Sir Walter Scott. Saturday was the broadcast and movie-house transmittal of Lucia di Lammermoor, Donizetti's opera based on Scott's The Bride of Lammermoor. A potboiler, to be sure, but it has wonderful music and the Mad Scene, and was the vehicle for Joan Sutherland's triumphal debuts at both Covent Garden and the Met--the coloratura soprano who made all the trills and scales sound easy. The current soprano filling the role was the French Nathalie Dessay, who was magnificent.)
But Elizabeth Taylor, with the violet eyes, fascinated us from National Velvet through playing Rock Hudson's wife (!) and James Dean's heartthrob in Giant, to Maggie the Cat, title character of Tennessee William's wonderful Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, and Gloria Wandrous in BUtterfield 8, for which she got the Oscar she had deserved for Cat. Later there was the marvelous and draining tour de force with then-husband Richard Burton in Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? Aren't those enough for anyone--and she made many many more pictures, some as good as those.
She did become the modern definition of a celebrity, with all the negatives that that implies. And of course, I still enjoy Philip Roth's view of her, seen through Portnoy, if I recall correctly, who, musing that the dynamic showman Mike Todd, husband 3, was the only one of her fabled eight spouses who could handle her, and he of course perished in a plane crash. Portnoy sees her as "the ultimate shiksa who could do the ultimate shiksa thing--ride a horse--and who would have thought that what she craved was a guy like Mike Todd, who might as well have been my Uncle Hymie?"
There were plenty of awful pictures and brawls with Burton, himself a fine actor brought low by booze. It got to where she was being caricatured on TV by John Belushi. But I found it wonderful that her skill as an actress was recognized even by those who had reason to despise her, such as Debbie Reynolds, whose storybook marriage with Eddie Fisher she broke up, and who said she even voted for her for the Oscar.
I will, however, always remember her as Rebecca, beautiful and skilled daughter of Isaac of York, in Ivanhoe, who nurses the hero back to health and then has to lose him to Joan Fontaine's Rowena. Even then, as a kid, I couldn't see how he couldn't have chosen Elizabeth Taylor.
That was Elizabeth Taylor, Dame Elizabeth Taylor, the title awarded for good works by a queen who remembered that Liz was born English. The first picture I saw her in was Ivanhoe, opposite the stolid Robert Taylor, no relation, in the title role, and she was Rebecca, the ultimate Jewish princess and a doctor no less! (It's been a week for reviving my contact with Sir Walter Scott. Saturday was the broadcast and movie-house transmittal of Lucia di Lammermoor, Donizetti's opera based on Scott's The Bride of Lammermoor. A potboiler, to be sure, but it has wonderful music and the Mad Scene, and was the vehicle for Joan Sutherland's triumphal debuts at both Covent Garden and the Met--the coloratura soprano who made all the trills and scales sound easy. The current soprano filling the role was the French Nathalie Dessay, who was magnificent.)
But Elizabeth Taylor, with the violet eyes, fascinated us from National Velvet through playing Rock Hudson's wife (!) and James Dean's heartthrob in Giant, to Maggie the Cat, title character of Tennessee William's wonderful Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, and Gloria Wandrous in BUtterfield 8, for which she got the Oscar she had deserved for Cat. Later there was the marvelous and draining tour de force with then-husband Richard Burton in Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? Aren't those enough for anyone--and she made many many more pictures, some as good as those.
She did become the modern definition of a celebrity, with all the negatives that that implies. And of course, I still enjoy Philip Roth's view of her, seen through Portnoy, if I recall correctly, who, musing that the dynamic showman Mike Todd, husband 3, was the only one of her fabled eight spouses who could handle her, and he of course perished in a plane crash. Portnoy sees her as "the ultimate shiksa who could do the ultimate shiksa thing--ride a horse--and who would have thought that what she craved was a guy like Mike Todd, who might as well have been my Uncle Hymie?"
There were plenty of awful pictures and brawls with Burton, himself a fine actor brought low by booze. It got to where she was being caricatured on TV by John Belushi. But I found it wonderful that her skill as an actress was recognized even by those who had reason to despise her, such as Debbie Reynolds, whose storybook marriage with Eddie Fisher she broke up, and who said she even voted for her for the Oscar.
I will, however, always remember her as Rebecca, beautiful and skilled daughter of Isaac of York, in Ivanhoe, who nurses the hero back to health and then has to lose him to Joan Fontaine's Rowena. Even then, as a kid, I couldn't see how he couldn't have chosen Elizabeth Taylor.
Saturday, March 12, 2011
French on the Fly
I'm passing time in the Singapore airport en route to Indonesia, where I'll be on the program at a conference of the International Association for Court Administration in Bogor, which is about an hour away from Jakarta and has possibly the world's finest botanical garden. There are lots of magnificent banyan trees and thatweird plant from Sumatra that flowers every however many years and is the biggest flower (and possibly smelliest) in the world.
But on my flight, which stopped in Seoul, where the ultramodern airport is at Inchon, which seems flat with mountains in the distance, which I assume is how it seemed almost 60 years ago when MacArthur staged the famous landing there in the Korean War, I happened to see a terrific movie. It's French and called Potiche, and stars two vets of the French cinema, Catherine Deneuve and Gerard Depardieu. Not only has Deneuve aged magnificently--from someone who recalls seeing Belle de Jour when it first opened--but she is the ultimate representation of that fabulous French character, une femme d'un certaine age.
Depardieu remains an equally fine actor but unless he just put on plenty of avoirdupois for the picture, he's become quite huge. It's not a highly original plot--the spoiled factory boss's wife and the Communist mayor--but the way they play it and the several interesting plot twists make it to me a small, delightful, cinematic gem. It was made last year, did well at the Venice film fest, and was wel-reviewed in Britain. A friend in D.C. saw it at a film club showing recently so I suspect it may be soon appearing in U.S. distribution channels.
As well it should. Let's face it, we get to see so few foreign films in the U.S. these days that a treasure as this one is should become popular as the Amelie pic did a few years ago. To me, this is the ultimate response to an industry that in the U.S. feels that stars must be geared to teenaged audiences only. If Deneuve and Depardieu can't make a wonderful film click at the U.S. box office--at least by the relatively low standards set for foreign films--no one can.
Unlike almost all the movie reviewers I read--usually with the marvelous exception of Roger Ebert--I shan't give the plot away except to say that the picture does play to lots of wonderful French cultural references, including politics and sex and the general tenor of life in a country that still sets the standard for knowing how to live. It's also about something I've had occasion to learn about over the years--industrial relations--but don't let that scare you. Nor need you fret if you don't pick up everything. I'm sure I didn't. But it does help to know things like George Marchais having been the postwar Communist Party leader in France or that the CGT is the largest--and Communist--labor federation. This kind of thing just fills in the background--the picture is perfectly cast and succeeds even if you know very little about France. Last note: the title is apparently the French term for "trophy wife" which apparently has quite a different meaning there.
The flight also reminded me, since I have been travelling a lot this year within the U.S. but only occasionally overseas, that flying can still be pleasant, when, unlike in the U.S., the flight personnel are not barking at you every second not to congregate outside the lavatories (which is something that after a 13-hour flight takes a stronger resistance to smell than I possess) or do anything that might conceivably or inconceivably be treated as the slightest interference with their dictatorial (blaming the U.S. government, which does bear some of the responsibility for inculcating the sense of fear you see in too much of America) attitude toward passengers, who once held the higher status of customers.
Anyway, this picture erased all that for a few hours--as did the flight, which of course featured better-than-edible meals and attentive service even in the back of the plane. I admit to a true indulgence: following up the French pic by watching the old movie musical from the '50s--High Society, which was Cole Porter's musicalization of the Philip Barry play and movie, Philadelphia Story. Not his best musical but much fun is had by Crosby, Sinatra, Celeste Holm, and Louis Calhern, with the always superb Sidney Blackmer in a truly supporting role. Somehow he's always menacing even when there's no such element in the plot. But this picture will make you recall how fine an actress Grace Kelly was in her prime--well, her career until her royal wedding. Not only was she beautiful but she could do it all in terms of acting. And if you don't enjoy Bing and Frank doing Well, Did You Evah, there's little else to add. A real treat.
But on my flight, which stopped in Seoul, where the ultramodern airport is at Inchon, which seems flat with mountains in the distance, which I assume is how it seemed almost 60 years ago when MacArthur staged the famous landing there in the Korean War, I happened to see a terrific movie. It's French and called Potiche, and stars two vets of the French cinema, Catherine Deneuve and Gerard Depardieu. Not only has Deneuve aged magnificently--from someone who recalls seeing Belle de Jour when it first opened--but she is the ultimate representation of that fabulous French character, une femme d'un certaine age.
Depardieu remains an equally fine actor but unless he just put on plenty of avoirdupois for the picture, he's become quite huge. It's not a highly original plot--the spoiled factory boss's wife and the Communist mayor--but the way they play it and the several interesting plot twists make it to me a small, delightful, cinematic gem. It was made last year, did well at the Venice film fest, and was wel-reviewed in Britain. A friend in D.C. saw it at a film club showing recently so I suspect it may be soon appearing in U.S. distribution channels.
As well it should. Let's face it, we get to see so few foreign films in the U.S. these days that a treasure as this one is should become popular as the Amelie pic did a few years ago. To me, this is the ultimate response to an industry that in the U.S. feels that stars must be geared to teenaged audiences only. If Deneuve and Depardieu can't make a wonderful film click at the U.S. box office--at least by the relatively low standards set for foreign films--no one can.
Unlike almost all the movie reviewers I read--usually with the marvelous exception of Roger Ebert--I shan't give the plot away except to say that the picture does play to lots of wonderful French cultural references, including politics and sex and the general tenor of life in a country that still sets the standard for knowing how to live. It's also about something I've had occasion to learn about over the years--industrial relations--but don't let that scare you. Nor need you fret if you don't pick up everything. I'm sure I didn't. But it does help to know things like George Marchais having been the postwar Communist Party leader in France or that the CGT is the largest--and Communist--labor federation. This kind of thing just fills in the background--the picture is perfectly cast and succeeds even if you know very little about France. Last note: the title is apparently the French term for "trophy wife" which apparently has quite a different meaning there.
The flight also reminded me, since I have been travelling a lot this year within the U.S. but only occasionally overseas, that flying can still be pleasant, when, unlike in the U.S., the flight personnel are not barking at you every second not to congregate outside the lavatories (which is something that after a 13-hour flight takes a stronger resistance to smell than I possess) or do anything that might conceivably or inconceivably be treated as the slightest interference with their dictatorial (blaming the U.S. government, which does bear some of the responsibility for inculcating the sense of fear you see in too much of America) attitude toward passengers, who once held the higher status of customers.
Anyway, this picture erased all that for a few hours--as did the flight, which of course featured better-than-edible meals and attentive service even in the back of the plane. I admit to a true indulgence: following up the French pic by watching the old movie musical from the '50s--High Society, which was Cole Porter's musicalization of the Philip Barry play and movie, Philadelphia Story. Not his best musical but much fun is had by Crosby, Sinatra, Celeste Holm, and Louis Calhern, with the always superb Sidney Blackmer in a truly supporting role. Somehow he's always menacing even when there's no such element in the plot. But this picture will make you recall how fine an actress Grace Kelly was in her prime--well, her career until her royal wedding. Not only was she beautiful but she could do it all in terms of acting. And if you don't enjoy Bing and Frank doing Well, Did You Evah, there's little else to add. A real treat.
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