This is Michelle from Scribbit. Thanks so much to Loralee for letting me take a stab at guest posting, she’s on the top of my list and I’m going to brag a bit here that of all the bloggers out there she’s chosen me to room with a Blogher in July! Yup, we’ll be sharing toothbrushes and fighting over the remote and all that good stuff.
In honor of her amazing voice, I’ve got to mention my latest opera experience. The first year I bought season opera tickets Andrew was curious. “You want to get tickets? Okay . . .” After his first three-hour production he was decidedly less enthusiastic. Why, if he had to sit through three hours of Verdi, couldn’t he at least get a good hot dog to help him through the trauma—a decent concessions stand was what the Anchorage Opera needed to boost tickets sales—that without nachos and a Coke opera didn’t stand a chance.
Things did get better until half-way through his first Wagner I turned to him during intermission and asked, “So now that you’ve had more of a taste, do you like it?”
He got rather serious and after considering the question replied, “Well, you know it’s kind of like eating vegetables. You don’t want to do it at all and might even avoid it most of the meal but after you get it down you know it was good for you.”
Great. An evening with me at the opera is right there on his jolly list next to eating vegetables. Next he’ll say going out to dinner is a trip to the dentist. But he’s been a good sport and has sat through Mozart, Verdi, Wagner, Rossini and this weekend’s Madame Butterfly, or as those who carry real opera glasses instead of camo-patterned binoculars say, “Ma-DAM-uh Butterfly.” I anticipated a lovely evening of music and culture with my dear husband suffering along in silence. Well . . . not exactly silence.
The story is of a geisha who marries an American naval officer. She’s deeply in love with him but he’s merely toying with her, planning to trade her in for a “real American” wife whenever the urge strikes him. When he leaves she kills herself with her dead father’s sword.
The music was wonderful, the soprano fabulous and Andrew and I were enjoying ourselves—yes, even Andrew though he whined a bit about missing his cold cereal night cap—when the final scene began. In despair Madame Butterfly turns her back to the audience, draws her sword and as a giant American flag—no make that giant American flag, the biggest I’ve ever seen, large enough to stretch from wall to wall and ceiling to floor—descends like a curtain, blocking her from view, a spotlight shines on her from backstage. It shines onto the giant flag—did I make it clear that it is the biggest flag on the planet?—projecting her vivid shadow within the circle of light. Arms outstretched, she stabs herself in the heart and her shadow staggers around, dying in a ghastly display of flying hair, robes and swooning. She collapses and the flag drops, crumpling in a heap over her dead body. A brutal funeral mound remaining as a testament of the evil empire that brought such misery. Curtain drops.
Hmmmm . . . .I have to say I was a little uncomfortable with the whole thing, it was in poor taste and made me raise an eyebrow as the audience widely applauded but I had rather reservedly and politely joined in when suddenly from my seat on the absolute back row of the balcony I heard a loud, “BOOOOOO!” More accurately, I heard it as, “BOO-URF!” because in the microsecond it took for my brain to register the sound, I turned to my left and saw Andrew with his hands cupped around his mouth, letting go his uber-conservative-apple-pie-eatin’
-Republican-votin’-Rush-Limbaugh-lovin’-sensibilities. I saw in that half-instant where it was going and in a scene that plays in slow motion in my mind I threw myself into Andrew (most particularly with my elbow) and cut him off right there.
He stopped with his hands poised, wind all knocked out, and looked at me as if I might be insane but I looked at him and knew he was. He shrugged his shoulders and said something to the effect that he wasn’t going to sit still while they threw their liberal anti-American ideas in his face but I wasn’t buying it. Like I said, I thought the display was in poor taste but had he even looked around? There were more Birkenstocks in that theater than at a John Kerry rally and he wasn’t going to get any sympathy for his patriotism from his fellow theater-goers.
Confused at this point, he started to explain that he had a duty to make his moral position heard but I assured him that should he wish to do that he could walk out, refuse to clap, write a letter, cancel his season tickets, heck, he could even picket the opera’s downtown office dressed as a geisha but he WASN’T going to embarrass me.
“But—” he protested.
“Do NOT embarrass me!” I hissed and continued my restrained clapping.
Don’t kid yourself, your typical Anchorage opera audience isn’t the classiest crowd, you’ll see everything from tuxedos to tee-shirts but white trash or not I wasn’t going to let him boo the soprano. He was a little shocked that I didn’t care to take up arms in the matter and began grumbling about liberal agendas and how Madame Butterfly was probably a metaphor for Hilary Clinton but it wasn’t going to fly.
I should have brought the tranquilizers but somehow I elbowed through the crowd and got him outside where the rush of the moment began to wear off and he felt rather sheepish about his sudden burst of national pride. But the damage had been done, so much for my season tickets. Andrew’s convinced there’s no trusting the Anchorage Opera and that next season’s production of the HMS Pinafore will surely be ravaged by liberal ideals until the “Post-Modern” Major General is likely to end up a very effeminate affair. So much for music soothing the savage breast.
I was pretty shocked at the mention of the American flag falling down, etc. I agree, it isn’t very patriotic at all! I have to laugh, though, at you dragging your hubby to the opera! I sang opera with Loralee, and studied it for years, and have sat all the way through only one opera in my life! I love the arias, hate the recitatives! Kudos to your hubby for even sticking it out…. or to you for the guts to risk bringing him :)!!!
Erin Evans Taylor’s last blog post..A Big Red Flag!
I’m a liberal and a pacifist (newly minted) but that American Flag thing bothers the heck out of me, too. Not that I would have booed, at least I don’t think so, but I know, for sure, I would NOT have liked it one bit. The symbolism is way off. America didn’t do that to her. That ‘think with his dick’ boyfriend of hers did it to her. It may have been due to his Americanism, his upbringing and his prejudices, inculcated by his (our) culture, but it was still HIM. His choice. Not America’s choice. So some artsy fartsy director, up there in Anchorage, either has an agenda – or just thought it would be ‘cool’ and ‘arty’. Either way, it was wrong-headed and wrong-hearted.
lceel’s last blog post..Word For Wednesday is frosted
You do see the symbolism in using the American Flag in this context don’t you? An American soldier toys with the heart of a Japanese women, and then leaves her in despair to pursue a “real American woman” back home. His American nationalism causes her downfall. The flag overshadowing her self-destruction could be seen as symbolic of us seeing her act through the soldier’s American eyes. I don’t really know, because I didn’t see this performance, and I’ve never actually seen Madame Butterfly performed at all. But from your description, the symbol sounds very appropriate. I don’t see why there’s anything unpatriotic about it. You know what’s unpatriotic? Thinking that any type of criticism of our country is unpatriotic. This country was founded on the concept of revolution — when the powers governing us are corrupt, they ought to be criticized. It is our right to criticize our own government and our own haughty American nationalism if it causes pain to others.
Sorry Loralee, I hate to rant against your guests.
Sra’s last blog post..Information Overload
Opera = Veggies? Poor fellow. Maybe you’ll be surprised and find that he’s eager to go to opera now! Although I agree with Iceel that it was wrong-headed and wrong-hearted, it certainly got a reaction out of him!
I hope your future opera outings don’t involve political agendas. It’s an unnecessary accessory to a perfectly lovely composition and I’m sure that Puccini would not approve.
calicobebop’s last blog post..Previously on Lost…
Go ahead, rant away–I can take it :) But I have to ask if you even read the post because you pretty much missed the whole point.
Michelle at Scribbit’s last blog post..Things I Can’t Throw Away
Oh and I believe the words I used were “poor taste” not “unpatriotic.”
Michelle at Scribbit’s last blog post..Things I Can’t Throw Away
I am so happy to see that mine is not the only husband requiring a “cold cereal nightcap.” Really. It doesn’t matter WHAT he had for dinner, or how much there was, the fat lady doesn’t sing until my hubbie has him a bowl of the good stuff. He only pretends to like opera slightly better than your husband, and my name is Michelle, too! I am getting all choked up… If you tell me you have three children I just might fall off my chair. Oh, I don’t blog… Maybe you aren’t my cosmic twin, although I have shared hotel rooms with Loralee.
I did read the post (obviously, since I directly referenced things that you talked about in it).
You may not have used the word “unpatriotic”, but you did imply its meaning when you said: “There were more Birkenstocks in that theater than at a John Kerry rally and he wasn’t going to get any sympathy for his patriotism from his fellow theater-goers.”
This implies two things: (1) That your husband’s “patriotism” stands in contrast to the birkenstock wearing liberal theater-goers who are unpatriotic, and (2) That your husband’s angry feelings about the play are due to his patriotism in contrast with the play’s lack of patriotism.
So, yes, you said “poor taste”, but the implicit reason that you believe it was in poor taste is that you believe it was unpatriotic. That’s written all over your post whether you said it directly or not.
By the way, I just want you to know that I did like this post, even though I disagree with your sentiments. You sound nice, and I totally don’t mean to attack you personally. I just want to offer up a dissenting view and attack what I see as weak points in your argument (hey, I’m studying for the LSAT, what can I say?)
Sra’s last blog post..Information Overload
No, the reason I said it was in poor taste because it was in poor taste.
The director could have let the music speak for itself, he could have let the tragedy of the libretto and the performers do their thing but to use an overtly emotional symbol in such a maudlin and trite way was cliche, overbearing and ridiculous.
All people saw was the flag, whether or not they disagreed with how it was used; as soon as it became a symbol everything else was lost and the production was reduced to a mere political statement. And a worn-out statement at that.
Opera is supposed to transcend culture and politics regardless of the specificity of the setting–that’s why I’ll spend $100 to hear someone sing for two hours in a language I don’t understand.
The company took the beauty from Puccini and left me with an op-ed piece.
Though once again, all of this is not the point of my post–you missed my sarcastic tone when I talked about my husband’s patriotism and that I disagreed with his behavior even more than the poor-quality of the opera which undermines your premises.
Michelle at Scribbit’s last blog post..Things I Can’t Throw Away
I’m so impressed you got your husband to go with you to the opera; mine would’ve created some sort of diversion and made a break for it, shouting “freeeeeedom!”
metalia’s last blog post..It’s The Little Things
at least you have something like opera where you are. down here, the closest thing to opera we have is someone caterwauling in the shower.
Pink’s last blog post..my old apartments
The vegetable analogy nearly made me wet myself.
The Over-Thinker’s last blog post..Sucking in Public