I reckon I got to light out for the Territory ahead of the rest, because Aunt Sally she’s going to adopt me and sivilize me, and I can’t stand it. I been there before.
I am a challenge to my fiancée. She is the most cultured person on the planet. I don’t know anything about art, literature or music. Unlike Huck, I’m not going to light out for the Territory.
She took me to the opera the second time I visited her in New York. Mozart’s Le Nozze di Figaro. I was hooked. Yes it’s silly. But it’s gorgeous.
She’s taken me to Don Giovanni, Macbeth, Don Carlo, The Death of Klinghoffer, Ernani and Otello.
Great stuff. I’ve loved every minute. Even when the guy next to me snores.
Which brings us to Friday night.
Game 3 of the World Series.
I was prepared to be grumpy. I wasn’t prepared to be revolted.
Go read the synopsis. It beggars belief. The three main characters:
- A prince, the son of a deposed king.
- A servant to the deposed king, who loves the prince because he smiled at her once and has ignored her since.
- A princess who murders her suitors for sport, reneges on her oaths and tortures the servant to death to get information that would let her murder the prince.
But it’s all OK, because the princess, after torturing the servant to death so that she can murder the prince, falls in love with the prince. Because he’s trying to rape her.
Really. I could not make this up.
Maybe this is just a story to hang music on. Maybe it’s the product of another time and place (even if that time and place is Fascist Italy). Maybe it’s really a man-hating-feminist, smash-the-patriarchy text. But it’s vile. And stupid.
Oh, you say, one must admire the music separate from the drama. But isn’t the point of opera music plus drama? (I deduce from synopses of La Boheme and Madama Butterfly that the coherence and plausibility – even the intelligence – of the drama were not priorities for Puccini.)
The production only makes it worse. It is colossal, garish, tasteless and overripe. I felt as Martin Luther is said to have felt when he saw the opulence of the church in Rome.
Then there’s the racism.
And for this I missed a World Series game?
Am I just an uncultured lout? Is there no hope for me?
Saturday night – Halloween – she doubled down by taking me to the Philharmonic.
I could be handing out tooth-rot to the kids in my building?
I could be watching the World Series? The penultimate game of the season?
What kind of a woman would do that to me?
I’ve listened to Beethoven’s Fifth on CD. Who hasn’t? But a live performance? Extraordinary!
Also on the agenda were Britten’s Sinfonia da Requiem and Mozart’s Piano Concerto No. 23. The Mozart was lovely, but I loved the Britten.
Don’t tell her, but it was worth missing the kids and the game.