C’était une production vraiment formidable que ce Don Giovanni présenté par les étudiants de l’Université de Montréal, dirigés par Jean-François Rivest. Ce fut d’autant plus apprécié que peu de temps auparavant, j’avais subi l’horrible MacBeth mis en scène par René Richard Cyr à l’Opéra de Montréal. Un machin imbuvable et incohérent qui a dû donner à croire à plusieurs spectateurs qu’ils n’étaient pas faits pour l’opéra. Heureusement, des productions sans prétention, de qualité et rafraîchissantes viennent toujours à point nommé pour nous réconcilier avec le genre!

Article publié dans La Presse du 14 février 2009

À l’école de Don Giovanni

L’Atelier d’opéra et l’Orchestre de l’Université de Montréal se lancent cette année dans la production d’une pièce de résistance, Don Giovanni, de Mozart.

Les jeunes interprètes plongent dans le grand opéra Don Giovanni avec des guides expérimentés: Jean-François Rivest, chef de l’OUM, et Benoît Brière, qui réalise la mise en scène. Comparses de longue date, ils ont tous deux travaillé avec l’Atelier d’Opéra de l’UdM pour les Noces de Figaro, en 2005. L’opéra a été un succès auprès du public et de la critique.

“En une soirée, Benoît et moi, nous avons discuté de Don Giovanni jusqu’aux petites heures, et nous nous sommes mis d’accord sur tout”, confie Jean-François Rivest.

Il restait encore à insuffler leur vision de l’oeuvre à des étudiants assoiffés d’apprendre et prêts à tout donner d’eux-mêmes.

“J’essaie de leur inculquer la multiplicité des niveaux qu’il y a chez Mozart, dit Rivest. Plus que tout autre, il y a chez lui un génie à travers une simplicité désarmante au premier abord. Ses opéras ont une couche sociale, psychologique, dramatique et politique.”

À ces multiples couches s’ajoutent les contrastes fabuleux entre la dimension dramatique de Don Giovanni, et ses côtés bouffons, ajoute le chef d’orchestre. “On vit dans un monde hollywoodien, où tout est noir ou blanc. Mozart, c’est le contraire! C’est le reflet de la vraie vie, où chaque personne est complexe et à plusieurs dimensions.”

Don Giovanni n’est-il pas lui-même héroïque, malgré son côté libertin et manipulateur? C’est ainsi que le voit Jean-Michel Richer, baryton de 21 ans qui s’est vu confier le rôle.

“Le mantra de Don Giovanni, c’est la liberté, dit-il. C’est un thème très important dans l’opéra. Il ne renonce jamais à son idée, car le faire serait renoncer à ce qu’il est pour devenir esclave de la société.”

Le jeune chanteur a d’ailleurs passé beaucoup de temps à discuter du personnage avec Benoit Brière. L’homme de théâtre, qui a déjà joué dans le Don Juan de Molière, apporte sa propre vision du grand séducteur à la production.

“C’est sûr que l’expérience de Benoit Brière teinte son interprétation, dit Jean-Michel Richer. Il veut que ce soit joué comme si c’était vrai. Même si l’histoire se passe en 24 heures, il faut sentir que les personnages ont un passé et un futur. Ce n’est pas du tout joué dans un style de commedia dell’arte.”

L’apprentissage

Mais Don Giovanni est un rôle difficile pour un chanteur de 21 ans. Il est certain qu’avant de l’accepter, Jean-Michel Richer a beaucoup réfléchi. Car il y a toujours un risque, chez un jeune chanteur, de briser sa voix en prenant des rôles trop ardus.

Les élèves de l’Atelier d’opéra sont toutefois encadrés d’une équipe de bon conseil, notamment en la personne de Robin Wheeler, qui encadre leur apprentissage.

Quant à Jean-François Rivest, il n’aime pas diriger les étudiants dans des pièces trop faciles. Sa méthode pédagogique privilégiée consiste à choisir des oeuvres à la limite de leurs capacités. Pour lui, le plus important dans l’évolution d’un être humain est d’avoir l’impression de se dépasser.

“Je leur propose de monter de grosses montagnes, et c’est cela qui les fait avancer. Mais il est évident qu’en faisant cela, on joue avec le feu.”

C’est un risque assumé. Le chef prend d’ailleurs plaisir à observer l’évolution des étudiants du haut de son podium. “C’est la beauté de la chose, chez les jeunes, dit-il. Ils viennent avec une énergie, un dévouement, une fraîcheur, une ouverture d’esprit et des capacités surprenantes. Il ne faut pas les sous-estimer. Ils n’ont pas d’expérience, mais ils ont tout le reste.”

Don Giovanni, 25 au 28 février, 19h30, salle Claude-Champagne de l’Université de Montréal.

“We’re Not Working with Anybody, Ever, Anymore!”

November 22nd, 2009

When we get this close to the end of The Amazing Race, the show’s interest in its characters begins to shift. At certain points, the show allows the racers to appear as comrades, laughing together and competing against the race itself more against each other. However, by the time you get to the final four teams, the show wants every chance to pit the teams against one another in a fight to get to the end, trying to breed the sort of competitive fire that you want to see at this stage in the game.

And while most of the google hits from last week’s post seemed to indicate that the biggest piece of news from the leg was crotch censorship, the real story was the way the producers turned Dan and Flight Time’s altercation into a sign that, from this point forward, things are personal. In reality, the clip was only really edited this way (Big Easy clarified, as they did at the start of this leg, that they had no personal vendetta), but what it does signal is that all bets are officially off.

And this week, as the teams head to the Czech Republic, we realize that this season these teams are perfectly built in order to enter into this competitive stage. There is no team in this race that is what one would call a “feel good” team, and the result is that we’re effectively watching to see how well these teams are able to embrace this competitive spirit. And while this might not fit into a narrative of personal achievement or self-realization, it does fit into what makes these final legs of the race suspenseful: all of these teams are both ultimately capable of being competitive (athletic and strong-minded), but they also tend to create an enormous amount of drama in the process.

As someone who likes this competitive side of the race, I’m pleased by this, but I can see how someone looking for more of a fan favourite finish to the race may be disappointed.

Some of my favourite moments on the race are those where a team becomes divided on an issue as integral to the race as competition. You start to see how people choose to ignore certain realities (like, say, teams not losing sleep over taking someone’s taxi in a race for a million dollars) in an effort to rationalize this crazy process: at this point, they’re suffering from killer fatigue, someone like Brian actually expects that Sam and Dan should apologize to him for stealing a taxi. Perhaps months later, as they share a lunch over all their adventures around the world, they can get together and clear the air, but in the context of the race this behaviour would make no sense.

But it’s the sort of behaviour that emerges when you have teams interacting with one another as the race gets more competitive. Meghan and Cheyne get into a fairly heated argument over whether or not they treated the Globetrotters poorly after the detour, and you can sense that the two are thinking about this race very differently. Meghan is thinking in the short term, feeling that they agreed to work with the Globetrotters and they should continue honouring that agreement. However, Cheyne is thinking in the big picture, believing that the Globetrotters could have just as easily taken the taxi, and that any advantage is a key to staying in the lead and staying in the race. Perhaps not surprisingly, Cheyne is in the right here: heck, if Meghan was able to see what we saw, she would know that the Globetrotters have intended to simply follow Meghan and Cheyne anyways before they agreed to work together, so this isn’t exactly some sort of long-term alliance that both teams are really devoted to. So much of the sense of an “alliance” on the race is convenience, whether in the form of a calculator or in the form of someone who has directions from a local, so to expect those sorts of relationships to remain sacred is inherently false.

Brian and Ericka’s beef with Sam and Dan is even more intriguing when you consider that, when Brian and Ericka are eventually spared by a non-elimination leg (get to that in a minute), Brian argues that he is out to prove that you can win this race honestly. This is noble, certainly, and makes for a nice sort of “good vs. evil” narrative for the show’s producers, but it’s also something that ignores the balance of the material (the million dollar cash prize) and the immaterial (personal satisfaction) that exists in the race. There is no one way to win the race, and in some instances dishonesty has triumphed over honesty, just as blind luck has triumphed over skill. While the taxi theft is something the producers like to be able to build up to create tension between the teams, it’s less about the tension between individuals and more the tension between competitive and non-competitive within each individual racer, within each team, and in the teams’ relationships with one another.

So I love moments like Cheyne losing his temper (and dropping an f-bomb) with Meghan over her conscience getting the best of her, or Ericka proving the voice of reason by pointing out that Sam and Dan aren’t likely detouring to the nearest confessional to wipe away their sin. As the teams begin to grow more and more competitive (with the finish line growing closer in each leg), they begin to either buy into the sense that this is a race or resist turning into “one of those racers” and losing some sense of their humanity in the process.

And one of the things that has been so interesting about the Globetrotters is that they don’t seem to care about any of this. Yes, this is a team that wants to win, but I don’t think that Flight Time was purposefully slowing down Meghan and Cheyne at the Detour. Sure, I may be naive for believing him to be telling the truth, but to this point in the race they’ve shown no sense of being coy with their strategy: while Meghan and Cheyne briefly plot to mislead other teams about what the “Vintage Praga” might be, Flight Time and Big Easy are more blatant when they try to “game the game.” You notice that they never debate about whether or not they should be competitive because they’ve always agreed: this is a game, and they want to win, whether it means freaking out a terrified southern belle in water wings or getting into a physical confrontation of sorts on a boggy boardwalk.

I guess it’s no surprise that players on a team that never loses are willing to be competitive to keep from losing, but I think it’s the kind of attitude that the other racers seem more reticent to employ. Sam (who initially insisted “No, we can’t” when Dan suggested they bribe Brian and Ericka’s cabbie), Brian and Meghan all tend to resist these attempts at being cutthroat or competitive, which creates tension in a way that doesn’t seem to exist between Flight Time and Big Easy. And while it’s true that competition between the teams can create plenty of tension this late in the race, like Big Easy nearly throwing a guitar at Meghan for yelling “Cheyne!” in the opera house, it is the tension between racers that will eventually bring you down. And while Meghan and Cheyne argued in the cab, and Ericka’s attitude has proven difficult in the past despite Brian’s supportive stance, and Dan and Sam had a hay bale-style meltdown on the rapids, the Globetrotters have stuck together through both stupidity (the briefcase in Dubai) and sloth (Big Easy in this Detour) in a way that could take them a long way.

As for the leg beyond this particular theme, though, it was actually pretty much killed by the non-elimination. I distinctly remember them saying that all but two legs were non-elimination earlier in the season, but I likely misheard; accordingly, Brian and Ericka earn their third life (they would have been eliminated in Holland too, if not for Tiffany/Maria’s struggles) and live to fight another die, which sort of flies in the face of the spirit of competition. In the case of the Hay Bales, where Gary and Matt were saved just two weeks ago, I thought it worked because of how much that Roadblock inspired a sense of personal achievement that could be celebrated by being saved. Here, though, Brian and Ericka made a critical mistake inspired by an effort to be more competitive (taking the train/subway as opposed to a cab to the first clue in Prague), and it put them behind for the rest of the leg – there’s nothing unfair about this, so there’s something dissatisfying about them remaining for another week.

Personally, I like these kinds of episodes because they’re a sort of psychological experiment, but I can see how they might not be quite as engaging for some viewers. There’s no one left that you can really root for unconditionally, and that’s an integral narrative for some viewers. What will be interesting is seeing what happens next week when we really do get down to the Final Three, and we see whether Meghan and Cheyne’s domination to this point can extend into a finale regardless of their competitors. This won’t be the most emotional of conclusions, but I think that there’s a chance for a real race to be had here, and personally that’s all I hope for in the end.

Cultural Observations

• I also hope for teams that are capable of creating some enjoyable comedy, which Flight Time (and his graceful dance moves and operatic serenade) and Sam (who knew the Opera in question, and who was hilariously humming it in the taxi as they drove to the pit stop) are able to offer. Brian and Ericka are also capable of this, don’t get me wrong, but they were a bit tied up with the competitive side of things this week.
• In case it’s confusing to have this as Episode 10, when it’s likely labeled as Episode 9 in some circles, the two-hour finale threw things off, so this is technically the 10th leg.
• Always fun to see how the times work out when the teams leave the pit stop: while last week’s editing indicated that Brian and Ericka were fairly far behind the front teams, they were actually right on top of the Globetrotters (and were likely just out of the camera shot when they went wide on the showdown between the Globetrotters and the brothers).
• The Don Giovanni challenge felt like it was trying to create a memorable character in the laughing opera singer who insulted the contestants when they brought him guitars and instruments which clearly do not qualify as “tiny,” but I don’t think it really worked. The show is best when its hilarious facilitators are inadvertently hilarious.
• And, maybe it’s just me personally, but I’d much rather have a final leg with no team I hate than one where there are teams that I both love and hate: whoever wins this race, I don’t think they’ll be an undeserving or dissatisfying winner, which is better than if that remains a possibility even with one team I enjoy still in the running.
• Thank you, Amazing Race, for no more crotch censorship.

Handel statue in the Vauxhall Gardens

We have been in an encouraging period for the lyric art in New York lately. While the Met is basking in the signal success of the twin debuts of Patrice Chereau and Esa-Pekka Salonen (a production to be commented on here only after I’ve seen it a second time), a revivified New York City Opera is knockin’ ‘em dead next door, and the Juilliard Opera has, in my book, made history as well.

First, a bit about the latter. Opening night of the Juilliard production of Handel’s Ariodante, while excellent in itself (surely the best music-school operatic production I’ve ever seen and heard), was also redolent with wider significance for our musical life. While no students of singing who hope for an ecclectic career can be expected to dedicate themselves completely to the way we might think Handel’s singers sang in their smaller theaters and amidst different audience expectations, the singing was on such a generally stylish level as I had long ago stopped hoping for in such circumstances. And, twenty years ago, the idea of a Juilliard orchestra playing Handel with the devoted attention and verve we heard would have been laughable. It was easy to forget that modern instruments were involved. We saw a production in modern dress and with modern manners that somehow managed to partner with the spirit of an entertainment devised for audiences long since safely stowed in the churchyard, on a subject even more antique. It was impossible not to reflect on how improbable this success (and perhaps even the programming of this opera) might have been but for the popular successes of Handel works across the plaza at the City Opera — the best of which issued from the same director as this triumph, Stephen Wadsworth.

Going across that increasingly spiffy plaza next night for the City Opera’s Don Giovanni, the first new production of its phoenix-like fall season, and the first under a much-discussed new régime, was to encounter the same conductor as at Juilliard. (One hopes it was widely noticed and appreciated that Gary Thor Wedow conducted Handel on Wednesday, Friday, and Sunday and Mozart on Thursday and Saturday — Levine-like exertions.) And the results were surpassingly fine in the performances I heard. Both orchestras played with accuracy and liveliness. Christopher Alden, who is not an unknown quantity in general, revealed a genius for innovative staging and faithfulness to aspects of score and libretto that we rarely have seen. This ultra-modern production showed that conceptions that make explicit, in modern terms, emotions and motives inherent in the libretto (including, but not exclusively, human sexuality) can be done gracefully and entertainingly. It also gives the lie to the idea, much spun after the Met’s new Tosca opening, that New York audiences are stuck in the mud of mindless traditionalism. They surely seemed to like this far more intelligent venture, which is also arguably a far more venturesome one.

The next night was my first visit to their revival of Esther. I had seen the premiere in 1993 but really didn’t know what to expect after all this time. I remember that, on that earlier occasion, I was sitting two rows in front of the composer, who had led a doctoral seminar in 19th-century opera that I had taken. Weisgall was a great favorite of mine as a personality (irascible but fair) and an intelligence (encyclopedic in its knowledge of vocal and dramatic values). He also told memorable stories about past events and colleagues. What I was unprepared for after all this time was the sheer beauty of the music. Supported by a sturdy libretto marred by a minimum, considering everything, of propaganda aimed at modern conditions, I found the performance exhilarating beyond my dreams. Others I know felt the same way, while others expressed only modified rapture. The presentation of this work, difficult for some, expresses, in large letters that the community can clearly read, the seriousness of purpose of City Opera’s new intendancy and its interest in enriching us over the long term without undue regard for instant popularity. Not that I subscribe to the take-your-medicine-it’s-good-for-you school of programming; as I’ve already said, I found this modern work musically elegant, dramatically persuasive, and … entertaining.

And let’s not forget to commend them for the technical command and artistic focus to take such a difficult piece and make it sound easy.

Two other issues command attention with regard to our current experience of the New York City Opera:

(1) Where are all those people who so loudly shouted, both in certain corporate media and in endless anonymous tirades on blogs, that the NYCO was moribund, if not already dead through well-deserved indigence? They sneered at the engagement of Alden for standard repertory and at the immediate presentation of a “too-modern” work, they ridiculed the retention of musical staff, they proclaimed the impossibility of maintaing ensemble morale — or even the fending off of ruinous strikes by unions. But what do we see now? Not only are fund-raising efforts healthy (the opening night alone bringing in $2.3 million) and ticket sales brisk, but raw observation would indicate that the halls are alive with the sound of the clanging of the till at bar and gift shop. What looks like unusually cheerful audiences disport themselves in the generous public spaces so lacking at our noble Carnegie and Metropolitan piles — and this not only during such genial departures as Jewish Singles Night (for a performance of Esther, fittingly enough).

(2) The acoustical properties of the theater: Bearing in mind that there is much work still projected (with only a few months since the arrival of the new General Manager and the application of a newly-engaged acoustical firm with different ideas than had been governing reconstruction up to then), it’s still unavoidable to reflect on what has been accomplished so far. Apart from the Opening Gala, the two performances noted above are my only experiences of the latest renovations. The gala accomplished what it needed to accomplish: it was an enormously festive evening that showed some of the jewels in the NYCO’s crown. Not least among these are the chorus and orchestra that we were so often told would disintegrate, but which instead show an esprit that not only seems quite new but is rare in any opera house. Naturally, we must look to actual operas to judge the most crucial qualities of the performance spaces (for a stage, pit, and various parts of a house can be all-too-radically different spaces acoustically). I can report that the Mozart, heard from the first row of the First Ring, was appealingly present and almost consistently in appropriate balance with the orchestra, which is of course not entirely a function of room acoustics. The stage set, very intelligently, seemed designed to project the sound toward the paying customers, and I was very impressed with what I heard all round.

For the Esther in row H of the Orchestra, I naturally felt even closer to it all. This can be a negative if being closer to the orchestra makes it overpower the singers. This was not the case with what I heard, even with a set that was not as acoustically indulgent as that of the night before.

Add to this my first impression on walking into the room on Opening Night, confirmed by others who told me they felt similarly, that the rearranged room feels almost intimate compared with its former configuration. I’d never have believed that quite moderate changes in seating could have made such a difference.

Now, it probably needn’t be said that these are subjective and situational judgments. But then all estimates of acoustical phenomena depend on various personal physiological and psychological factors. It is, for example, beyond me how the very honest Allan Kozinn, in the pages of The New York Times, can pursue what begins to seem a vendetta against the acoustics of the revised Alice Tully Hall. Just last night, at the recital debut of the ravishing young soprano Susanna Phillips, a marvelous voice rang out thrillingly. (I was in row S but have heard all kinds of music in many areas of the hall since it reopened.) To my ears the Tully room has, very noticeably, more reverberation than before, and a pleasing “ping” that I certainly don’t remember from the old days. So we shouldn’t be surprised if reactions will vary in the newly re-christened David H. Koch Theater, as well.

So there we are. One man’s response to what have been highly pleasing, even exciting, communal events of music lately. Feel free to contest or supplement those reactions with accounts of your own experience.

Last week we started miling the new vinylize collection.! I am very excited about the new shapes. There will be a few that we are bringing back:

Grappelli, Bank, Chicago, Don Giovanni. And also quite a few new ones. The total should be about 12 frames.

There are a few differences from the previous models, namely the addition of 6 barrel rivet hinges. Some of the shapes have been modified a bit as well.

The color of the interior comes in 3 colors: a bone white, flame green, flame red.

I hope to have a video of the cnc up sometime next week.

Sagen wir es gleich ohne alle Umschweife: wer erstklassige Sängerschauspieler auf der Bühne hören und sehen will, der findet alle Male sein Vergnügen im Münchner Nationaltheater. Wer sich mit einem dürftig dünnen, lust- und lieblos produzierten Mozart-Sound zufrieden gibt, auch der ist im bayerischen Musentempel am Platze. Wer „schwachsinnige“ Inszenierungen – so ein der Münchner Oper eigentlich wohl gesonnener berühmter Kritiker über den unlängst in Szene gesetzten Lohengrin – noch goutiert, wer bei lustlosen  Sexübungen wie jetzt im Don Giovanni den Voyeur mimen mag, auch der ist in der Bayerischen Staatsoper richtig. Mag man beim Lohengrin, der unter dem Motto steht: Häuslebauer Elsa vergrault den Zimmermann, angesichts der Haussymbolik noch eine Konzeption, eine dürftige Konzeption vermuten, so hat jetzt beim Don Giovanni das Regieteam gänzlich der Geist verlassen  bzw. ist ihm in die Hose gerutscht. Und dort ließ er alle Hoffnung fahren. Was hier in München geboten wird, das ist die billigste und banalste Variante des Don Juan Mythos. Hier hat man Don Giovanni, angeblich die „Oper aller Opern“, zum Musical reduziert und dabei implizit einen neuen Titel erfunden: Johnny und Friends im Big Brother Container machen auf Sex und Crime. Irgendein heimtückischer Dramaturg in einem bekannten Theater in Hamburg muss dem dortigen Hausregisseur, Herrn K., als diesen der Ruf ereilte, in München Don Giovanni zu inszenieren, ein Video von Peter Sellers zugesteckt  und ihn in eine Calixto Bieito Inszenierung geschickt haben. Was die können, so mag sich unser deutscher Theatermann gedacht haben, das kann ich schon lange. Es war getan fast eh’ gedacht. Und in der Oper – jetzt frei nach Goethe – hing die Nacht. Aus der ironisch-witzigen Sexkomödie, als die der ach so skandalöse Katalane den Don Giovanni verstand, macht Herr K. ein deutsch-biederes Unterhosen Spektakel im Unterschichtmilieu. Und aus der Bronx, wo der Amerikaner den Don Giovanni spielen lässt, wird bei unserem Hamburger Theatermacher ein  Abstellplatz für Container. Vom Container allgemein zum Container im Besonderen, sprich: zum Big Brother Container ist es dann nur noch ein Schritt. Und so lassen wir ganz konsequent  die ganze Chose in Containern spielen. Eine solche Entscheidung hat natürlich den technischen oder dramaturgischen Vorteil, dass man immer wieder neue Kisten aufmachen kann und sich immer wieder neue Spielstätten auftun. In der Tat ein schöner Einfall: Kai aus der Kiste auf der Opernbühne. Und nicht zu vergessen, dass die Kisten bzw. die Container noch einen weiteren Theatergag erlauben. Die Sänger, wenn sie mal gerade nichts zu tun haben, können auf den Containern herumklettern und den Klettermaxe spielen. So hangelt sich denn die Inszenierung von Albernheit zu Albernheit, von Unbeholfenheit zu Unbeholfenheit, von Spießersex zu Spießersex.  Selbst die simpelste Personenregie geht daneben. Zur Registerarie, die, so dachten wir naiven Opernbesucher bisher, an Donna Elvira gerichtet ist, sperrt Leporello die arme Elvira in einen Container ein und schmettert die Arie von der Rampe – mit obszönen Gesten in Richtung Publikum. Als es galt, das berühmte Sextett im zweiten Akt zu inszenieren, da muss unseren Theatermacher wohl Verzweiflung überkommen haben. Vielleicht hat ihm da sein Assistent zugeflüstert: „Mach doch einfach das Licht aus. Und lass die Sänger bei Notbeleuchtung herumzappeln“ Und es war getan fast eh gedacht. In den Schlussszenen da kommt die Inszenierung endlich zum Höhepunkt. Don Ottavio, den wir in anderen Inszenierungen so oft als impotenten Schwächling erlebt haben, mutiert hier nach dem Rondo der Donna Anna geradezu zum Vergewaltiger. Was die überraschte Donna Anna (in der Person einer scheu-prüden amerikanischen Sängerin) gar nicht so toll findet.  Zum letzten Abendmahle verabredet sich Don Giovanni (Gott bewahre: nicht auf dem Friedhof. Da könnte ja etwas von der mythischen oder gar der metaphysischen Dimension des Don Juan Mythos rezipiert werden) mit dem Komtur im Kühlcontainer inmitten von Schweinehälften. Und das Mahl bereiten Don Giovanni und Leporello ganz realiter vor. Das heißt: zum Mozartsound riecht es im Nationaltheater wie im Steakhaus. Und im Steakhaus da schnappt sich nicht der „steinerne Gast“ den Bösewicht.  Das versuchen in München  Repräsentanten des frankistischen Spaniens: die Kleriker, die Militärs und die Guardia Civil. Ein schöner Einfall. Da hätten wir doch fast vergessen, dass der Don Giovanni  in Spanien spielt und unter Franco Repression herrschte. Da war nichts mit Sex. Und so ist es nur verständlich, dass angesichts der geballten Staatsmacht den armen Juanito, genannt: Don Giovanni der Schlag trifft. Das war’s dann. Leider nicht. In München spielen wir ja die Prager Fassung mit ihrem Moralinschluss. So viel  intellektuelle Dürftigkeit, so viel Einfallslosigkeit, so viel handwerkliches Unvermögen. Mit diesem Don Giovanni erlebt die Bayerische Staatsoper nach dem Lohengrin in wenigen Monaten ihr zweites Desaster. Schade um die grandiosen Sänger, die in einem so erbärmlichen Ambiente agieren müssen. Aber vielleicht habe ich die Konzeption gar nicht verstanden? Vielleicht erzählt uns die Regie die Geschichte vom Niedergang eines Popstars? Vielleicht suggeriert sie uns gar einen mythischen Überbau, eine Referenz auf die Antike? Soll der nackte Alte, der hin und wieder durch die Szene geistert, vielleicht der römische Fruchtbarkeitsgott Priapos sein? Oder ist er ein geiler Gott Pan? Wer weiß das schon so genau. Was ich allerdings weiß, ist, dass so manch ehrgeiziger Schauspielmann doch beim Schauspiel bleiben sollte. Und wenn er es denn unbedingt mit der Oper probieren will, dann sollte er doch bitte vorher ein paar Nachhilfestunden bei Peter Konwitschny nehmen: „Schauspiel inszenieren heißt: komponieren. Oper inszenieren heißt: Musik inszenieren, freilich zusammen mit dem Text“. So einfach ist das, wenn man es kann. In München kann man es nicht. Wir sahen die Vorstellung am 4. November. Es war die zweite Aufführung nach der Premiere am 31. Oktober 2009.

Fa poc comentaven les excel·lències de les Noces de René Jacobs, i ara ens apropem a la seva visió de potser l’obra més important del corpus operístic Mozartià, el Don Giovanni.

La sensació general d’aquesta gravació és que Jacobs torna a obtenir un triomf personal gran, amb una lectura orquestral sensacional. Una altra vegada aconsegueix un equilibri perfecte entre totes les seccions, amb un so d’època però gens barroquitzant. Jacobs fa servir la versió de Viena, amb el que al final de l’òpera inclou en un apèndix els números que es van escriure per la versió de Praga, la de l’estrena un any abans. El director es pren moltes llibertats en les dinàmiques i amb els tempos, sempre jugant a favor de la dramatúrgia, també dona molta llibertat als recitatius, que esdevenen d’una teatralitat molt gran.

Pel que fa a las veus, l’equip escollit és jove i bastant compacte. Dóna la sensació que a aquest repartiment es més recomanable veure’l que escoltar-lo, i amb això no vull dir que cantin malament, sinó que donada la joventut general i la frescor interpretativa (en l’aspecte dramàtic) veure’ls en la versió en DVD que existeix deu fer millorar encara més la impressió general.

M’imagino que deu ser així en el cas del Don Giovanni del noruec Johannes Weisser, que no arriba als 30 anys, ja que si bé dibuixa un Giovanni fogós, la seva veu es molt tova, inclús de vegades esmorteïda i blanca, comparada amb els meus Don Joans predilectes (Pinza, Siepi, Ghiaurov o Ramey) tots baixos, que no m’acaba de fer el pes. El Leporello de Regazzo està igual de ben treballat que el seu Figaro, amb una veu més contundent que la del seu amo. La Donna Elvira de la Pendatchanska sona massa dolça, per al meu gust li falta aquell punt de paranoia que el paper requereix, vocalment està força bé. La Pasichnyk és una molt bona Donna Anna, sobretot en la seva ària “Or sai chi l’onore” d’irresistible empenta. Kenneth Tarver demostra bon estil i recursos en les seves dues àries.

W.A.Mozart – Don Giovanni – (CD01, CD02, CD03)

Johannes Weisser (Don Juan)

Lorenzo Regazzo (Leporello)

Alexandrina Pendatchanska (Donna Elvira)

Olga Pasichnyk (Donna Anna)

Kenneth Tarver (Don Ottavio)

Sunhae Im (Zerlina)

Nikolay Borchev (Masetto)

Alessandro Guerzoni (Commendatore).

Rias Kammerchor.

Freiburguer Barockorchester-René Jacobs

————————————————

Enllaç relacionat:

http://rodiazsa.wordpress.com/2009/10/19/le-nozze-de-jacobs/

2) La mistica della sincerità

E veniamo quindi al punto piu’ interessante: parlando di seduzione, andiamo inevitabilmente a parlare di amore; di cos’è, di cosa dovrebbe o non dovrebbe essere.

L’atto della seduzione implica il convincere qualcuno a reputarci “amorevoli”, meritevoli d’amore; se renderci tali, è un qualcosa che si può apprendere, e che quindi qualcuno ci può insegnare, può voler dire, in prima istanza, che l’amore che si può provare per qualcuno non sia piu’ un’affinità elettiva, una scelta che, in realtà, rivela quanto di piu’ profondo ed autentico c’è in noi.
C’è un brano esemplare a proposito di Ortega Y Gasset, che prendo dal suo “Scelta in amore”:

“Ci sono situazioni, circostanze vitali in cui, senza rendersene conto, l’essere umano svela gran parte della sua intimità più decisiva, di quello che autenticamente è. Una di queste situazioni è l’amore. Nella scelta dell’amata l’uomo rivela la propria essenza, così come la donna in quella dell’amato. Il tipo di umanità che mostriamo di preferire nell’altro essere delinea il profilo del nostro cuore”.

Se così è, e stiamo dicendo che l’amore svela una parte essenziale di noi stessi, il pensare che si possa indurre in qualcuno amore per la nostra persona, mercè tecniche, metodi, strategie, implica che il suo amore è non autentico, è un inganno, è dovuto al fumo negli occhi che gettiamo grazie alle nostre arti seduttive.

Siamo così di fronte ad un’altro mito della contemporaneità: la mistica della sincerità.

Si sceglie una persona per quello che è, non per l’immagine artefatta che, mediante tecniche, lui è riuscito a farci pervenire.
Per quanto vecchio di 2500 anni, il mito platonico dell’androgino segato in 2 da Zeus a causa della sua Hybris, della sua tracontanza, è ancora vivo e vegeto nella mentalità attuale: molti hanno la pretesa d’affermare che esistono persone destinate in qualche modo l’una all’altra; e che, a prescindere da strategie, tattiche e quant’altro, nel momento dell’incontro, esse si “sapranno riconoscere”; ricosceranno nell’altro la metà mancante della propria “mela originaria”; se pensiamo l’eros in questo modo, come riconquista della nostra parte perduta, è chiaro che non c’è proprio nulla da insegnare; bisogna sol sperare di trovare il nostro complementare.

Chi sostiene questa posizione ha spesso la pretesa d’affermare che, se i due, al momento dell’incontro, non si prendono, non si riconoscono, allora “non era destino”, “non erano fatti per stare insieme”
Convicere qualcuno ad amarci, convincere qualcuno, che non sia in realtà la nostra metà complementare, significa ingannarlo.
Cito qui alcune affermazioni tratti dai commenti (femminili) all’intervista di cui dicevo prima:

“mai sentito parlare di persone che spontaneamente incrociano uno sguardo, si sentono attratte e poi si trovano naturalmente bene a fare 4 chiacchiere etc etc???.. perchè son così strana se dico che a me un uomo che mi studia, mi analizza, decide cosa mi infastidisce o meno, decide di che argomenti parlare, come assomigliarmi e come essere l’artefice e la guida del nostro incontro non mi piace?? anzi MI IRRITA, perchè non c’è nulla di vero, se non tanta arroganza e tanta “recita”.

O ancora:” il concetto che in mezzo a tutti questi paroloni sembri trascurare è molto semplice: l’ attrazione è una cosa molto semplice, naturale e SPONTANEA.”

Ed è precisamente questa l’idea che si continua ad avere della seduzione: l’arte dell’inganno. Lo stesso Don Giovanni è il personaggio dell’inganno, del travestimento, delle maschere. Come dice molto bene Umberto Curi :
“Don Giovanni – questo, per esempio sia nella versione di Molière, che soprattutto nella versione di Mozart e Da Ponte – ama travestirsi [...]il modello del seduttore seduce solo a condizione di apparire diverso da come è, seduce soltanto travestendosi e, quindi, come se non fosse sicuro del proprio aspetto per poter essere un seduttore [...]Don Giovanni per indurre Zerlina a compiacere ai suoi desideri, gli deve promettere ciò che poi egli non ha nessuna intenzione di mantenere, cioè promette a Zerlina di sposarla. Anche questo è un travestimento”.

Una cosa che in pochi sono disposti a riconoscere è che tutti ingannano; ed il campo amoroso è il territorio eletto dell’inganno; gli AFC, come volgarmenti definiti nei forum, ingannano non meno dei seduttori. E, soprattutto, le femmine ingannano; il trucco, l’abbigliamento, il fare ritroso, le strategie, non costituiscono forse l’essenza del comportamento femminile? La loro suprema preoccupazione non è quella di piacere ad ogni costo, curando meticolosamente il loro apparire, al fine di poter accalappiare il tipo che le piace? Non sono educate a fare questo da sempre? Di cosa parlano le riveste femminili se non di questo?

Come ben dice Carmelo Bene nella sua autobiografia:
“qualunque donna, civettando di un lutto appena accaduto o di Immanuel Kant, estrarrà all’improvviso dalla trousse un po’ d cipria, del rossetto,schiuderà uno specchiettino e comincerà scimmiescamente a pittarsi [...] è il trucco di che consistono; credono di restaurare la facciata, invece sprofondano nel nulla”.

Che dire invece del Lucien de Rubembrè delle Illusioni perdute (Balzac), il quale “non poteva immaginare il cambiamento prodotto da una sciarpa al collo, un abito grazioso, una pettinatura elegante nella persona di Louise”, rimanendo del tutto sorpreso di fronte alla metamorfosi della donna, che non a caso gli “appare irriconoscibile”?

A parti rovesciate, quante volte si è visto un ragazzo che, invaghitosi di una ragazza dedita alla lettura, cercasse poi un punto di contatto con questa, improvvisandosi accanito cultore di Turgenev e Puskin? E’ un fatto scandaloso?
Per una certa mentalità, per chi predica la sincerità ad oltranza si; ma mi pare davvero come la cosa piu’ comune del mondo; le persone hanno sempre agito così; e non sarebbe poi un ingannare il cercare magari di smussare i contrasti, lasciando in ombre certe cose, certi dettagli, enfatizzando solo quel che al momento ci è (o ci sembra) piu’ utile allo scopo?

Ma il fatto che sia reputato scandaloso, quasi immorale, mi fa pensare che risulta tale, agli occhi femminili in particolare, in quanto è una loro prerogativa l’agire in questo modo.

Continua…

On October 29:

1618 English adventurer, writer, and courtier Sir Walter Raleigh was beheaded for allegedly conspiring against James I of England.

1740  James Boswell, Scottish biographer of Samuel Johnson was born.

1787 Mozart’s opera Don Giovanni receives its first performance in Prague.

1863 Twenty seven countries meeting in Geneva agreed to form the International Red Cross.

1886 The first ticker-tape parade takes place in New York City when office workers spontaneously threw ticker tape into the streets as the Statue of Liberty was dedicated.

1891 US singer and comiedienne,  Fanny Brice, was born.

1894 SS Wiararapa was wrecked on Great Barrier Island.

1897  Joseph Goebbels, Nazi Minister of Propaganda was born.

1923 Turkey beccame a republic following the dissolution of the Ottoman Empire.

1947 Richard Dreyfuss, American actor, was born.

1956  Suez Crisis began: Israeli forces invaded the Sinai Peninsula and pushed Egyptian forces back toward the Suez Canal.

1964  Tanganyika and Zanzibar united to form the Republic of Tanzania.

1969 The first-ever computer-to-computer link was established on ARPANET, the precursor to the Internet.

1971 Winona Ryder, American actress, was born.

1995 Forgotten Silver hoax was screened.

2004 In Rome, European heads of state signed the Treaty and Final Act establishing the first European Constitution.

Sourced from NZ History Online & Wikipedia.

Io, Don Giovanni è un film di Carlos Saura del 2009, con María Valverde, Tobias Moretti, Ennio Fantastichini, Lorenzo Balducci. Durata: 115 minuti. Distribuito in Italia da Lucky Red a partire dal 23.10.2009.

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Ho provato a inserire un video nel post

http://un-paio-di-uova-fritte.blog.kataweb.it/2009/10/12/facebook-svelato-il-mistero/

ma naturalmente non ci sono riuscito; colpa probabilmente di spiriti maligni provenienti dalla Carelia

Perciò il video lo metto qui. A breve tornerò ad occuparmi di cinema (basta che funzioni, barbarossa, le mie grosse vacanze greche) 

Ho la macchina nuova da 5 giorni.

Mi sono scoperta malata di golfite.

Per chi non la conoscesse è una pericolisissima sindrome che prende i possessori di Volkswagen – Golf nera.

E’ essenziale che sia nera, perchè negli altri colori non colpisce allo stesso modo.

I sintomi iniziali sono lievi e non danno grande preoccupazione, ma devono essere curati per tempo per non degenerare in una grave ed irreversibile malattia.

Cominciano facendoti dire ‘azzo’ che gran macchina, senti che ripresa, corre come se fosse sulle rotaie, a duecento ti sembra di essere ferma, un design da urlo.

Poi si arriva al sintomo più emblematico che è la prova dello stereo.

Funziona benissimo, ha dei bassi che ti arrivano direttamente nello stomaco e cominici ascoltando piano piano un pezzo di Chopin, poi passi ad uno di Bach, poi provi Mozart con il Don Giovanni (che non si nega a nessuno), poi assapori l’esperienza mistica del Koln Concert di Keit Jarrett.

Dopo vuoi non sentirti la Callas mentre gorgheggia L’amour est un oiseau rebelle? No quello, decisamente, non te lo puoi perdere.

Insomma, cominci in sordina fino a che non arrivi, senza quasi accorgertene, a “farti” un San Benedetto V.d.S – Bologna, nella fondo valle del Savena, come me oggi pomeriggio,  l’intero album “Riportando tutto a casa” dei Modena City Ramblers, con il volume a manetta (al massimo per i non bolognesi).

Solo quando sono arrivata a San Ruffillo ed è iniziato il centro abitato mi sono resa conto che ero diventata uguale a tutti quei neri golfisti che ho tanto denigrato e tanto disprezzato come buzzurri e maragli.

Peccato che la mia nuova fiammante nera (dentro e fuori) macchina non sia affatto una Golf ma una New Lancia Delta.

Il che rende la malattia ancora più grave perchè non è ancora stata studiata  la sua mutazione genetica da nessun meccanico, elettricista o garagista che dir si voglia; non ho attenuante alcuna.

Oltrettutto dovrò scrivere alla Lancia per protestare contro lo spot pubblicitario interpretato da Richard Gere, perchè quando salgo sulla macchina non mi vengono, affatto, in mente scene new age tibetane con tanto di visione mistica del monaco bambino che, in impeto di fratellanza, mette la propria manina nella neve a fianco della manona dell’americano brizzolato.

Quando salgo in macchina, a me, viene in mente Diabolik!

“…being back at Bates means I can hear some of the people I share classrooms with everyday on the air. Turning the dial to 91.5 happens almost automatically now. There’s something in my fingers that knows the best thing on the radio will be Bates students. Am I a little bit biased? Absolutely. But that still doesn’t change the fact the WRBC is one of the only stations in central Maine where I can hear opera, heavy metal, pop, and reggae music all in one sitting.” Read on as Naima highlights her favorite aspects of returning to Bates HERE.

Ah yes, I know. It’s been long. Really long. The past couple of months in short have been hectic – so hectic in fact, I might just go through them quickly so that my own head doesn’t explode.

So here it goes. The first few weeks were filled with day trips to Range Pond, camp fires, lobstah, and nighttime dance parties.

The next couple included a couple of  job interviews, both of which I got (yay for me), and more days at Range Pond.The weeks following included lots of readings, most of which focused on analyzing gender and race as intersected entities in the United States. Then, there was homecoming/alumni weekend, where I got to see some old friends who are off in the real world now. Matt and Kim performed on campus, that was pretty raucous. And last week was Parent’s Weekend – sang some a cappella and caught up with Mom and Dad – always a treat. Most days though, weather permitting, have been spent outside and on campus – cold hard chillin. Here are some friends and I hanging out in the early days of the school year in front of Pettengill Hall.

And here we are, Monday night at Bates sitting in my living room listening to a track from the opera “Don Giovanni” on WRBC Bates College Radio. Not a regular for Front Pocket, the show responsible for my listening pleasure, but one of the DJs just turned in a paper about the famous opera so he was inclined to share his listening experiences with anyone tuned in before returning to the normal setlist of reggae.

At the very least, being back at Bates means I can hear some of the people I share classrooms with everyday on the air. Turning the dial to 91.5 happens almost automatically now. There’s something in my fingers that knows the best thing on the radio will be Bates students. Am I a little bit biased? Absolutely. But that still doesn’t change the fact the WRBC is one of the only stations in central Maine where I can hear opera, heavy metal, pop, and reggae music all in one sitting.

There are over 80 different radio shows on WRBC each week. Each show has anywhere between one and four DJs who play different sorts of music and also feature talk portions. A lot of the DJs have hosted a show since freshman year and are now gearing up for graduation. Others, like myself and my roommate from sophomore and junior year, are pulling together a show for the first time.

At this point, our show has been purely music. We’re working on pulling together some talk show bits at least once a month. Each week so far we’ve had a theme and have tried our best to stay within it for the full two hours. Our first week, the theme was “Mad Men”. We spent the show playing songs from the late-1950s/60s – as an homage to the television show we both religiously watch – but we also played seemingly angry songs performed by men – think Limp Bizkit and Rage Against The Machine. This past week our theme was food. We pretty much spent the whole two hours playing songs about or inspired by food – all I know is I left the station really really hungry.

Not sure what our theme will be this week, but go ahead and listen online and check it out for yourself: http://www.wrbcradio.com/listen

Stay righteous. Peace and then some,

Naima

National Museum

First of all, I want to apologize in advance — I can’t get the keyboard shortcuts for the various accents to work in the way I need them to work.

We’re up to Wednesday — our first full day in Prague apart from the arrival day, and we can’t believe it’s already Wednesday. We survived our first breakfast debacle in the hotel, and were out the door by 9AM and on the metro shortly thereafter.

We got off at the Musetek stop, which looked like it was the closest to everything we wanted. The first thing we saw, coming up out of the metro, was a place called “Coffee Heaven”. The sign alone made us laugh, and, as the week progressed, we figured it must be some sort of chain.

We turned towards a long, wide plaza with an imposing building looking down at it from the top of the hill leading away from the metro. We figured the building was an important museum or government building, and, in fact, it was the National Museum. We hoped to go back and visit it later in the week, but never actually managed so to do.

We wandered up the plaza — very wide, stores and money change places and restaurants and hotels along it. The famous Hotel Europa is on that stretch, originally built in 1889, rebuilt in 1903 in the Art Nouveau style. When my mom was in Prague, sixty years ago, it had some of the most luxurious movie houses in Europe. Now, they’re tacky casinos.

We did find a discount bookstore called Luxor, with English-language books, though.

It turned out that we were in St. Wencelas Square, where many famous events in Prague’s history took place, and the large statue near the top of the square on the horse is St. Wencelas, with four patron saints of Prague around him: St. Procopius, St. Agnes, St. Adalbart, and St. Ludmila (St. Wencelas’s grandmother, whom we would continue to meet frequently on our jaunts through Prague). The square was named in 1848 and the statue was erected in 1912. St. Wencelas is the Big Kahuna saint of them all, a murdered king whose legacy we will explore in more detail in our many hours at Prague Castle.

The central plaza in the Square is beautifully kept, changed seasonally, and, currently, in the center, was a photographic exhibit. One photo, of a group of people supposedly listening intently to a tour guide, made us laugh because it was shot from the back, showing that, in reality, they all had their hands on each others’ asses.

We bought tickets for a city tour from a company called Martin’s, figuring that it would be a good way to get our bearings in Prague. We asked directions to the Old Clock at a hot dog stand, and just had enough time to scurry down the 500 metres of cobblestoned streets and take a quick peek at it before returning for our city tour.

Old Town Square is pretty amazing. The clock itself has an astronomical dial with positions of the sun and moon and information on the constellations, and representations of the months, in addition to telling the time (although it’s hard to actually read the time, so they have a small, common black-type on white clock like one finds in classrooms on the side of the Town Hall so you know what time it actually is and what time the fun starts.

Every hour, there’s a walk of the Apostles — the figure of Death bangs his drum, and, above, the figures of the Apostles slide across in those two little windows above the clock face. The whole thing takes about 45 seconds, and you kind of laugh uncomfortably and go, “That’s it?”, but if you’re in the area near the top of the hour, you still scuttle back and stare up at it with the hundreds of other tourists.

It’s actually quite wonderful, and the detail work on the clock is fantastic. It was created around 1410, with the calendar dial added probably around 1490. The sculpture of Death was added in the 17th century. The legend surrounding the clock is that a clockmaker named Jan Hanus built it. The City Council was delighted with the piece, and so upset when the unsubstantiated rumor reached their ears that he was under commission to build a clock for someone else that they had his eyes gouged out. We learned even more about the legend during the Ghost Walk on the Saturday of our trip, which I will share when I write about that day.

There’s controversy about the accuracy of both the legend and the names of the creator or creators of the clock, but, to me, the legend is quite consistent with Prague’s bloody and judgmental history.

We hurried back to the place where the bus tour began, and spent two hours that, in true Prague fashion, were both fascinating and frustrating. We were on a mini bus, with people from all nationalities. We had a driver, but our “tour guide” was actually a recording. They provided the guide in 26 languages — sort of like listening in on an UN session.

The person who taped the information had a thick Liverpuddlian accent, so it was kind of like having one of the Beatles early in his career talk you through Prague.

One of the funniest statements was that the recording provided the tour in “the language of your choice, no matter what the mood of the driver.”

Imp and I howled with laughter.

We were jetlagged, but still, it was obvious that we were driving around and around in circles for a good portion of the trip. Almost every building in the city has a fascinating history, but the tour galloped over most of them, picking and choosing only a few here and there. The problem was that we couldn’t really see out of the front of the bus (although the driver rolled back the roof so we could look up), so sometimes the guide spoke about a building we were approaching, but then got stuck in traffic, so by the time we got to the building, the recording was talking about something else. I started taking notes, but, as the tour continued, the notes got snarkier and snarkier, so I stopped. And because we were driving around in circles, we never really got oriented, which was part of the point of the tour.

And whenever traffic got REALLY bad, the recording switched over to classical music. Road rage prevention, perhaps?

Like I said, funny and frustrating.

Here’s a photo of a building nicknamed “Fred and Ginger” because, supposedly, it looks like Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers dancing.

All of our frustrations melted when the bus rattled up the looooooong hill to the Castle and spit us out. The tour told us we had 30 minutes to wander around, and if we weren’t back at the meeting spot on time, it was assumed we had chosen to stay, and the bus would leave without us.

The Castle itself is amazing. I’d been warned to spend at least a day there –we wound up spending nearly three.

But it was St. Vitus Cathedral that sent chills of delight up our spines and made all the frustrations of the tour worthwhile. It took 500 years to build, and the gargoyles, architecture, and just plain artistry of the place is stunning. We wound up spending a lot of time at St. Vitus, and, in those 30 minutes, we photographed a lot of the outside of it.

We also witnessed the Changing of the Guard. The morning guards wore a lighter grey uniform jacket than those coming in, and I’m still trying to find out why. The uniforms were designed by the costume designer for the movie AMADEUS. The sentries are not allowed to speak, much in the way the Guards in London aren’t — so people treat them like props, which is just disrespectful.

We had lunch in a little cafe on Old Town Square — sandwiches and iced frappucinos and macchiatas. Very good. We were fighting the jet lag, but wanted to see more.

Walking around a bit, we found the Estates Theatre, where Mozart’s Don Giovanni premiered in 1787. It’s a gorgeous building, and we’d love to attend a performance there just to be in the space. In the small street on the side of the building containing the stage door, across from it, hangs a structure from a building that looks very much like a miniature version of St. Vitus Cathedral. Fascinating.

We also stopped at Tourist Information to get directions to Betramka, the Mozart Museum, where we wanted to attend a chamber music performance that evening. We wanted to walk, but the woman told us it was too far, and through too much of an industrial area. She showed us how far it was comfortable to walk in Mala Strana, and then to hop onto the #9 tram and get off at the Betramka stop, and it was “right there.” I said, “We don’t have to take any streets or go anywhere else?” And she said, “No. It’s right there.”

Ha!

We walked back to watch the clock do its little dance, then wandered through Joseftown (formerly the Jewish Quarter) and along the Vlatva River to the famous Charles Bridge. The Bridge, which started construction in 1357 to replace the Judith Bridge, was renamed “Charles” in about 1870. It has 30 statues decorating it, and each statue has a story. Many of the stories are false, created by societies who wanted to gain more statuRE by putting up a statUE. Richard Burton has a wonderful chapter on the bridge and its statues in his book PRAGUE: A CULTURAL HISTORY.

It’s also filled with vendors and pickpockets during the day. And, on our wander across, filled with construction, so about half the width of the bridge was not available, making it even more crowded.

Once we reached the other side of the bridge, the area known as Mala Strana, we found a small bookshop tucked away down a flight of curved iron stairs. I got a small book written for children about Prague history, because I figured it was easier to dissect the layers in a children’s book!

We skipped the Torture Museum. Hey, we lived under 8 years of Bush and Cheney. We don’t need to visit a Torture Museum. I couldn’t help wondering, though, if any of the devices in the Torture Museum were also in the Sex Machine Museum over in Old Town.

We found a shop selling Cannabis Vodka, which struck us as funny. We’re both convinced it must taste awful. But I guess if you drink enough of it, you don’t care.

(Inside the Glena Pub)

We found a place called The Glena Pub and stopped for a beer — this time a dark beer, which I’m not all that fond of, but it wasn’t bad. The bartender tried to get us to try Budweiser, explaining it’s very different than the American Budweiser, but I didn’t fly all that way to drink Budweiser!

Along the way, we found a sculpture of a series of disintegrating people. We didn’t know what it was. Later, I read that it’s supposed to represent the disintegration of Communism. A plaque would have been nice, to explain it!

We got on the #9 Tram and, yes, it was kind of a long way. We got off at Betramka. There was nothing that looked like a Mozart museum, nor where there any signs. We walked around for a bit — this was not a tourist area, but more residential. There was a lovely old cemetery, unmarked, unnamed on any of our maps (which we want to go and investigate in detail on another trip). Finally, I pulled a Tourist Move, pulled out my map, and we figured out where we were and where we needed to go to get to Betramka.

It was down a street and up a Very Long Hill. There were no delis or anything, and we were parched. We got to the museum, bought our tickets, and asked if we could buy a bottle of water, or even a glass of water. The guy at the desk refused. He said the cafe was closed and all he could offer was was “water from the toilet.”

That is not an acceptable way to deal with customers.

It is also typical of Prague.

We sat in the garden, waiting for the concert to begin. It was beautiful — you can see why Mozart enjoyed writing here, in peace and quiet. I bet his hosts, Duskova and Dusek, would have been horrified at the lack of hospitality provided to modern guests by the current staff.

Additionally, the concert was nearly a half hour late starting because they were waiting for a busload of Belgian tourists who were “having trouble getting there.” Once they arrived, at least half of them were sick as dogs, and spent most of the concert sneezing, coughing, and hacking up a lung. H1N1 anyone?

The concert itself was lovely. It was a trio called Trio Orbis, with a young woman on violin, a young man on cello, and another young man on piano. They played three lovely pieces, and the concert took just over an hour. Completely lovely musicianship and beautiful interaction amongst them.

As I listened, I plotted two short stories. One of which is a Jain Lazarus adventure set in Prague, about six months to a year before HEX BREAKER.

I asked for directions to the metro stop that looked like it was close o the map. A young woman on the staff gave them to us. I did not ask the rude guy — he’d have given us wrong directions on purpose.

Going down the hill was much easier than going up. We easily found the Andel metro station. There was an Apple store in the complex — I was tempted to toss my iPod at them and pitch a fit, but I’m sure the customer service, Apple or no, would be typical Czech (as in non-existent). There was a Mexican restaurant filled with English-speakers on one corner — I’m pretty sure there were a lot of Americans, because the women had so much Botox they couldn’t move their faces to chew.

We avoided that restaurant and went across the street to a small local joint where, again, we were the only English speakers. There was only one waiter handling the entire restaurant and the bar. He was exceptionally disinterested in the customers, which I understood. I would have been very unhappy to be that understaffed.

It was cheap, the Pilsner was fantastic, and I had a gorgeous mustard-encrusted pork chop. We split an order of potatoes (vegetables don’t come with the entry, they’re separate. And usually you have 17 choices of potatoes and maybe some cabbage. But they sure know what they’re doing with those 17 choices of potatoes).

We watched a pair of cops outside ticket a car. The female cop (Asian) wrote the ticket, photographed, did all the work. The male cop (Czech), posed and swaggered. He was so aware we were watching him that it was hilarious.

We bought tickets at the Andel metro. A homeless guy was trying to get change from us, asking if we spoke English. I spoke to him in French and disconcerted him. A young Czech woman went off on him, as near as we could tell, berating him for being young, healthy, and not getting a job. We escaped into the metro while she yelled at him.

We were on the “B” line, and, two stops later, switched to our “A” line and scooted home.

You always feel watched in Prague, not because of leftover Communist regime energy, but because every building is full of statues staring down at you.

Previously: Getting There
The Hotel

*Rosane Ávila

Em  Bento Gonçalves (RS), em meio a vinhedos, a pousada Don Giovanni resolveu inovar e acaba de inaugurar um recanto pra lá de especial – uma cabana! É isso mesmo! O espaço vem sendo chamado carinhosamente de “casota” e une requinte à rusticidade.

O espaço era antigamente utilizado como estrebaria da granja, que além de seus vinhedos também criava gado leiteiro e ovelhas, e foi cuidadosamente planejado por Beatriz Dreher Giovannini, proprietária do estabelecimento.  Ideal para as pessoas que querem descansar desfrutando das maravilhas que a Serra Gaúcha oferece, a “casota” está equipada com suíte com banheira de hidromassagem e cromoterapia, ar condicionado, geladeira, aquecedor, fogoler (antigo fogão dos italianos), Sky, confortável sofá, além de uma charmosa área externa coberta, com churrasqueira, balanço e cadeiras. “É uma ótima opção para todas as estações ”, enfatiza a gerente da pousada DG, Paola Dreher Giovannini.

Junto à sede da vinícola, a Don Giovanni também possui uma pousada com sete apartamentos adaptados num casarão construído em 1930, decorados com móveis típicos, e ambiente para refeições conjugado com espaçosa sala de estar.

Seu diferencial é propiciar aos hóspedes um ambiente que nem de longe lembra os frios e impessoais tratamentos dos hotéis, fazendo com que eles se sintam à vontade. Ao efetuar a reserva, o hóspede é alertado que não há nos quartos tevê ou frigobar. O intuito é fazer com que a permanência neles seja mínima, e a individualidade quase esquecida. Por conta disso, o convívio é maior entre os hóspedes.

Durante a permanência na pousada, acontecem aprazíveis encontros e são descobertas grandes afinidades. Um deles propiciado pelo restaurante que possui enormes mesas retangulares onde os hóspedes se sentam juntos, após serem apresentados pelos próprios donos.

E, depois de dividirem um espaço tão único, é quase impossível não travarem novas e grandes amizades.

A Don Giovanni fica na VRS 805 – Linha Amadeu (28) – Km 12, no distrito de Pinto Bandeira, em Bento Gonçalves. Telefones para contato: (54) 34556293 / 34556294. Mais informações no site www.dongiovanni.com.br.

*Depois de exercer o cargo de editora-chefe do Jornal Agora [Rio Grande] durante vários anos, a jornalista Rosane Leiria Ávila atualmente edita cinco cadernos semanais para o mesmo diário: Mulher, FelizIdade, O Peixeiro, Viagem&Gastronomia e Televisão. Editora literária, também assina duas páginas e uma crônica semanais, igualmente publicadas no blog Contorno das Palavras.

M-a impresionat interpretarea asta:

Ernst Lubitsch (Berlino, 1892-Bel Air, 1947), è stato un regista dotato di un notevole senso dello spettacolo e di una grande abilità nella direzione degli attori; distaccandosi dalle esperienze espressioniste proprie del cinema della sua terra d’origine, ha perseguito una personale strada creativa, elevando a stile grazia e leggerezza, che diverranno le costanti della sua produzione.
La sua carriera ebbe inizio in Germania con film storici ed avventurosi e proseguì ad Hollywood( vi venne chiamato nel 1922 da Mary Pickford, perché la dirigesse in Rosita ), dove diede il meglio di sè nella commedia sofisticata, passando per l’operetta.
Il cielo può attendere è uno dei suoi ultimi film, la cui sceneggiatura di Samson Raphaelson è tratta dalla commedia Birthday di Ladislas Bus- Fekete:al cospetto di “Sua Eccellenza” il diavolo (Laird Gregar) si presenta l’anima di Henry Van Cleve (Don Ameche); consapevole dei suoi trascorsi di incallito donnaiolo, questi pensa di essersi meritato un posto all’inferno, ma “Sua Eccellenza” è di altro parere e lo invita a raccontargli la sua vita.
Ha inizio così un lungo flashback, tramite il quale apprendiamo come Henry sia nato in una ricca famiglia di New York, teneramente viziato e coccolato; a quindici anni verrà iniziato alle gioie del sesso da una giovane cameriera francese, dando così il via alla sua carriera di gaudente, che continuerà sino a ventisei anni, quando, innamoratosi, ricambiato, di Martha (Gene Tierney), promessa sposa del cugino Albert ( Allyn Joslyn), approderà al matrimonio. Vita coniugale tranquilla, allietata dalla nascita di un figlio, con qualche scappatella perdonata dalla moglie, la quale morirà poco dopo il venticinquesimo anniversario di nozze. Rimasto solo, nonostante i suoi cinquanta anni,continuerà la sua vita da libertino, sino a quando, a settanta anni, morirà accudito da una bella infermiera( “Mi mise il termometro in bocca e di colpo la febbre mi salì fino a quarantatre gradi…. Si può desiderare una morte più bella?” ) .
Il diavolo ha deciso:un tipo come lui, che ha amato con la stessa intensità sia la moglie che le altre donne, restando a lei sostanzialmente fedele, non può stare all’inferno e quindi lo invia ai “piani alti”; in realtà il finale era ben diverso, intriso del gusto sardonico del regista, ma la censura ne impose il taglio: Henry, a metà strada tra inferno e paradiso, incontrava una procace fanciulla e pronunciava la battuta che dà il titolo al film.
Vero e proprio divertissement di Lubitsch, dai toni autobiografici, dietro l’ostentata pretesa “di non voler dire nulla” nasconde un beffardo rimpianto per un mondo ormai obsoleto; il regista con il suo leggendario tocco ci dona una deliziosa visione retrospettiva di un’ America a cavallo di due secoli, ironizzando con sguardo indulgente sulle ipocrisie e le ossessioni delle classi più agiate; fa rivivere il mito di Faust e di Don Giovanni, temi a lui cari , allestendo un’ elegante e raffinata confezione, allusivamente trasgressiva, dominata da un inedito senso del fantastico, con un’affascinante atmosfera in bilico tra vita e morte, tra amore e desiderio.

Avagy statiszta voltam egy filmforgatáson

Nem csalás, nem ámítás!  Valóban statiszta voltam. És ezt most…

…el fogom nektek mesélni!

ELŐZMÉNYEK
Nos, az Iwiwen hetekkel ezelőtt értesítettek, hogy lenne egy ilyen lehetőség. Gondoltam, miért is ne, még fizetnek is érte, és most amúgy sincs semmi munkám, úgyhogy visszajeleztem, hogy vállalom. Később megkaptam a választ, hogy a későbbiekben tájékoztatnak a részletekről. Sok idő telt el, már egészen letettem róla, úgy gondoltam, nem lesz belőle semmi. Anyám mondta is, hogy írjak nekik, és pont aznap, mikor ezt meg akartam tenni, írtak A lényeg az, hogy a forgatás aug. 21-én és 22-én volt, este 6 helyett 5-re kellett odamenni, hogy megcsinálják a sminkünket és a hajunkat. Odamentem, kicsit várni kellett, aztán mindkettőt megcsinálták (bár az első nap, mire bejutottam a fodrászhoz… Hát, a könyvet, amit magammal vittem, már kb. félig kiolvastam /valahol az elején tartottam/). Mindkét nap nagyon sokat kellett várni, mire egyáltalán csináltunk valamit. Az első nap kb. este 8 és 9 között kezdtünk el forgatni, a második nap olyan 10 felé. Mit is csináltunk akkor?

PÉNTEK-SZOMBAT
Először egy lépcsős jelenetünk volt. A jelentnek az volt a lényege, hogy a nézők kijöttek egy kicsit beszélgetni, borozgatni, pezsgőzgetni az első felvonás után. A film főhőse eközben megy fel a lépcsőn, majd végül mindenki más is elindul, mikor megszólal a csengő (vagy valami), jelezvén, hogy a második felvonás néhány perc múlva elkezdődik.
Nos, ezt a jelenetet vagy 3-szor elpróbáltuk (vagy talán többször), és némán kellett beszélgetnünk. Nem vicc. Komolyan. Mi azért suttogva beszélgettünk, mert az ember azért elég hülyén érzi magát, ha tátogva kell beszélgetnie… Ezután már a jelenetet fel is vették. Mehettünk utána kajálni, amikor vége volt az ‘ebédszünetnek’, ezt a jelenetet felvettük még néhányszor, aztán kimentünk az Opera elé. Itt mindenki “megérkezett”. Párokba állítottak minket. Nekem és a páromnak az volt a feladatunk, hogy keressük a jegyet a zsebünkben (nekem nem is volt zsebem ). Végül mi megegyeztünk egymás között, hogy én megkérdezem, nála vannak-e a jegyek, ő megnézi, aztán bemegyünk Bevallom, először nagyon paráztam attól, hogy elrontok valamit, és miattam az egész jelenetet újra kell venni. Bár a lépcsősnél is felvettek minket, de itt most közvetlenül a kamerák előtt álltam és mentem el, és azért így egy kicsit így már más a dolog. Ráadásul mi kezdtünk… Amikor már harmadszorra vettük fel a jelenetet, minden félelmem elszállt. Nem izgultam, nem éreztem hülyén magam attól, hogy vesz a kamera. Igazából tudomást sem vettem róla, mintha ott sem lett volna. Mégis elrontottunk valamit. Valamiért nem voltunk benne a képben
Később – nem sokkal ezután – azt a jelenetet vettük fel, mikor mindenki elmegy az Operából. Mi az épület előtt álltunk, mások a lépcsőnél, megint mások bent voltak még. Nekünk kb. az lett volna a dolgunk, hogy a partnerem átkarol, én adok neki egy puszit (“Drágám, köszi, hogy elhoztál erre az előadásra!”), aztán elsétálunk. Ebből lett az, hogy a partnerem végül egyedül sétált el. (Kivettek a filmből… ) Aztán más szemszögből vették fel a jelenetet (átpakoltak mindent a szemközti oldalra). Itt asszem szintén befelé igyekeztünk meg hazafelé is mentünk… Igen, most már emlékszem Először hazamentünk, aztán be Nekünk le kellett mennünk a földalattiba (ahol jó meleg volt, már a lépcsőkön is; egyébként ilyenkor már nincs nyitva), aztán odajött a rendező (angolul) magyarázni, hogy inkább sétáljunk el, vagy mi Ezután volt még egy Operába “bemenős” jelenet (ahol kellemesen hömpölyögni kellett XD – ez a csávó még olyanokat is mondott, hogy pl. statisztéria, “pártner”). Utána mindenki mehetett haza.
Nagyjából 3/4 4-ig tartott a forgatás, mégis 6-ra értem haza, mert ott bénáztam. Nem találtam a buszmegállót, és mikor megtaláltam, rossz irányba szálltam fel. Leszálltam, csakhogy akkor már nem jártak az éjszakai járatok, de lassan minden más igen, így valahogy sikerült hazakeverednem végül. Sőt, még a napfelkeltében is gyönyörködhettem… (Megjegyzés: bár az eddigi leírásom alapján úgy tűnhet, hogy minden gyorsan ment, ez valójában nem volt így. Igazából mindig rengeteget kellett várni, mire továbbléptünk a következő jelenetre.)


SZOMBAT-VASÁRNAP
Csupán 4 órát sikerült aludnom. Miután felébredtem, még kómás voltam egy picit, de később ‘relaxáltam’ (sajnos nem sikerült elaludnom, ezért csak pihengettem), megittam egy energiaitalt, és magamhoz tértem Nos, így mentem el a forgatásra, ám ezúttal felkészültem: vittem kávét termoszban és egy doboz energiaitalt is bekészítettem.
Aznap még többet kellett várni, mire egyáltalán csináltunk valamit (de legalább most én voltam az első, akinek megcsinálták a haját és a sminkjét). Megint ötre kellett odamenni, a forgatást pedig valamikor este 9 után kezdtük el. Szóval sejthetitek. Sajnos most nem nagyon tudtam olvasni, mert aznap több statiszta is jött, ezért az Opera előterébe (vagy hová) vezettek minket, ami eléggé félhomályos volt, és nekem sajna nem volt annyi eszem, hogy olyan padra üljek, amelyiknél világít a lámpa. Átülni meg nem tudtam, mert már elfoglalták a helyeket.
Ám amikor elvittek minket, sem volt benne sok köszönet. Engem a páholyok egyikébe ültettek, először a főszereplők mellé, aztán átültettek néhány székkel arrébb. Lent is volt közönség, és sokáig azt próbálták el majd vették fel, amikor a nézők bevonulnak az egyik főszereplővel. Minket szerintem nem vettek egyáltalán. Ez egy idő után kezdett kimerítővé és unalmassá válni – ráadásul már akkor is meg voltam fázva, és nem tudtam orrot fújni, és ez is zavart (igaz, mielőtt elindultam volna, ittam egy Neocitrant, ám egy idő után kezdett már elmúlni a hatása). Így nem kaptam rendesen levegőt, és féltem, hogy lehet, hogy tüsszentek (mondjuk az egyik néző véletlenül megtette *együtt érez valamelyest*). Később még minket is vettek, de előtte volt egy kis szünet – illetve, alighogy elhelyezkedtem az előtérizében, már szóltak, hogy azonnal menjenek, akik a páholyban ültek
Ezután, ha jól emlékszem, vége volt az egésznek, és mindenki mehetett haza – kivéve persze a stábot, akik pakolgattak *kárörvend*

Kapcsolódó cikkek:
Ezekből többet megtudhattok a filmről.

• Dj Don Giovanni
• Népszava online [részlet]: “Ugyancsak az Eurofilm hozta Magyarországra a most nálunk forgó Don Giovanni című operafilmet is, amely dán–magyar koprodukcióban készül. Az itteni munkálatok augusztus végéig tartanak, a mintegy 1 milliárd forintos összköltségvetésnek körülbelül a fele a magyarországi költségvetés.”
• Dán-magyar operafilm készül Budapesten
• Don Giovanni modern köntösben

Egyéb megjegyzések:

• A képek csak illusztrációk.
• Nem mindent írtam le, mert nem emlékszem mindenre^^”
  

• Valamiért a szmájlik nem “működnek” rendesen. Valaki tudja, hogy miért?

• TALÁLKOZUNK A MOZIKBAN! XD

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Världens bäste sångare, René Pape, fyller år idag. Grattis!

Han kan sjunga han!

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