parterre box

Dear Alex Ross (though he sure as hell didn’t like it) is not quite ready to join the “sky is falling” chorus. Opera being a delightfully paradoxical medium, this whole debacle left me in an upbeat mood. The Met is refusing to repeat itself and is seeking, by trial and error, a new theatrical identity. One or two meetings might be in order to determine how things went awry, and once Bondy is safely on the plane back home it should be relatively easy to devise new stage business to replace his lamer notions. The audience was, at least, paying [...]

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More about That Night from the Boo York Times.

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As newpapers across the nation decimate their staffs, as arts writers beg to write free for blogs, and as (apparently) nothing else happens in the world today, Alan  Daniel J. Wakin is still answering Franco Zeffirelli’s drunk-dials. Hilarious takeaway: Frengo metaphorically compares the fag-specific metier of operatic stage direction to heterosexual marriage. [NYT]

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Says a spectator at last night’s Tosca: [The final leap] “did seem poorly timed– Mattila ran to the top in slow motion, switch to stunt double appeared obvious. No boos followed– unenthusiastic applause instead. Neither Scarpia took any bow.” 

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See the new posting that will appear at 5:45 pm entitled “Overture! Light the Lights!” — this will be your official one-stop location for tonight’s chat during the Met’s Tosca.

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