Without furnishings to distract them, the cast prowled the stage with sinister energy, exchanging significant looks and deadly secrets as though fearing Nihilists behind every drapery.
I really cannot exaggerate the extent to which I truly did not know what was going on in New York City Opera’s production of Maria de Buenos Aires.
It has always puzzled me—and I’m not the only one—that so few successful operas have been composed in Spanish.
Tell us: Filth or dementia?
Hasten thee to feed another quarter of conversation for The Talk of the Town!
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