Last night was my fourth or fifth wade into the slough of Bartlett Sher’s production of Offenbach’s Les Contes d’Hoffmann at the Met since its premiere in 2009.
We leave behind the Vienna of the 1740s, the time of breeches, fans and white wigs.
“‘Fat-pack’ critic-attacked mezzo to debut at Carnegie Hall”
Your doyenne peers into the future, or, to be more accurate, into the Future Met Wiki, to reveal the latest rumors on casting and repertoire.
La Cieca is gradually coming to the conclusion that Tara Erraught (pictured) has built her dressing room over an Indian burial mound.
La Cieca looks forward to seeing (in the virtual sense) all her cher public bright and early tomorrow morning for the webcast of the controversial production of Der Rosenkavalier from Glyndebourne.
The apparently underemployed mezzo Alice Coote has been hitting the laptop again, this time delivering a rant that only makes sense if you read it aloud, slurring, “An’ another thing!” after each paragraph.
There goes my very last nerve.
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