"All art is at once surface and symbol. Those who go beneath the surface do so at their peril. Those who read the symbol do so at their peril."
-Oscar Wilde, Preface to Dorian Gray
In the opera world of late, there have been numerous attempts to update classic works to make them more "relevant". There are those who think it is a good idea to "interpret" works of art that are already complete in themselves and which come with prescribed instructions about how they should be performed. I often wonder at which point, in our attempts to make opera more accessible we forget the original intentions of the composer and librettist.... However, if respecting these intentions means that opera as an art form will die out, shouldn't we be compelled to shake things up?
Is there a way to look forward while respecting tradition?
I don't know. But at the rate things are going, you might very well see the following creations at a theatre near you:
I, DOMINATRIX
Mozart's classic opera Idomeneo is updated for our licentious age. Follow the story of Idominatrix, "Mistress of Crete" as she makes a fatal deal with her pimp, Neptune. All will suffer, but this doesn't faze our heroine. She likes it.
COSI FAN BOOTAY
Another re-interpretation of a classic, if dated Mozart Work. Cosi Fan Tutte is now set in Harlem. The set will utilize authentic graffiti art and sections of an abandoned subway station. The text has been translated from the original Italian into ebonics... to make it more accessible. There will still be surtitles.
LA CLEMENZA DI JOSEF BROZ TITO
Ancient Rome becomes 1970's Zagreb in this heart-warming tale of forgiveness.
"Decadent and bourgeois, but slightly more acceptable than the original". - Pravda
THE AILS OF HOFFMAN
Listen to the story of Mr. Hoffman, a patient at Mount Sinai hospital, as he talks about his various medical conditions. "Touching...prodding even. A veritable prostate exam of art. Who knew?" - Canadian Jewish News.
MANON LETS GO
This timeless classic takes place in Kitsilano, where our eponymous heroine has opened a yoga studio. Featuring the heart-rending aria "Adieu, notre petite tabla". "Soothing" - Canadian Yoga Journal
DIE HALFWAYHOUSE
Johann Strauss' operetta as you have never seen before. Fin-de-siecle Vienna becomes Vancouver's Lower East Side.
TOSK'WA
Puccini's jealous heroine reappears on Haida Gwaii.
DIE DAL-PURI
Siegmund and Sieglinde find themselves in Little India.
DIE MASTURBATERS VON NURNBERG
- Starring EVERYONE (even those who deny it).
Sunday, January 28, 2007
Friday, January 26, 2007
Vin Jaune
It is said that the ingredients of an authentic peasant dish will be prohibitively expensive outside their country of origin. I told this to Phillipe the other day over coffee, as he was describing the food of the Jura region in his native France. One of the dishes he liked to prepare was Coq au Vin Jaune aux morilles. Now, in order to make this you need an organic grain fed chicken. In France, these are pretty easy to come by, and are so revered that they have special tricolour cockades attached to their still-intact claws to show their provenance and eclat. They kind of look like skinned sans-coulottes.
You also need morel mushrooms- morilles - which are the most expensive kind of mushroom. At Urban Fair (or as I like to call it Urban Unfair) dried morels go for 50 dollars per 100 grams. This greatly upset Phillipe - he could understand paying 1000 dollars a month for an apartment in a city that wasn't even Paris, but that much for morels was criminal. You see, where Phillipe comes from you can just walk out your back door and pick them for free. I suggested substituting another kind mushroom, but he would not hear of it - "the morel mushroom has tiny pockets that soak up the sauce in a very unique way" he explained , as if I were some sort of stone-age creature who dines on raw mammoth. We bought the morels.
Coq au Vin Jaune would not be Coq au Vin Jaune without Vin Jaune. And what is Vin Jaune?
Yellow wine. Duh. That is what I said. But Phillipe said that the taste of Vin Jaune was absolutely distinct - like lifting up a rock and licking moss. He picked up a stone and told me to smell it. I just laughed. But he was serious, so I smelled it. The rock smelled like a rock, and spearmint (there was some gum stuck to the rock). Apparently, Vin Jaune is fermented in the same way as sherry. It comes from a temperamental grape that must be handled gently. So I guess you could say that if I were a drink I would be Vin Jaune.....
Unfortunately, we were unable to find Vin Jaune, as apparently people here do not appreciate its earthy flavour. We made do with Chablis, but Phillipe insisted it was not the same.
It never is.
You also need morel mushrooms- morilles - which are the most expensive kind of mushroom. At Urban Fair (or as I like to call it Urban Unfair) dried morels go for 50 dollars per 100 grams. This greatly upset Phillipe - he could understand paying 1000 dollars a month for an apartment in a city that wasn't even Paris, but that much for morels was criminal. You see, where Phillipe comes from you can just walk out your back door and pick them for free. I suggested substituting another kind mushroom, but he would not hear of it - "the morel mushroom has tiny pockets that soak up the sauce in a very unique way" he explained , as if I were some sort of stone-age creature who dines on raw mammoth. We bought the morels.
Coq au Vin Jaune would not be Coq au Vin Jaune without Vin Jaune. And what is Vin Jaune?
Yellow wine. Duh. That is what I said. But Phillipe said that the taste of Vin Jaune was absolutely distinct - like lifting up a rock and licking moss. He picked up a stone and told me to smell it. I just laughed. But he was serious, so I smelled it. The rock smelled like a rock, and spearmint (there was some gum stuck to the rock). Apparently, Vin Jaune is fermented in the same way as sherry. It comes from a temperamental grape that must be handled gently. So I guess you could say that if I were a drink I would be Vin Jaune.....
Unfortunately, we were unable to find Vin Jaune, as apparently people here do not appreciate its earthy flavour. We made do with Chablis, but Phillipe insisted it was not the same.
It never is.
Thursday, January 04, 2007
Should old acquaintance be forgot and never brought to mind?
Happy New Year.
I don't particularly like the phrase, to tell you the truth. If the new year was meant to be happy, why would it begin with the futile downward spiral that is January?
And as for New Year's resolutions. Well, I don't believe in them.
I came to this conclusion after spending a few days reading Proverbs while doing cardio and eating celery sticks. "Why am I doing this to myself?" I thought. "What exactly am I trying to improve in myself?" I was lifting weights, but what for? My clothes don't fit anyway due to my abnormally developed sternum. If I work out, I'll have to buy new ones, and I can't afford them (because it is January). Besides, no matter how much I exercise, I will never be lithe nor limber. I will never have a torso long and lean like the Baja peninsula. I am destined to face the brutal winds of time like a monolithic, mesomorphic plinth. I am not willowy, nor wispy. My build suggests one who was made to walk against the current head on... not smile, sylph-like, while being carried with it. I do not consider the lillies of the field who neither toil nor spin. Clumsily, I mow them down. And move on.
This is what I was thinking when I was on the treadmill. And after I left the gym, I went and bought myself some blue cheese and went down by the ocean and gazed at the water and thought, maybe I do have a resolution. And it is this: I resolve not to resolve. I will be a series of contradictions all my life, and there is nothing I can do to escape from the body or the mind that I have been given. Pope John XXIII, who was not willowy either, said: "See everything, overlook a great deal, correct a little". I like that.
And so I give thanks for the things that I have, and I give more thanks for the times I am free from wanting more than I have. And I give thanks for breath, and for bread and butter.
I give thanks for every second that I am alive.
Happy New Year.
I don't particularly like the phrase, to tell you the truth. If the new year was meant to be happy, why would it begin with the futile downward spiral that is January?
And as for New Year's resolutions. Well, I don't believe in them.
I came to this conclusion after spending a few days reading Proverbs while doing cardio and eating celery sticks. "Why am I doing this to myself?" I thought. "What exactly am I trying to improve in myself?" I was lifting weights, but what for? My clothes don't fit anyway due to my abnormally developed sternum. If I work out, I'll have to buy new ones, and I can't afford them (because it is January). Besides, no matter how much I exercise, I will never be lithe nor limber. I will never have a torso long and lean like the Baja peninsula. I am destined to face the brutal winds of time like a monolithic, mesomorphic plinth. I am not willowy, nor wispy. My build suggests one who was made to walk against the current head on... not smile, sylph-like, while being carried with it. I do not consider the lillies of the field who neither toil nor spin. Clumsily, I mow them down. And move on.
This is what I was thinking when I was on the treadmill. And after I left the gym, I went and bought myself some blue cheese and went down by the ocean and gazed at the water and thought, maybe I do have a resolution. And it is this: I resolve not to resolve. I will be a series of contradictions all my life, and there is nothing I can do to escape from the body or the mind that I have been given. Pope John XXIII, who was not willowy either, said: "See everything, overlook a great deal, correct a little". I like that.
And so I give thanks for the things that I have, and I give more thanks for the times I am free from wanting more than I have. And I give thanks for breath, and for bread and butter.
I give thanks for every second that I am alive.
Happy New Year.
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