Maybe it was because I am reading Great Expectations, and Pip had just been handed his titular titles. Mr. Jaggers told him to prepare to head to London by buying some new clothes; Pip must dress the part of the gentleman now. Class matters, status matters, money matters. The townspeople became obsequious, none more so than Mr. Pumblechook, with his feverish handshakes and “May I…?”s forming a crucial social commentary.
Whatever the reason, I was hyper aware of clothes and class and my outsider status at the Vienna Opera House last night.
I was decked out in Pure American. Jeans, sneakers, an ill-fitting collared dress shirt. I’ve spent a lot of my life as a wallflower, all the more after I realized the shining spotlight of fame was one I couldn’t achieve and even if I did I would find too harsh and too bright; I’d wither there or I could cut out the middleman and just stick to the shadows and sidelines. I try not to draw attention to myself, try to blend in, try to just shuffle along. Ironic given that this whole website is a narcissistic indulgence – it is after all the “Official” website of Kevin S. Hanna (just as kevinshanna.com is come to think of it). And yet, I am self conscious of trying to look like I belong though I don’t really seem to belong to much of anything as was recently pointed out to me (that’s a whole different story).
So it was that as I entered the Vienna Opera House with many a folk dressed to the nines… and some I dare say to the tens… that I was feeling incredibly ill-at-ease, a Joe Gargery blacksmith of Dickens fame amongst the celestial bodies of the “upper crust.” I was relieved to see a few folks in dress casual and at least I wasn’t the only one in jeans and sneakers. There were by my count two other ugly ducklings amongst the sea of swans.
The building itself is magnificent, ornate without feeling Trumpian ostentatious.
I was astonished to be directed to the first floor as I had assumed my “partially obstructed seat” had to be up in the rafters behind some pole. It was a bit of a thrill to be directed to a box seat, number 6 on the right hand side. Opening the red door into the box seats alcove felt like something out of a movie.
Unlike the photo above which was obviously staged, my seat was the last one, a solitary chair shoved beyond a row of two and the front row of three. Technically there was room for it, though it felt more like an afterthought, a “ya know, Cedric, for the marginal cost of a chair here, we could generate an equivalent marginal revenue, thus allowing us to achieve maximum economic efficiency.”
My partially obstructed view was more like a 15/16th obstructed view. Had there been a bold directorial choice to stage everything down stage right, I would have had choice seats. As it was, despite my efforts to crane my neck and duck and weave my line of sight between bobbing heads of my fellow opera-goers, I saw very little of the production proper. The chair I had sight of on stage though really did its job. One would say it was an outstanding performer, very sturdy. As a supporting character, it really held its weight.
My comparison review to Berlin therefore must be taken with as a blind taste test, for my Vienna’s viewing could only charitably called “myopic.” The Vienna orchestra was shockingly more expressive and impressive than Berlin, but the actors/singers were in my opinion not up to snuff. Maybe seeing their movements on stage would have enhanced my appreciation but I found their vocals not as emotionally resonant for me. The acoustics of the Vienna house though were sublime. They played with sound, the party ongoing offstage as a more intimate moment between Violetta and Alfredo played out. This is a ridiculous comparison but there was a Dolby Surround Sound feel as moments backstage reverberated throughout the theater making it seem as though we were onstage ourselves and the party was happening in another wing of the mansion.
Speaking of the staged mansion, when I did catch a glimpse of the scenic design, it was… minimalistic.
I think it’s Brechtian to use limited prop/scrims to suggest the scene but I may be using the wrong term. Ya know what it also kind of reminded me of was Lars Von Trier’s “Dogville” staging… which again I think was inspired by Bertold Brecht, but I can’t be too sure of that as my mind is not what it used to be on such things. Yes, yes… I could google it but, well, let’s make this interactive, shall we? You can google it here.
And one final note – spoiler alert – Violetta still dies at the end.
I decided to stand up for this part because, really, I wasn’t blocking anybody’s view… and what were the ushers going to do? Throw me out? I’ve seen this picture before, buster. I was impressed with the staging in Berlin, especially given how the whole thing seems to have a “last scene of the Sopranos” abruptness to it — Violetta recovers, for a moment, and then – dies. CURTAIN. There’s almost no space between the death and the curtain. In Berlin, they kinda recreated Michelangelo‘s Pieta, with Alberto desperately cradling Violetta in his arms hoping she’ll pull through and then — BAM. Curtain.
Vienna’s closer was almost comically overdone. As we shuffled out of the theater following the seven (7!) curtain calls, the hoity toity seemed to find it all “artistically brave” and “inspired.” The hoi polloi though were laughing with tears as they re-enacted the melodramatic diva literally hitting her mark. She was standing apart from all, her arm raised to the sky for 15 seconds, followed by a wet bag of cement collapse to the stage floor for her death scene and the end of the show. Wish I could’ve gotten a photo of that. Maybe that’s classical Operatic technique but, hoo, I’ve seen better deaths on stage.
That being said, I’m glad I went, albeit I think 34 euros was too high a price for a 1/16th view of the play.
Adding a bit to minor buyer’s remorse, I also found out they were livebroadcasting the performance to the main square on a jumbotron.
I normally feel videos of theater never quite have the visceral appeal of being there in the live audience, seeing the show with one’s own eyes. But in this case since I saw very little of the show with my own eyes, the Jumbotron folks may have gotten a better experience. Still, I got to sit in a box seat at the Opera, and that’s not nothing.
