I'm already late in my recap of yesterday's working rehearsal for the NSO performance last night of Mahler's Fifth Symphony at the Kennedy Center, so the Washington Post's review, focusing on guest violinist Leonidas Kavakos's participation, should fill in my usual gaps.
What I love about the working rehearsals is seeing the actual work go into an artistic performance. The musicians are not demigods, delighting the elites among us mere mortals (though you do have to be elite enough to join the Kennedy Center's second-to-lowest membership level to score a rehearsal invite--a privilege I have to forgo for the next season due to my recently compromised budget). The disadvantage is that you don't get the whole impact of the performance, as there are fits and starts, do-overs, and, as I learned, movements might get moved out of order.
Yesterday's experience was a delight on at least two levels for me, so there will be a part two of this post coming later (I know not to say "Soon" in some of my social circles).
The Level One delight (for blog post Two) was hearing Mahler's Fifth Symphony and being caught up in a vivid and very visual narrative. Some call that daydreaming; others call it plot development. The result was a treatment, a story line, for a ballet. There was enough light in the Concert Hall's orchestra seats to let me scribble notes throughout the rehearsal, which apparently broke for an intermission before completing all five movements.
I know this because, ignorant as I am about music, I never demur from asking stupid audience questions when given the opportunity. And I got that opportunity, so this gave me a bonus delight from yesterday's experience. A woman sitting in the row in front of me appeared very knowledgeable about what was going on, and I overheard her tell her seatmate that the conductor left something out. There was something wrong about the movements and the order in which they were rehearsed.
And this expert in the audience also happened to notice me scribbling in my Handy Dandy Notebook. She assumed I had some musical knowledge and would be able to answer her question about the missing Mahler movement. I oh-so-casually said, No, I never heard this piece before. I'm just writing a ballet here. Heh.
We had a lovely conversation after that. My new friend, a violinist, was happy to hear how I, as an audience member, responded to the music. (I won't lie, I don't know how proficient any particular musician is except how he or she makes me feel; that Mahler piece, despite all the interruptions, had me in tears.)
So at the end of the working rehearsal, I got to ask my Stupid Audience Question, something that had been niggling at me since last year's NSO working rehearsal with clarinetist Martin Fröst and guest conductor Osmo Vänskä, performing a clarinet concerto by Finnish composer Kalevi Aho. I noticed that the musicians were very busy scribbling notes on their sheet music so as to execute Vänskä's instructions on the obviously difficult piece. So my question was, Do the musicians get to keep the sheet music?
The answer, my friend informed me, is No. The sheet music used by the NSO is returned to the orchestra's library, where someone erases all the pencil marks scribbled by the musicians. Mystery solved! I love it.
Next time - Notes on a Ballet inspired by Mahler's Fifth Symphony.
Love, hosaa
dancing in my mind
Showing posts with label Kennedy Center. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Kennedy Center. Show all posts
Friday, May 8, 2015
Saturday, October 4, 2014
Their Chéri
I've mentioned before that my favorite pieces of theater incorporate choreography in the staging; two examples from Round House Theatre in past seasons were Around the World in 80 Days and (astonishingly) Lord of the Flies.
So the theater-as-dance model was turned on its head in Martha Clarke's brilliant Chéri staged at the Kennedy Center, giving audiences the opportunity to see brilliant artists from dance (Alessandra Ferri and Herman Cornejo) demonstrate their acting abilities. Normally at the ballet, acting extends only a millimeter or two beyond the pantomimes of silent films, with a stock of simple gestures and expressions to convey. But Ferri and Cornejo took their characters' emotional journey through a narrative of real and tactile emotions, spinning out the repeated gestures of passion from playful to bitter, through anguish and shame.
Rounding out the theatrical side of the production was the exquisite Amy Irving as the mother of young lover Cheri and friend of the aging femme Lea. Irving's star quality has never been so sparkling, yet there was no question of her stealing the stage from Ferri and Cornejo, who brought the dreamlike musical selections (Ravel, Debussy, Mompou, Poulenc, et al.), performed by Sarah Rothenberg on solo piano, to full-fleshed life.
Though she didn't dance, Irving moved eloquently and elegantly through the narrative to create an emotional pas de tois, creating tension between two loves: maternal and carnal. Irving was perfectly cast as the controlled and controlling matron, witty, wise, and tragic.
With such an unusual form of theatrical experience, mixing drama, ballet, and concert, the audience may feel a little uncertain about when to clap and when not to. After a brilliant piece of dancing in, say, Don Quixote, you know you're allowed to offer some thunderous appreciation. But this production was more of a chamber piece, and the presence of Rothenberg on stage served as a reminder to treat the production as one would a concert. The moments between movements were for breath catching, and the spell was unbroken for 65 minutes.
love, hosaa
mesmerized
So the theater-as-dance model was turned on its head in Martha Clarke's brilliant Chéri staged at the Kennedy Center, giving audiences the opportunity to see brilliant artists from dance (Alessandra Ferri and Herman Cornejo) demonstrate their acting abilities. Normally at the ballet, acting extends only a millimeter or two beyond the pantomimes of silent films, with a stock of simple gestures and expressions to convey. But Ferri and Cornejo took their characters' emotional journey through a narrative of real and tactile emotions, spinning out the repeated gestures of passion from playful to bitter, through anguish and shame.
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| Alessandra Ferri as Lea, Herman Cornejo as Cheri. Unidentified photographer, via Kennedy Center |
Though she didn't dance, Irving moved eloquently and elegantly through the narrative to create an emotional pas de tois, creating tension between two loves: maternal and carnal. Irving was perfectly cast as the controlled and controlling matron, witty, wise, and tragic.
With such an unusual form of theatrical experience, mixing drama, ballet, and concert, the audience may feel a little uncertain about when to clap and when not to. After a brilliant piece of dancing in, say, Don Quixote, you know you're allowed to offer some thunderous appreciation. But this production was more of a chamber piece, and the presence of Rothenberg on stage served as a reminder to treat the production as one would a concert. The moments between movements were for breath catching, and the spell was unbroken for 65 minutes.
love, hosaa
mesmerized
Friday, May 23, 2014
Membership Has Its Rewards
What a nice little surprise in the mail today - a "token" of appreciation from the Kennedy Center for being a member for 25 years. Keen! Nice to have an anniversary to celebrate.
I'm trying to remember "where" I was in my life and career 25 years ago that I decided I had enough moolah to start contributing it to arts organizations, which are, after all, not curing cancer or providing shoes to ailing orphans. I'd been at my job going on eight years and so must have just begun putting the "salad years" behind me. (Trust, me it's still rather famished around my checkbook even today.)
Anyway, recognizing the joys, and even meaning, that theaters, museums, and concerts have given me, that's about when I began signing up. The membership benefits are pretty nice, though I don't always take advantage of them. At the Kennedy Center, only in the last couple of years have I done the Thursday morning NSO dress rehearsals. At my level, I'm entitled to bring a pal, but everyone I know works at that hour of the week. I myself never took that Arts Day Off until last year. If I'd known how fun it was, I would have done it sooner. (Another benefit I was too shy to take advantage of on my own was a recent reception and backstage tour of the Eisenhower Theater.)
Ford's Theater is another one with nice member benefits. I get the annual Ford's Theater calendar, which is beautifully photographed and printed, but which I always give away because I make my own calendars every year (two, in fact--Clay and non-Clay).
The sweetest benefit at Ford's is the personal touch. If you're a member, and you buy your theater tickets through the box office instead of Ticketbastard, you get a nice envelope taped to your seat, with a thank-you note on letterhead and a slim box of mints with Lincoln's face (on the box, not the mints). This last time, when I went to 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee, I even got a handwritten "enjoy the show" message from the staff member I've been harassing to find me a recording of either Clay Aiken singing "Sarah" at the 2008 gala or Edward Duke during any of his Jeeves appearances, 1984-89.
Ford's also sends invitations to lots of events, most of which, again, I'm too shy to attend on my own. (If I were to give my theaters a little tiny suggestion: do Meetups.)
Museums and galleries also offer social events as membership benefits, but I get more out of the magazines, even if they do pile up in my "reading" tray. Some good ones are Folger Shakespeare Library, the Phillips Collection, the National Museum of Women in the Arts, American Indian, and of course Smithsonian (which, ironically, somehow missed sending me the May issue, on science fiction and futurism. Maybe they were too ashamed!)
Also noteworthy in the member-benefits department is the fabulous Shakespeare Theatre Company, though I have to say I've mostly been mooching off a friend's STC member benefits. Yes, it's probably about time I invested in my own.
So anyway, thank you, Arts, for letting me join you once in a while. And Happy Anniversary, dear Kennedy Center.
Love, hosaa
Member of a civilization worth supporting
I'm trying to remember "where" I was in my life and career 25 years ago that I decided I had enough moolah to start contributing it to arts organizations, which are, after all, not curing cancer or providing shoes to ailing orphans. I'd been at my job going on eight years and so must have just begun putting the "salad years" behind me. (Trust, me it's still rather famished around my checkbook even today.)
Anyway, recognizing the joys, and even meaning, that theaters, museums, and concerts have given me, that's about when I began signing up. The membership benefits are pretty nice, though I don't always take advantage of them. At the Kennedy Center, only in the last couple of years have I done the Thursday morning NSO dress rehearsals. At my level, I'm entitled to bring a pal, but everyone I know works at that hour of the week. I myself never took that Arts Day Off until last year. If I'd known how fun it was, I would have done it sooner. (Another benefit I was too shy to take advantage of on my own was a recent reception and backstage tour of the Eisenhower Theater.)
Ford's Theater is another one with nice member benefits. I get the annual Ford's Theater calendar, which is beautifully photographed and printed, but which I always give away because I make my own calendars every year (two, in fact--Clay and non-Clay).
The sweetest benefit at Ford's is the personal touch. If you're a member, and you buy your theater tickets through the box office instead of Ticketbastard, you get a nice envelope taped to your seat, with a thank-you note on letterhead and a slim box of mints with Lincoln's face (on the box, not the mints). This last time, when I went to 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee, I even got a handwritten "enjoy the show" message from the staff member I've been harassing to find me a recording of either Clay Aiken singing "Sarah" at the 2008 gala or Edward Duke during any of his Jeeves appearances, 1984-89.
Ford's also sends invitations to lots of events, most of which, again, I'm too shy to attend on my own. (If I were to give my theaters a little tiny suggestion: do Meetups.)
Museums and galleries also offer social events as membership benefits, but I get more out of the magazines, even if they do pile up in my "reading" tray. Some good ones are Folger Shakespeare Library, the Phillips Collection, the National Museum of Women in the Arts, American Indian, and of course Smithsonian (which, ironically, somehow missed sending me the May issue, on science fiction and futurism. Maybe they were too ashamed!)
Also noteworthy in the member-benefits department is the fabulous Shakespeare Theatre Company, though I have to say I've mostly been mooching off a friend's STC member benefits. Yes, it's probably about time I invested in my own.
So anyway, thank you, Arts, for letting me join you once in a while. And Happy Anniversary, dear Kennedy Center.
Love, hosaa
Member of a civilization worth supporting
Saturday, April 26, 2014
Art Day Interrupted
This past Thursday was supposed to be one of my semi-annual art therapy days, beginning with the morning working rehearsal for the National Symphony Orchestra at the Kennedy Center. (It was heavily attended last year when I went for a big-name guest artist, Emanuel Ax, so this year I went for someone I never heard of. More on that in a moment.)
Like last year, I intended to spend the afternoon exploring one of the galleries I hadn't had the chance to visit in awhile. I started aiming for the Phillips Collection (north of Dupont Circle), but Madame de Which-Way here got a bit lost around Washington Circle. So I took the familiar and predictable Pennsylvania Avenue toward the White House and the Corcoran, which is where I went last year.
Unfortunately, the doors to the Corcoran were closed. The sign out front, disappointing a good half-dozen other visitors to town, indicated that there was a big event going on later, for which the room was being prepared. I told the out-of-towners that the Renwick was handy, just up yonder, ornate red brick building ... and it's the Smithsonian, so it's free!
I charged up on ahead of the group to find, to my chagrin, another closed-for-internal-reasons sign. Apologies to all the out-of-towners I misdirected. I was frustrated, too. And I hope a part of the Renwick's two-year restoration project will include adding a cafe, because not only was I tired at this point, I was also hungry.
The Phillips being a straight shot up 17th/Connecticut was still a bit of an enticement, but at about 10 long city blocks, not enough of an enticement. So I called it a day, ducked into the Metro, and headed home. (If the Metro had run just five minutes faster, I would have made it to the afternoon showing of Grand Budapest Hotel, though I confess the sticker shock at the box office probably would have deterred me anyway. The point of Art Therapy Day is to do free stuff, or at least stuff that was part of my membership benefits, like the NSO rehearsal and entry to Corcoran and Phillips.)
Art therapy days are also supposed to be based on serendipity, so I don't usually research my destinations. This worked out well in the past for such things as that great Diaghilev show at National Gallery of Art last year. But clearly planned serendipity doesn't always work out.
What really did work out this time was the NSO working rehearsal. The guest conductor was Osmo Vänskä, working with guest clarinetist Martin Fröst for the performance of a clarinet concerto by Finnish composer Kalevi Aho. What I didn't realize was that this trio was well established, and the Fröst-Vänskä recording of the Aho piece is available at iTunes. (Sample it on the Aho page linked above.)
It was a lot of fun watching Vänskä do the work of preparing the orchestra for the performances (which were Thursday night and tonight). He was an exacting but patient and cordial instructor. Fröst came on first to prepare the clarinet concerto, though it would be performed second on the program, right before the intermission.
Like last year, I intended to spend the afternoon exploring one of the galleries I hadn't had the chance to visit in awhile. I started aiming for the Phillips Collection (north of Dupont Circle), but Madame de Which-Way here got a bit lost around Washington Circle. So I took the familiar and predictable Pennsylvania Avenue toward the White House and the Corcoran, which is where I went last year.
Unfortunately, the doors to the Corcoran were closed. The sign out front, disappointing a good half-dozen other visitors to town, indicated that there was a big event going on later, for which the room was being prepared. I told the out-of-towners that the Renwick was handy, just up yonder, ornate red brick building ... and it's the Smithsonian, so it's free!
I charged up on ahead of the group to find, to my chagrin, another closed-for-internal-reasons sign. Apologies to all the out-of-towners I misdirected. I was frustrated, too. And I hope a part of the Renwick's two-year restoration project will include adding a cafe, because not only was I tired at this point, I was also hungry.
The Phillips being a straight shot up 17th/Connecticut was still a bit of an enticement, but at about 10 long city blocks, not enough of an enticement. So I called it a day, ducked into the Metro, and headed home. (If the Metro had run just five minutes faster, I would have made it to the afternoon showing of Grand Budapest Hotel, though I confess the sticker shock at the box office probably would have deterred me anyway. The point of Art Therapy Day is to do free stuff, or at least stuff that was part of my membership benefits, like the NSO rehearsal and entry to Corcoran and Phillips.)
Art therapy days are also supposed to be based on serendipity, so I don't usually research my destinations. This worked out well in the past for such things as that great Diaghilev show at National Gallery of Art last year. But clearly planned serendipity doesn't always work out.
What really did work out this time was the NSO working rehearsal. The guest conductor was Osmo Vänskä, working with guest clarinetist Martin Fröst for the performance of a clarinet concerto by Finnish composer Kalevi Aho. What I didn't realize was that this trio was well established, and the Fröst-Vänskä recording of the Aho piece is available at iTunes. (Sample it on the Aho page linked above.)
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| Martin Fröst and Osmo Vänskä, February 2014, via Facebook |
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| via martinfrost.se/images/ |
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| via martinfrost.se/images/ |
Fröst is boyish, geeky, and super-cool in that Scandinavian way, animated and uninhibited. The NSO musicians could scarcely keep their eyes off him! His rapport with Vänskä made it all supernaturally natural, permitting them to communicate through quick glances, nods, and that delightful, cheekbone-carving grin that a skilled clarinetist can manage when his mouth is otherwise occupied.
Spoiler alert here: They also rehearsed an encore for Fröst when the Aho piece was wrapped up. No announcement, obviously, but we all recognized the flavor of the piece: pure Klezmer! Upon further research, I see Fröst recorded some Klezmer for his album entitled Dances to a black pipe (2011). As breathtaking as the Aho piece was, its sobering Finnish expressionism was not quite the crowdpleaser that the Klezmer dance encore was.
As conductor/instructor, Vänskä was very chatty and gave instructions throughout the rehearsal. The musicians took notes and asked "Maestro" questions frequently. I liked the interruptions, actually. I like seeing the work of arts. As I've said before, just because you know the trick doesn't mean it isn't magic.
Love, hosaa
still planning some more serendipitous art, if I can get off my lazy butt
ETA - great interview with Martin Fröst at WETA-FM.
As conductor/instructor, Vänskä was very chatty and gave instructions throughout the rehearsal. The musicians took notes and asked "Maestro" questions frequently. I liked the interruptions, actually. I like seeing the work of arts. As I've said before, just because you know the trick doesn't mean it isn't magic.
Love, hosaa
still planning some more serendipitous art, if I can get off my lazy butt
ETA - great interview with Martin Fröst at WETA-FM.
Sunday, April 20, 2014
At the Ballet: Don Quixote and Friends
One of my mantras in life is "More information is better than less information," so when American Ballet Theatre's spring appearance at the Kennedy Center was originally announced, with no mention of our favorite Daniil Simkin, I pretty much blew it off. The schedule gets overloaded this time of year anyway.
I'm amending my mantra: "More information, sooner, is better than less information." The moment that I learned the team of dancers participating in the D.C. tour ending this afternoon now included Daniil, I bought my ticket for the most convenient performance for me, the Saturday afternoon matinee. He was to dance the lead role of Basilio in Don Quixote! Yay!
The price and timing for tickets being what they were, I ignored the fact that Daniil would also be dancing in the mid-week mixed rep, a program that included Frederick Ashton's "The Dream." If I'd had the money and time, this would have brilliantly enhanced my 2014 collection of A Midsummer Night's Dream adaptations (including last month's Bristol Old Vic & Handspring Puppet version and next month's BSO concert at the Strathmore). Damn.
At any rate, the DQ performed yesterday was nothing but delightful, and I benefited from a fortuitous audience enhancement. The couple sitting next to me had come down from New York especially to see this performance. They were huge ABT supporters and fans of Daniil Simkin in particular.
Now, I did see Daniil peek out the door, still in makeup, and happily inviting a young female friend backstage. There were a few VIP friends and family of dancers invited through the big door. But Daniil didn't come back out to greet the fans as he had done three years ago. There were only about six of us ladies left waiting when a stage door guardian informed us no one else would be coming out. (Looking at the time stamp on my 2011 photo, I see Daniil took at least an hour after curtain before emerging that time, so I was prepared for a wait.) It might have been a ruse to clear the corridor. Several ladies hung back a bit, but the guard stood at the door, seemingly keeping an eye on errant fan behavior.
Maybe that's what happens when you become a superstar. (It is also possible he was simply deferring to the ladies this time. Despite his thunderous ovations, he didn't take a soloist's bow at curtain. He presented his lady, who sweetly shared one of her beautiful roses with him.) I don't deny Daniil or anyone the privilege of managing his time or audience face-time. He did what he was supposed to do: Delight.
Love, hosaa
not really a bunhead
ETA, April 21 - Awwwww!
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| From 2011: Daniil Simkin at the Kennedy Center. |
I'm amending my mantra: "More information, sooner, is better than less information." The moment that I learned the team of dancers participating in the D.C. tour ending this afternoon now included Daniil, I bought my ticket for the most convenient performance for me, the Saturday afternoon matinee. He was to dance the lead role of Basilio in Don Quixote! Yay!
The price and timing for tickets being what they were, I ignored the fact that Daniil would also be dancing in the mid-week mixed rep, a program that included Frederick Ashton's "The Dream." If I'd had the money and time, this would have brilliantly enhanced my 2014 collection of A Midsummer Night's Dream adaptations (including last month's Bristol Old Vic & Handspring Puppet version and next month's BSO concert at the Strathmore). Damn.
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| Daniil Simkin as "Puck." Photo by Gene Schiavone via Facebook. |
Since not everyone can be expected to know everything about their favorites, it's a gift when you can swap information. I shared the fact that Daniil had been posting some fabulous photos and videos on his site, demonstrating remarkable transplatform versatility. My neighbors shared with me some knowledge about Daniil's early training (which I already knew: basically home-schooled by his ballerina mother), which led them to observe that his partnering skills have long been wanting. The demanding DQ pas would be revealing (it's one of the pieces Leslie Browne and Mikhail Baryshnikov performed in The Turning Point).
Lack of early training in partnering is the least of Daniil's problems--he is not a burly Bluto of a man. He's Ariel, he's Puck. Can he lift his lady? Can he hold her steadily as she turns? Can he keep from dropping her on her head whenever she flies headfirst into his arms?
Yes, yes, and yes. And his lady, Isabella Boylston, even shot him a sweet smile of tender confidence during some of these difficult moves. (Yes, I brought my binoculars. Always.)
My knowledgeable friends next door were quietly commenting on much of the program in play; this was one of the very few times in my theater-going experience that I didn't object to neighbors chatting. In fact, I wished I could hear what they were saying. "Disappointing" caught my ear. Yikes! What was disappointing about what I just saw? Nothing! Nothing! Certainly not Daniil. At the intermission, they turned immediately to me to see my reaction, and of course I loved it. They said that Daniil was dancing fantastically, so--whew--he was not the source of that fleeting "disappointment."
Another comment I overheard was that so-and-so should be promoted out of the corps de ballet--she (or he) is too good. I was too shy to ask who. Really, eavesdroppers need to be careful about digging for dirt, even if it's good dirt.
One young dancer they did point out to me as a future superstar was the male half of the Gypsy Couple, Zhiyao Zhang. "He's just a teenager!" my neighbor enthused while the young man was dancing. He'd mentioned also that this Saturday matinee cast was far from being "the B team"; rather, it was the "young team." (ZZ is actually 20 or 21, according to his bio.)
In all, the dancing was beautiful, the sets and costumes were beautiful. I loved the curtain projection of a giant painted fan decorated with Spanish scenes of villages and bullfights.
So glad I went. I had ditched the stage door after the last time Daniil danced here (midweek evening performances are very taxing), but it was a lovely early evening by the time curtain came down yesterday. I joined the other bunheads (about two dozen of various ages) at the Opera House stage entrance, and all seemed to be waiting for Isabella and Misty Copeland (DQ's fiery street dancer). Both lovely ladies delighted the fans with photos and autographs.
So glad I went. I had ditched the stage door after the last time Daniil danced here (midweek evening performances are very taxing), but it was a lovely early evening by the time curtain came down yesterday. I joined the other bunheads (about two dozen of various ages) at the Opera House stage entrance, and all seemed to be waiting for Isabella and Misty Copeland (DQ's fiery street dancer). Both lovely ladies delighted the fans with photos and autographs.
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| Isabella Boylston |
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| Misty Copeland |
Now, I did see Daniil peek out the door, still in makeup, and happily inviting a young female friend backstage. There were a few VIP friends and family of dancers invited through the big door. But Daniil didn't come back out to greet the fans as he had done three years ago. There were only about six of us ladies left waiting when a stage door guardian informed us no one else would be coming out. (Looking at the time stamp on my 2011 photo, I see Daniil took at least an hour after curtain before emerging that time, so I was prepared for a wait.) It might have been a ruse to clear the corridor. Several ladies hung back a bit, but the guard stood at the door, seemingly keeping an eye on errant fan behavior.
Maybe that's what happens when you become a superstar. (It is also possible he was simply deferring to the ladies this time. Despite his thunderous ovations, he didn't take a soloist's bow at curtain. He presented his lady, who sweetly shared one of her beautiful roses with him.) I don't deny Daniil or anyone the privilege of managing his time or audience face-time. He did what he was supposed to do: Delight.
Love, hosaa
not really a bunhead
ETA, April 21 - Awwwww!
Post by Daniil Simkin.
Sunday, March 23, 2014
Eternal Equinox of A Midsummer Dream
This will have to be a two-parter.
Chapter 1, Wherein I Meetup with Shakespeare Explorers
... for a Kennedy Center performance of A Midsummer Night's Dream by Bristol Old Vic and the Handspring Puppet Company (who previously collaborated on War Horse).
This was the second Midsummer I've seen with the Explorers, and the two productions really only shared Mr. Shakespeare's text. That's the thing about dreams--always open to interpretation, reinterpretation, new visions, and new magic. While much of the success of any Midsummer begins and ends with the antics of Bottom the Ass (and BOV's Miltos Yerolemou displayed a wondrously versatile ass), so many aspects of this production were so extraordinary that it was impossible to refrain from standing up and cheering.
My favorite innovation here was the multi-actor/appliance casting of Puck. As a sprite, Puck was depicted coming and going in a most ephemeral way--with each of three actors bearing pieces of his being (assorted gardening tools) coming together and flying apart.
A wonderful time at the theater with some great folks to talk to, before and after. And that wasn't even the most exciting part of the night for me.
Chapter 2, Wherein I Make another Connection to Edward Duke
So this is also the second time in recent months I got to meet someone who once worked with Edward. (For the story of the first, which happened last December, go here and scroll to my brief encounter with Keith Baxter.)
During the intermission of last night's show, I was chatting with one of my Meetuppers about the musical she is writing--not a professional work, she caveated, but something that captured her imagination to the extent of having completed the lyrics for five songs.
As sometimes happens in theaters with awkward sightlines and a few available seats closer to the action, a gentleman from farther back asked to take a space next to my friend. So we continued our conversation, including our new neighbor. He volunteered that he, too, was a playwright.
Oh, anything we would have seen around here?
Um, a few ... and on Broadway. (Our amateur eyes lit up.) ... "Crazy for You"...
I literally gasped. I LOVED that!! It took me a moment to summon the name. KEN???
The gentleman then introduced himself while I was heartily shaking his hand: Ken Ludwig.
As Midsummer's second act began, I couldn't stop searching my memory banks to confirm that this was the playwright of Sullivan and Gilbert, which featured Edward Duke in the role of the stagestruck Alfred, son of Victoria.
So after the performance was over, our standing ovation segueing into heading for the exits, I asked Ken to confirm my memory, which he did. And I got to remind him that it was in fact in this very same theater (the Eisenhower) that his Sullivan and Gilbert was performed. It was the first time I met Edward, who had actually called me up at my office to invite me! (My recap of meeting Edward is here.)
Ken smiled and told me what a sweet man Edward was. They spent a lot of fun times together when the show opened in Toronto. "Very sweet man."
All of this made me very happy. But as it happens, Ken has a further connection with us: Shakespeare!
Love, hosaa
Chapter 1, Wherein I Meetup with Shakespeare Explorers
... for a Kennedy Center performance of A Midsummer Night's Dream by Bristol Old Vic and the Handspring Puppet Company (who previously collaborated on War Horse).
This was the second Midsummer I've seen with the Explorers, and the two productions really only shared Mr. Shakespeare's text. That's the thing about dreams--always open to interpretation, reinterpretation, new visions, and new magic. While much of the success of any Midsummer begins and ends with the antics of Bottom the Ass (and BOV's Miltos Yerolemou displayed a wondrously versatile ass), so many aspects of this production were so extraordinary that it was impossible to refrain from standing up and cheering.
 |
| Via Kennedy Center |
My favorite innovation here was the multi-actor/appliance casting of Puck. As a sprite, Puck was depicted coming and going in a most ephemeral way--with each of three actors bearing pieces of his being (assorted gardening tools) coming together and flying apart.
A wonderful time at the theater with some great folks to talk to, before and after. And that wasn't even the most exciting part of the night for me.
Chapter 2, Wherein I Make another Connection to Edward Duke
So this is also the second time in recent months I got to meet someone who once worked with Edward. (For the story of the first, which happened last December, go here and scroll to my brief encounter with Keith Baxter.)
During the intermission of last night's show, I was chatting with one of my Meetuppers about the musical she is writing--not a professional work, she caveated, but something that captured her imagination to the extent of having completed the lyrics for five songs.
As sometimes happens in theaters with awkward sightlines and a few available seats closer to the action, a gentleman from farther back asked to take a space next to my friend. So we continued our conversation, including our new neighbor. He volunteered that he, too, was a playwright.
Oh, anything we would have seen around here?
Um, a few ... and on Broadway. (Our amateur eyes lit up.) ... "Crazy for You"...
I literally gasped. I LOVED that!! It took me a moment to summon the name. KEN???
The gentleman then introduced himself while I was heartily shaking his hand: Ken Ludwig.
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| Ken Ludwig, photo by Leslie Cashen |
As Midsummer's second act began, I couldn't stop searching my memory banks to confirm that this was the playwright of Sullivan and Gilbert, which featured Edward Duke in the role of the stagestruck Alfred, son of Victoria.
So after the performance was over, our standing ovation segueing into heading for the exits, I asked Ken to confirm my memory, which he did. And I got to remind him that it was in fact in this very same theater (the Eisenhower) that his Sullivan and Gilbert was performed. It was the first time I met Edward, who had actually called me up at my office to invite me! (My recap of meeting Edward is here.)
Ken smiled and told me what a sweet man Edward was. They spent a lot of fun times together when the show opened in Toronto. "Very sweet man."
All of this made me very happy. But as it happens, Ken has a further connection with us: Shakespeare!
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| Order at Amazon |
Love, hosaa
Always connecting
Thursday, August 8, 2013
Books I Don't Read on Faith (Book of Mormon recap)
Back (last night) from the touring production of Book of Mormon now installed at the Kennedy Center (just 10 days remaining in the run). The show was critically acclaimed, so, despite the difficulty getting tickets (12 hours on the crashy online members' presale) I had to see it. Blind faith (or at least a trust in the opinions of the Tony voters) worked out in this case! *g*
Probably everything that needs to be said about the show has already been said, so I'll focus mainly on the audience experience. The problems my friends had in the side section of the first tier (which I didn't, being on the end of the center section a row farther back) were sight lines and audio direction. The staging was so flattened and centered that people even in slightly off-to-the-side seats couldn't make out the lyrics and couldn't see the title on the revised Book that the cast holds up at the end. If you never get the punchline, the joke is pointless. It spoiled the experience for my friends.
My complaint was just that the program did not include a list of the production numbers and the names of the characters in them. There were actually two cast lists--the official one and the insert for "at this performance" adjustments. For the record, last night C. K. Edwards replaced Bobby Daye as Guard so that Daye could step in as Mafala Hatimbi for Stanley Wayne Mathis. I have no mental image of those characters at this point, but if there were a list of the numbers they appeared in, I might have been able to figure it out.
Edited to add: Also last night, swing player Antyon le Monte stepped in as the Doctor for Josh Breckenridge, who surrendered that role to serve exceptionally well as the General for Derrick Williams.
I keep my programs. I follow careers, or try to. That's how I know the darling dancer Alex Puette is now performing as Levi, one of the brothers, in the Clay Aiken showcasing of Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat at the Ogunquit Playhouse in Maine, another religion-inspired show I had no desire to see except for its cast (Clay, obviously, is the draw. Alex was a bonus. But with only three weeks' notice, it was not possible for me to commit the time or money. Ogunquit's and I-95's legendary traffic was another deterrent).
But I digress, as Clay often compels me! *g*
Book of Mormon was raucous, rollicking, and crude, and very, very funny. I especially loved the "scary, burn in Hell dream" sequence. (Here is another instance of my friends' problems hearing the lyrics--they didn't know Johnny Cochran was among the residents of this nightmare Hell. The "He saved O.J." line was one of the show's funniest.)
The African version of the Joseph Smith/Brigham Young legend was also hilarious, and reminded me of "Small House of Uncle Thomas" in The King and I. Only smuttier.
But the story was also sinister and disturbing. It was a morality fable about blind faith (the Mormon missionaries) and believing in whatever serves your needs (sex with virgins cures AIDS; female sexual pleasure is evil, so the clitoris must be severed).
[SPOILER ALERTS]
While Elder Price (Mark Evans) did learn the lesson of hubris, the inherent evil of telling other people what to believe remained unchecked. The converted Africans picked up the mission of ringing other people's doorbells. And the hubris merely shifted to Elder Cunningham, as the cast adoringly held up their copies of the "Book of Arnold" (the punchline that my friends missed).
That all left me feeling a little depressed at the end of a very entertaining evening. Issues were brilliantly addressed, but ultimately unresolved.
love, hosaa
not insisting that you to agree with me, but would nevertheless find it pleasant if you did
Probably everything that needs to be said about the show has already been said, so I'll focus mainly on the audience experience. The problems my friends had in the side section of the first tier (which I didn't, being on the end of the center section a row farther back) were sight lines and audio direction. The staging was so flattened and centered that people even in slightly off-to-the-side seats couldn't make out the lyrics and couldn't see the title on the revised Book that the cast holds up at the end. If you never get the punchline, the joke is pointless. It spoiled the experience for my friends.
My complaint was just that the program did not include a list of the production numbers and the names of the characters in them. There were actually two cast lists--the official one and the insert for "at this performance" adjustments. For the record, last night C. K. Edwards replaced Bobby Daye as Guard so that Daye could step in as Mafala Hatimbi for Stanley Wayne Mathis. I have no mental image of those characters at this point, but if there were a list of the numbers they appeared in, I might have been able to figure it out.
Edited to add: Also last night, swing player Antyon le Monte stepped in as the Doctor for Josh Breckenridge, who surrendered that role to serve exceptionally well as the General for Derrick Williams.
I keep my programs. I follow careers, or try to. That's how I know the darling dancer Alex Puette is now performing as Levi, one of the brothers, in the Clay Aiken showcasing of Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat at the Ogunquit Playhouse in Maine, another religion-inspired show I had no desire to see except for its cast (Clay, obviously, is the draw. Alex was a bonus. But with only three weeks' notice, it was not possible for me to commit the time or money. Ogunquit's and I-95's legendary traffic was another deterrent).
But I digress, as Clay often compels me! *g*
Book of Mormon was raucous, rollicking, and crude, and very, very funny. I especially loved the "scary, burn in Hell dream" sequence. (Here is another instance of my friends' problems hearing the lyrics--they didn't know Johnny Cochran was among the residents of this nightmare Hell. The "He saved O.J." line was one of the show's funniest.)
The African version of the Joseph Smith/Brigham Young legend was also hilarious, and reminded me of "Small House of Uncle Thomas" in The King and I. Only smuttier.
But the story was also sinister and disturbing. It was a morality fable about blind faith (the Mormon missionaries) and believing in whatever serves your needs (sex with virgins cures AIDS; female sexual pleasure is evil, so the clitoris must be severed).
[SPOILER ALERTS]
While Elder Price (Mark Evans) did learn the lesson of hubris, the inherent evil of telling other people what to believe remained unchecked. The converted Africans picked up the mission of ringing other people's doorbells. And the hubris merely shifted to Elder Cunningham, as the cast adoringly held up their copies of the "Book of Arnold" (the punchline that my friends missed).
That all left me feeling a little depressed at the end of a very entertaining evening. Issues were brilliantly addressed, but ultimately unresolved.
love, hosaa
not insisting that you to agree with me, but would nevertheless find it pleasant if you did
Saturday, April 13, 2013
Le Corsaire in the Afternoon
I knew already that ballet companies tend to put their star dancers on in prime-time slots: opening night, Friday and Saturday evening performances. So my Saturday matinee selection for American Ballet Theater's spring visit to the Kennedy Center had more to do with timing my first viewing of the classic Le Corsaire with when I would be able to see Daniil Simkin perform in it.
ABT and KenCen do a good job of listing the dance assignments well in advance for the convenience of fans wanting to get tickets on the right days. So I knew Daniil had drawn both weekend matinee dance assignments, but with different roles.
The bad news was that neither role Daniil performs this weekend is the lead, the hero (Conrad the pirate). But the good news is that Le Corsaire is structured to give a lot of dancing to the featured performers.
My Daniil draw today was for Lankendem the slave trader. It's a character role, but he gets to start dancing as soon as the curtain goes up on Act I. Yay! He also does considerable partnering with the slaves he's auctioning, particularly the second lead lady, Gulnare (today performed by Sarah Lane).
When I realized that Daniil would be playing the role of Ali the Slave at tomorrow's performance, I was disappointed that I would miss the iconic role of this ballet. It's Ali (Ivan Vasiliev, photographed by Rosalie O'Connor) on the cover of the program:
And it's Ali the Slave that you see Mikhail Baryshnikov performing during the gala montage in The Turning Point.
But as it turns out, despite the iconic status and the technical fireworks in the slave's big Act II dance, it isn't much of a role. So I was very satisfied with my Daniil dance fix today. I can simply extrapolate and imagine.
And before I could even start this blog, Daniil had already blogged his own post-performance assessment: #ItWentWellButI'mKindaTired
What a cutie!
love, hosaa
ABT and KenCen do a good job of listing the dance assignments well in advance for the convenience of fans wanting to get tickets on the right days. So I knew Daniil had drawn both weekend matinee dance assignments, but with different roles.
The bad news was that neither role Daniil performs this weekend is the lead, the hero (Conrad the pirate). But the good news is that Le Corsaire is structured to give a lot of dancing to the featured performers.
My Daniil draw today was for Lankendem the slave trader. It's a character role, but he gets to start dancing as soon as the curtain goes up on Act I. Yay! He also does considerable partnering with the slaves he's auctioning, particularly the second lead lady, Gulnare (today performed by Sarah Lane).
When I realized that Daniil would be playing the role of Ali the Slave at tomorrow's performance, I was disappointed that I would miss the iconic role of this ballet. It's Ali (Ivan Vasiliev, photographed by Rosalie O'Connor) on the cover of the program:
And it's Ali the Slave that you see Mikhail Baryshnikov performing during the gala montage in The Turning Point.
But as it turns out, despite the iconic status and the technical fireworks in the slave's big Act II dance, it isn't much of a role. So I was very satisfied with my Daniil dance fix today. I can simply extrapolate and imagine.
Daniil Simkin as Ali the Slave in Le Corsaire, American Ballet Theater. Photo by Gene Schiavone
And before I could even start this blog, Daniil had already blogged his own post-performance assessment: #ItWentWellButI'mKindaTired
What a cutie!
love, hosaa
Thursday, April 4, 2013
Arts Day Off
Today was the first time I could take advantage of one of the Kennedy Center's membership benefits: a free pass to the working rehearsal for the National Symphony Orchestra. It's a 10 a.m. start time (with a be-there-by-9:45 seating deadline), which is fairly undoable in the middle of most weeks. Anyway, I decided to shuffle or defer what duties I could, and go make myself cultural.
The featured performer for tonight's concert is Emanuel Ax, which is perhaps why this morning's rehearsal was a mob scene. I was told when I came in that the upper levels would not be available, but by the time the rehearsal began, those upper tiers were required.
The first two pieces worked on by conductor Hugh Wolff were Dvořák's Symphony No. 5 and Albert's Rivering Waters, about which much more is probably in the program handed out to the mobs who pay.
And more "sight for sore eyes" from Washington Colorist Gene Davis in Black Popcorn:
Love, hosaa
encultured
The featured performer for tonight's concert is Emanuel Ax, which is perhaps why this morning's rehearsal was a mob scene. I was told when I came in that the upper levels would not be available, but by the time the rehearsal began, those upper tiers were required.
Emanuel Ax, uncredited photo, via Kennedy-Center.org
The first two pieces worked on by conductor Hugh Wolff were Dvořák's Symphony No. 5 and Albert's Rivering Waters, about which much more is probably in the program handed out to the mobs who pay.
Ax didn't come in until the third piece to be rehearsed, which was Chopin's Piano Concerto No. 2. The funny thing was, he started warming up and playing during the intermission; people weren't paying any attention to the guy on stage, because, as you'd expect at a working rehearsal, all the musicians were in working clothes--they all looked like us! Somehow, that made it all so much more human and approachable. Ax could have been your favorite professor meeting you for coffee.
I overheard someone behind me during the intermission say that it must have been his encore piece that Ax was rehearsing just then. I didn't hear enough of it through the chatter to tell what it was--only that it wasn't the furniture mover playing it. And then, when the real rehearsal began, Ax's light, lyrical, commanding touch on the Chopin piece was simply thrilling, especially the more familiar second movement. (That's the one people will be humming along with. Stupid people.)
I also didn't hear enough of the Albert piece to make much of it (bad ushering; some of us thought there was an intermission after Dvořák, and we got locked out until Wolff paused the orchestra). (And speaking of bad ushering, they need to go all Metro announcer on people and force them to move to the center of the row. In the unreserved seating scheme, the aisle seats were prime targets.)
So that was the morning's share of my cultural day. When the mobs were released into this bright, cold cherry-blossomless April day, I decided to skip the line waiting for the shuttle to Metro and hiked on up to the Corcoran Gallery of Art. It wasn't a bad walk at all, up through the GWU campus and various other institutional structures - American Institute of Architecture, Organization of American States, etc.
The Corcoran has been going through some hoo-hah about its future and all that, but I received the members' e-mail yesterday announcing some pretty sturdy plans: a partnership with the University of Maryland to keep the education side running and an agreement with the National Gallery of Art to display modern and contemporary works from its collection while NGA's East building is renovated over the next three years.
The thing I like about the Corcoran is the mix of old and new, familiar and the startling. The "Next" exhibit, which I presume is the current graduating class's work, wasn't available today--I think it opens on Saturday. But I got to peek in through the door. There was this cool interactive sculpture (force-sensing resistors, micro-controller, and speaker) called the Heptachord by Gabriel Mellan:
But what really says "Corcoran" to me is my favorite sculpture, the Veiled Nun by Guieseppe Croff:
And more "sight for sore eyes" from Washington Colorist Gene Davis in Black Popcorn:
Davis's other painting on display in the grand staircase is Junkie's Curtain, and it offered this sweet sculpture an interesting backdrop:
The Sons of Gods Saw the Daughters of Men That They Were Fair, Daniel Chester French, 1923
encultured
Saturday, November 24, 2012
Phantom of the Chem Lab (aka Jekyll and Hyde)
Back from the limited run of Jekyll and Hyde playing at the Kennedy Center through tomorrow.
So I'll lead with the good news, which was that it got a standing ovation, orchestra and first tier, and I didn't hate it.
Truthfully, I just wasn't in the mood for a big overwrought Victorian melodrama. At least the production, which initially just looked cheap to me, was evocative and economical, using sets of moving scrims and projections to recreate the lab, brothel, board room, parlor, as needed. The projections also fairly successfully recreated the internal turmoil, the madness.
And with the main attraction, Constantine Maroulis (he of American Idol season four - the one who played the rock star on TV), you knew what you were going to get: ham and cheese and the whole blue plate special. I will say he delivers the goods.
What I hate about any musical that basically only has one good song is when they put it in the wrong place in the program. "This Is the Moment," one of the greatest show songs of all time, comes somewhere in the middle of Act One and is all chewed up with Constantine's hammy acting.
I'm a sucker for a great Act One finale, and the brilliant number given to co-star Deborah Cox as Lucy (the Prostitute with the Heart of Gold), "Someone Like You," again, was buried in the penultimate position before intermission.
As I said, I just wasn't in the mood this afternoon, but Cox's performance really was the only thing that hooked me. I'll be checking out her albums.
As for the story, really, why let the great morality fable of "Jekyll and Hyde" (how to extract and eliminate evil from humanity) languish in Victorian goth? (Even Round House's brilliant Dorian Gray a couple of years ago brought the aesthetic up to mid-20th century.) With all the hopeful-yet-playing-god controversy that today's mad scientists are dredging up in the transhumanism movement, isn't a 21st century update in order? And the takeaway is the same, to me: You conquer evil with kindness.
Love, hosaa
ETA link to the cast recording of the 2012 J&H "Concept" album.
So I'll lead with the good news, which was that it got a standing ovation, orchestra and first tier, and I didn't hate it.
Truthfully, I just wasn't in the mood for a big overwrought Victorian melodrama. At least the production, which initially just looked cheap to me, was evocative and economical, using sets of moving scrims and projections to recreate the lab, brothel, board room, parlor, as needed. The projections also fairly successfully recreated the internal turmoil, the madness.
And with the main attraction, Constantine Maroulis (he of American Idol season four - the one who played the rock star on TV), you knew what you were going to get: ham and cheese and the whole blue plate special. I will say he delivers the goods.
What I hate about any musical that basically only has one good song is when they put it in the wrong place in the program. "This Is the Moment," one of the greatest show songs of all time, comes somewhere in the middle of Act One and is all chewed up with Constantine's hammy acting.
I'm a sucker for a great Act One finale, and the brilliant number given to co-star Deborah Cox as Lucy (the Prostitute with the Heart of Gold), "Someone Like You," again, was buried in the penultimate position before intermission.
As I said, I just wasn't in the mood this afternoon, but Cox's performance really was the only thing that hooked me. I'll be checking out her albums.
As for the story, really, why let the great morality fable of "Jekyll and Hyde" (how to extract and eliminate evil from humanity) languish in Victorian goth? (Even Round House's brilliant Dorian Gray a couple of years ago brought the aesthetic up to mid-20th century.) With all the hopeful-yet-playing-god controversy that today's mad scientists are dredging up in the transhumanism movement, isn't a 21st century update in order? And the takeaway is the same, to me: You conquer evil with kindness.
Love, hosaa
ETA link to the cast recording of the 2012 J&H "Concept" album.
Wednesday, February 1, 2012
Tall Men Never Slouch
So I kept checking the Kennedy Center schedule to find out when Daniil Simkin would be dancing and finally got a ticket for tonight. Because it's Daniil, and of course I want to see his cute face, I went ahead and got orchestra, as close to the front as I could still get, having delayed ticket buying.
Bum gouge.
So row H turned out to be the second row (the orchestra having called dibs on rows A-F). Yay for being close to Daniil! But oopsie: Row G had an occupant in front of me. A tall one. A very tall one with big curly hair.
I considered hopping over the aisle to the front row in the center section, as those two people didn't show up for the first act. But lo, they ambled in for the second act (the one with Daniil). So I settled in to squirm back and forth around tall bushy guy for Act II and Daniil's performance in the pas de deux from Swan Lake.
But wait a second. Who the hell is that? It wasn't Daniil. It was Marcelo Gomes. Who's a perfectly handsome and wonderful dancer and all that, but I wanted Daniil. Now I need to go find out what happened to him. He is too well trained to just not feel like dancing.
As for the rest of the program, I will say I thoroughly enjoyed the 80% of the first and third acts that I could actually see: "Black Tuesday" by Paul Taylor (with recorded songs of the Great Depression including "Boulevard of Broken Dreams" performed by Simone Messmer and "Brother Can You Spare a Dime" performed by Jared Matthews) and "Thirteen Diversions" by Christopher Wheeldon (to Benjamin Britten's "Diversions for Piano and Orchestra").
These two pieces were fresh additions to the "typical" ABT mixed rep of twirling glitterpops. The Wednesday night audience was tepid, though. The only standing-ovationers were along the sides and back of the house. Not even tall bushy-haired man stood--which enabled me to actually see the company when I did.
Sunday, January 29, 2012
Mark Morris and the Joy of Dance
I'm going to be lazy like a true blogger and just "ditto" WaPo dance writer Sarah Kaufman's heartfelt and eloquent review of the Mark Morris Dance Company's recent run at the Kennedy Center.
link: Under Mark Morris, Handel oratorio becomes a visual feast
She writes:
Here is the official Mark Morris featurette about the production:
My own response to the production last Thursday night was not as learned as Kaufman's; I just knew that I'd wanted to see a Mark Morris production for the longest time and was very happy that one finally came to the Kennedy Center (a bit more accessible to me on a weeknight than the venue at George Mason out in Virginia).
My first exposure to Morris was his gender-bending take on that old chestnut Nutcracker, The Hard Nut. Male snowflakes? Yikes! But what fun.
And "L'Allegro" had equal numbers of boys and girls, and equal opportunity pairings (and trio-ings) that ensured that joy was accessible to all.
As an audience member, I will say that I enjoyed the second half a bit more than the first half, simply because the group in the front row of the balcony with two very fidgety young girls did not return after intermission.
During intermission I also chatted amiably with the two men next to me who, like me, were very anxious to see the Mark Morris work. We all agreed that the Rothko-esque set design was very effective in framing the planes of the scenes of the dance. And personally, I think the world would be a better place if everybody dressed like dancers.
The final scene, as Kaufman describes:
... brought the entire house to its feet for one of the longest sustained standing ovations I've experienced at the Kennedy Center, and particularly energetic for a Thursday night. A happy time was had by all!
link: Under Mark Morris, Handel oratorio becomes a visual feast
She writes:
Agreed: Mirth, with thee I mean to live.
The chorus sings these words at the exultant finish of Mark Morris’s “L’Allegro, il Penseroso ed il Moderato,” which transforms the Handel oratorio into a visual feast with the happiest dancing you could hope to see. And as you watch the dancers join hands and circle the Kennedy Center Opera House stage, the whole cast whirling in a spin-cycle of physical joy, living by that sentiment feels entirely possible.
Was it raining yesterday? Hardly noticed. “L’Allegro” was still turning in my mind.
Here is the official Mark Morris featurette about the production:
My own response to the production last Thursday night was not as learned as Kaufman's; I just knew that I'd wanted to see a Mark Morris production for the longest time and was very happy that one finally came to the Kennedy Center (a bit more accessible to me on a weeknight than the venue at George Mason out in Virginia).
My first exposure to Morris was his gender-bending take on that old chestnut Nutcracker, The Hard Nut. Male snowflakes? Yikes! But what fun.
And "L'Allegro" had equal numbers of boys and girls, and equal opportunity pairings (and trio-ings) that ensured that joy was accessible to all.
As an audience member, I will say that I enjoyed the second half a bit more than the first half, simply because the group in the front row of the balcony with two very fidgety young girls did not return after intermission.
During intermission I also chatted amiably with the two men next to me who, like me, were very anxious to see the Mark Morris work. We all agreed that the Rothko-esque set design was very effective in framing the planes of the scenes of the dance. And personally, I think the world would be a better place if everybody dressed like dancers.
I know that in such a gifted ensemble it may not be fair to single any one dancer out, but my favorite boy was the guy in blue who had one of the bird solos. Just loved him, and my eye then went to him in every group. Going by the pictures in the program, I'll guess this was Dallas McMurray (if I got the casting wrong, please forgive my distance in the second tier and my notoriously unreliable facial recognition capabilities).
The final scene, as Kaufman describes:
Then: Brightness. Order springs from disorder, and it’s wonderfully simple. A chain of hands, dancers wheeling in circles within circles. They lean into the music, and fast as they’re spinning, you can’t miss the delight on their faces. It’s sweet surrender. And victory for all.
... brought the entire house to its feet for one of the longest sustained standing ovations I've experienced at the Kennedy Center, and particularly energetic for a Thursday night. A happy time was had by all!
Sunday, October 16, 2011
Musical of Our Discontent
Back from Les Miz 2.0, the 25th anniversary full-scale re-thinking of the 1985 amazingness. I wasn't really sure I wanted to see this, since the 1985 KenCen pre-Broadway run was so indelible, but they promised this one would be good, and it certainly erased the memory of the tacky road-show version that carried on at the National a few years ago.
It is critical that I be induced to weep during the First Act Finale ("One Day More"), and the fact is, with this show, I began weeping when the priest brings Jean Valjean into his home--"have a seat, have some wine"--the first act of human kindness extended to the villainous bread thief Valjean after 19 years of captivity. This is even before the priest pays it forward by not turning him in to Javert for stealing the silver. Why didn't I bring tissues? Anyway, the cathartic requirement of theater was amply met.
I'm a little dim on French history, but I believe this takes place after the big Revolution. People are still jobless and desperate, discontented with the wealthy.
Which is pretty much where we are today. It's hard not to notice the similarities between Marius and his compatriots and the Occupiers of Wall Streets around the world just now. What they also have in common, in my mind, is the lack of a clear goal and strategy for achieving it. So far in the twenty-first-century version, at least the disobedience and protests have been largely civil.
Back to the show.... The other similarity I was struck by was to West Side Story (aka Romeo and Juliet), even so far as the staging of the lovers' first rendezvous o'er garden walls and under balconies. And of course the grand Act One Finale that weaves the threads of character and melodic themes into one magical tapestry of urgency, to get through the line at the restroom and back in your seat to see how it all turns out in Act Two.
Dissimilarities to the original production in 1985: Well, you don't have Colm Wilkinson, Frances Ruffelle, or Patti LuPone. The 2011 Valjean, J. Mark McVey, is an indomitable presence, but his delivery was more theatrical than Wilkinson's; that is, the lines were acted as much as sung. I'm trying to say this without judgment; different is just different. Wilkinson's voice had as much power as tenderness and created a purer characterization of Valjean.
The biggest dissimilarity among the actors was in Eponine, portrayed in the original by the heartbreakingly waifish Ruffelle and in the 2011 version by Chasten Harmon, far too sultry and womanly to be a waif (the character references Anybodys from West Side Story). She's more of a Spamalot Lady of the Lake, wondering what ever happened to her part.
The bottom line: I and my fellow standing-ovation-givers give the production an A. But I didn't get the cast recording. I have the cast recording.
A side note: the bio in the program for Cameron MacIntosh, the show's producer, made me smile. It reads, in its entirety:
Cameron MacIntosh (Producer) produces musicals.
Sunday, June 19, 2011
Wishing Us Love
Back from I Wish You Love at the Kennedy Center, which plays for just one more night. I find I dislike Saturday night crowds, but I enjoyed participating in the rousing and well-deserved standing ovation for the small but gifted ensemble portraying Nat King Cole, two of his bandsmen--his "people"--and the characters behind the scenes of Cole's late 1950s television series.
Dennis W. Spears portrayed Cole, and if there were a dictionary entry for the term "shit-eating grin," you would find an image of Spears as Nat "King" Cole preparing his face and demeanor for the viewers out there in TV-land. An array of studio monitors orbiting the set depicted the show in a remembered black-and-white reality distinctly different from the live, full-bodied presence on the stage. In the breaks during the show, the monitors silently offered the program sponsors' black-and-white (rather, all-white) view of the American consumer.
For the honor of being rich in white America, Cole had to be the package of an acceptable black man, and this meant jumping through a series of fiery hoops, including playing a tour date in Alabama in 1957. He and his people were attacked not just by the KKK but also by the police. Upon returning to the studio and encountering the demand of the sponsors to segregate his own band, Cole finally refused. On his last aired program (in this fictional account, which I can only speculate is based on truth), Cole displays a sign he picked up from his travel South: "We Serve Coloreds ... Take Out Only."
Battles fought decades ago are still being fought, not just by one group of people robbed of its dignity, but also by others. The day after the anniversary of Edward Duke's birthday, he is much on my mind. He died in 1994 when it was almost impossible for an openly gay actor to get work as a leading man.
Dennis W. Spears portrayed Cole, and if there were a dictionary entry for the term "shit-eating grin," you would find an image of Spears as Nat "King" Cole preparing his face and demeanor for the viewers out there in TV-land. An array of studio monitors orbiting the set depicted the show in a remembered black-and-white reality distinctly different from the live, full-bodied presence on the stage. In the breaks during the show, the monitors silently offered the program sponsors' black-and-white (rather, all-white) view of the American consumer.
For the honor of being rich in white America, Cole had to be the package of an acceptable black man, and this meant jumping through a series of fiery hoops, including playing a tour date in Alabama in 1957. He and his people were attacked not just by the KKK but also by the police. Upon returning to the studio and encountering the demand of the sponsors to segregate his own band, Cole finally refused. On his last aired program (in this fictional account, which I can only speculate is based on truth), Cole displays a sign he picked up from his travel South: "We Serve Coloreds ... Take Out Only."
Battles fought decades ago are still being fought, not just by one group of people robbed of its dignity, but also by others. The day after the anniversary of Edward Duke's birthday, he is much on my mind. He died in 1994 when it was almost impossible for an openly gay actor to get work as a leading man.
Before he came out of the closet, Rupert Everett got a lot of the roles that Edward would have been up for, I think. (The role that made him famous was the one most stereotypically gay, as Julia Roberts's confidante in My Best Friend's Wedding.)
Most of the bullying and hatred aimed at people like Clay Aiken may be because he wasn't open and (in my opinion) didn't conform to the stereotypes that straight America wanted. If you're queer, you should act queer, like those gays on Queer Eye for the Straight Guy. Entertain us with your swishy nonchalance, and don't confuse us by acting--you know--normal.
I always hated that show, and now I sort of understand why. Not for any "shit-eating-grin" behaviors depicted by the individuals participating in it, but for the attitude of my friends who loved the show so much. Why would they love those gays and not Clay? And why would my family love seeing Edward do his "Jeeves" tales but not want to hear one word about his "unhealthy lifestyle"?
I want everyone to be happy. I want the world to be beautiful. I want to wish it love, too.
love, hosaa
wishing for love
Most of the bullying and hatred aimed at people like Clay Aiken may be because he wasn't open and (in my opinion) didn't conform to the stereotypes that straight America wanted. If you're queer, you should act queer, like those gays on Queer Eye for the Straight Guy. Entertain us with your swishy nonchalance, and don't confuse us by acting--you know--normal.
I always hated that show, and now I sort of understand why. Not for any "shit-eating-grin" behaviors depicted by the individuals participating in it, but for the attitude of my friends who loved the show so much. Why would they love those gays and not Clay? And why would my family love seeing Edward do his "Jeeves" tales but not want to hear one word about his "unhealthy lifestyle"?
I want everyone to be happy. I want the world to be beautiful. I want to wish it love, too.
love, hosaa
wishing for love
Saturday, April 16, 2011
Fragments of Beckett and Brook
Back from the Kennedy Center's Eisenhower Theater, for a matinee performance of Fragments, a collection of short pieces by Samuel Beckett and directed by the legendary Peter Brook.
Entrance to the Eisenhower Theater, bust of Dwight Eisenhower. Photos by C. G. Wagner. Click to enlarge
I start out telling you Peter Brook is legendary without telling you why, but it's a name I recall studying 30-odd years ago at college in a class called Modern European Drama. That will have to do, I guess. I just knew I wanted to see this, and the good reviews supported my pre-existing enthusiasm.
This is what theater is supposed to be, actors on a stage conveying a writer's dreams (or nightmares) to a room of strangers, with the assistance of a visionary director.
Wait, maybe that's what life is supposed to be. I get them confused, staying in the audience all the time.
Since it had been that long since I studied drama (my "reviews" are actually recaps of experiences and do not pretend to expand anyone's understanding of theater making), I thought I would have liked a text to follow along, or help me afterwards to know "what it meant." But it really wasn't necessary.
In the first piece, "Rough for Theater, I," Yoshi Oïda plays a blind musician, and Bruce Myers, an amputee, two homeless men who are "fragments" that make an attempt to connect, to become whole. The result is ultimately mistrust and violent failure.
The centerpiece, "Act Without Words, II," reunited the hobos in a comic mime, wherein Oïda emerges from his sack in the morning to curse the day while Myers emerges raring to go, checking his watch every few seconds as though trying to make every moment count.
In only the fourth of the five pieces would I like to have had a text to refer to - the second monologue, "Neither," by the lone female of the troupe, Hayley Carmichael. It simply came and left before it could really engage me.
The final piece, "Come and Go," brought all three performers back as old women, gossips on a bench, pairing off to tell each other a filthy secret as soon as each in turn has turned her back. The funniest moment for me was when they affectionately held hands as they did when they were girls, the two on the ends clutching each other's hands across the one in the middle, as in the pas des quatres from Swan Lake. To think these hens once were swans! (No, Carmichael, Myers, and Oïda did not dance.)
The most melancholy and thought-provoking piece was Carmichael's first monologue, "Rockaby," the second piece of the program. The looping monologue showed how absurdists of the era deconstructed text to create new meaning, which is something that can only be done in the theater (well, I'll give you film, too).
A woman sits in the chair and repeats a soliloquy on loneliness and despair: "I said to myself (whom else?)" at first means "Of course I said it to myself, do you see me talking to anybody else?" but toward the third or four iteration, it has become, "Is there anyone else out there I can talk to?"
Her character seems to see her own reflection in the windows she faces on other buildings, other people with the blinds now up, now down, and wondering "whom else?"
A happy coincidence for me during that piece was that I was sitting in the section where the pair of sign-language interpreters were seated to give the show to the hearing impaired. Happy, because the young woman signing Carmichael's lonely monologue perfectly reflected her reflections. They were like narrative dancers in two mediums, telling the same story. It was an unexpected dimension that added to my experience.
That's why I go to the theater.
I do wonder whether all of us fragments really do add up to a complete whole, or should we try to be complete within ourselves, as the blind musician in the opening piece said: "I am as I always was." Too much of society turns out to be violators and the gossips that make life miserable.
Didn't mean to depress anyone, but it's what the play made me think about. The theatrical experience somehow brings me more rewards, and for me, that's okay.
Love, hosaa
reflecting
ETA, I'm a little confused on the titles of the last two pieces; they are listed in the program as "Come and Go" fourth and "Neither" last, but in both the Washington Post and the Washingtonian reviews these titles are reversed. So I need text after all. Accurate text. I made my recap above consistent with the two professional (HAHA) reviewers, but I'm not sure of that. "Come and Go" seems more like what that short poem was about, but as I mentioned, I kind of missed it.
ETAA, "Come and Go" was the final piece performed, not "Neither," per the description in Wikipedia.
Entrance to the Eisenhower Theater, bust of Dwight Eisenhower. Photos by C. G. Wagner. Click to enlarge
I start out telling you Peter Brook is legendary without telling you why, but it's a name I recall studying 30-odd years ago at college in a class called Modern European Drama. That will have to do, I guess. I just knew I wanted to see this, and the good reviews supported my pre-existing enthusiasm.
This is what theater is supposed to be, actors on a stage conveying a writer's dreams (or nightmares) to a room of strangers, with the assistance of a visionary director.
Wait, maybe that's what life is supposed to be. I get them confused, staying in the audience all the time.
Since it had been that long since I studied drama (my "reviews" are actually recaps of experiences and do not pretend to expand anyone's understanding of theater making), I thought I would have liked a text to follow along, or help me afterwards to know "what it meant." But it really wasn't necessary.
In the first piece, "Rough for Theater, I," Yoshi Oïda plays a blind musician, and Bruce Myers, an amputee, two homeless men who are "fragments" that make an attempt to connect, to become whole. The result is ultimately mistrust and violent failure.
The centerpiece, "Act Without Words, II," reunited the hobos in a comic mime, wherein Oïda emerges from his sack in the morning to curse the day while Myers emerges raring to go, checking his watch every few seconds as though trying to make every moment count.
In only the fourth of the five pieces would I like to have had a text to refer to - the second monologue, "Neither," by the lone female of the troupe, Hayley Carmichael. It simply came and left before it could really engage me.
The final piece, "Come and Go," brought all three performers back as old women, gossips on a bench, pairing off to tell each other a filthy secret as soon as each in turn has turned her back. The funniest moment for me was when they affectionately held hands as they did when they were girls, the two on the ends clutching each other's hands across the one in the middle, as in the pas des quatres from Swan Lake. To think these hens once were swans! (No, Carmichael, Myers, and Oïda did not dance.)
The most melancholy and thought-provoking piece was Carmichael's first monologue, "Rockaby," the second piece of the program. The looping monologue showed how absurdists of the era deconstructed text to create new meaning, which is something that can only be done in the theater (well, I'll give you film, too).
A woman sits in the chair and repeats a soliloquy on loneliness and despair: "I said to myself (whom else?)" at first means "Of course I said it to myself, do you see me talking to anybody else?" but toward the third or four iteration, it has become, "Is there anyone else out there I can talk to?"
Her character seems to see her own reflection in the windows she faces on other buildings, other people with the blinds now up, now down, and wondering "whom else?"
A happy coincidence for me during that piece was that I was sitting in the section where the pair of sign-language interpreters were seated to give the show to the hearing impaired. Happy, because the young woman signing Carmichael's lonely monologue perfectly reflected her reflections. They were like narrative dancers in two mediums, telling the same story. It was an unexpected dimension that added to my experience.
That's why I go to the theater.
I do wonder whether all of us fragments really do add up to a complete whole, or should we try to be complete within ourselves, as the blind musician in the opening piece said: "I am as I always was." Too much of society turns out to be violators and the gossips that make life miserable.
Didn't mean to depress anyone, but it's what the play made me think about. The theatrical experience somehow brings me more rewards, and for me, that's okay.
Love, hosaa
reflecting
ETA, I'm a little confused on the titles of the last two pieces; they are listed in the program as "Come and Go" fourth and "Neither" last, but in both the Washington Post and the Washingtonian reviews these titles are reversed. So I need text after all. Accurate text. I made my recap above consistent with the two professional (HAHA) reviewers, but I'm not sure of that. "Come and Go" seems more like what that short poem was about, but as I mentioned, I kind of missed it.
ETAA, "Come and Go" was the final piece performed, not "Neither," per the description in Wikipedia.
Saturday, January 22, 2011
Bright Foolery
As I predicted, today's trip down to the Kennedy Center was quite a bit less adventurous than Thursday.
Today was to see American Ballet Theatre's matinee of The Bright Stream, a comic ballet set on a Russian collective farm. A troupe of dancers and musicians visits the collective, husbands flirt with ladies they're not supposed to, and revenge and tomfoolery ensue.
The tricks are the classic comic fodder you find in Shakespeare, with cross-dressing, mistaken identities, and a bit with a dog.
I don't mean to dismiss the production at all. It was utterly charming. But I really just wanted to watch Daniil Simkin dance! I had thought he was originally rehearsing to perform as the Accordionist, so I'm glad he was recast. The Accordionist is the one who dresses as a dog in Act 2. Instead, Daniil performed as the visiting Ballet Dancer. Good casting! Except in Act 2 he performs largely in drag as a "Sylphide" to trick the elderly dacha dweller. It was very silly and very fun.
The nice thing about a Saturday matinee is that it's not so late when it's over and I'm not in a rush to get home. So I hung around the stage door to wait for Daniil. He was one of the last ones out.
There is a scene in The Bright Stream where the Ballet Dancer signs the autograph book for the foolish elderly woman, identified in the program as "Anxious-to-be-younger-than-she-is Dacha Dweller." Daniil sweetly did an encoure of that scene with me.
love, hosaa
a little foolish, but brightly so
Today was to see American Ballet Theatre's matinee of The Bright Stream, a comic ballet set on a Russian collective farm. A troupe of dancers and musicians visits the collective, husbands flirt with ladies they're not supposed to, and revenge and tomfoolery ensue.
The tricks are the classic comic fodder you find in Shakespeare, with cross-dressing, mistaken identities, and a bit with a dog.
I don't mean to dismiss the production at all. It was utterly charming. But I really just wanted to watch Daniil Simkin dance! I had thought he was originally rehearsing to perform as the Accordionist, so I'm glad he was recast. The Accordionist is the one who dresses as a dog in Act 2. Instead, Daniil performed as the visiting Ballet Dancer. Good casting! Except in Act 2 he performs largely in drag as a "Sylphide" to trick the elderly dacha dweller. It was very silly and very fun.
The nice thing about a Saturday matinee is that it's not so late when it's over and I'm not in a rush to get home. So I hung around the stage door to wait for Daniil. He was one of the last ones out.
There is a scene in The Bright Stream where the Ballet Dancer signs the autograph book for the foolish elderly woman, identified in the program as "Anxious-to-be-younger-than-she-is Dacha Dweller." Daniil sweetly did an encoure of that scene with me.
love, hosaa
a little foolish, but brightly so
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Fancy That
Back from the Kennedy Center--no, not the gala for the JFK inauguration anniversary. I went to the ballet next door (American Ballet Theatre).
If it weren't for the dancing, it would have been a pretty miserable night. I wanted to see Daniil Simkin dance, of course, and had waited and waited for ABT and Kennedy Center to announce the cast list for this tour. When they finally did, and I saw Daniil was supposed to dance in "Fancy Free" on the 20th, I grabbed my ticket.
"Cast subject to change." So they did. I saw on the KenCen Web site a couple of weeks ago that Daniil was taken off the performance I had a ticket for. Boo. But I still love ABT. And I knew Daniil was also rehearsing "The Bright Stream," so I got another ticket, for the Saturday matinee.
As for tonight, well, let's just say I'm clueless and didn't know about the gala. We got e-mails from KenCen letting us know that, due to "unusual circumstances," access to the parking garage would be closed on one side. (I didn't want to take Metro because I'm getting old, ya'll, and the Foggy Bottom station's escalators are out.)
So I wind my way around to enter through the usual exit at KenCen, then idle in a line to have my trunk and hood inspected by security. There is a bomb-sniffing German shepherd looking very authoritative and all. And when I finally get inside, there's a big well-dressed mob, all being herded into the grand foyer and toward a row of metal detectors.
Oh great. Obviously the President is in the building. I look around for celebrity political people, but I don't know any. When I get close enough to the check-in place to look around a little, I see that I'm being herded toward the Concert Hall (gala) and not toward the Opera House (ballet). So I work my way through the tuxedos and their dates (something about the well-heeled that doesn't like stepping aside).
I had missed dinner and was annoyed, but at least I could get a snack in the foyer--and some cookies and lemonade in the Members Lounge.
The pieces of the mixed rep program were "Theme and Variations" (Balanchine), "Jardin Aux Lilas" (Tudor), "Duo Concertant" (Balanchine), and "Fancy Free" (Robbins).
The first piece was marred by an incident in the audience; even up in the first tier we could hear loud talking, and I thought it was probably the security guys' walkie talkies. I mentioned it to the usher at intermission, and he told me someone had collapsed and they had to call an ambulance.
Though it was pretty distracting to the audience, it didn't seem to faze the dancers at all (principals were Michele Wiles and Cory Stearns, and the commotion went on mainly during their spotlight duet).
"T&V" is the sort of Pretty Princesses piece you expect in the ABT mixed-rep program. The only thing that distracted me a little (besides the walkie-talkie incident) was the fact that the gentlemen's military-themed wardrobe came in different colors. If they're in the same Army, wouldn't they wear the same color? (Stupid audience observation.)
"Jardin" was a somber Tudor morality play, but I couldn't really figure out who or what the characters represented. I guess I should have downloaded the plot synopsis, like I did for Cymbeline for our Shakespeare Readers last week. Anyway, Julie Kent was lovely as the main lady torn between lovers (I guess) and leaving with the dancer that brung her.
"Concertant" was simply charming. Two dancers listen to the pianist and violinist, then dance a bit.
There was a change of casting for "Fancy Free" due to injury; instead of Cornejo, Stiefel, and Carreno, we got Salstein, Radetsky, and Gomes. Anyway, even if I couldn't see my fave, these gentlemen were fancy enough indeed. Love me some Marcelo Gomes. Hope I didn't make any distracting noises. (Slurp!)
Much easier getting home than getting there. It should be less complicated on Saturday--let's hope for no more galas and German shepherds and tuxedo mobs. Just my Little Prince and the new production of "Bright Stream" everyone's buzzing about.
love, hosaa
wishing I could be a little more footloose in all this ...
(1-21-11, edited to add a little detail about the dances themselves.)
If it weren't for the dancing, it would have been a pretty miserable night. I wanted to see Daniil Simkin dance, of course, and had waited and waited for ABT and Kennedy Center to announce the cast list for this tour. When they finally did, and I saw Daniil was supposed to dance in "Fancy Free" on the 20th, I grabbed my ticket.
"Cast subject to change." So they did. I saw on the KenCen Web site a couple of weeks ago that Daniil was taken off the performance I had a ticket for. Boo. But I still love ABT. And I knew Daniil was also rehearsing "The Bright Stream," so I got another ticket, for the Saturday matinee.
As for tonight, well, let's just say I'm clueless and didn't know about the gala. We got e-mails from KenCen letting us know that, due to "unusual circumstances," access to the parking garage would be closed on one side. (I didn't want to take Metro because I'm getting old, ya'll, and the Foggy Bottom station's escalators are out.)
So I wind my way around to enter through the usual exit at KenCen, then idle in a line to have my trunk and hood inspected by security. There is a bomb-sniffing German shepherd looking very authoritative and all. And when I finally get inside, there's a big well-dressed mob, all being herded into the grand foyer and toward a row of metal detectors.
Oh great. Obviously the President is in the building. I look around for celebrity political people, but I don't know any. When I get close enough to the check-in place to look around a little, I see that I'm being herded toward the Concert Hall (gala) and not toward the Opera House (ballet). So I work my way through the tuxedos and their dates (something about the well-heeled that doesn't like stepping aside).
I had missed dinner and was annoyed, but at least I could get a snack in the foyer--and some cookies and lemonade in the Members Lounge.
The pieces of the mixed rep program were "Theme and Variations" (Balanchine), "Jardin Aux Lilas" (Tudor), "Duo Concertant" (Balanchine), and "Fancy Free" (Robbins).
The first piece was marred by an incident in the audience; even up in the first tier we could hear loud talking, and I thought it was probably the security guys' walkie talkies. I mentioned it to the usher at intermission, and he told me someone had collapsed and they had to call an ambulance.
Though it was pretty distracting to the audience, it didn't seem to faze the dancers at all (principals were Michele Wiles and Cory Stearns, and the commotion went on mainly during their spotlight duet).
"T&V" is the sort of Pretty Princesses piece you expect in the ABT mixed-rep program. The only thing that distracted me a little (besides the walkie-talkie incident) was the fact that the gentlemen's military-themed wardrobe came in different colors. If they're in the same Army, wouldn't they wear the same color? (Stupid audience observation.)
"Jardin" was a somber Tudor morality play, but I couldn't really figure out who or what the characters represented. I guess I should have downloaded the plot synopsis, like I did for Cymbeline for our Shakespeare Readers last week. Anyway, Julie Kent was lovely as the main lady torn between lovers (I guess) and leaving with the dancer that brung her.
"Concertant" was simply charming. Two dancers listen to the pianist and violinist, then dance a bit.
There was a change of casting for "Fancy Free" due to injury; instead of Cornejo, Stiefel, and Carreno, we got Salstein, Radetsky, and Gomes. Anyway, even if I couldn't see my fave, these gentlemen were fancy enough indeed. Love me some Marcelo Gomes. Hope I didn't make any distracting noises. (Slurp!)
Much easier getting home than getting there. It should be less complicated on Saturday--let's hope for no more galas and German shepherds and tuxedo mobs. Just my Little Prince and the new production of "Bright Stream" everyone's buzzing about.
love, hosaa
wishing I could be a little more footloose in all this ...
(1-21-11, edited to add a little detail about the dances themselves.)
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