A night at the opera

Two weeks ago Yukwah invited me to the opera. We were planning on seeing the new Tsai Ming-Liang film, but she managed to score orchestra seats to Madame Butterfly at the Met. A friend of a friend of hers couldn't use them, and so we were the beneficiaries. It's not my favorite opera, but I had yet to see a Met production of it, and I've never had orchestra seats at an opera. How could I say no?

When I first moved to New York, I was determined to make the most of it. Althought my salary was around $19,000.00 a year, I saw theatre, dance, and opera. . . all from behind the back row. I stood through four hour operas where at times the stage was obscured by the overhanging tiers. Once, I befriended an usher. She was a flautist studying at Juilliard. She apologized that we couldn't be allowed to take empty seats in the orchestra; during the performances they would rope us in.

She told me she was given front row seats once. She told me she was amazed at the way in which the singers over-enunciated the words so that they would remain clear to the listeners in the back rows. I dreamed of one day sitting close enough to experience what she described.

We were in row Q. The seats were fantastic. I turned off the translation and just listened to the music; watched the stage. I knew the plot in broad strokes, but during the intermission read the synopsis to learn the finer points. I wish I hadn't so that I could continue to watch the story unfold, guessing at the meaning.

And in that, I was reminded of a night at the Minamiza Theatre in Kyoto. I sat in the last section, engrossed in a Kabuki performance. The man beside me had broadly described the plot. He was from Osaka and had taken the train to Kyoto specifically for the performance. He would take a train back home that evening.

I sat uncomprehendingly, but found myself caught in the emotion of the events on stage. I knew that a scholar was trying to protect his pupil, the son of a king in danger of losing his throne to a coup. It was only when I bought the program at intermission that I learned he had sacrificed the head of his own son in order to do so.

As I sat reading the synopsis, the people around me asked where I was from. I told them New York and they expressed their sorrow over the events that September. It was just after Thanksgiving in the states. I thanked them for their well-wishes and then sat back to watch the rest of the evening's performances.

It was strange watching Japan filtered back through an Italian opera. I looked at the stage and the costumes and the behaviors and listened to the music. I waited for the famous aria and then let the rest wash over me. During the intermission, Yukwah and I sat in the Lincoln Center courtyard. You couldn't see but twenty stars in the sky. Crowds stood on the terrace, others gathered before the doors. I thought back to the crowds before the Minamiza theatre and remembered the women waiting in traditional dress. And just before the doors opened, I saw a geisha, her ghostly face passing quickly by in the near-dusk. Posted by eku at October 3, 2004 1:52 AM