My "Crash" Moment

Unlike Oprah's experience at Hermes, this is not about a brush I had with racism, but a brush I had with the back of an "Original London Tour" van last Tuesday morning. Not to overdramatise (or "over-egg the custard" as they say here), but it wasn't exactly a "brush" either...it was a pretty hard-core whack that sent me flying. It was SO not a good way to start the week -- getting hit by a car sucks! It could have been much worse though, I got off lucky.

For those who must have the details of this harrowing experience, read on!

Well, I was stepping off the curb to cross the street when a van that was parallel parked next to me backed up. All I remember was hearing myself yell (which was weird) and then being sent airborne a few feet and landing with a thud. Next thing I know, two very nice men were peeling me off the street. I was sort of in shock and couldn't speak for a few minutes. Luckily, one of the men was on the sidewalk next to me when it happened and he yelled to the driver to stop before he continued to back over me (which was really so great of him).

I'm clearly in a country where lawsuits don't happen, because the driver got out, and while apologizing profusely, gave me his name, number and license plate after asking me repeatedly if he could call an ambulance. In Manhattan, I would have been lucky if I could have come to my senses in time to catch the licence plate before the driver sped away (ok, maybe that's not totally fair, but HELLO, pretty likely).

Anyway, I could walk and move everything, so I insisted to the nice men that I was fine and continued walking to work. Fortunately, I was bundled up like the abominable snowman in a heavy coat, huge scarf and leather gloves which provided extra padding. My handbag took the brunt of the fall ("A Love Letter to Coach: How one girl's handbag saved her life...next on Oprah.")

But somewhere during the remaining two block walk to the office, I started to cry. Hysterically. Things started to hurt. I wanted my mom. And I was scared to be walking anywhere near a street at that point. Yep, so I walked right into the office like that...crying and semi-hysterical (oh well, my co-workers were going to realize I was crazy at some point). But I got over it. And I got off very lucky...it was nothing at all in the big scheme of things. All I have are some bruises and a couple minor aches.

Learnings from this little ditty? Well, I could tell you the standard fare about feeling lucky and grateful and all that, becuase that is all very true. But on a more practical note, let me also tell you about my new friend THE CROSSWALK....we're really, really close now. I think we might be together forever...I'll never cross the street again without it.

I used to tease my friend Stefanie (who lives here in London, actually) about being such a geek because she will never cross against a light. Then she told me how she got hit by a car J-walking and proceeded to show me the nasty scar that was a leftover. I half stopped teasing her then, but now I think I can put the teasing to rest for good....I'll be waiting right there next to her until that little green man lights up and the coast is clear.

Oh, and to anyone reading this who knows my Grandmother -- Do NOT mention this to her, please. She'll be on the next plane to England dragging me home and I'll never hear the end of it.

Madam Butterfly: Take Two Prozac and Call Me in the Morning.

Madam Butterfly. What a beautifully sad opera.

I know, trite. I've seen it before and know the story, but considering the ticket price, sold-out run, and swanky Hollywood director, I was hoping maybe they'd throw in a "new and improved" happy ending. No such luck.

Despite the crying I couldn't stop long after the curtain call (I blame the champagne at the first interval), it was well worth it. Staged by the English National Opera at the London Coliseum, and directed by Hollywood filmmaker Anthony Minghella (of "Cold Mountain," "The English Patient," and "The Talented Mr. Ripley" fame), the new twist on Puccini's classic was everything the reviews promised: Visualy stunning, creative, beautiful, mesmerizing...making it all that much more painful at the end. It was almost as good as Baz Luhrmann's production of "La Boheme" on Broadway. I'm a huge fan of this Hollywood director/opera trend -- opera snobs be damned....keep these hits coming!

The opera opens in silence, as a "letterbox"-style rectangle opens at the back of the stage (you know, like the letterbox/widescreen format on DVDs), creating an "epic" tone and feel as if you're about to watch a great, classic movie. The box is lit from behind and takes on many different colours and hues, reflecting the mood as the production wears on. It also serves as the entrance and exit for all cast members. Above this box is a huge mirror which provides interesting perspective on what's happening on stage. Below the box is a broad, sloping black ramp. This probably makes no sense to you (I clearly have no future as one of those people that describe what's happening on stage for the visually impaired through the little headphones) -- but suffice it to say the set was extremely well-designed, framing the cast in a magical and mesmerizing way. It was as much a part of the opera as the music.

So the letterbox opens in silence at the opera's start, backlit in red, and M. Butterfly slowly climbs up into the entrance and descends down the long ramp in silence. She is wearing a white dress, and as she walks, four long trains of red fabric follow her and stretch out in all directions, as an introduction and precursor of what's to come (as if we don't already know).

At the end of the first act, when Cio-Cio San (M. Butterfly) and Lt. Pinkney are in the throws of love, pale cherry blossom petals flutter down from the cieling for at least 20 minutes, culminating with a curtain of pink blossoms streaming down from the rafters. Ensemble members dressed all in black move a series of white lanterns around the couple amongst the blossoms, creating the effect of lanterns and stars floating on the water at night.

M. Butterfly's toddler son is played by a puppet (manned by three people dressed all in black). Which at first was freaky and kind of creeped me out. But the puppeteering (based on an ancient Japanese artform) was actually pretty stellar, and by the end of the opera I had become completely emotionally attached to that crazy little puppet! He even got a bow at curtain call, which, I thought, overstepped the boundaries a tad, but the crowd went wild. Including me. I cried even harder.

Another memorable scene involved white paper cranes flying overhead as Cio-Cio San sings with her son in an embrace, as he reaches up to try and touch the birds.

The final death scene: Completely wrecked and broken hearted by her husband's rejection (men are such pigs), she commits suicide, samaurai style, with the same sword her father used to kill himself (I told you, NOT HAPPY). Plunging the sword into her throat, with her blindfolded puppet-baby standing by (American flag in hand), red sashes unfurl from her dress. Lt. Pinkney rushes in, sees her dead, and falls to his knees in remorse. Blackout. The curtain comes down, Japanese characters scroll across it in white light. I have no idea what they said, but who cares, it was ultimate, gorgeous drama!

It was really great. Really fabulous. The singing may have been a tad weak at times, but it was still pretty good and the visual payoffs certainly made up for it. M. Butterfly was extremely talented (and oh, the glory of an opera diva's curtain call! They get SO much love, it's awesome!) I'd see it again, if there were any tickets left -- I actually had to go alone becuase I couldn't get two tickets! And can I just say, NOT a good "alone" show?

The London Coliseum is a fantastic venue, and only two blocks from my flat which made the walk home much easier. Nothing says "great night out" like a girl stumbling home alone crying in the street. ;)