The Last Supper (and my most recent supper)

I’ve been in Milan for work the past two days, so after work tonight, I went to the church of Santa Maria della Grazie to see DaVinci’s masterpiece “The Last Supper.” I wasn’t sure what to expect, being that I’ve only seen it in pictures, but upon walking in the room, I was taken aback by how big it is. It takes up the entire wall of an otherwise bare chapel. The size of a movie screen, I started in close, and almost had that sensation of being part of the picture. The colours are rich, soft and lovely, all blending together harmoniously. The action taking place in the picture is palpable to the point where you can almost sense the movement and emotional tension resulting from what has just taken place. The lighting and dimension of the thing are truly compelling…it’s mesmerising. I went at 6:15 pm, so seeing it at night was enchanting. They only allow you 15 minutes with the painting though, so you have to study quick – it’s definitely not the 1.5 hour experience I had straining my neck at the Sistine Chapel to take in every detail.

“John” as he is called in the painting is DEFINITELY a woman, anyone can see that. But for all those “DaVinci Code” freaks out there, let’s just keep our heads about us and remember that DaVinci painted this personal interpretation of the scene over 1,400 years after Christ died. He was not actually at the dinner, peeping through a keyhole. It is not a photograph or a first-hand account. Perhaps DaVinci knew some other secret that hasn’t made it out yet – maybe that John had a tendency to dress in drag on occasion (and very inappropriate occasions at that)…who knows. You know artists, they’re eccentric people who get famous long after they’re dead for seeing things differently – that’s what we dig about them.

Of particular interest is the thing you don’t typically see in the photographs and textbooks….the large doorway that cuts into the painting, completely wiping out Jesus’ legs and feet under the table. You can see the rest of the disciples’ feet, but not the main man’s. Apparently, in the 1600s, some rocket scientist (or maybe it was one of those Christ Scientists like Tom Cruise) decided that the door underneath the painting should be enlarged, so he made it taller, cutting out Jesus’ legs and feet, which apparently were originally crossed, one over the other, symbolic of what was to come. Something we obviously can’t see now. I was also interested to hear (I got the audio tour, of course) that the painting had at one time been completely covered over by something else and had to be uncovered. Huh. I can hear the guy now who painted over it, muttering the whole time with snide grin on face: “DaVinci, SchmaVinci – What a has-been! Wait til they get a load of MY new painting – ‘The Last Breakfast’ – it’s gonna rock the world!”

But my laugh-out-loud moment (FYI: Laugh-out-loud moments NOT appreciated in the chapel) came as I turned to leave. There is another large painting on the wall opposite DaVinci’s, of the crucifixion, by Giovanni somebody-or-other (don’t worry, the crucifixion is NOT what made me laugh). You never hear about this painting, even though it is just as large in scale and in the very same room. The audio tour lady instructs you to look at that painting in contrast to DaVinci’s while on your way out. The narrative (which gets about 1 minute airtime as you’re being shoved out the door) goes something like this: “Now you will see that this painting lacks any depth or emotion or beauty like DaVinci’s. It is very flat with no feeling and no movement and no texture. It is very static and boring and ugly. Extremely ugly. Horrid, actually. We see what he was trying to do, but he failed. Miserably.” Ok, it didn’t say those very words, but that was the gist. Poor Giovanni. Had he just painted his mural in another church across town, it probably would have gotten a much warmer reception. What a bad career move.

In the spirit of “The Last Supper,” let me tell you about MY last (or most recent) supper. If I lived in Italy, I wouldn’t care about gaining weight because at least I’d enjoy doing it. Last night, my colleague Donatella took me out to a cosy enoteca called Barabba. We started off with some sweet Parma ham and a selection of Italian vegetable antipasti. Then, I had a magnificent fresh orechiette pasta with broccoli and cauliflower, which melted blissfully in the mouth – pure pleasure for the belly and soul. I was stuffed after eating less than half the plate, but I couldn’t help but finish it just for the taste. Donatella had something I’d never seen before. She ordered a piece of very tender beef, served raw, along with a square, slate-like (and very, very hot) stone that the waiter ground some fresh sea salt over. Then, she cut the meat up into small pieces and cooked it herself on the stone, which sizzled away for much longer than I would have expected. Kinda like fondue, but grilling on hot stone vs. frying in oil. I have no idea what you call that, but it was really neat. For dessert, Donatella had a strudel and I had yogurt gelato, drizzled with honey and walnuts. It was heaven. Then we each had a glass of ‘Montenegro’ per Donatella’s suggestion -- a herbal aperitif with a citrus-like finish. It was very tasty. I plan to have one again sometime soon. Like, tomorrow.

So, that is my complete “Last Supper” experience. I could make a wisecrack about DaVinci painting Jesus and the disciples enjoying a last supper of antipasti, self-cooked beef on a hot stone with some pasta, finished off with a scoop of gelato and a nice aperitif -- but I won’t because some might see that as wrong. But c’mon, if he can blatantly paint “Paul” as a woman and insinuate it is Jesus’ wife as an inside joke for his buddies back at the Masonic lodge, then why can’t I do a little food styling? After all, it was painted in Italy, the gastronomic capitol of the universe, it would only be right.

Panto

Last Friday I got to experience something quintessentially British: The Panto. Short for Pantomime, the Panto is what we consider a "melodrama" in the U.S. Built for audience interaction and tailored for kids, there is plenty of opportunity for the audience to interact and be recognised by the players.

The production was "Jack and the Beanstalk." My friend Gary works for Price Waterhouse Coopers, who stages an elaborate Panto each year for kids all around the London area. So Gary and his partner Ed invited me to come along. I also brought my friend Stefan, who took these pictures (he's a great photographer). He is Belgian, so as British outsiders, we were both curious about the whole Panto phenomenon.

I must say, the full-length performance was pretty engaging. The production took place at the Peacock Theatre, near Covent Garden. It featured a large cast of about 40 people, had a very colourful and elaborate set, bright costumes, and a full orchestra.

It is apparently Panto tradition that the lead male character is played by a female actress and vice versa, so Jack was a girl and his Mom was a man, basically in drag (the mother was the most entertaining role). I have no idea why this is tradition, nor do I have the inclination to look it up on Google right now to prove what a know-it-all I am, so we'll just accept it for what it is.

Pop songs and dance numbers were regularly intersperesed into the plotline, done with a lot of wit and humour. For example, as Jack was preparing to sell Buttercup, his cow, the cast was cleaning/gussying her up for market while singing 70s tune (?) "At the Carwash." After selling the cow for a sack of gold that turned into a bag of beans, Jack sang Britney Spears song, "Oops I Did it Again," only the words were changed slightly to say "Ooops I did it again, I sold your cow..." Another favourite was the all-cast number "Show me the Way to Cloudarillo" (instead of "Amarillo"), and the beanstalk's own rendition of Madonna's "Like a Virgin" with changed words to "I'm a beanstalk."

I was also quite amused when the Giant (or the Giant's giant leg, I should say) thundered onto the stage with his big, booming voice, only for the actual Giant to eventually pop out of a little door on the shoe -- a tiny little man in lederhosen yelling through a megaphone ala The Wizard of Oz. I screamed laughing.

But the classic appeal of the Panto still lies with audience interaction, as kids cheer the heros, boo the villains, and help the actors by yelling, "HE WENT THAT WAY!!!" and "WHAT'S UP JACK?! DOWN WITH GIANTS!" and "OH NO YOU CAN'T!" (Villain: "Oh yes I can!") "OH NO YOU CANT!!!!"

The show ended with a mass musical review of all the song and dance numbers squished together into a medley, and that was followed by a four-round singalong of "Old Mac Donald." After all, you can never ever have too much of a good thing like a sing along -- especially when you're 7 years old. But even at 33, I couldn't help leaving there with a pretty big smile on my face. As I like to say when the occassion warrants it, "good times."

Around the World in 50 Tanks

I never talk about work on my blog, but then I realised: Hey! I can generate my own publicity around my clients now that I am an official citizen journalist blogger! (And, this latest project is rather interesting/cool...)

Last Tuesday saw the launch of a project I have been working on since I arrived in London: "The Shell Fuel Economy World Record Challenge." My client, Shell, is supporting Australian couple, John & Helen Taylor, on a drive around the world to set a Guinness World Record for Fuel Efficiency. They will travel more than 29,000 km, in approximately 70 days (that's 10 days less than Phileas Fogg, my friends...), and all on under 50 fill-ups! They are road-testing a new fuel economy petrol/gasoline formula that Shell has created and hopes to launch to the general public in the future.

The Taylors left in a blaze of glory (ok, maybe not a blaze...they do have to be pedal conscious you know) Tuesday around 10:15am from Waterloo Place in central London...a stone's throw from Pall Mall and The Reform Club, where the fictional Phileas Fogg set off for his legendary trip "Around the World in 80 Days." The event garnered lots of press as the Taylors and their crew prepared to drive off. At one point, there were so many cameras there, it rather resembled the paparazzi!

The Taylors are serial-record setters with 34 notable driving acheivements under their (seat)belts, so when they approached Shell to help back their newest mission -- becuase they always find they get the best fuel efficiency with Shell fuel (up to 15%!) -- Shell immediately said yes to a great opportunity to put their newest formulation to the ultimate road test.

The Taylors will cross Europe, Asia, Australia, New Zealand, and the U.S. on their trek, arriving back in London for the finale in late March. If you would like to track the Taylors on their journey, visit www.fuelchallenge.com -- they have a blog and everything!

This has been a challenging but fun project so far. I am responsible for managing/coordinating the PR activities for approximately 15 countries for this project, so it has been a great learning experience to see how the program unfolds in different markets around the globe. It's also been good getting to know my new team here in London and working with some really talented people. I guess you could say it is an experience of a lifetime -- or a career, at least. ;)

One last postscript about Shell: I grew up in a small town with only one gas station -- a Shell station run by a little man named Micky (and my town is called Mechanicsville, isn't THAT fitting?). Anyway, Micky knew everyone and everyone knew Micky. That was back in the day when an attendent (who you knew well) pumped your gas, washed the windows, checked under the hood, and made plenty of small talk while you sat in the car. And since Micky was the only person who worked there, he did all that stuff every time we pulled up with my Mom. So, I just assumed Shell was an all-American company and perhaps the only gas company that existed. Maybe I even thought Mechanicsville was the only town that had a Shell station. So funny how things come around. Now they are my client, halfway around the world, and I realise they originated in the Netherlands and are all over the globe! Granted, they don't all come with their own Micky, so I still retain that my own "Shell experience" was truly unique and incomparable. ;)

More to come on the Taylors and their exciting feat!

A Sad Whale Tale

"Whale Fever" sent London into a tizzy last week as hoards of Londoners stayed glued to the tele to watch the drama unfold as a northern bottlenose appeared in the Thames last Friday (they say 23 million people tuned into newscasts to follow the fate of the whale). It was the first whale of it's kind spotted in the Thames since 1913. Clearly something was amiss though, being that whales don't usually go for a swin upstream in the Thames unless they are sick or confused (say the experts, I didn't just happen to know that). But it all came to a sad conclusion Saturday when he died after going into convulsions. About three thousand people watched from the Albert Bridge as he was hoisted from the river in an attempt to ferry him back to the deep sea and save him...but to no avail. Guess he figured if he was going out, he'd do it in style -- with a weekend swim past London's most heralded landmarks and a crowd to wave him off!

Edward, For the Love of God, Please Stop Dancing With Those Scissorhands!

As a New Year's gift, my boss Mitch (and his partner Anno) treated my colleague Rory and I to the new dance production of "Edward Scissorhands" at Sadler Wells -- directed by cool choreographer Matthew Bourne.

Yes, this is the same, dark and creepy Edward Scissorhands based on the Tim Burton film starring Johnny Depp.

It was very unique and artistic, although I'd say it was more pantomime than true dance performance -- a collection of musical theatre performers acting out/interpreting the movie to some very nice music.

The set was whimsical and the performance very well staged. The costumes were fantastic -- my favourite scene involved a stage full of people dressed as topiaries, dancing their hearts out. I also particularly liked the snow effects that took place throughout the play, they did a good job making it (and marketing it) as a holiday "spectacular." At the end, the whole audience was showered in fake snow (and what's not to love about that?!).

At first it made me cringe to see Edward dancing and leaping around the stage with those crazy scissorhands...I mean, the very idea that they turned this particular story into a DANCE performance makes you want to giggle, it goes against everything your mother ever told you about running and playing with scissors. But even though it took a few minutes at the opening to remove my hands from my eyes out of fear he'd take a tumble on those shiny blades, it was a giddy and fun night out.

Now I'm waiting for "I Know What You Did Last Summer -- the Ballet."

Edinburgh (pronounced "Edinbraa")

I went to Edinburgh, Scotland, like TWO MONTHS AGO and never wrote about it. I am really falling down on this blogging thing, sorry people. Not that anyone's still reading after my hypochondriac "crash" post was up for the past 2 months...hmmm, I better think about "rebranding" my blog as we say in PR.

But I diverge. Edinburgh...yes! It was very fun and I loved the city -- it's very Gothic and sinister and pretty. I know, you don't often hear "sinister" and "pretty" to describe the same thing. Hmmm, I think I would like to be sinsister and pretty! Anyway, it's a cool town with a great vibe. Only, once there, I realised that I really needed four days, not two, becuase there is so much to see. So, that means I must go back -- in springtime when I can see the country too!

I went with my friend Cristina, a darn good traveling companion. We toured the castle (very, very cool), bought some whisky, wandered the main shopping drags, ate out at a very yummy restaraunt Saturday night (called "The Grain House"), and met up with these totally fun 4 guys we met at a bar and stayed out most of the night partying with them at a series of venues -- including a vodka bar that played hip-hop (which seemed odd to me in Scotland for some reason), a pub with a live band and dancing, a kareoke bar (the guys were really into singing, it was funny), and finally, a dance club. No worries Mom, it was all innocent. ;)

On Sunday, we went to a neighboring town, called Water of Leith, where we had a nice lunch before leaving. I had the best oysters ever there....and that's saying a lot coming from a St. Mary's County, MD girl where oysters are king!

Becuase it took me a few months to write about this lovely weekend and I have forgotten the details, I'll just leave you with some pictures to show you what we saw!

The Castle! (View from our hotel too...)










Cristina at the castle. In her red hat.













To be a European city, you must have two things -- a tower and a ferris wheel!

















Cristina and I at dinner, very cozy.










View from the castle.











Torch at the castle (tres Camelot).













The Royal Mile.











The tranquil town of Water of Leith.










Dylan and Cristina being VERY serious.

Cat's Book Club UPDATED (I hear it's as good as Oprah's)

Following are some good books I've read recently that I'd recommend. I'll keep the list updated -- provided I continue to find time to read!
UPDATE to the above statement, Jan. 8th: Cat's book club won't just include "good" books I've read, because if that is the case, I shouldn't be writing about the next one. But it proves that I do read, even if I don't particularly enjoy it each and every book...

On The Road
by Jack Kerouac
Oh my God, WHY do people love this book so much? HELLO!! What a bunch of L-O-S-E-R-S! Hey boys, get a life! Look, I had a little backpacking/hitchhiking fun myself in Central America back in the days after college. But, seriously people, have some fun and then get a job already! Maybe I've been sucked up into corporate America for too long, but I'll be the first to say I missed the boat on this one. Or, err, the car.

For those who have it waiting in your "to-read" pile, let me spare you some time: It's 1940s America. Hobos are all the rage. This wanna-be loser guy (Sal) meets up with a bunch of other losers (the biggest being this certifiable moron named Dean who Sal is stupid enough to idolise for reasons unknown), and they spend the next God knows how many years of their life driving back and forth across the United States for no apparent reason, drinking, doing drugs, smoking pot, marrying multiple women, getting them pregnant and leaving them, sleeping around (often with prostitutes), stealing, scamming, leaving friends behind, picking up hitchhikers, talking a WHOLE lot of crap ALL the time, and on occasion, listening to some jazz (the only part of the book I remotely enjoyed were the jazz bar stories).

Frankly, I do not find this 'beat' generation to be one worth emulating. Each time they got stopped by the cops I prayed they'd get thrown in prison and stay there so the book would end already and put me out of my misery. Each time they zigzagged across the country, they would go to the same tedious places and meet up with the same tedious people. I got over it all the THIRD time they were in Denver...

It's a pathetic story about sad, lost people (the last, delirious, mud-caked chapter with the boys floundering in Mexico really drives this point home). I see how Mr. Kerouac's writing is very lyrical, and that's fab -- but imagine how great his prose might have been had he picked better subject matter!

So, in sumary, I must say, "Hit the road, Jack!" I'll get on a jet plane to cross the country any day vs. doing it your way!

The Hungry Years
by William Leith
This is a book about people who overeat, overdrink, overdrug, and basically can't do anything in moderation. Written by self-diagnosed compulsive overeater, English journalist William Leith, he tries to get to the bottom of his "hunger" that he just can't satisfy.

It was at times an entertaining little read (I must admit, I liked the picture of the doughnut on the cover) -- I'm always intrigued by people's battles with food and other binges. However, after he jumps around sporatically between the premise of the Atkins Diet (which is the first half of the book), to his excesses with food (he once ate an entire apple pie when he was 7!), and his many drug and alcohol binges (which he tells with an air of pride), he goes to a therapist and -- would you beleive it -- figures out all of his problems are becuase of his parents!! Of course!

And that's really the end of the book. He never figures out how to totally satisfy his hunger. But, he does go on a twenty-mile hike with his girlfriend at the end, eats a good dinner after, has some wine, and pretty much sums it up by saying it's all about moderation. Wow -- ya think? That's the part of the book where I felt rather cheated, I was hoping for just a little more resolution and insight than that. But hey, I guess it really is just that simple.

But if that's what publishers go for these days, I have a great story about how I ate an entire bag of Harry & David's Moose Munch in one sitting last Friday night in front of the tele, followed by a package of snowman Peeps and then chased the sugary delight with two glasses of wine. Some people may call that a binge. I call it dinner. And I know that's totally my parent's fault, because THEY gave me the snacks in my Christmas stocking. But I didn't have to pay a therapist to help me figure it out, because Moose Munch, Peeps and wine ARE my therapy. And if you don't count the small stomach ache that followed (totally worth it), I felt pretty darn good after...and I definitely wasn't still hungry. ;)

The Art of Travel
by Alain De Botton
This is a book I will read again and again. Botton's writing comes across like simple poetry that rings true in crystalized and gratifying ways. Anyone who is intrigued by travel -- be it in a plane, car or armchair -- will love this cleverly written book. He shares stories that illuminate different perspectives on traveling with the help of historically significant travel "guides" and classic art to add color and context. (Pretty cover too.)

Empire Falls
by Richard Russo
Anyone who knows me knows I'm a sucker for a good family drama with strong characters and real people at the center -- especially if it's mixed in with some laugh-out-loud comedy. After all, aren't many real-life family dramas funny to some degree, even if they are yours? Empire Falls is warm, smart and poignant. It was a good read all the way through and left me very satisfied and content at the end. Russo's ability to make you connect with and care for his characters is a true talent, and the dynamic portrait he paints of Empire Falls makes the town and its people come to life and jump off the page....I felt like I had said goodbye to people I knew and liked when I finished the book.

The Opposite of Fate
by Amy Tan
I must confess, I am one of the 3 people in the world who have not read The Joy Luck Club (I think my New Yorker subscription can be revoked for that), but this book of essays by Amy Tan will likely prompt me to do so. A few chapters were not compelling (some a little too self-congratulatory and others pure, neurotic hypochondria), but becuase it's a book of independently written shorts, you can just skim past any that don't hold your attention. But for the most part, I really enjoyed the book and Tan's writing. The stories are mostly based on her (twisted) relationship with her mother, her mother's family history, and other impactful moments in her life. It was a smooth, easy read, and did leave me pondering whether some things in my own life have been fate or circumstance. I actually got this book free with a newspaper while traveling through Heathrow airport and was surprised when I had finished it cover to cover by the end of my 2-day trip.

English Terminology UPDATED

Vocabulary

• pudding (dessert)
• aubergine (eggplant)
• courgette (zucchini)
• lorry (truck)
• quid (slang for a British Pound -- "it cost me 20 quid")
• wind screen (windshield)
• bin (trash can)
• jumper (sweater)
• Mum (Mom)
• pram (stroller)
• rubbish (garbage)
• fortnight (two-week period)
• plaster (Band Aid)
• stone (14 lbs.)
• trainers (sneakers/tennis shoes)
• nappy (diaper)
• loo (bathroom)
• Stag Do (bachelor party)
• Hen Party (bachelorette party)
• jab (shot) -- eg, it's winter...time to get your flu jab!

Expressions and Just Plain Funny Things I've Heard People Say

• wind-up (to 'put someone on' or trick them. For example: "Don't listen to him, he's winding you up." or "I'm not falling for that, it's a wind-up.")
• would you fancy... (would you like...)
• cheers (goodbye/thank you)
• "Not to over-egg the custard, but..."

Frequently used Adjectives

• gauche (gaudy, rude, tacky)
• dead (means very or really: "He's dead sexy")
• shattered (exhausted/worn out)
• knackered (tired/exhausted: "I'm totally knackered!")
• dodgy ("I won't eat at that Chinese place, it seems a bit dodgy")
• brilliant (We say "good" or "great!"; Brits say "Brilliant!" -- to everything)
• cheeky (I particularly like it when Brits refer to someone as a "cheeky monkey")
• naughty
• tat (cheap, tacky)

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. ;)