Something inside suggests that I shall never see this opera live again. So the past three weeks have been tremendous fun - or month if you go back to the Insight Evening just over a month ago. Before then I had never heard a note from the opera, last night I found myself, somewhat alarmingly, humming a tune from it.
Dress rehearsal included, yesterday was my fifth attendance, but my new acquaintances from Switzerland were there, too, so they're outdoing me!
I think I can conclude that I won't really be bothered if I never hear it again. And yet - that Final Act really is something special. It would be sad to think I may never hear it again, and, perhaps, to fully appreciate it, one has to accept the previous acts. I am very much of the view - which seems to be widespread - that it was worth going to Cyrano de Bergerac for Plácido Domingo's extraordinary portrayal. And I would certainly pay good money to hear him in this role again - but I wouldn't travel. And yet, I would pay better money to hear him in a host of other roles.
This evening I attended with Jimmy and we were sitting in the Lower Slips - the side extension of the Amphitheatre. Although this affords a Restricted View of the Stage and is not a prime location acoustically, it has certain benefits, not least being close to the stage. Additionally, I had lost my binoculars on the day of the Dress Rehearsal - possibly at Plácido's hotel - and Jimmy found me a superdouper replacement pair this week. Although they took a little getting used to, they are astonishingly powerful, and I took tremendous pleasure in keeping them focused on Plácido for an extended time, sometimes when he was singing and sometimes when he was just part of the scene, not directly participating.
That was a special treat, better than DVD. At times I could see the outline of the words he was writing in his letters to Roxanna - although, frustratingly, not the words. I could even see his finger nails. But much of the time I gazed on his face. Partly, of course, to gaze into his gorgeous eyes, despite the distortion of the presposterous prosthetic proboscis, but mainly to watch the subtle nuance of his facial expression, the way he reacts to what his happening around him even when ostensibly the focus isn't on him. I do so like the way he uses to face to act. This is visible as an overall effect from the amphitheatre but in the SuperZoom of splendid new binoculars it is fantastic to watch.
Sadly, the Lower Slips Right were not the best position from which to see that wonderful Final Act, but nevertheless, I was sobbing and sniffing at the raw emotion. I particularly observed his dying fall to the ground and I can't work out he does it. My ten-year old Nephew #1 attempted to demonstrate a couple of weeks ago and despite the impromptu unrehearsed nature was fairly impressive except for the tell-tale knee bend as he fell. I observed Plácido closely and could detect no bending of the knee. And it's fair to say that ten year olds are more natural at falling to the ground than adults with a stage career spanning nearly fifty years...
I originally wrote this post a few hours ago, but the my site was playing up and not saving changes, so I went away and did other things. As I lay in the bath I pondered the opening paragraph and realised that if I was given a choice - cast unknown - to see just one out of Cyrano de Bergerac, La Boheme, Turandot, and a few other mainstays of the repertoire, I think I would have to toss a coin between Cyrano and Aida.
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