Went to see Carmen at the War Memorial this Saturday. Carmen is a hugely popular opera, currently ranked third most popular behind Die Zauberflote and La Traviata (and ahead of stalwarts, La Boheme, Le Nozzi di Figaro and Tosca).
In this particular performance, I have to give out my rarely offered and unusual play-by-play. I have to say it: Don Jose was not well sung. The singer just didn't project the voice enough and Don Jose was almost inaudible for the most part. All right, that's as far as I'll go.
The opera offers what the audience wants: lots of great hummable hits: the habenera, the bugle song, the flower song, the toreador song, and many others. You'll go home whistling these hits. And they're still hits one-hundred and forty years after it premiered in Paris.
The first act offers the first glimpse of the intoxicating power of Carmen. I've met a few Carmens in my life. No, I didn't get to the stage where one or both of us went fatal, but I can fantasize, if you know what I mean. As a younger, more innocent child of life, I fell into the narcotic effects of a beguiling woman who was learning and honing her carmenesque skills. Luckily for me, graduation and a move to the other coast cleared my head. (BTW, I'm not referring to any women I'm currently friends with.)
Since then, I've met other Carmens and know well enough to keep a wide buffer zone from them. I'll enjoy their tease and give back as much as I get -- possibly more even -- as I know the teasing only encourages their ardor and no harm is done to anyone. At the very least, no humans were harmed on my account.
I particularly enjoyed a line near the end of the first act: "If you don't love me, I will love you. If you love me, be on guard." An ominous declaration that Carmen gives to Lieutenant Zuniga.
Don Jose, the poor sap (and I can relate), becomes the fall guy for Carmen's escape after she is arrested for battery. He is sent to jail in her stead because he let her escape.
Act II is a month later, at Lilla Pastia's little tavern (and smuggler's hideout, house of ill-repute, drug den and nest for thieves), Carmen teases Zuniga, who tells her that her sap, Don Jose, is being released that day from jail. At the same moment, Escamillo, the toreador, comes by and is instantly smitten by Carmen's deadly charms. Escamillo, however -- being a more worldly person than Don Jose or even Zuniga -- has a hardier tolerance to Carmen's charms and instead of being drunk with it, quaffs the charm like it was lite beer. Of course, that inflames Carmen even more, upon seeing her effects on this particular man lacking the expected results.
Still, she's reserving her love for Don Jose, who she knows is coming to the tavern. He arrives and she bounds up to him like a puppy dog. Then, Carmen shows her charms to Don Jose by performing what might be the very first lap dance in entertainment history. Don Jose, being the schmuck that he is, decides to return to his barracks upon hearing the bugle call for retreat to barracks. The putz. You can't assign a person like Carmen as second fiddle, and certainly not second fiddle to a non-sexual first fiddle bugle call. She tells him to am-scray. As he dejectedly do so, Lieutenant Zuniga returns to Pastia's tavern for a second chance at Carmen-nookie. Well, Carmen and the rest of the smugglers there can't have Zuniga around and Don Jose is also caught out of barracks and trying to put the moves on Zuniga's supposed paramour. All in all, it ends with Zuniga tied up, Don Jose reluctantly joining forces with the smugglers and Carmen concluding a great trade deal.
The third act begins with one of the most sublime entr'actes. (Anyone who've seen the definitive film version by Francesco Rosi with Julie Migenes-Johnson and Placido Domingo will remember the pastoral and scenic views of Andalusia Spain; damn Netflix is still stumbling around on getting this version available on DVD.) The whole of the third act takes place in the mountains outside of Seville. Don Jose has become a smuggler, having gone from corporal to a lowly soldier, and now joining the other side. The smugglers get their contraband and the wiley gypsy ladies, led by Carmen, seduce the border guards to enable the smuggling operation to succeed. Escamillo happens to drop by, boasts to the unknown-to-him Don Jose that he, Escamillo, is now the new love of Carmen because she has decided to ditch the putzy ex-soldier. Don Jose gets angry and actually takes out a knife for a knife fight with the toreador. The toreador, used to eluding a 2000 pound beast with two sharp sword-like appendages, has no problem tackling the novice fighter Don Jose. However, after being a bit too confident, Escamillo is caught by Don Jose. Just then, Carmen and the rest of the smugglers return and break apart the fight. Escamillo uses that moment to thank Carmen for saving his life, which only infuriates Don Jose as Carmen sweetly accepts the gratitude.
The angelic Micaela (to balance out the demonic Carmen) again turns up at the most inappropriate time and tells Don Jose that his mother is dying. He was, until that moment, going to stick with Carmen come hell or high water. Now, with the knowledge of his mother's impending death, wimps out with nary a fight. What a putz (sorry to all the moms out there, but really). He runs off home with Micaela, to the tune of the toreador singing his song.
The fourth act encapsulates the final phase of Don Jose's "your love life on meth" death spiral. Beatened down after his corporal position demotion to a mere soldier, then becoming a smuggler, then losing his mother and any chance of a married life with a willing Micaela, Don Jose is reduced to stalking Carmen by the bull ring. This most pathetic man just can't let go of Carmen. Even after two rejections, Don Jose still offers Carmen another chance to join up with him. At this stage, what woman would want such a chump? Even Micaela would have enough of him. Carmen rejects him one more time with a sexually charged no by taking the ring he gave her and sheathing it on his knife like a condom. Well, that was the last straw of rejection and Don Jose in a fit of pathos kills Carmen. (Shades of OJ and Nicole?)
If there's any takeaway from this opera, in terms of morals, it would be for a man to be a man and don't go all putzy with women. For women, try to control you power over men; a little miscalculation could cost you your life. In terms of entertainment, four hours of hits after hits.
In this particular performance, I have to give out my rarely offered and unusual play-by-play. I have to say it: Don Jose was not well sung. The singer just didn't project the voice enough and Don Jose was almost inaudible for the most part. All right, that's as far as I'll go.
The opera offers what the audience wants: lots of great hummable hits: the habenera, the bugle song, the flower song, the toreador song, and many others. You'll go home whistling these hits. And they're still hits one-hundred and forty years after it premiered in Paris.
The first act offers the first glimpse of the intoxicating power of Carmen. I've met a few Carmens in my life. No, I didn't get to the stage where one or both of us went fatal, but I can fantasize, if you know what I mean. As a younger, more innocent child of life, I fell into the narcotic effects of a beguiling woman who was learning and honing her carmenesque skills. Luckily for me, graduation and a move to the other coast cleared my head. (BTW, I'm not referring to any women I'm currently friends with.)
Since then, I've met other Carmens and know well enough to keep a wide buffer zone from them. I'll enjoy their tease and give back as much as I get -- possibly more even -- as I know the teasing only encourages their ardor and no harm is done to anyone. At the very least, no humans were harmed on my account.
I particularly enjoyed a line near the end of the first act: "If you don't love me, I will love you. If you love me, be on guard." An ominous declaration that Carmen gives to Lieutenant Zuniga.
Don Jose, the poor sap (and I can relate), becomes the fall guy for Carmen's escape after she is arrested for battery. He is sent to jail in her stead because he let her escape.
Act II is a month later, at Lilla Pastia's little tavern (and smuggler's hideout, house of ill-repute, drug den and nest for thieves), Carmen teases Zuniga, who tells her that her sap, Don Jose, is being released that day from jail. At the same moment, Escamillo, the toreador, comes by and is instantly smitten by Carmen's deadly charms. Escamillo, however -- being a more worldly person than Don Jose or even Zuniga -- has a hardier tolerance to Carmen's charms and instead of being drunk with it, quaffs the charm like it was lite beer. Of course, that inflames Carmen even more, upon seeing her effects on this particular man lacking the expected results.
Still, she's reserving her love for Don Jose, who she knows is coming to the tavern. He arrives and she bounds up to him like a puppy dog. Then, Carmen shows her charms to Don Jose by performing what might be the very first lap dance in entertainment history. Don Jose, being the schmuck that he is, decides to return to his barracks upon hearing the bugle call for retreat to barracks. The putz. You can't assign a person like Carmen as second fiddle, and certainly not second fiddle to a non-sexual first fiddle bugle call. She tells him to am-scray. As he dejectedly do so, Lieutenant Zuniga returns to Pastia's tavern for a second chance at Carmen-nookie. Well, Carmen and the rest of the smugglers there can't have Zuniga around and Don Jose is also caught out of barracks and trying to put the moves on Zuniga's supposed paramour. All in all, it ends with Zuniga tied up, Don Jose reluctantly joining forces with the smugglers and Carmen concluding a great trade deal.
The third act begins with one of the most sublime entr'actes. (Anyone who've seen the definitive film version by Francesco Rosi with Julie Migenes-Johnson and Placido Domingo will remember the pastoral and scenic views of Andalusia Spain; damn Netflix is still stumbling around on getting this version available on DVD.) The whole of the third act takes place in the mountains outside of Seville. Don Jose has become a smuggler, having gone from corporal to a lowly soldier, and now joining the other side. The smugglers get their contraband and the wiley gypsy ladies, led by Carmen, seduce the border guards to enable the smuggling operation to succeed. Escamillo happens to drop by, boasts to the unknown-to-him Don Jose that he, Escamillo, is now the new love of Carmen because she has decided to ditch the putzy ex-soldier. Don Jose gets angry and actually takes out a knife for a knife fight with the toreador. The toreador, used to eluding a 2000 pound beast with two sharp sword-like appendages, has no problem tackling the novice fighter Don Jose. However, after being a bit too confident, Escamillo is caught by Don Jose. Just then, Carmen and the rest of the smugglers return and break apart the fight. Escamillo uses that moment to thank Carmen for saving his life, which only infuriates Don Jose as Carmen sweetly accepts the gratitude.
The angelic Micaela (to balance out the demonic Carmen) again turns up at the most inappropriate time and tells Don Jose that his mother is dying. He was, until that moment, going to stick with Carmen come hell or high water. Now, with the knowledge of his mother's impending death, wimps out with nary a fight. What a putz (sorry to all the moms out there, but really). He runs off home with Micaela, to the tune of the toreador singing his song.
The fourth act encapsulates the final phase of Don Jose's "your love life on meth" death spiral. Beatened down after his corporal position demotion to a mere soldier, then becoming a smuggler, then losing his mother and any chance of a married life with a willing Micaela, Don Jose is reduced to stalking Carmen by the bull ring. This most pathetic man just can't let go of Carmen. Even after two rejections, Don Jose still offers Carmen another chance to join up with him. At this stage, what woman would want such a chump? Even Micaela would have enough of him. Carmen rejects him one more time with a sexually charged no by taking the ring he gave her and sheathing it on his knife like a condom. Well, that was the last straw of rejection and Don Jose in a fit of pathos kills Carmen. (Shades of OJ and Nicole?)
If there's any takeaway from this opera, in terms of morals, it would be for a man to be a man and don't go all putzy with women. For women, try to control you power over men; a little miscalculation could cost you your life. In terms of entertainment, four hours of hits after hits.