My Night at the Opera: The Hours (PART 1)
The Met’s starburst chandeliers in the auditorium (Violette Leonard)
*SPOILERS AHEAD FOR THE HOURS*
PRÈLUDE
Here’s a confession: I don’t like modern opera.
In light of that, it might be surprising that I went to see one at the Met, a world premiere no less. Well, I did, and even more surprisingly, I found it mesmerizing. Here’s how it happened.
11:00 a.m. My mother and I were making plans to go that night to the premiere of The Hours, a new opera by Kevin Puts. My curiosity had been aroused by the excerpts that the Met had released, and my aversion to modern opera was overcome by the thought of a night at the Met seeing The Divas: Renée Fleming in her return to the Met, Broadway superstar Kelli O’Hara, and Joyce DiDonato, my all-time favorite Mozartean. However, to my horror, affordable tickets were sold out!
1:30 pm. I got a big surprise: a friend offered me two tickets for opening night. I accepted in nanoseconds. “I’m going to a world premiere at the Met!” I shrieked.
What to wear? The Met has no dress code, but my personal wardrobe policy is You have an excuse to dress up? DO IT. I chose a pretty white tee with rhinestones, a cream pleated skirt, and schmancy boots. Taken together, my outfit vaguely and coincidentally (promise!) resembled Renée Fleming’s costume.
……….
ACT 1
8:26 pm. Half an hour late, we pulled up to Lincoln Center. While the ticket takers checked our tickets in the lobby, I gazed at the sparkling starburst chandeliers, the grand staircase, and the velvety red carpet. It was my 21st time at the Met, but I will never lose the joy and awe of being in that glorious space.
Latecomers aren’t allowed in until intermission, so we were directed to a mini-cinema where the performance was being shown live. I don’t remember the exact part at which we entered, but I think it was Joyce’s second scene because I don’t remember seeing Leonard Woolf (tenor Sean Panikkar) until Act 2 but I do remember all of Kelli O’Hara’s first scene. I perked up, eager to find out for myself what Kelli sounds like on an operatic stage. She (as Laura Brown) was sitting on her bed, reading Mrs Dalloway and procrastinating getting up. “One more page. So I can lose myself. No — find myself! Which is it?”
Kelli O’Hara in Act 2 of The Hours (Evan Zimmerman/Met Opera)
The vocal techniques for opera and for Broadway are vastly different, so I was delighted to find that Kelli’s a complete natural at both. Her voice is like silver silk and her diction was wonderfully crisp, which was a huge help to me because there were no subtitles on the screen. Even when an opera is in English, it can be hard to understand. For the first act, at least, I found Laura’s storyline the clearest, probably because I understood it the best.
Likewise, Renée Fleming was in fine form. I saw her in concert three years ago, and as it was clear then, it was clear from her first aria, “Here on this corner,” that her distinctive evocative voice is all there. In “Here on this corner,” Clarissa Vaughan thinks back to her breakup with her old flame, Richard, a poet dying of AIDS (admirably sung by the bass-baritone Kyle Ketelsen). “Cruel, Clarissa. Harsh. Here on this corner. No spectacular fight… But Richard, it wouldn’t have worked.”
Joyce made a vivid impression on me, although I don’t remember what exactly thrilled me so, subtitle-less in the mini-cinema. Listening to a later broadcast, I loved the line “If Nelly [Eve Gigliotti] disturbs me during work, I cannot guarantee her safety.” Cue the memes.
Joyce DiDonato in The Hours (Evan Zimmerman/Met Opera)
I was glued to the big screen. Laura Brown was making a birthday cake with her young son, Richie, played by the adorable Kai Edgar. His voice seems to have been trained for Broadway rather than for opera, but he has a very confident stage presence, his diction was excellent, and he made himself heard even with the Three Divas onstage. Kudos to you, Kai.
When the lights on the stage darkened to black and the lights in the cinema flickered on, it was like someone had snapped their fingers next to my ear.
INTERMISSION
9:25 pm. We walked out of the little cinema. I shook my head in amazement, stunned in a way that I don’t remember ever being before. “It’s all Joyce for me,” I commented. “Oh yeah,” was my mom’s reply. We headed to our seats, which turned out to be on the left side of Grand Tier, the third level.
Outside the auditorium, the house was buzzing with energy. Tuxes and bling surrounded me, as most operagoers were dressed to the nines. You may imagine my reaction when I later found out that the actresses Christine Baranski and Sigourney Weaver had been there, as well as contemporary composer Missy Mazzoli! I’m coming back next month, and I’ll up my wardrobe game.
My intermission selfie (Violette Leonard)
Intermission is only 15 minutes, but I try to make the most of the time. When I sit in the Orchestra section, I devour the program the way that some people read video game cheat guides and chat with the musicians still in the pit. This time, I couldn’t talk with the orchestra from the Grand Tier and I didn’t read the program because I had already seen it online. However, I had an excellent view of the surreal, glowing set, and I couldn’t resist snapping a picture of it, of the chandeliers, and a selfie.
I settled into my plush red velvet seat and turned on the captions on the screen mounted on the back of the seat in front of me. Subtitles, I thought. Joy, joy, joy.
The chandeliers dimmed and rose up to the ceiling. My heart pounded with anticipation.
