The Opera

I had such a nice time at the Metropolitan Opera last night. I saw La Bohème at the Met, just like they did in Moonstruck. It was a nice antidote to the previous couple of days.

I had a box seat on the left side of the Parterre, in Box 5. I was in the front row of the box, so the view was unobstructed, and I could look down on the orchestra pit and the rows and rows of audience members seated in the orchestra section, and up at the chandeliers and the ceiling. The boxes are locked and unlocked by ushers, and each box has a place to hang your coats so you don’t have to wait on a coat check line. I don’t know how my mom got this seat for her subscription — she’s only subscribed for about two years.

The opera itself: I enjoyed it. La Bohème doesn’t have much of a plot, and the music is kind of sugary and fluffy — although there are some beautiful moments — but I was seeing my first live opera, at the Met, of all places, so it didn’t matter. I wasn’t familiar with the conductor or the principal singers, but they were all first-rate. The sets, by Franco Zefferelli, were elaborate, down to the fake snow falling in Act III, and the horse walking across the stage in Act II. (OK, I guess the horse should be classified as part of the cast, not as part of the set.)

La Bohème was the basis for the musical Rent, a show I love. Marcello became Mark, Rodolfo became Roger, Musetta became Maureen, Colline became Collins, Schaunard became Angel Dumott Schunard, and Mimi — well, she stayed Mimi. Change the Café Momus to the Life Cafe, move from 19th-century Paris to New York at the end of the millennium, throw in a black lesbian, and you’ve got Rent.

Tangent on Rent: In March 1997 I bought the cast album for Rent without ever having seen the show, and I fell in love with the music. I listened to it for months. Finally, that July, I saw the show for 20 bucks, back when, in order to do that, you had to hang out on line all day with a bunch of other young Rentrats instead of signing up for the lottery, which is what they do now, and which probably has ruined the bonding experience. I had a memorable time on the Rent line — I got there at 6:55 in the morning, which was actually really late, and hung out with everyone all day — sleeping, playing cards, reading, having people sign a letter to a friend of mine — until I picked up my ticket at 6:00 in the evening. Sat in the second row center. Anthony Rapp (Mark) and Adam Pascal (Roger) were both out that night, which really fucking sucked, because I really wanted to see Anthony Rapp. But I still had a great time.

Anyway, back to the opera…

There were two intermissions, and my mom had given me some money to treat myself to a glass of champagne, so I had a glass of Veuve Cliquot. I walked around, wearing my suit, drinking my champagne, doing lots of people-watching. For some reason I kept assuming that most of the men I saw were gay, because this was the opera. I did see a few men in pairs, and they were the ones I most assumed were gay. I could have been wrong, of course. Sitting next to me in my box were two middle-aged men who, from what I heard of their conversation, had been going to the opera together for at least two years and probably more, but one of them mentioned a son. (Then again, that doesn’t mean much these days.) Anyway, it was fun to play the gaydar game.

I’ve decided that opera really is meant to be seen, and not just heard. I’ve always approached opera from the classical music perspective — listening to recordings — rather than from the theatrical perspective — actually seeing a performance — and I’d wondered how people could enjoy opera so much. But now I know why, especially at a place like the Met where you get terrific singers, sets, and costumes to go with the spectacular music by renowned composers. I think that lately I prefer the whole classical music scene to the cheesy Broadway musical scene. Anyway, I want to go to the opera again.

God, I’m such a homosexual.

Postscript

Okay, just as I finished dissing Broadway musicals, my dad called from his office in Manhattan and said that he and my mom have two tickets to a show tonight that they’ve decided not to go to, and he asked if I’d like to go instead. I was already having dinner tonight with my friend CanadaGirl, so instead we’re going to have an earlier dinner and then see Bloomer Girl. It’s being done through Encores!, a program where they revive old musicals and perform them concert-style, with no sets and minimal costumes.

I’m even more of a homosexual than I was a few minutes ago.