Just back from the Met simulcast of Werther. I'll spare you my meager ability to offer comments on the production ("It's THE MET" should say enough ) except that I will say that Jonas Kaufmann is a God.
Here's the co(s)mic tickle from my trip to the multiplex in the mall.
I did my usual absolutely zero research and settled in to my high-backed stadium chair, enjoying the pre-show. For the 10 minutes or so before the performance begins they use the cameras and booms to take a look around the audience in New York. As with the crowd in Raleigh, it's mostly gray, white, dyed or no hair on top of mostly pink, mostly wrinkled faces. You see people in extreme close-up talking to each other, reading programs, making their way to seats, texting, waving at the camera, staring at the chandeliers, and even napping. Sophisticated, well dressed, some even looking a little blase about the whole thing. And then there was an image of a 17 year old, sitting on the edge of the chair, with bright eyes and glowing smooth skin, and with a smile that was almost a laugh. Tears popped out of my eyes.
Remorse at my own lost innocence? An involuntary ecstatic reaction to the sight of such apparent joy? Maybe I should have only smoked half that joint? Imagine my surprise when, in the first appearance of the melancholy poet Werther, he is knocked into a swoon by the sound of children singing and compares their innocent radiant beauty to the cynical state he inhabits. I'm probably the only person in history to stifle a laugh at this show.
The Werthest part was when the sound feed from New York went away for the last 7 or 8 minutes. ( Sorry, I couldn't resist). We all sat there like we were at a silent movie, and the theater offered passes for the encore on Wednesday or another simulcast. I came home and looked up the ending on the bigass hard drive, listened and wept. Spoiler alert, those same children's voices provide the decidedly disturbing musical finish to the story.
