like the moon growing dim
Poppea has reminded me exactly why I adore Barrie Kosky so much I could burst into flames with it. The blood, the sex, the nudity, the glee, the sheer glorying fucking --- and I mean that literally, fucking --- glee of his productions, the joy of him banging away on that piano driving the entire production. He's like, he's like Burroughs. You know? That fizzing electric laughing delight of reading Naked Lunch, tearing through with the unashamed voracious joy for sex and music and humour. And of course there's blood and violence in there because with the light must come the dark, with the glory must come the shame.
And with the laughter must come the hushed sadness. That ending note of Poppea really startled me but then when I thought back to the ending of both parts of The Lost Echo, oh yes. Hell, at least this time I wasn't as shellshocked as the ending to the first part of The Lost Echo. Thank you, Deborah Mailman, I will never forget your voice now. And god yes, the eerie awful shattered ending of Part 2 of The Lost Echo. Here it was that classic myffic ending of everything achieved at what cost? God, I love that. It hurts but --- and that's why --- I love it. The elegance of myffic symmetry.
And after the unmitigated unrelenting torture that was Women Of Troy, I was so glad sheba_finesse got to see Kosky be joyful and musically intertextual and banging happily away on his pinano and all the sex and mad singing and mad dancing and the gorgeous costumes and yay drag queens and yaaaaaaaaaaayyyyy feathered headdressed drag queens and just those incredible visuals, the way Kosky uses the space of the stage to create these images that paint themselves with such vivid detail on the inside back of your skull ... gah.
God, I wish I could watch The Lost Echo again. If ever there was a play made for me. Greek mythology and music and dildos smeared with blood and rentboys in painted-on jeans and men in ballgowns and women in sleek black tuxedos and Pamela Rabe being a GODDESS and oh yeah Dan Spielman in silver platform heels and a tiny tiny skirt. *sighs heavily*
I feel a Cher moment coming on again. Really, what is up with that? Maybe me nearing my thirtieth birthday means me really really getting in touch with my feminine side. I'm too short to be a drag queen, damnit. *pout* But if I were, I would be Julie Andrews in Victor/Victoria with the exquisite beaded headdress and the legs that came up to her armpits only I wouldn't let Omar Sharif --- would someone please explain to me WHY I always get Omar Sharif and James Garner mixed up?! Prolly cos I don't like either of them, smarmy macho mmmmmehrn! --- James Garner (!) bully me into a completely stupid fucking insulting cop-out of an ending and oh right, Poppea. Sorry.
Fabulous voices, god. The guy who played Nero, Kyrre Kvam, what an absolutely beautiful voice. And the staging was so deliciously minimalist in a way I'm beginning to recognise now.
The switches into Cole Porter songs got laughs almost all the way through but it was so interesting to hear how the giggling would taper off as the song proceeded and you could kind of sense people feeling the emotion, getting into the character and the moment. Was that just me? I hope not. And certainly it seemed like the initial laughs lessened in the second half when all the shit --- not literally, thank goodness, I love that I actually have to say that with Kosky productions --- really hit the fan.
I was hoping they would do a song from Kiss Me Kate! And it only turned out to be one of my favourites, if not the favourite, So In Love, and even then reprised so we got to hear the single female vocal and then the single male vocal. Oh god how I loved it. Okay, the first time it was sung, Beatrice Frey as Ottavia played it a bit for laughs and that was fine, we needed that then. But then how Nero sang it to open the second act, sang it straight and so haunting and *moaaaaaaaannnnnn* ... I love that song when it's done by a man. And even more so, I realise now, done by a tenor rather than Howard Keel's ohhhhh soooo deeeeeeeppp voice.
I was pleasantly surprised how many Porter songs I did recognise. But then they were mostly the big hits. Even so, I never realised how many I knew. Only opened with one of my most recent and delightful discoveries, Love For Sale. It was a bit of a struggle with the surtitles but that was just me cos I've never been to an opera before and the only other thing I've seen with surtitles was The War Of The Roses where they were used for act breaks rather than life for line dialogue. That was little frustrating at the start because I wanted to know exactly which word was being emphasised in the sung line but I think that got easier as the night proceeded. Curious learning experience, that.
I was so pleased that Martin Niedermair was in this production! Cos I still kinda regret not grabbing the chance to see The Tell-Tale Heart which was always one of my favourite Poe stories and definitely my first. So it was quite awesome to see him and imagine this rather beautiful golden fellow as that tortured soul. And although it was a little uncomfortable to begin with, I did grow to adore the desperate vulnerable energy of his role.
Him and Ruth Brauer-Kvam as Drusilla were just mad, the levels of frantic chaos they went to. She absolutely made the show for me, the sheer abandon of her performance was fabulous and had me hoping that someone at some point has or will cast her as Judy Garland in something. They had me absolutely giddy with joy and laughter and I was struck with the realisation that I prolly hadn't laughed that hard in a theatre since The Lost Echo. But now I realise that's not true. I practically asphyxiated myself at Colin Moody's Bottom cos yes, I'm asinine like that. see what I did there, see what I did there? :p *cough*
I wonder if the full-frontal male nudity onstage was kinda like the little girl in the red coat, sort of combining that with Banquo's ghost, the corpse facedown in the centre of the room. I loved that too even though it freaked me out a little to realise "Ew, he actually is naked, ewww I just saw penis and other bits and hair and eww looking away now". It's just such a fabulous theatrical device, that constant silent reminder of atrocity, one more pair of eyes to the Chorus. And god, that visual of Seneca toppled out of the bathtub is exactly why I want to grab Kosky up in a great big hug and squeeze him til he squeaks.
Although, really, now I want to see Melita Jurisic in a role where she doesn't twitch. This is twice I've seen her and twice I've had the same reaction of intense adoration and slight fear and twice that she's included some twitchiness to her role. I mean, I totally accepted it and celebrated it and loved it as Cassandra in Women Of Troy but here it kinda got me wondering. Was it entirely necessary? I mean, I know Amor turns around and says "She's off her freaking nut" about Poppea or words to that effect but does she have to be?
There's such a great real possibility of syphilitic madness, isn't there? Nero and Poppea, symbols of the depraved Roman civilisation fucking itself into oblivion, no great ideals any more just oversimplified gross appetites, emotions warped to extremes. I don't actually know, I'm just hypothesising here, I never actually studied Rome in any great detail and never felt the need to. Ask me about the myths, I might have a better answer. Heh.
Love gone mad. *sigh* One of the best themes ever. Love untamed as Amor sings which is not the line I know from my Harry Connick Jr version which goes love that's fresh and still unspoiled. I'm pretty sure she sang 'untamed' ... cos I frowned at that moment. But oh yes, very much that wonderful theme of the way love and madness destroys lives and blights civilisation. From the personal to the global to the universal in one fell swoop.
It did feel extraordinarily short but then that may have been because I was so thoroughly enjoying myself and concentrating so hard and maybe because nothing compares to the eight hours of my first Kosky production. Short but satisfying although yes, I could have sat happily through another two hours. *nods*
I was bitterly disappointed to be told there were no programs. I had been really looking forward to glossy photos and production notes and that crucial synopsis for an opera/musical. Cos I had absolutely no knowledge of Poppea before tonight. Pity.
I wonder if I can still get On Ecstasy. Prolly at the STC bookshop.
And I've come home with So In Love in my head only to be completely appalled at myself cos apparently I never got around to buying the Kiss Me Kate soundtrack. Shame on me!
Speaking of, Miss Sheba and I totally had a This Could Only Happen In Sydney moment after the show. Cos outside the Drama Theatre was a poster of Anthony Warlow (grrr) in The Mikado and this naturally resulted in us singing a snatch of Pirates Of Penzance walking away from the Opera House, specifically the chorus of with cat-like tread. And nobody gave us a second look. *falls over laughing*
It was too too awesome, darling.
I still love this song to bits, this particular version, the smoooooooothness of it ... I quite honestly have visions of rolling around in this song and wrapping it around me.
Also, have I mentioned I'm ill with a touch of the flu and can't breathe and have a fully congested head and still enjoyed the show so much I prolly forgot about the whole not-breathing issue? I'm just sayin'. Why is there no mood icon for syphilitic mad?
*hacks phlegm and whimpers*
And with the laughter must come the hushed sadness. That ending note of Poppea really startled me but then when I thought back to the ending of both parts of The Lost Echo, oh yes. Hell, at least this time I wasn't as shellshocked as the ending to the first part of The Lost Echo. Thank you, Deborah Mailman, I will never forget your voice now. And god yes, the eerie awful shattered ending of Part 2 of The Lost Echo. Here it was that classic myffic ending of everything achieved at what cost? God, I love that. It hurts but --- and that's why --- I love it. The elegance of myffic symmetry.
And after the unmitigated unrelenting torture that was Women Of Troy, I was so glad sheba_finesse got to see Kosky be joyful and musically intertextual and banging happily away on his pinano and all the sex and mad singing and mad dancing and the gorgeous costumes and yay drag queens and yaaaaaaaaaaayyyyy feathered headdressed drag queens and just those incredible visuals, the way Kosky uses the space of the stage to create these images that paint themselves with such vivid detail on the inside back of your skull ... gah.
God, I wish I could watch The Lost Echo again. If ever there was a play made for me. Greek mythology and music and dildos smeared with blood and rentboys in painted-on jeans and men in ballgowns and women in sleek black tuxedos and Pamela Rabe being a GODDESS and oh yeah Dan Spielman in silver platform heels and a tiny tiny skirt. *sighs heavily*
I feel a Cher moment coming on again. Really, what is up with that? Maybe me nearing my thirtieth birthday means me really really getting in touch with my feminine side. I'm too short to be a drag queen, damnit. *pout* But if I were, I would be Julie Andrews in Victor/Victoria with the exquisite beaded headdress and the legs that came up to her armpits only I wouldn't let Omar Sharif --- would someone please explain to me WHY I always get Omar Sharif and James Garner mixed up?! Prolly cos I don't like either of them, smarmy macho mmmmmehrn! --- James Garner (!) bully me into a completely stupid fucking insulting cop-out of an ending and oh right, Poppea. Sorry.
Fabulous voices, god. The guy who played Nero, Kyrre Kvam, what an absolutely beautiful voice. And the staging was so deliciously minimalist in a way I'm beginning to recognise now.
The switches into Cole Porter songs got laughs almost all the way through but it was so interesting to hear how the giggling would taper off as the song proceeded and you could kind of sense people feeling the emotion, getting into the character and the moment. Was that just me? I hope not. And certainly it seemed like the initial laughs lessened in the second half when all the shit --- not literally, thank goodness, I love that I actually have to say that with Kosky productions --- really hit the fan.
I was hoping they would do a song from Kiss Me Kate! And it only turned out to be one of my favourites, if not the favourite, So In Love, and even then reprised so we got to hear the single female vocal and then the single male vocal. Oh god how I loved it. Okay, the first time it was sung, Beatrice Frey as Ottavia played it a bit for laughs and that was fine, we needed that then. But then how Nero sang it to open the second act, sang it straight and so haunting and *moaaaaaaaannnnnn* ... I love that song when it's done by a man. And even more so, I realise now, done by a tenor rather than Howard Keel's ohhhhh soooo deeeeeeeppp voice.
I was pleasantly surprised how many Porter songs I did recognise. But then they were mostly the big hits. Even so, I never realised how many I knew. Only opened with one of my most recent and delightful discoveries, Love For Sale. It was a bit of a struggle with the surtitles but that was just me cos I've never been to an opera before and the only other thing I've seen with surtitles was The War Of The Roses where they were used for act breaks rather than life for line dialogue. That was little frustrating at the start because I wanted to know exactly which word was being emphasised in the sung line but I think that got easier as the night proceeded. Curious learning experience, that.
I was so pleased that Martin Niedermair was in this production! Cos I still kinda regret not grabbing the chance to see The Tell-Tale Heart which was always one of my favourite Poe stories and definitely my first. So it was quite awesome to see him and imagine this rather beautiful golden fellow as that tortured soul. And although it was a little uncomfortable to begin with, I did grow to adore the desperate vulnerable energy of his role.
Him and Ruth Brauer-Kvam as Drusilla were just mad, the levels of frantic chaos they went to. She absolutely made the show for me, the sheer abandon of her performance was fabulous and had me hoping that someone at some point has or will cast her as Judy Garland in something. They had me absolutely giddy with joy and laughter and I was struck with the realisation that I prolly hadn't laughed that hard in a theatre since The Lost Echo. But now I realise that's not true. I practically asphyxiated myself at Colin Moody's Bottom cos yes, I'm asinine like that. see what I did there, see what I did there? :p *cough*
I wonder if the full-frontal male nudity onstage was kinda like the little girl in the red coat, sort of combining that with Banquo's ghost, the corpse facedown in the centre of the room. I loved that too even though it freaked me out a little to realise "Ew, he actually is naked, ewww I just saw penis and other bits and hair and eww looking away now". It's just such a fabulous theatrical device, that constant silent reminder of atrocity, one more pair of eyes to the Chorus. And god, that visual of Seneca toppled out of the bathtub is exactly why I want to grab Kosky up in a great big hug and squeeze him til he squeaks.
Although, really, now I want to see Melita Jurisic in a role where she doesn't twitch. This is twice I've seen her and twice I've had the same reaction of intense adoration and slight fear and twice that she's included some twitchiness to her role. I mean, I totally accepted it and celebrated it and loved it as Cassandra in Women Of Troy but here it kinda got me wondering. Was it entirely necessary? I mean, I know Amor turns around and says "She's off her freaking nut" about Poppea or words to that effect but does she have to be?
There's such a great real possibility of syphilitic madness, isn't there? Nero and Poppea, symbols of the depraved Roman civilisation fucking itself into oblivion, no great ideals any more just oversimplified gross appetites, emotions warped to extremes. I don't actually know, I'm just hypothesising here, I never actually studied Rome in any great detail and never felt the need to. Ask me about the myths, I might have a better answer. Heh.
Love gone mad. *sigh* One of the best themes ever. Love untamed as Amor sings which is not the line I know from my Harry Connick Jr version which goes love that's fresh and still unspoiled. I'm pretty sure she sang 'untamed' ... cos I frowned at that moment. But oh yes, very much that wonderful theme of the way love and madness destroys lives and blights civilisation. From the personal to the global to the universal in one fell swoop.
It did feel extraordinarily short but then that may have been because I was so thoroughly enjoying myself and concentrating so hard and maybe because nothing compares to the eight hours of my first Kosky production. Short but satisfying although yes, I could have sat happily through another two hours. *nods*
I was bitterly disappointed to be told there were no programs. I had been really looking forward to glossy photos and production notes and that crucial synopsis for an opera/musical. Cos I had absolutely no knowledge of Poppea before tonight. Pity.
I wonder if I can still get On Ecstasy. Prolly at the STC bookshop.
And I've come home with So In Love in my head only to be completely appalled at myself cos apparently I never got around to buying the Kiss Me Kate soundtrack. Shame on me!
Speaking of, Miss Sheba and I totally had a This Could Only Happen In Sydney moment after the show. Cos outside the Drama Theatre was a poster of Anthony Warlow (grrr) in The Mikado and this naturally resulted in us singing a snatch of Pirates Of Penzance walking away from the Opera House, specifically the chorus of with cat-like tread. And nobody gave us a second look. *falls over laughing*
It was too too awesome, darling.
I still love this song to bits, this particular version, the smoooooooothness of it ... I quite honestly have visions of rolling around in this song and wrapping it around me.
Also, have I mentioned I'm ill with a touch of the flu and can't breathe and have a fully congested head and still enjoyed the show so much I prolly forgot about the whole not-breathing issue? I'm just sayin'. Why is there no mood icon for syphilitic mad?
*hacks phlegm and whimpers*