(no subject)
There's melt on the breeze.
I smelled it, even though I'm half-congested this morning, with the Minor Cold That Won't Leave Me Alone. The trees I walk past in the parking lot were shaking their red buds at me. Look, look! They're swelling, see? The songs of the birds are louder and more intricate every morning, as more and more return from the south to stake out territory and seek mates.
Not too long now, 'til my favourite season. Perhaps I'll be between jobs for just enough time to enjoy it, not enough time to panic.
Last night, Ezra took me to see my favourite musical of all time. It was a road production of Phantom, so I wasn't all that disappointed that Christine and Raoul were focused too much on their opera-perfect voices, not enough on their presence and emotion. The Phantom more than made up for the shortcomings of the other two leads. The part is a delicate balance of rage, passion, and repressed sexuality. This Phantom leaned more to the rage, but backed off to the quietest passion at the most perfect moments. I wanted to rescue him, sweep him away from his madness and torment. Kiss away his pain.
A decade ago, I was him. I fell in love with this musical at 15, when emotions larger than I had ever felt before welled up in me unexpectedly. I knew I wasn't deformed or a musical genius, but I felt that my plainness was hideous to others, especially those I ached to kiss. If only I could trick them into seeing a bit of my inner beauty, maybe . . . maybe . . . maybe . . .
It's been about a decade since I've actually seen this musical. I forgot how breathtaking the sets are. Or how sumptious the costumes, especially for the "Masquerade" number. I forgot that the Phantom stayed unmasked for the final two scenes, and how beautiful the ballet dances were.
It was most amusing to note the differences between the teenaged me gazing at this show and the now-me. I hadn't studied any ballet before college, so I didn't get that Meg Giry and all the other ballet dancers never did a single movement that was not a perfect ballet move. Such as standing still in any of the five positions (though not often second). Such as walking in glissades and gesturing with smooth arm-movements. And I definitely wasn't staring at Meg Giry's legs the last time I saw her on stage. I was straight as a ruler then.
About halfway through Act I, a vision flashed into my head: Otto in a mask and cape, singing in his smooth baritone. Julius in a tux, singing quietly and passionately. And I, in my black curly wig (that I bought for this costume many years ago) and a white tutu. We'd sing the final trio, but it would end a bit differently . . . instead of Christine and Raoul going off together, leaving the Phantom in his misery, Christine would find a middle road between the Phantom's two ultimatums:
Start a new life with me
Buy his freedom with your love
Refuse me and you send your lover to his death!
That's kinkier than the Martha Stewart fantasies enacted by two characters in "Dykes to Watch Out for". The thought of it makes me all slippery. Too bad they'd never do it. I'll have to hook up with two theatre people with a taste for oversentimental musicals. Someday.
I smelled it, even though I'm half-congested this morning, with the Minor Cold That Won't Leave Me Alone. The trees I walk past in the parking lot were shaking their red buds at me. Look, look! They're swelling, see? The songs of the birds are louder and more intricate every morning, as more and more return from the south to stake out territory and seek mates.
Not too long now, 'til my favourite season. Perhaps I'll be between jobs for just enough time to enjoy it, not enough time to panic.
Last night, Ezra took me to see my favourite musical of all time. It was a road production of Phantom, so I wasn't all that disappointed that Christine and Raoul were focused too much on their opera-perfect voices, not enough on their presence and emotion. The Phantom more than made up for the shortcomings of the other two leads. The part is a delicate balance of rage, passion, and repressed sexuality. This Phantom leaned more to the rage, but backed off to the quietest passion at the most perfect moments. I wanted to rescue him, sweep him away from his madness and torment. Kiss away his pain.
A decade ago, I was him. I fell in love with this musical at 15, when emotions larger than I had ever felt before welled up in me unexpectedly. I knew I wasn't deformed or a musical genius, but I felt that my plainness was hideous to others, especially those I ached to kiss. If only I could trick them into seeing a bit of my inner beauty, maybe . . . maybe . . . maybe . . .
It's been about a decade since I've actually seen this musical. I forgot how breathtaking the sets are. Or how sumptious the costumes, especially for the "Masquerade" number. I forgot that the Phantom stayed unmasked for the final two scenes, and how beautiful the ballet dances were.
It was most amusing to note the differences between the teenaged me gazing at this show and the now-me. I hadn't studied any ballet before college, so I didn't get that Meg Giry and all the other ballet dancers never did a single movement that was not a perfect ballet move. Such as standing still in any of the five positions (though not often second). Such as walking in glissades and gesturing with smooth arm-movements. And I definitely wasn't staring at Meg Giry's legs the last time I saw her on stage. I was straight as a ruler then.
About halfway through Act I, a vision flashed into my head: Otto in a mask and cape, singing in his smooth baritone. Julius in a tux, singing quietly and passionately. And I, in my black curly wig (that I bought for this costume many years ago) and a white tutu. We'd sing the final trio, but it would end a bit differently . . . instead of Christine and Raoul going off together, leaving the Phantom in his misery, Christine would find a middle road between the Phantom's two ultimatums:
Start a new life with me
Buy his freedom with your love
Refuse me and you send your lover to his death!
That's kinkier than the Martha Stewart fantasies enacted by two characters in "Dykes to Watch Out for". The thought of it makes me all slippery. Too bad they'd never do it. I'll have to hook up with two theatre people with a taste for oversentimental musicals. Someday.