Riggy, I Can't See You!

Rigoletto was back at the Portland Opera for their final production of the ’08-’09 season. Or as some of us say, “welcome home, Riggy!” Why? Because returning to perform the title role was Mark Rucker who sang in the previous production of Rigoletto in 1998. I must say I was very proud to be a part of the opera chorus at that time and singing with one of the world’s premier Verdi Baritones is not something that another baritone takes lightly. In ’98 I was able to observe Mark in every aspect of his character integration with the show. I say ‘integration’ rather than ‘development’ because Mr. Rucker had performed the role countless times even then. I’m sure he’s got a few dozen more under his belt in the last 11 years. But watching him work behind the scenes was amazing from the first music rehearsal to just before the final curtain when he cries in agony over losing his precious daughter, Gilda. Well, cut 11 years and I’m now in the audience ready to enjoy Rigoletto from an audience perspective on a $20 ticket (thanks to PO’s new policy of “padding the house” on certain days and sections). One thing I will say about this new production is that it was not well lit. After performing a number of operas where the lighting designer throws lights from all angles from the rafters, downstage, and offstage left and right, (and becoming near blinded in the process) this show had minimal lighting. Unfortunately, the beautiful, multi-functional 2-level set was drenched in darkness, and all the wonderful colorful costumes were just so-so in the drisly trickle of illumination. So I say to the lighting designer, "may a thousand points of light sting your eyeballs so you can know what light looks like!" The sound, however, was astounding! Rucker…yo, what can I say? He’s da BOMB! But one thing that stood out this time around was the last scene. Remember in "Godfather III" when Michael Corleone is on the steps of the opera house after his daughter was shot, and he gave that looooong silent scream, then suddenly inhales and wails in dispair? Rucker's wail was like that. Chilling to the bone and heartbreaking. And Gilda, sung by Sarah Coburn, brought the house down with her “Caro nome”. I’m not usually a big fan of twittery coloraturas, but Coburn made me swoon. Peter Volpe was Sparafucile and if there ever was a bass that I want to be when I grow up, it is Mr. Volpe. My favorite memory of the show is in Act II when Sparafucile tells Riggy that he’ll be at the same place every night if he needs him, and walks offstage singing a low F – still resonating in the back of the house! Gotta love a great bass! But by far I am most proud of the men’s chorus. The men’s chorus in Riggy is tough. I mean machine gun, ratta-tat-tat type of patter singing that is not easy to coordinate with 20 men, a 40 piece orchestra, and a baton. But the men were DEAD SOLID PERFECT! I have never, even in recordings, heard the chorus so spot on. Brilliantly sung. Bravo, men! Now the season is closed and we look forward to yet another production of La Boheme in September. I think it’s the 4th time in 15 years that they’ve done this show. Hmmm…must be a moneymaker. I’ll be looking for my $20 tic for this as well.

I Attended The Tale Of Sweeney Todd

First let me say I’m a purist. I don’t often enjoy “concept” theatre. Opera or musical. The last worst concept piece I walked out of was a Rambo gun toting, black shades wearing Julio Ceasare. For my pure heart, I enjoy a piece as it was written. But one must step back and separate the magic of theatre and the magic of cinema. First, Sweeney Todd does not work on the stage without the Greek chorus. The music is sublime and powerful and I WANT to hear about Sweeney’s pale skin and his odd eye. But, cinematic magic can sufficiently remove the need for a Greek chorus and move the plot and tell the story through images that are impossible for the stage. For that I will forgive Heir Burton the removal of that important part of Sondheim’s masterpiece. On the same level of purity, Sweeney should be a virile baritone, not a rock star tenor which is Johnny Depp, and Mrs. Lovett should be a frumpy older bug-eyed homely maid, not a hot chick with chiseled features like Helena Bonham Carter. But type casting aside, this movie works extremely well. The acting is superb in Tim Burton’s interpretation of the Demon Barber. Johnny Depp, though resembling a shade of Edward Scissorhands with his pale skin & wild hair, gives us the right amount of brooding and need for revenge. His temper is restrained but snaps at the right moments. We are provided a very satisfying climactic revenge with Judge Turpin, played hideously well by the master of brooders, Alan Rickman. There is hushed talk that Johnny is “too young” to be portraying Sweeney Todd. But as someone who recently sang the role myself I say he is not too young, but just the right age! Let’s analyze Sweeney’s proper age: Sweeney was a new father of 20-ish when we was whisked away to the prisons of Australia. He returns 15 years later when Johanna is 15 years of age and Sweeney would be proper to be 35-40 years old. The stereotypical grandfather image of Sweeney is, in my opinion, a wrong casting type and I applaud Burton for casting an age appropriate revengeful father. Bonham Carter shows us a simple but doting Mrs. Lovett. Her entrepreneurial spirit is enhanced by her biting wit and pushy A-Type personality. She has the biggest laugh in the show when Burton splits from his usual monochromatic palate of dirty London and jumps to a Technicolor world “Down By The Sea” with Mrs. Lovett and Sweeney dressed in vintage horizontal striped bathing suits strolling along a sunny seaside beach. Brilliant. Burton fills the secondary cast mostly of unknowns but stellar none the less. Toby, played and sung by they young Ed Sanders, is the epitome of a Dickensian orphan boy. Anthony, played by Jamie Campbell Bower, is an almost too young strapping sailor who looks more like a cabin boy than a deckhand. Pretty little Johanna is Jayne Wisener who is a perfect 15 year old ward of the state. Lucy/Begger Woman is Laura Michelle Kelly, who’s role was practically slashed for this movie. The Beadle is Timothy Spall who we remember as Peter Pettigrew, or Wormtail, in the Harry Potter series. Above all, Tim Burton paints a dirty 19th Century London with monochromatic black and white, which gives stark contrast to the blood red spilled liberally throughout the movie. The traditional Sondheim story is all there regardless of the cuts, and is stunningly shown in gory detail. Don’t bring the kids to this big screen masterpiece, soon to be a traditional holiday favorite! Big thumbs up and you can be sure I’ll be owning this one on DVD.

EB Knows Omelettes

Ok, I know. Another post about food. But just one more and then on to other subjects pertaining to music & opera. But aside from being one of my favorite subjects, food is important to singers, right? I mean, we must eat to keep up our strength, or forego eating so we fit into our costumes, which is what I recently did for the musical review, Cole. I had to force myself to fit into a pair of tuxedo pants a size smaller than I normally wear, from size 30-something down to a size 30-something. All for the love of theatre, folks. That sounds like a good topic to discuss on my next post. So now that the show is closed, I feel at liberty to loosen my belt and enjoy some culinary delights. This morning before leaving Spokane for home I was fortunate to dine at the self proclaimed "Spokane's Best Breakfast since 1949", the Knight Diner. One would normally drive right past it and perhaps notice that the diner is simply a passenger railway car built in 1906, much like the ones Presidential candidates used to deliver their candidate speeches. On a weekend morning one would expect Spokane's best breakfast to be super crowded, especially considering the total seating capacity is only about 24. But my father and I were lucky enough to beat the morning rush and sit right down at bar which runs the length of the diner. All the brass was polished, wooden finish cleaned, and stained glass, well, all stained in their original beautiful colors. The passenger car has been cleverly renovated with all grill, counter and storage space along one side, one long bar with attached stools separating the 'kitchen' from the guests, and a small walkway behind the guest stools. The diner staff, all wearing pink polos, except the one young high school gentleman with a more macho fuscia, get to know each other very well as they pass by each other behind the bar. There is room only to squeeze past hip to hip, but they've got their system working smoothly, allowing the grill cook to flip flapjacks as a kitchen schmuck passes harassingly close with a tall stack of hot, clean plates. Vicky greets each guest as they enter. When asked if she was the manager, owner, head server, she said, "all of the above." And she does it with amazing dexterity, agility and razor sharp wit. She doesn't take any guff from her customers, nor her workers. I half expected her to mutter Flo's famous line from Mel's Diner, "kiss my grits!" The food is always prepared right in front of the dining guests. One can witness the fresh ingredients pile onto an omelette, and the hand grated hashed browns browning into a bright golden brown. The one thing I was disappointed with was as fresh as all the ingredients are, they only used pre-sliced plain ol' American cheese. I would much prefer a grated sharp cheddar, or Tillamook Swiss. All meal prices are reasonable, flavor is fabulous and you may not leave without a smile or good conversation with Vicky and the gang, and a famous smile