202. Paul Taylor Dance Company, City Center, March 14: The goofy “Offenbach Overtures” kicked off the program with a German martial air – the men in red tights, black belts – as the dancers practically pranced through their steps. A “duel” between two soldiers spoofed the idea of macho camaraderie – skirting the edge of homoeroticism, reveling in the silliness of male cockiness. Second on the program: “Snow White,” another light-hearted piece, with a playful woman in red who I thought was a strawberry (she was an apple, duh). All this was a prelude to the stark, beautiful, powerful “Promethean Fire” – all 16 of the dancers wearing similar striped leotards, the crushing sounds of Bach’s Toccata & Fugue in D Minor combining with them to create a sense of heft and substance. A blur of cross leaps, exquisite sculptures using hands, arms and feet. Absolutely gorgeous, and my favorite by far from the whole three-performance series.
203. Lallukka artist residence visit, Apollonkatu Street, Helsinki, March 16: Our first introduction to Finnish culture (unless you count the hotel sauna and sausage lunch that greeted us upon our arrival). This beautiful building was established as a place for Finnish artists to live and create. (Writers get to live somewhere else, and dancers still aren’t allowed – a throwback to a time when dancing was considered to be a sin.) Our host was Outi Heiskanen, a visual artist with flowing gray hair topped by a white, Viking-like hat that made her seem like a printmaking Valkyrie. (“When I grew up I was a little bit of a strange phenomenon in the school,” she admitted with a sly smile. “They called me the mad one in the hat.”) Her Tibetan Room, stuffed with travel mementos, candles, fans, old silver, books and festooned with colorful prayer flags, was like a meditative oasis, and it was here that Outi told us about some of her favorite artists (Rothko, for one), and what it was like having the first Finnish woman priest for a mother. Tired from the flight and relaxed by the sauna, the dark, peaceful room felt like a cocoon. (“I do not want to leave,” Kristin said.)
204. Dinner at the home of Ulrika Hallberg, 13 Apollonkatu St., Helsinki, March 16: A blissful meal in the apartment of Ulri, the former prima ballerina of Finland and still so delicately beautiful and graced with stage presence it’s as if the follow spot still finds her when she enters a room. On the menu: salmon soup, a delicious salad, bread-cheese with cloudberry jam and carrot cake.The guests included Irja Kantanen, Irmeli Makela, Janice Redman, Doris Laine (the ex-ballerina/head of Ballet) and Outi Heiskanen,, along with piano playing from Pekka Asikainen.
205. Cable Factory tour, Helsinki, March 17: This huge building used to belong to Nokia, and now it’s the largest cultural center of its kind in Europe. It provides space and opportunities for those in the arts, culture and creative industries. It has five performance spaces, 100 artists, 70 bands, three museums, newspapers and radio stations, explained Pekka Timonen, the managing director. On a tour, we saw the huge sea cable hall, which has been converted into display space, visited the Secto Design gallery (very sleek wooden lamps) and visited a photo gallery. Kristin popped her head into an artist’s studio named Juha Antinnen – he’s a carver who has been at the factory since 1994. “Wood is such a part of Finnish culture that babies are born with knives in their hands,” he told us. Afterwards, a presentation on the Helsinki Festival (mostly known for its strong classical programs), the first in a series of what would come to seem like never-ending Power Point presentations. (Ah, the Finns love their Power Point.)
206. Architecture tour of Helsinki, March 17: A focus on the architecture of Alvar Aalto, Finland’s pride and joy. On the itinerary: the Ruoholathti maritime district, with its comfy white-and-metal buildings with beautiful glassed-in balconies; the Helsinki University of Technology, where we got to see one of Aalto’s famed lecture halls (thanks to Andras); and Aalto’s studio. The fact that our guide was a pert, passive-aggressive Finn who appeared to be spawned by Satan made the tour a bit difficult; she was so ill at ease and uninterested in our questions that she almost sparked a rebellion. “This is one of the most important of Aalto’s buildings from his red-brick period,” she said, but then refused to tell us anything more about that period or any others. The main impression from the tour: Finns love the light, and Aalto was obsessed with making his buildings as airy and soaked in the sun as was humanly possible.
207. Tour of Helsingin Sanomat, Helsinki, March 17: Finland’s most dominant, serious daily newspaper is housed in the stunning, glass-and-steel Sanoma House. We met with Mika Pettersson, the managing editor in charge of news (which includes the culture section), and with Heikki Hellman, head of the culture section. (And we’ll never forget the famous “focus” incident, now will we, Carole?) Afterwards, a tour of the newsroom (wow) and saw pages from pre-war coverage for the next day. A fine buffet dinner followed, where I got a chance to talk at length with Helena Ylanen, the paper’s veteran film critic (which makes her Finland’s most influential voice on film.) She’s a little weary of big Hollywood films (and, actually, it seemed like she’s a little weary of ALL films in general), but she has worked hard to promote the Finnish film industry, and we spent a great deal of time talking about the career of Aki Kaurismäki, who directed the first Finnish film nominated for an Oscar. (He’d lose less than a week later, which probably made Ylanen happy – she wouldn’t have to write a follow-up story on deadline.)
208. Helsinki University roundtable discussion, March 18: We met with communications and North American studies students from Finland’s most prestigious university and answered questions. (Margo and Sasha served as our spokespersons.) Not surprisingly, a lot of the questions had to do with the upcoming war and with perceived media bias in America – is it true, they asked, that only one side of the story was being covered? (In some quarters, yes, but there’s more to American journalism than cable news, we tried to tell them.)
209. Kiasma Museum of Contemporary Art, Helsinki, March 18: Finland’s most popular museum is housed in a breathtaking space (no surprise) designed by Steven Holl. Among the highlights: Yinka Shonibare’s “Double Dress” exhibition using faux-African cotton prints (my favorite was the Gainsborough take-off “Mr. And Miss Andrews With Their Heads”); Kaarina Kaikkonen’s wacky “Did I Reach a Harbour?” made from 17 highly starched men’s shirts; and a 1986 mourning piece by Outi Heiskanen (whose studio we’d visited just two days before) called “Summer Mourning” – a supine figure dressed in black surrounded by a big, shear tent.
210. Rehearsal of “Georgia,” Finnish National Opera, Helsinki, March 18: A too-brief chance to watch a dress rehearsal of Finnish modern dance – beautiful stuff. This was followed by a tour of the opera house conducted by Heidi Almi, whose father envisioned this new, grand space. (He died two years before it opened in 1993, but he knew when he died that it was well on its way to completion.) What a stunning opera house: When you walk in, the lobby, with its dove-breast-gray marble and abundant windows, is so spacious and airy that you feel you could just float up the stairs. Once inside the auditorium, though, you’re comfortably ensconced in a warm, snug space dominated by black leather seats and hearty Finnish wood. Backstage, instead of a warren of dark costume shops, everything seemed bathed in light; we got to see part of the set for the opera that we would see that night, and I walked right by the wheelchair that would be used in the upcoming “Death of Klinghoffer” opera. This has to be the most beautiful modern opera house in the world – if not the most beautiful overall.
211. Design Forum Finland, Helsinki, March 18: The key to Finnish design, we were told (in yet another Power Point presentation!), is not just pretty colors and sleek lines, but answering the question: How does it make life easier?
212. “Il Viaggio A Reims (The Journey to Reims),” Finnish National Opera, Helsinki, March 18: This little-performed Rossini opera – filled with some of his most gorgeous music that he recycled for later works – has been given a sumptuous new production thanks to Dario Fo, the avant-garde director, author and set designer. Our seats were spectacular – eighth row, center, sinking down into luxurious black leather – and even though the subtitles were in Finnish and much of the distinctive political satire was hard to pick up, the general tone of the evening (Europe is certainly a motley place) and the spectacular visuals (bright, broad-humored and circus-like) made the whole experience riveting. Fo shaped virtually every aspect of the production: sets, costumes, stage directions, even a reshaped libretto that further emphasizes Rossini’s ironic treatment of the nobility. (“Reims” is a coronation opera that practically elevates France’s Charles X to the position of ruler of Europe; it tells the story of a group of wacky, lustful, bored, jockeying nobles on their way to his coronation.) Fo used trained acrobats as supernumeraries, including one who is hoisted above the stage and ties herself in rope in a spectacular scene that left the audience gasping. (Overall, however, the Finns watching the opera were quite reserved, especially when it came to the broad humor and sight gags.) My favorite visual: a rainstorm on stage with blue crepe paper for the rain, swinging gently, rolling thunder and lightning flashes, with a bright orange umbrella attached to a string that “flies” away,” chased by a singer in an orange coat. What was so remarkable about the look of this opera wasn’t its smoothness or sophistication – there was something deliberately homegrown and blatantly theatrical about the visuals. Low-tech, even, something you’d never see in the haughty sets of the Metropolitan Opera, say. Between acts we met for drinks with Erkki Korhonen, the opera’s general director.
213. University of Art and Design, Helsinki, March 19: A tour of Finland’s most prestigious design institution, including a look at student-designed dresses, a presentation on a traveling exhibition called Operation Saunabus (led by professor Timo Salli), the Medialab and the school’s impressive film and TV production facilities.
214. Ittala tour, Helsinki, March 19: The Arabia ceramic factory produces some of Finland’s most famous designs. The tour included a brief walk through the factory and a peek at some of the artists housed on the premises.
215. Marimekko tour, Helsinki, March 19: Our whirlwind tour day continued with a tour (and substantial shopping time) at Finland’s most famous textile manufacturer. Marimekko became popular in the U.S. in 1960 during the presidential campaign when Jackie Kennedy (“who is dead at the moment”) wore a dress made from a Marimekko design; soon the bold colors, poppy-flower patterns and vivid designs became indelibly associated with the vivaciousness of the ‘60s. The company nearly went bankrupt in the ‘70s, but it’s since been resurrected – there have been current sightings on “Sex and the City” and “Law and Order,” and many of the original Marimekko designs are riding the retro wave. When touring the factory, it was interesting to observe that textiles have to be “printed,” too, with their own special presses, and we watched the workers pour blue ink into the machines to stamp the cloth.
216. Nokia presentation, Nokia House, Helsinki, March 19: Whew. Next stop: the world’s biggest cell-phone maker. Nokia is a company that completely remade itself (it used to make cables, after all), and has become known for its sleek, cutting-edge design. (We listened to Anna Valtonen, design manager, who walked us through the design process for a particular phone.) Most fun was seeing Nokia’s massive, beautiful, glass-enclosed headquarters; it could be used as a set for the next “Star Wars” movie. And it was fun to see some of the new Nokia models; Douglas, in particular, was lusting after the Nokia HW1302, which combines a phone with a fold-out computer keyboard. Now there’s no reason not to check your e-mail.
217. Carnegie Art Award 2002, Meilahti Art Museum, Helsinki, March 19: Lots of speeches in Finnish, one of them from Kaarina Dromberg, Finland’s minister of culture. I wasn’t impressed with much of the art, but I did like a piece by Henrik Plenge Jakiobson titled “Nasdaq Forever” – which nicely suggested a mood of bright capitalistic fervor. My biggest concern, to be honest, was hoping that the speeches would finish in time for me to get something to eat before rushing off to the symphony. (I had a minute to wolf down a few choice Finnish delicacies.)
218. Radio Symphony Orchestra, Finlandia Hall, Helsinki, March 19: What a beautiful hall – a dominant feeling of white, with a red RSO banner hanging against the backdrop. Again with the comfy, black leather seats, with blue sound tiles on either side of the stage, complemented by lightly colored Finnish wood. This was a chance to hear Shostakovich. At times, there’s such a sense of despair in this piece, which mirrors the trauma that the city experienced – you almost think that the instruments are going to peter out completely, but they’re finally able to rouse themselves. And that’s followed by sheer power. What a big, pounding aural experience: a veritable army of brass, led in the fourth movement by the bass trombones, who act as if they’ve emerged from the darkness and are defiantly dissing the enemy.
219. Meeting with American consul general, consulate residence, St. Petersburg, March 20: After a whirlwind tour of the city – a quick glance at the Peter and Paul Fortress, St. Isaac’s Cathedral, the banks of the Neva and other assorted sights, we left our bags at our newly renovated apartments (at 29 Millionaya Street, just a two-minute walk from the Hermitage), we scuttled over to the residence of Morris “Rusty” Hughes, the American consul general, who hosted us along with a group of Russian TV journalists and members of the creative team of “The Captain’s Daughter,” a Russian-American musical that we’d be hearing much more about. The residence is a nice old building, a bit lived in but still mightily elegant. We met downstairs in the screening room, sipping tea and eating nut bread, and listened to George White, the well-known American theater producer; and to Andrei Petrov, one of Russia’s most famous film composers, who wrote the music for the show. (Sitting in a circle in the vaguely musty room gave the whole experience the feel of a Presbyterian Bible study.) Among the highlights upstairs: the Nixon Bedroom with its twin beds (floral print bedspreads), plaid armchair and a grinning photo of Nixon on the wall. The consul general himself at first seemed to be a smarmy, good-ol-boy politician, but it turned out that he was a career foreign service officer (and not the Texas political appointee he at first suggested). Josh met a model.
220. The Hermitage, St. Petersburg, March 21: A smart, efficient tour by Tania – who along with her husband, Nikolai, arranged our accommodations, our tour and co-produced the musical we would see Saturday night, demonstrating that the most intrepid of Russians have their hands in a little bit of everything -- of one of the world’s largest museums – or is it the largest – housed in what used to be called the Winter Palace. The grandeur, size and excess is almost too much to take in, from the time you climb the Ambassador Steps to Catherine the Great’s coronation carriage. (It’s easy to slip back into an early time – to imagine the ladies with their vast dresses walking up the shallow staircase to an official function.) The amount of wealth amassed by the Russian royal family was almost beyond comprehension – I’ve read that at the height of Catherine the Great’s fiscal boom, one in seven dollars of the Russian economy went to support her court. (No wonder the serfs were pissed off.) Among the highlights: Rembrandt’s “Danae” (which in 1985 was damaged by a madman who flung sulfuric acid at it and slashed it with a knife) and his “Portrait of an Old Woman,” which shows the artist at his saddest. (There are 25 Rembrandts alone in the Hermitage collection.) Also: Lorenzo Lorenzetto’s “Boy on a Dolphin” sculpture. After the tour, we “got” to eat in the employee dining room – I took home the taste of the pickled green cucumber salad as a souvenir.
221. St. Isaac’s Cathedral, St. Petersburg, March 21: A big, squat church – not particularly religiously inspiring in design or temperament – but ornate to the nth degree. Most impressive: the stained glass window of Jesus shaped in square mosaics, his robe done in stunning oranges and reds. It’s one of the most vivid stained-glass windows I’ve ever seen.
222. “The Fountain of Bakhchisarai,” Mariinsky Theatre, St. Petersburg, March 21: This was a chance to see the world-famous Kirov Ballet and take a tour of this historic theater and take a creaky, fascinating back-stage tour. (Andras described the scene as Dickensenian, which was apt.) The theater interior is ornate and Rococco, every square inch covered with curlicues and soft shades of blue; it’s like sitting in a really ornate wedding cake. The ballet itself, based on the famous poem by Alexander Pushkin, tells a literal story (no abstraction during Stalin’s time, alas), and much of it is quite silly: the princess who gets carried off by the Tatar hordes, only to be sought after by the prince himself – and she of course won’t have him. In the third act, there’s an eruption of Russian-style dancing, which was the most fun in the show; the men take turns flinging themselves off each other in a hey-hey-hey eruption of masculine energy. I’m a sucker for anytime a dearly departed character returns dressed in white and spotlighted in a clean, crisp circle of light, just like Fantine in “Les Miserables,” so even though the corny factor was a bit high, I fell for the charm.
223. Czar Nicholas II's church, March 22: This church, constructed for the private use of Czar Nicholas II and his family, still has a homegrown, real-church feel.
224. Pavlovsk Palace, March 22: This is an amazing place. Almost totally leveled by the Germans, this palace was completely reconstructed by the Russians after the war – which meant that the Communists were rebuilding the very symbols of bourgeoise decadence that they were against. Paul, the son of Catherine the Great, spent his life controlled by women, and at the end he “became a little ga-ga,” as Tania put it. Every room has been lovingly restored to its original grandeur, from Paul’s throne room to Maria's boudoir. In each room is placed a black-and-white photo of what it looked like after the Germans torched the place; to compare those photos to what’s there today made it seem a restoration miracle.
225. Russian Museum, St. Petersburg, March 22: A quick trip by myself to this vast repository of Russian art. (The foreign works got put in the Hermitage, and this much more utilitarian museum is filled with much Russian wonder. One thing you can say for those Russian painters: they knew how to paint BIG, with works such as Fyodor Bruni’s huge “Brazen Serpent.” One artist I discovered that I liked: Maliavin.
226. “The Captain’s Daughter,” Hermitage Theater, St. Petersburg, March 21: I’m still a bit confused about this production: Who paid for it? There’s something about U.S. State Department funding involved, which is a mite suspicious considering that the U.S. ambassador’s son is in the cast. All I know is that there seemed to be a lot of prominent Russians in the audience, and they seemed to like it a lot. From what I understand, the Pushkin story is so well known that Russian audiences don’t even need a lot of back story, but to me much of it seemed stilted and confusing. For me, the best thing was the quality of the orchestra, and some of Andrei Petrov's tunes were lovely. (Many times, however, the oompah beat detracted, making it seem needlessly old-fashioned, and the heavy-handed arrangements, especially in the lower brass, threatened to sink the singers in a morass of sentimentality.) The book and lyrics need a lot of work. The comic elements need to be more carefully delineated, and since they’re cribbing so heavily from a “Les Miserables” feel, there needs to be a character with the comic innkeeper feel – someone you know is supposed to be funny. (Are the drunken soldiers in this show funny? Only because their skinny legs were unfortunately clad in black tights that looked just like long underwear.) At the end, I wasn’t sure whose story this was: the narrator (the captain’s daughter)? Or her beloved, the hero? No matter. We put on brave smiles and spouted general compliments to our hosts. And whatever the performance, it’s really something to have seats right behind where Catherine the Great used to sit.
227. “Man of La Mancha,” Martin Beck Theatre, March 26: Brian Stokes Mitchell belts out “The Impossible Dream” with so much vocal energy you imagine he could blow up a dirigible all by himself. And the song itself – theater cliché as it is – did tug at my heart all the same. But this production is far too big and brash to match the delicacy of poor Cervantes and his alter ego Don Quixote; what should be fanciful and dreamy comes across as massive and all too grounded. Much of this can be pinned on Paul Brown’s huge, metallic set that forms a sort of armor-plated orchestra shell top to bottom. And it moves! The set is criss-crossed with various connecting staircases and jungle-gym opportunities (for the limber male dancers who at first play prisoners who scoff at the incarcerated Cervantes’ story and then enter his own fantasy world as he tells his tale), and every so often it lumbers into motion with a huge groan. It’s so big it’s impenetrable; it’s the Death Star of Broadway sets. Normally I’m all for a whopping dose of stage spectacle, but in this case the set threatens even to overwhelm Mitchell’s voice. (And that’s saying a lot.) Mary Elizabeth Mastrantonio is a strident, impassioned Aldonza, and Ernie Sabella has some fun as an earthy Sancho Panza. But by the time that Mitchell, in a “Cats”-like nod, climbs the final stairway all the way to the top of the theater, you can’t help but think that someone threw a little too much money at this revival.
228. Playwrights workshop, Lark Theatre, March 26: The workshop in the “Grand Ballroom” of the building – not its usual place -- got off to an annoying start, thanks to the sounds of a pounding piano and shrill musical theater standards floating through what appeared to be a hole in the ceiling the size of a Volkswagen. But John went upstairs and worked some sort of executive magic, and the noise disruption subsided to a minimum.
Special guest tonight was Tony Kushner, who infused the gathering with a sort of soft, curly-haired gentleness – he was a nice foil to Arthur’s harder edge. First up was another scene from Bob Shuman's “Dedication,” about the aging coach with the two dysfunctional sons. After the reading, Arthur asked Tony if he had any thoughts, and Tony demurred at first – “it’s hard to be the first person to speak,” he said softly. (It was rather a nice contrast to the fast-and-furious opinions that are normally bandied about.)
Theresa Rebeck chimed in, noting that she has been impressed with this piece throughout the workshop process – and sorry that it isn’t as funny as other scenes, but she realizes that the characters’ worlds are devolving.
Then Tony got another chance to speak, and he noted, “This is why I stopped teaching playwriting – I don’t like telling people how to fix their plays.” And it was tough for him, he noted, to be thrust into the middle of the play without the advantage of having heard the earlier scenes.
Next up was “Reptilian Complex,” a sprawling, lengthy, hilarious encounter between mother, daughter and egotistic future son-in-law. In the lively discussion afterwards, Andrew Case noted that he didn’t think that the character of John – who was so politically strident in earlier scenes – wasn’t political enough this time around. Ed replied, “People bitched so much about the politics last time that I cut a lot of it out.”
To which Arthur knowingly replied: “You should never listen to us – that’s the first rule.”
Most everyone agreed that the scene was too long, but the idea of cutting material can be a tricky one, and Arthur suggested that after the break he talk with Tony – who isn’t exactly known for his brevity on stage – about various ways to make a play shorter. Kushner’s philosophy is not to cut anything out at first, because “it really is possible to completely destroy something you wrote.” And it’s very hard to edit and write at the same time, he said.
As an example, he pointed to a new production of “Homebody/Kabul” at the Mark Taper Forum, which he tried to cut down to two hours 25 minutes from three hours 45 minutes by taking out an entire character (the drug-addict aid worker). But he realized that it just wasn’t working. (And it helps to have the stature of Tony Kushner to be able to say, “I want to put that character back in.”) The play lets you know if a scene can go – it kind of squeezes the material out, he said. An important thing to remember: “It’s important to exhaust an audience, but it’s not OK to bore them.” An example is Peter Jackson’s “Lord of the Rings” – an epic should be fatiguing because it matches the struggle of the characters.
Finally, Kushner made a pitch to the playwrights about the importance of writing every day. Writing is a physical activity as much as it is an intellectual one. If you don’t exercise the writing muscles – the arms and fingers and tapping toes – then the act of writing will retreat into your head, and you can become paralyzed. He pointed to Eugene O’Neill, who had to stop writing when the shaking from his Parkinson’s Disease-like condition got too bad – even though his mind was completely lucid. The worst thing a writer can do is words trapped inside his or her head without any way of getting out.
229. Metropolitan Opera tour, March 28: Just a week and a half after a tour of Helsinki’s beautiful (and much smaller) facility, I got a chance to go backstage at the Mother of All Opera Houses. John Sellars, the assistant technical director, showed us the roundtable at the back of the stage and the huge side wings in which scenery can be carted on and off. The scope of the Met is mammoth: a different opera every night (two on Saturdays), with crews working 24 hours a day making sure everything goes smoothly. We also talked with Sarah Billinghurst, assistant manager of the Met, who told us how much of a bind the opera is in these days because of the decline in tourism. Even the old standbys are only selling 75% instead of 90-95%. But the new productions – except for a few with big names – aren’t selling all that well, either. She talked about how the Met has to plan its seasons six and seven years in advance – and that while they’d like to do more original commissions, they can only afford to do so once every couple of years. I asked how much impact a negative Times review can have on box office; she said that, surprisingly, it doesn’t have the adverse effect as it can on Broadway.
230. “A Day in the Death of Joe Egg,” American Airlines Theatre, March 28: This revival of Peter Nichols’ 1967 drama had the smart, crisp feel of freshness and improvisation – which is even more amazing when you consider that its stars, British funnyman Eddie Izzard and Britain’s Victoria Hamilton started in London and have been performing it ever since. There’s an incredible moment in the first act in which the two characters “step out” of the set to address the audience directly, providing the background on their spastic, brain-damaged daughter whom they mostly affectionately refer to as Joe Egg. They taunt, they spar, they chuckle, they commiserate. You get the feeling that the only way they’ve been able to get through this 10-year tragedy is to develop something akin to a standup comedy routine. It’s here when the improvisation seems so close to the surface, such as when Sheila (Hamilton) pretends she’s working for a company called Universal Shafting, and Bri (Izzard) stumbles in hilarity, acting as if she’d changed the name from the last time they did the routine. (They didn’t, according to Times reviewer Ben Brantley, who also saw the production in London.) Funny stuff, and also very searing.
231. Dia Center for the Arts, March 29: I toured this airy, spacious center for contemporary arts in Chelsea. I was most interested in Robert Whitman’s work – especially his octagonal “Spyglass” with four projected films and four mirrors that surrounds the viewer; it reminded me of a high-tech version of that surround-cinema gimmick that Disneyland used to have. I also liked Whitman’s “Shower,” which supplied a video bathing beauty, and his “Window,” which framed a projected film and looked from a distance as if you were really looking out from a room. On the yucky side: Rosemarie Trockel’s “Spleen,” a show with lots of weird video art. A nice way to top off the afternoon: Dan Graham’s “Rooftop Urban Park Project.”
232. “Midnight’s Children,” Apollo Theatre, March 30: On the positive side: this was a chance to attend the world-famous Apollo (grand but still a bit on the rundown side) and to see the Royal Shakespeare Company. On the negative side: I hadn’t read Salman Rushdie’s book, which meant the whole experience was problematic; at times I was completely lost. Director Tim Supple, working with a script by Rushdie, dramaturg Simon Reade and himself, tried to stuff so much of this sprawling novel into his production that at times it more resembles a timeline. (After all, they had to fit in three generations and the births of three different nations – an awfully large cast of characters and situations.) the production made extensive use of video images, which I was ambivalent about – sure, it sped things along and added to the cinematic effect, but it also made it easier, I suspect, to cram even more information onto the stage and thus overwhelm the audience that much more. Best thing: the performance of Zubin Varla as lead character Saleem Sinai, he of the big nose and magical powers because he was born on the stroke of midnight the day that Pakistan was created. What a triumphant, exhausting performance.
233. “Ariadne auf Naxos,” Metropolitan Opera, March 31: Sublime singing from opera great Deborah Voigt, as the prima donna Ariadne; and from Natalie Dessay as the coy, musical-comedy star Zerbinetta. Richard Strauss’ comic opera, which riffs off the Greek legend, starts with a prologue backstage in which we learn that the wealthy man paying for the night’s entertainment has decreed that both the new opera based on the Ariadne story plus a commedia dell’arte entertainment must be somehow blended together because of time restraints. (No use postponing the fireworks!) Fireworks of a different kind ensue backstage, with various temper tantrums thrown, and the stage is set for an amusing “performance” in the second act. But while the premise is amusing, the execution (like so many Met performances) seems static. Only the glorious singing kept the spark alive.
234. “Vincent in Brixton,” Golden Theatre, April 2: There’s a key moment late in the first act in this sentimental biographical slice of life of Vincent Van Gogh in which the young (and somewhat randy) Vincent, played by the endearing Jochum Ten Haaf, is talking with his landlady, Mrs. Loyer, played by Claire Higgins in a blistering performance. She’s old enough to be his mother, and, in fact, he has already told her that he’s fallen for her daughter. But she is the one for which he really pines, and she likewise must have been fantasizing about this young, strapping, verbose lodger of hers, and in a conversation so gently played upon the stage that it almost floats away, the two of them communicate this somewhat shocking fact. “Vincent in Brixton” – the title refers to a flat, low-lying district of London – is a play that allows its characters space and long, languid silences that say far more than rapid-fire chatter. When Vincent and Mrs. Loyer tentatively express their interest in each other, the moment becomes all the more achingly tender because of the way that Higgins plays it physically on stage: she comes oh-so-close to spilling the beans, then sucks them back in during a moment of propriety – but we know, and she knows, and most important, he knows. I actually found this play incredibly sexy – so much hotter than if we’d seen a romp in the sack. The second act, which involves the sadder part of the story, when Vincent winds up leaving, never achieves the emotional intimacy and charged stage presence of the first; still, the performances were exquisite, and Higgins is a gem.
235. Group discussion with Robert Campbell, journalism school, April 2: Campbell, one of our senior fellows, is an architecture critic for the Boston Globe, and he gave his formal presentation in two parts: one on the architecture of Aalto, as a nod to our Finnish trip; and the other an interesting discussion of the idea of the “rads” and the “trads” when it comes to views toward new architecture, and how good works are always in a state of tension between the future and the past. Aalto’s architecture seems to exist in time – there’s always a sense of past, present and future that exists in his buildings. “Nothing that is perfect can be perfectly beautiful,” he said. Aalto rebelled against repetitive industrialism – the only thing worthwhile is that which is built by human hands. When it comes to the “rads” and the “trads,” they’re similar in scope: the radicals want a utopia of the future, while the traditionalists want a utopia of the past – but both are elbowing aside the present. Campbell says the last 50 years have been bad for architecture, partly because there’s no consensus on what “good” architecture is – and, presumably, because that state of tension between the rads and the trads isn’t as healthy as it should be. Book recommendation: “Space, Time & Architecture,” by Sigfried Gideon.
236. Group discussion with poet C.K. Williams, journalism school, April 4: Williams’ meaty, lyrical poems sometimes seem more prose than poetry – which is the way he’d like it. What’s more, most of them tell stories – a refreshing convention compared to the ethereal, floating quality of free verse.
237. “Gypsy,” Shubert Theatre,” April 4: You’ve gotta have a gimmick, and in this case it’s seeing Bernadette Peters as Mama Rose. Going in, I thought it was a stretch to think that the pixie-like Peters could pull off the heft of Mama from a psychological standpoint – she just doesn’t seem husky enough to dominate a room – and I’m still on the fence about how Peters settles into the role. (She does a whopping job vocally with “Rose’s Turn.”) The rest of the production is nice if a little bland. The best part was just getting to see Peters on stage.
238. African Film Festival, Walter Reade Theatre, April 7: Three interesting films I would never have seen otherwise. My favorite: “Le Jeu” from Mauritania, about a boy named Ahmed whose father must return to the front in what seems a never-ending war; the boy is sad, but asks his mother if he can play with his friends, and they go off and play war games. Also on the program: “Sabriya” and “Rostov Luanda,” also from Mauritania. “Rostov” is intriguing, about the filmmaker (Abderrahmane Sissako) who goes to Angola looking for a college chum and traces the step of African liberation.
239. Metropolitan Museum of Art, April 8: A blockbuster of a show: “Manet/Velasquez: The French Taste for Spanish Painting.” French painters were undeniably influenced by the Spanish; Manet called Velasquez’ “Pablo de Valladolid” “quite possibly the most extraordinary piece of painting that has ever been done.” (It also helped that the French stole lots of Spanish masterworks and carted them back to Paris.) You can see why the French were so enamored of their Spanish predecessors, when you look at a work like Francisco de Zurbaran’s “Saint Francis in Meditation” – the stark, devotional quality and the creamy browns and tans of the robe are sumptuous. The exhibition is nicely arranged: at one point you can stand in one room and look at Goya’s “Majas on a Balcony” and then look on into the next room to see Manet’s “The Balcony” in homage. But my biggest delight was seeing an English nod to the Spanish influence: I rounded the corner and saw one of my favorite paintings of all time, Sargent’s “The Daughters of Edward Darley Boit,” which was a tribute to Velasquez’ “Las Meninas.” I’ve always loved how this painting captured the various stages of youth: the way the littlest girl is front and center, her big blue eyes practically ladled onto you, and then her older sister is a little farther away and removed, and the third eldest distant yet still facing the viewer, and finally the oldest seen only in shadow and profile, leaning against the wall – she’s crossed over into adulthood. What a treat to see this beautiful painting again.
240. Guggenheim Museum, April 8: All Matthew Barney, all the time. The Guggenheim has been transformed into a palace of adoration for the hottest young artist of the “century,” as Michael Kimmelman in The Times waxed so effusively. From the blue Astroturf to the stark fluorescent lighting to the giant monitor dangling from the top of the Guggenheim’s swirled form, the museum rolls over and lets Barney do with it what he will. (One of his five films of the “Cremaster” cycle, which is the focus of the exhibition, was filmed here, complete with the artist using the space as his own personal jungle gym. Wonder what the liability insurance premium was for that?) There’s a lot of spark here, such as the bar made from Vaseline and the Mustang ensconced in beeswax; Barney revels in using transitory materials to make solid statements. The show is interesting but somehow overly earnest; it’s like walking through an overly decorated designer home. Barney strikes me not so much as an artist as a grand general; he directs a “staff” of artisans to help execute his designs. And I can’t help but think of the capital required to put this massive project together: just the films alone must have cost a whopping amount. At some point, his backers reached the point of no return: It didn’t really matter what kind of art he produced; it was the immensity and audaciousness of the project that itself took center stage.
241. “Nine,” Eugene O’Neill Theatre, April 9: If “Nine” were a magazine, it would be that 32-pound annual fashion issue of Vogue in which you can just sort of lose yourself for hours, flipping pages and idly soaking up the way that the beautiful people live. The idea is sweet if a little unwieldly: Guido Contini (Antonio Banderas), a thinly veiled substitute for Federico Fellini, comes to Venice to make a film. But he’s creatively blocked, and he spends most of the time torn between three women: his wife Luisa (Mary Stuart Masterson), his mistress Carla (Jane Krakowski) and his former mistress Claudia (Laura Benati). Rounding out the all-female cast (except for Guido and a nine-year-old version of himself) are a bevy of other women who have flitted in and out of Guido’s life; periodically they surround him dressed in very expensive dresses and remind him about all the sex he’s had. I know the music well for this show, and even I got a little confused – there’s something diffuse and soft-focus about David Leveaux’s direction (just as there isn’t much editorial heft to Vogue because of all the ads). I was particularly unimpressed with the “Grand Canal” sequence, when water is actually pumped on stage; Guido is supposedly filming his movie at this point, but it just isn’t directed well. Banderas makes an affable Broadway star, though his character doesn’t seem like he’d be mean enough to be a tyrannical director. Krakowski had a blast with her slutty character, especially when she descends from above on a bedsheet for “A Call From the Vatican”; it was like watching the circus. I was taken with Masterson’s low, confident voice, and Benati’s gentle melancholy; best of all was Chita Rivera as the throaty Liliane la Fleur, who gives us a show-stopping (if also slightly confusing) flashback. Man, can that woman still dance!
242. Book reading with Michael Janeway, journalism school, April 9: An advance peek at Michael’s upcoming political memoir, “The Fall of the House of Roosevelt,” which is about the smooth way that his father, Elliot Janeway, moved in and out of the New Deal and Great Society circles of power. I’m really forward to reading the finished book.
243. “Brace Up,” St. Ann’s Warehouse, April 10: The Wooster Group deconstructs Chekhov’s “The Three Sisters” with a fast-paced, technologically advanced distillation of the famed play about those famed poor siblings who pine for Moscow. I found the evening clever and incredibly distancing. Chekhov’s original play is a precisely constructed series of interconnected slices of the present; one of his overarching themes is the idea that the past and future always taunt us, and while we’d like to say that we should just live in the present, that’s a lot harder to do than it sounds. In that sense, the Wooster production cunningly dissects the play even further with the use of video monitors, making it easier, I suppose, to absorb the present. (There isn’t any use even hoping for a future of the play; the conceit is that the players simply run out of time and stop the story.) This was a revival (with most of the original cast members returning, including Willem Dafoe), and I’m sure that the original production in 1991 packed more of a technological and artistic punch; now the whole post-modern, let’s-be-droll-and-slash-a-classic attitude seems just a tiny bit tired.
244. Meeting with New Dramatists, April 11: This lunch meeting gave us a chance to interact with working playwrights, including Dael Orlandersmith, who wrote “Yellowman.” We talked about our blockbuster culture and how theater as a niche fits into that – I asked the playwrights what I could tell my editor to convince him that theater coverage is important. (Anne Nelson, who wrote “The Guys,” suggested that the danger of blockbuster culture is that you lose any sort of distinctive artistic voice – and in that sense a niche is important to cover, if only to keep that alive.) Robert Brustein had some interesting things to say about the state of American theater today, themes that I’m sure he’ll echo in his upcoming panel discussion: audiences are getting gray, and the loss of government funding is threatening many theaters. Should the arts be “democratic”? If so, then theater is in danger of being swamped by democracy.
245. Barnard Dances, Miller Theatre, April 11: A nice glimpse at student work. My favorite: Donlin Foreman’s “Cascade” (he’s a professor at Barnard), which featured a sturdy Chopin polonaise, stately choreography and long, flowing dresses that add bulk to the performance; it was like watching a junior version of his own dance company.
246. The Cloisters museum, April 12: A glorious Sunday afternoon outing to Fort Tryon Park – and including the worst tahini in Manhattan – culminated in a quick visit to this repository of medieval treasures. (It’s run by the Met.) Beautiful stuff.
247. Columbia Varsity Show, Lerner Hall, April 12: I figured that this production would probably be mediocre, but what the heck – it was on campus, it was cheap, it was on a Sunday night and I didn’t have anything to do. So I took a chance and had a delightful evening. The production values were tremendous for a student production (the sets even had lighted marquees), the original music was tuneful, many of the jokes quite funny and – the best part – some of the singing was incredible. (Mike Barry, who played the hero Spectator reporter, has a gorgeous falsetto that set women in the audience whooping.) The title of this 109th Varsity Show: “Dial D for Deadline.” Among the best jokes: when a melancholy President Lee Bollinger says most students don’t know him – “they probably don’t even realize I’m black!” Also, an inspired Butler Library production number, lots of jabs at St. Anthony’s society, and the revelation that the most important person on campus is the guy in charge of housing assignments.
248. “Arts & Minds: A Conference on Cultural Diplomacy amid Global Tensions,” journalism school, April 14-15: Michael Weiss worked hard on this smart, topical conference – and it showed. Alas, the mood was pessimistic, and rightly so: America has an image problem, and as many of the panel speakers reminded us, a few cultural exchanges isn’t going to change that.
249. “The Look of Love,” Brooks Atkinson Theater, April 16: Ever since I saw the Doug Elkins Dance Company joyfully bop their way to Burt Bacharach tunes, I think I was predisposed to this Broadway musical revue. (The choreography of that performance was perfectly suited to the music.) But this outing was a disappointment, other than getting a chance to see Liz Callaway (of long ago “Baby” fame) on stage. Featuring a massive, modernistic set that looked like a cross between “Man of La Mancha” and “Nine” (what is it with the industrial metal look these days?), this production mostly eschewed a perky ‘70s motif and tried instead to transplant Bacharach to the present day – the occasional garish lighting design nonwithstanding. What happened to the happy abandon of an “Austin Powers” style homage to the music of an earlier time? Plus there wasn’t enough of Ann Reinking’s choreography.
250. Ibrahim Ferrer concert, Beacon Theatre, April 17: Suave, sexy and emphatically 76 years old, Ferrer (of Buena Vista Social Club fame) knows how to work a crowd: he had the audience on its feet, clapping and laughing, as he wiggled his behind. Joyful and infectious, his music is best enjoyed live (although the CD is pretty cool in its own right); the band looked like it was having as much fun as the audience.