T'was the Night Before New Year's

And once again, with great apologies to Clement Clarke Moore!)

T’was the night before New Year’s and all through the Met
Garanca was smoking (I mean sans cigarette!)
The boo-birds were readying for opening night,
All dripping with malice – all spry for a fight.
While just hours before, there had been a debut
Dave Pomeroy sang Hoffmann (and pretty well, too!)
Some pronounced the voice “small” . . . others, “vin ordinaire”
Others yawned “he’s not Gedda, why the hell should I care?”

“I miss the old days” seemed the theme of the season
“We had real stars back then,” was the most proffered reason.
“We’d Tebaldi and Milanov and Schipa and Jussi
We had bassos like Pinza, so just keep your Pertusi!”
Others fought back, “they’re dead now, a new day has dawned!”
But the old guard dismissed them and collectively yawned,
“Oh yes, now there’s Handel and di capos galore”
So much quicker than Ambien, do you mind if I snore?”

So, this year we had Tosca, all stripped down and edgy,
Some praised it as “boffo” some yelled “goddamned reggie!”
They clamored for Franco, they demanded “tradition!”
They made it quite clear, “the old way’s our mission.”

Then the Janacek came and the ticket sales ceased
“Why the hell would they do such a depressing piece?
His music’s all spiky, all self-reverential
And with no tunes, why it’s all so damned inconsequential!”
“There’s no plot” - “There’s no story”- “there’s no love scenes” they cried
(And without intermission their bladders were fried!)

So they waited for Hoffmann, they waited so long,
While others complained “the acts’ orders all wrong!”
They wanted the trio, Antonia and such
They wanted it badly, they wanted it much
Then came coughs, cold and fevers as replacements came
(Though Held and Netrebko held fast to their game)
And while Bartlett’s production got mix-ed reviews
The show’s been a hit (so what else is news?)

Still they turned on the Gelb – a great list of complaints
(Turning men like Joe Volpe and Bing into saints)
“Why he’s ruining the Met and he’s killing tradition,
With his operas ‘bout Gandhi and . . . nuclear fission
We want things with nice tunes, we want sets that are pretty!
Not these dirges in darkness all dirty and gritty,
Bring back halcyon days of Nate Merrill and O’Hearn,
For this surely is what TRUE opera lovers yearn,

So, tonight we get Carmen, that hot Spanish wench,
Performed by a Latvian singing in French,
And we’ll see what distinction is brought by Brit, Eyre
(Who made Billy Crudup a hot dame with flair!)
But remember, what matters here most is the story
And of course, Bizet’s score – which is covered in glory . . .

So in honor of opera from Berg to Bellini
Let us bury all hatchets, let’s all raise a martini
(or a glass of champagne or of cider or beer)
And with opera all welcome a Happy New Year!

Happy New Year Everbody!

Who Is Watching The Watchmen? I am!

Set in a semi-fictional America - with all the familiar players - Zack Snyder's "Watchmen" is one of the most impressive movies I've seen so far this year. Snyder, cast and crew were dedicated to re-creating as truthfully as possible, the comic book elements fans of the series that its fans would demand. It paid off, but not without a few lulls. To his credit (and the horror of many) Snyder does not skimp one iota on the graphic violence, heightened sexuality and though deadly serious, liberally peppered with humor. The film opens with a brief scene of violence to set the time and planet jumping tale, followed by the most impressive opening credit sequence I've ever seen. In fact, the opening credits themselves - a recreation of many of the most iconic moments in 60's and 70's American history - are worth the ticket price. I found myself stirred emotionally, opening myself up for the insane, frightening world I was about to enter.

Most of the performance in Watchmen are adequate (Malin Akerman's Silk Spectre II) to top drawer (Billy Crudup's impressive Dr. Manhattan), with one particularly thrilling, pulse-pounding performance by Jackie Earle Haley as Rorschach, arguably the heart and soul of the film. Haley's performance is so richly nuanced, starting at near fever pitch and growing in intensity from there. He is participant, narrator, catalyst for much of what happens through the film and clearly up to the challenge of a role that could easily have become . . . well, too cartoonish. He is, in a word: amazing.

Patrick Wilson is wonderful as the geekish, peaceable Dan/Night Owl, an endearing, soft-grained performance that tempers the often out-of-control violence in the world of Watchmen.

To Billy Crudup fell the unenviable task of making the elusive, cool-as-a-cucumber Dr. Manhattan a more likeable screen presence than he is required to be in the print-only version of the tale. He succeeds nicely, even stuck in the connundrum of wondering whether the human race is worth saving. It's a chilling proposition, particularly when we know/learn of Manhattan's previous human existence. The accident that created him is one of several moments in the film where Snyder expands the tension of the moment to let our emotions swell, this one (and the final scene) allowing for lump-in-the-throat heartbreak. Just as he is in the comics, Dr. Manhattan is naked through most of the film and eventually one gets used to the fact that almost every time we see him we're going to see his flacid blue penis. The CGI-transformed Crudup is brilliantly calm as he rationalizes his action (and non-action) to the point of frustration to all around him (especially Richard M. Nixon).

There will be plenty of naysayers, and fans who feel short-shrifted there favorite moments were not included, but such is the nature of filmmaking. Watchmen stayed with me through the night, and has, so far, dominated my thoughts today and I want to see it again soon. Even with its sometimes slowed down pacing, there is much to miss in this veritable "feast for the eyes" and I'd like to catch every frame as much as possible. I'd go just for Jackie Earle Haley's amazing tour-de-foce performance of Rorschach.

p.