We stumbled across Richmond Street and waddled up University Avenue just as dusk was settling in across the city. I was wearing a scarf for the first time, Autumn was now kissing our necks with a crisp nip. I had just taken mum to a fantastic dinner at Tundra in the Hilton Hotel and after several glasses of wine and a cherry filled Manhattan we were wide eyed with excitement for a night of Operatic inspirations.
On the night of her 59th birthday I was pleased to have the opportunity to have her as my guest: her very first opera. Both of my parents were adamant about showcasing the theatre arts to us as children. I have fond memories of the ballet, many a musical and Shakespearean tragedy. Opera was a medium and muscle which had not yet been exercised.
We took a few pictures inside the lobby before finding our seats. I was amused at the number of younger audience members that evening. Typically my experience at the opera has been a more seasoned crowd. I think the youthfulness of the evenings attendees directly reflects the pomp and party-centric flamboyance of the storytelling.
Johann Strauss II’s popular operetta, Die Fledermaus, outdid his own reputation as the “waltz king” of Vienna by composing some of opera’s most enduring dance music for this hilarious comedy with its screwball plot of elaborate revenge, disguises and mistaken identity. Fledermaus conjures up a glamorous world bubbling with extravagance and sophisticated wit, while gently mocking the duplicity of people and the larger social hypocrisies they inhabit. And what good fun it was, I honestly have not laughed so much since The Tales of Hoffmann.
The two leading ladies held their notes throughout the evening with panache while their male counterparts humoured the audience and inspired us to keep clapping. The tale of Fledermaus showcases the timelessness of humanities faults: felandering husband and wife, the recklessness of a party and the danger of a hangover. The show ends perfectly as our leads have veils removed from their eyes and the honest truth becomes clear. The characters which we have grown so found of are finally able to agree upon one thing alone, that the champagne is the beast to blame.
With no intention at all, I happily celebrated my mother’s 59th birthday at an opera which celebrates the fun that is a party. Wild costumes, uproarious dancing and a bath full of bubbly. How fantastic it is when fiction and our own realities meet on the stage and in our hearts.
thanks for the great evening of Opera!!
love mom