Madame Butterfly

Ed's mother is an opera afficianado. Her father was a conductor, and she was brought up with classical music, reportedly attending operas from the age of 3. She estimates that she has seen Madame Butterfly somewhere between 15 and 30 times, and so when the Metropolitan Opera announced it would be performing it, she made the trip up from Texas for the occasion. Luckily, I was invited to tag along with Ed  and some of her other friends.

The performance space, seen from seats much less awesome than ours.

The Metropolitan Opera House is spectacular. It's covered with red velvet and lit by grand chandeliers that rise up toward the ceiling as the lights go down. It was an elegant, quietly splendid venue. The crowd, I'm sorry to say, was often less elegant. Before the show and between acts, Ed and I did a lot of dramatic head jerking and whispering to draw each other's attention to yet another relic of the 1920's dressed in a skimpy, sequined cocktail dress her granddaughter was probably too old for. We also spent several minutes in hot debate about whether that person with the long hair, sparkling headband, and utility vest was a man or a woman. To balance this out, however, there were women in luscious furs and men in richly tailored suits and tuxedos.

The music, of course, was live, and the orchestra was conducted by Placido Domingo, one of the three tenors. (Ed was horrified that I didn't recognize his name, but like much of the world I know the three tenors as "Pavarotti and those two other guys.") When he took his position, the audience went wild in the way that opera audiences tend to do: more fervent clapping kept at a respectable, reasonable volume, with an occasional, ill-advised whistle.

Butterfly with her puppet son

I thought the show itself was wonderful. The staging was really creative, with a mirrored, angled ceiling above the stage reflecting the action and showers of cherry blossoms now and then. Extras in black clothing and black veils draped paper lanterns around the singers or flew birds perched on long staffs through the air to signify the changing seasons. One of the best parts was Butterfly's son, played by a traditional bunkaru puppet instead of a real little boy. (Apparently having a three-year-old on stage was too nerve-wracking, as no one was really sure what he'd do once he got out there.) He required three puppeteers to keep him in action, but it was really astonishing how life-like his movements were, and he got a standing ovation during the curtain call. In front of my seat was a screen displaying an English translation of the words, so I was able to keep up with the story.

The dramatic fan dance that begins Madame Butterfly

Following the show, Ed, his mother, a family friend and I went to a very late dinner at a fantastic restaurant near Chelsea Market that Ed and I have recently discovered. Our reservation was for 11:15, but by the time we got there it was closer to 11:30. Appropriately, we drank sake and ate a variety of Asian-inspired dishes, and I didn't get to bed until 2:00 in the morning! I loved seeing the opera and would certainly be open to seeing more, provided I continue to work in an office with a ready supply of coffee for the mornings after performances.