Failed Experiement

On Sunday, I went over to Eddie's apartment. He had made dinner for Jeremy and me, and after tasty pasta and lots of wine, we walked over to a theater I shall not name to watch an opera I shall not name by a production company I shall not name. All this secrecy is because Eddie used to be involved with this company and had originally been cast in this opera, described by its creator as "experimental," "modern," and "techno." After reading his scene and attending a few rehearsals, however, he arranged to be replaced; he didn't want to quit exactly, but he also didn't want to be involved so he skipped a rehearsal and was generally unenthusiastic until he was informed that they were "going with someone else." Still, he wanted to be supportive, so Jeremy and I joined him. We met two of Eddie's friends, Steven and Chad, at the theater and all headed to the very back row post-haste.

The "lobby" of the theater, with blue tarp curtains and the name of the opera company in unsearchable text.

 The opera was a modern piece set to techno beats instead of instrumentals. It was supposed to be more accessible and enjoyable to a present-day audience, but it ended up being depressing and totally discordant. Within the first three minutes, I was glad I was slightly drunk. In each scene, several characters sang their way through various scenarios, like a straight couple trying to rent an apartment and arguing, a gay couple breaking up, a woman having an affair with a married man, and a power-obsessed stripper screaming at her roommate. All of this was delivered in very stylized operatic style, except that it was sort of unsettling to hear a soprano soaring through the upper registers of song to complain, in a Jersey accent, that having to act as landlady was "a pain in [her] ass." This contrasted further with the techno beats doggedly hammering away in the background. The dialogue (is it dialogue in an opera?) was repetitive, and once the characters' scenes were over, we didn't see them again until curtain call, making it hard to get attached to them, or to care about their dismal circumstances.

The stage. Each act took place in this setting, though different bedspreads were brought in to denote different rooms.

For 90 minutes we sat through the intermission-less show. Eddie kept himself busy by guiltily avoiding eye contact with everyone. Jeremy squeezed my knee at particularly bad moments so hard and so frequently I was sure I'd bruise. Steven mimed putting a gun into his mouth and pulling the trigger, and learned later that he had been sitting next to the writer. Whoops.

As soon as the show was over, we practically ran down the stairs to the street, struggling and mostly failing to contain our giggles and yelps of outrage. On the sidewalk, I was treated to a second, much more enjoyable theatrical performance as Jeremy and Steven, both theater majors and one exuberantly gay, treated us to an extremely dramatic rant about the horrors they'd just been through. Eddie did his best to shepherd us away from the theater door - he's worked with this company in the past and wasn't eager to burn too many bridges - but I'm pretty sure at least a few of the cast members heard Steven's detailed account of his suffering. Steven is one of those delightful people who spends virtually all waking hours with his foot in his mouth.

Eventually, Chad escorted the still spluttering Steven back home, while Jeremy, Eddie and I retired to a nearby bar to soothe our spirits with spirits. Looking back on the experience, if I was going to have to see a show like this I'm glad I saw it in the company I did. I am glad to have book-ended the experience with drinks. And I am also glad the performance was free.