Wales 2009
It's been nearly two months since I went riding through the Brecon Beacons and Black Mountains in Wales, but The Washington Post just ran my Travel article about my adventures on Sunday. I spent two days and nights riding at Cwmfforest Farm in southeast Wales, two days that I'll remember for a long, long time. My article is here, and the farm Web site is here. The Post only ran one photo, so I'm supplying a few extras in this album to the right.
A few outtakes that didn't make it into the story:
- On Day One, I rode with a lovely English family from Cambridge. The mother inquired about my marital status. "Oh," she said in response. "You are like that single New York writer girl." Funny, yes? But I have seen that episode, and it's Charlotte who goes riding in Central Park, not Carrie Bradshaw.
- On Day Two, I spent the afternoon out riding with a French couple and their 10-year-old son. The father was named Charles-Henri, or Charlie, for short. This was slightly awkward as I was riding a horse named Charlie, and had occasion to holler, "Charlie, you (bad horse)!"
- Charles-Henri rode a horse named Pumpkin. But no one in our group knew the French word for pumpkin. Charles-Henri, a doctor, made an educated guess that "pumpkin" was derived from the French word le pamplemousse. In other (English) words, he thought he was riding a grapefruit.
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Wales 2009
A Cultural Postcard from Cardiff
I flew halfway around the
world to hear Bryn Terfel sing “Shenandoah” in Welsh, through a
microphone, in a half-full opera house.
Brilliant, as the Welsh say sarcastically or not. Just brilliant.
OK. I actually flew halfway around the world to participate in a Welsh/American critics exchange organized
by the British Council’s Visiting Arts team. Tonight’s disappointing
outing was a concert featuring 10 Welsh performers who have received a
scholarship from Terfel, a bass-baritone originally from some small
town north of Cardiff (I’d say where but I couldn’t read the program,
it was in Welsh.)
These musicians, singers, actors and dancers
have some talent, and I’m not speaking of the “Britain’s Got Talent”
variety. But cobbled together into a poorly choreographed, over
produced extravaganza, they don’t amount to much more then a
well-dressed group showoffs who sing in their native language. The
women must have changed costumes five times. And while they wore some
lovely dresses, the kitschy lighting and swirling projections pushed
the whole thing far over the Black Mountains.
In addition to
“Shenandoah,” tonight’s translated offerings included “Summertime,”
“Say You’ll Love Me,” and Carmen’s habanera. “I’ve Got Rhythm” made the
set as well. Now, Welsh is a musical language, but its rhythm’s are not
suited to syncopated musical theater. The French actually translated
best. The languid lyricism of Shenandoah was a tight squeeze, and
Terfel’s phrasing suffered for it.
I can’t help but question
the point of preserving an ancient language and then making a big
splash over a few showtunes. My fear is that this performance is
emblematic of a country that touts its talent but doesn’t quite know
what to do with it. Hard to believe that the Welsh National Opera could
sell out the same space. Maybe when Terfel sings in Italian. Without a
microphone.
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| DC 2008
'Romeo and Juliet' at Synetic Theatre
Arlington, Va.
I became an arts journalist so I could get paid to throw
words down like a gauntlet. I go see a play, the ballet or
hear music. The challenge is
to watch art happen, then
transfer transform translate that art into words on a page.
Leaving "Romeo
and Juliet" last night, I felt disembodied.
Both bereft and
overwhelmed. For the third time, Synetic
Theatre ompany has produced a near-perfect "silent"
Shakespeare play. And
having seen such beautiful
theater performed without words, it seems
rather
tactless to involve the alphabet again.
Read Peter Mark's review in the Post here: http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2008/01/28/AR2008012802604.html
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| Me at the corner of 50th and theater fame. (Photo by Christopher Rawson.) |
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| June 10, 2007
The Tony Awards
Jonathan Groff (of Ronks, Pa. fame) may not have won the Tony for Best Actor in a Musical, but he and his mom, Julie, were the most charming mother and son duo on the Red Carpet. I wished them well, watched the stars walk by, then headed up to the Rockefeller Center to the Media Room, better known 364-days a year as the Rainbow Room.
Highlights, lowlights:
*Failing to serve as interview-bait for Ethan Hawke. ("Rebecca, how could you let him just walk by like that?")
*Being dubbed, "That lady who knows who everyone is," by a fellow member of the Red Carpet press corps. (C'mon. Of course that's Naomi Watts with Liev Schrieber. And yes, she's pregnant.)
*Enjoying the excellent vegetarian fare and yummy desserts laid out on the media buffet.
*Forgetting the cable that connects my camera to my Mac (This multimedia stuff is tricky).
*Overhearing this exchange in the hallway outside the broadcast media room:
Young, nervous blond PR girl: OK Mr. Stoppard, now we are going to go in here so you can talk to WXYZ.
Tom Stoppard: What's that?
PR Girl: Well, that's a broadcast interview.
TS: Why should I do a broadcast interview? They won't use it.
PR Girl: You talked to all the print journalists.
TS: Yes. But they are writers. They were asking interesting questions.
PR Girl: We would really like it if you would talk to WXYZ and New York 1.
TS: No, no. Really. They don't want to talk to me. (He glances
around and gestures.) There are all these beautiful women for them to
talk to.
*And finally, capping off the evening by sipping frozen daiquiris with Post-Gazette drama critic Christopher Rawson at Carmine's. Thanks to Chris for slipping me into the "Curtains" after party. And for being shepherding me through an evening I hope to repeat some June soon.
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April 29, 2007
Signature Theatre: Cutting Edge Drama for the Ikea Set
Black box theaters. For decades they have been temples of the avant guarde, the hidden jewels of drama schools and counter cultural foils to big regional theaters across town.
Arlington, Va.'s Signature Theatre carries on that cutting edge tradition inside two sets of four black walls. It's what's outside the black boxes goes against the flow: The faux boulevard of Shirlington Village, a shopping and dining community founded circa 2006.
In many American suburbs, these sorts of neo downtowns are home to chain restaurants, teenage hipsters and shoppers who have developed disdain for that stuffy old-fashioned mall one exit south.
Shlirlington Village, thankfully, is light on the chains. Independent ethnic bistros line the avenue. There is a Books-a-Million, though, so people can still by something to read outside the Caribou Coffee, where I go to sap the wi-fi, write and eavesdrop.
This is not a place to sit and catch a typical suburban soundtrack.
A young European (Austrian) on his cell phone tells a friend about last week?s dinner at Aix on Broadway and 88th, and weighs a possible more to Manhattan, if his lawyer can work out the Green-Card details. Rufus Wainwright croons from iBook. Two middle-aged women discuss Signature?s very good and very disturbing new play, "Nest." (story forthcoming in print)
Welcome to the hip, liberal suburb of Shirlington.
To understand why Signature is flourishing in this cultural Eden, It helps to know that, as in Manhattan, rents in D.C. are obscene. Instead of taking the L train to Brooklyn, many people who could be counted among DC?s creative class have left the city to well paid lobbyists and lawyers and migrated across the Potomac to Arlington and Alexandra, to the high rises and aging townhome developments that baby boomers first settled in the 1960s.
Now I'm calling one of those townhomes home. Does the city life across the river beckon? Yes. Like an overpriced opera ticket. There?s a lot to be said for driving 10-minutes to hear Josh Rouse and the Birchmere; for being able to hit Trader Joes after work and for making a matinee at Signature my ideal Sunday stroll.
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Jan. 29, 2007
And in ring three: a daring opera company walks a tightrope
"Acis + Galatea" at American Opera Theater
A sad and wonderful thing happened Friday night on my way to see an opera -- a scowling six-year old informed me that the performance was sold out.
"They might have already paid for tickets sweetie," said the woman (Mom, I presume) descending the stairs with her. And I felt a bit chagrined, knowing that inside the box office staff was holding a pair of press tickets for me. To assuage my guilt, I have to tell you that American Opera Theater's "Acis + Galatea," which opened its American tour with a two-week run at Baltimore's Theater Project, is an amazing production. A rare high quality crowd pleaser that illustrates an interesting point: The "graying of the audience" isn't just a marketing problem; it's a challenge to programmers. Tim Nelson, the 26-year-old artistic director of Opera Theater, is facing that challenge with chutzpah of a daring ringmaster.
Nelson has staged Handel's "Acis + Galatea" a behind-the-scenes romance that tears apart a troupe of circus performers.
Actually, Nelson's program notes say it's the troupe telling the story, but the production so perfectly juggles a postmodern mix of Baroque score, ancient tale (Handel loosely adapted the libretto from Ovid's "Metamorphoses," and surrealist staging that no extra layer of reality is necessary.
Once nearly all of the 150-person, capacity crown had arrived to see "Acis" Friday, a comedia del dell'arte ensemble began performing at the foot of the stadium seating. A mime pretends to be stuck in a box; a bear jumps through a hoop. The suspenseful question for the audience isn't whether a fire-breather is coming out next, but are these actors the singers?
So it's something of a thrill when this quartet, after displaying comic virtuosity, lines up and launches into the opening chorus. My gosh, these people ARE actors, they just also happen to be trained early music performers. True, the melismas loose some force when the singers disperse to shake hands with the audience. All is forgiven moments later, when Rebecca Duren, the fearless soprano playing Galatea, achieves a pristine sound hanging upside down.
Where did Nelson find these singers? Most have orbits that pass through the Peabody Conservatory, where Nelson and Duren recently picked up master's degrees. The same is true of the Ignoti Dei musicians, an able ensemble of 12 that stands, mostly visible behind the set pieces.
Red curtains hangs from each side of the black box. Once unhooked and knotted at center stage, the drapes double as a bungee cord for Duren's aerial acrobatics. Props are few but well chosen, including seesaw perches for Acis and Galatea to perch on as they sing their "Happy, happy" duet and a red yoga ball that serves Polypheme fatal weapon.
The plot, such as Handel and Ovid conceived it, involves love triangle between the nymph Galatea; her shepherd lover Acis; and Polypheme, the forest monster who pines for Galatea. In this production, these characters are portrayed as a mime, trapeze artist and clown respectfully. Add the woodsman Damon as the ringmaster and Coridon as a performing bear and the circus is complete. You'll not find better costumes where "Wicked" is playing down the street.
Nelson took few liberties with the libretto. He recognizes, however, that even in a metropolitan area like Baltimore, there's not a large audience for Baroque opera. I confess, the Messiah and a Brandenburg concerto or two usually fills my Handel quota for the year. Da capo arias can get monotonous, even when well sung. Time and time again in "Acis," just when you think, "Please, no. It's lovely but do you have to repeat everything again?" Nelson throws in a tasteful distraction, whether it's a tenor on roller skates, upside-down soprano or comic stage business from the supporting cast.
Nelson has a keen sense of a dramatic timing. I don't know that I've ever had the privilege of associating that the phrase with an opera before. Singing may be tantamount for opera buffs, but directors take more risks with their staging, few people from the theatergoing and Dora the Explorer set will line up at the opera box office.
That's why I'm giddy with hope for American Opera Theater, this two-year old company from Crabtown. May many more six-year-olds be denied admission to sold-out American Opera Theater performances, and ask Mom if they can please try to see the show tomorrow.
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