The Met and Me
Call me old fashioned, call me weird, but the feel of a beautiful theater makes me tingle to my bones. There is just something about a well-respected stage that feels regal and intimidating – and Lincoln Center is the holy grail of soul-tingling theaters.
Even the word “theater” seems so inadequate. In no way can what I saw last Thursday night be called simply a “theater.” As I walked up Lincoln Center’s slippery stairs in my soaked, slippery shoes all else floated away. Conversation didn’t matter, the fact that I was severely underdressed didn’t matter, and the fact that I was drenched to the core didn’t matter. I set my eyes on the fountain, romantically lit by the large, elegant buildings surrounding the square. People were everywhere, almost gliding around in their suits and heels. I felt like I should have been hand in hand with Daddy Warbucks.
As I ran inside to keep my hair somewhat dry, I stopped dead in my tracks. I don’t think I’ve been so stupefied in my life – everything was so lovely. The huge marble staircases wrapped around the entrance, engulfing me and all the other opera-goers that night. Once I took my head out of the clouds, I was sitting down, people-watching. At that point I didn’t need to see the opera. What was more interesting, to me at least, were the people. Excited families sneaking pictures, old couples quietly waiting, Macaulay students chatting to each other. Pure human interaction and excitement.
I sat on the edge of my seat like a little kid at their first baseball game. As I watched for the chandeliers to rise (as a very knowledgable opera-goer I know pointed out would happen), I could not contain myself. I watched, transfixed, as the lights dimmed (the most exciting part!). The curtains opened, and I almost jumped in my seat I was so happy.
Call me weird, I love going to shows. There is something about those mysterious curtains, and the nervous chattering, and the lights dimming, that I just just can’t wait to see what’s in store. It probably has something to do with the feeling I get when I’m on the opposite side of the curtain.
The view from my side of the curtain, Thursday, was phenomenal. It was a blur of huge costumes and insane voices. I may have been more excited about the experience than I was the actual performance, but there is no harm in that. The performance was so alien to what I am used to on the stage that it was intriguing – the set up was so totally separate from the theater I know. But in it’s novelty, it became all the more fun.
I only dozed off once, and I am proud of that.
