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As the golden curtains receded to the orchestra’s elegant music, I received goose bumps that stayed with me until the end of the show.  All of the components of the production focused on the most minute details, creating an enthralling experience for the viewers.  The performance of Rigoletto at the Metropolitan Opera, from start to finish, was simply astounding.

The tragedy of Rigoletto is shocking, so for those individuals who are feint of heart, you have been warned.  We see the jester, Rigoletto, suffer the serious ramifications of a curse.  While he is at the side of the Duke of Mantua at his palace, Rigoletto thinks that he is invincible, and that he is shielded from all dangers.  However, after Monterone (whose daughter, the Duke has seduced) makes his way into the party, and curses both Rigoletto and the Duke for their behavior, he later discovers that he is human, and susceptible to these dangers.  From this point on, we witness the colossal downfall of the jester.  The disparity between someone who has a position of power and a common man is also seen, as the Duke is practically immune to the curse, while the jester, watches helplessly as the curse sends his life crashing into a downward spiral.

What was most impressive with Rigoletto, were the sets and costumes.  Authentic and grandiose, the sets immersed viewers in the realm of the setting.  The sets were three dimensional, and the buildings were detailed to the point that they actually displayed some wear and tear.  Vines covered some of these walls and buildings making it appear even more realistic.  Torches lit up the stage, and gave the sets a unique luminescence.  All of the backgrounds were stunning; there were backdrops showing everything from dark and cloudy night skies, to purple sunset skies.  What was intriguing was that the backgrounds were changing throughout the performance.   For example, in the opening of the second act, the purple sunset sky became darker as night approached.  In the third act, while the storm was raging, lightning bolts pierced the dark midnight sky.  The costumes of the characters were true to the time period of the opera, and complemented the sets and the roles that the characters played.  An example of this can be seen with characters such Sparafucile, who wore darker clothing matching his equally dark representation.  The sets and costumes of Rigoletto engulfed viewers, and made us feel as if we were truly in Mantua watching the tragedy unfold.

The Metropolitan Opera Orchestra gave life to Rigoletto.  The brass powered the tense moments, while the woodwinds and strings sections guided the calmer and melancholic moments.  The orchestra’s crescendos served perfectly as segues for the solos of the opera singers.  The change of pace in the orchestra’s music helped create the atmospheres for the scenes.  For example, in Act II, when Rigoletto was frantically seeking his daughter, the music was at a faster pace, perhaps at allegro.  In Act III, as the opera was concluding, the music performed by the orchestra was monumental.  The brass along with the percussion ignited the storm taking place in the scene, and finished off the opera with a homerun.

The singing and acting in Rigoletto kept the audience enticed throughout the opera.  Mr. George Gagnidze, who had a cold, showed no ill effects, as he delivered a riveting performance.  My favorite singer from Rigoletto was the bass, Andrea Silvestrelli who played Sparafucile.  His voice supplemented the dark and stormy scenes that he was mostly a part of.  The one weakness of this performance of Rigoletto was the acting of Mr. Gagnidze (Rigoletto) in the first act.  Often, the character of Rigoletto appeared emotionless, which was perhaps due to his extensive focus on singing.  For example, when Monterone curses Rigoletto in the first act, although he often mentions that he has been cursed, Rigoletto fails to exhibit too much pain for it.  However, starting from the second act (after his daughter is abducted), Mr. George Gagnidze showcased his talent as an actor.  We were able to clearly see Rigoletto’s anger, grief, and fiery appetite for revenge.

Never did I expect to enjoy an opera, as much as I enjoyed Rigoletto. A review just won’t simply do it justice; you must go and experience it for yourself.  The combination of orchestral music, realistic jaw-dropping sets, and a gripping tragedy make Rigoletto a must watch for anyone.

“Questa o quella.” These simple words, meaning this woman or that, truly captured the essence of the conflict found in Rigoletto. When the curtains parted and the chandeliers were drawn, I was appalled at the intricate palace that was part of the set design. Additionally, the opera singers made their appearance known through a combination of their detailed costumes and their beautifully sculpted voices.

I admit I’ve never been to an opera, and the experience at Rigoletto was a challenge for me mentally. However, I found the night at the opera to be one of the most enriching events I’ve ever attended. In Act I, the opera Rigoletto begins by introducing the promiscuous Duke of Mantua boasting about his many sexual encounters with the opposite sex. This character in Giuseppe Verdi’s opera basically ignited Monterone’s wrath. In his temper, Monterone denounces the actions of the Duke for seducing his daughter and curses the hunchback jester, Rigoletto. I found the beginning of this opera refreshingly original and interesting. Even though the opera was sung strictly in Italian, I was able to follow intently and comprehend most of the action onstage.

One surprising twist to the night at the opera is the performer, George Gagnidze, who played Rigoletto, had a cold and persisted through all of the three acts. Even though he occasionally coughed onstage, it was barely noticeable as his booming baritone voice produced a delightful melodic contrast to Gilda, played by Christine Schafer.

Rigoletto was truly an amazing experience because I had the opportunity to witness beauty in the making and to hear the professionally trained voices of the opera singers. Throughout the night, I couldn’t find a single area to complain about except for the location of our seats. All in all, it was a wonderful evening from the moment I entered The Metropolitan Opera to the instant applause roared at the curtain call of the opera singers.

Leanna Bornkamp, "E. Houston Store Front"

“With downcast eyes, there’s more to living than being alive…”–Stephen Christian, Anberlin

More often than not, I find myself looking at what people leave behind in the city—graffiti, posters, litter, signs. But it’s another thing entirely to truly look at the faces around us.

Most people make eye contact fleetingly in this city. Too long of a glance is awkward–women cross their arms, men look inquisitively—but why is it this way? Why is it that eye contact is so taboo? I was with a friend just yesterday who curiously asked me why I made eye contact with the man across the street, gauging if it was safe to cross. In my small hometown, if you don’t make eye contact with people on the street, it’s considered offensive—yet here, going about an average day involves a total disregard for the countless strangers in our lives.

I feel, like many, that a face can tells stories, that eyes often are the key to the soul. How many opportunities to connect with others, no matter how transiently, do I miss in my walk from the dorm to class? I must pass thousands of people in that half-hour—thousands of stories rendered meaningless through my indifference. If we are all meant to learn from each other, why is it so hard for us to even make eye contact?

Sadly, I know that tomorrow, as I walk to my first class, nothing will change: I will not go out of my way, no matter the potential benefit, to learn what I can from the people around me. Because it’s always Point A to Point B—it’s always the destination, not the journey, a concept so dissonant to the philosophical thoughts we hungrily consume.

But I know for sure, though, that tomorrow I will not react to the faces of New York City furtively—each glance I will end with a smile.

I wonder if others will appreciate that the way that I would.

In the prison world a tattoo of a spider web on one’s elbow used to mean that the wearer had killed a member of an enemy minority. Eventually the meaning expanded to someone who killed anyone and eventually just someone who did time in a correctional facility.

Meanings of symbols constantly change; the most common example of this is the swastika, once a symbol of peace, now one of hate. While change is expected and can be good, the shift in the meaning behind the web tattoo has inspired a generation of people who see it as solely artistic. In the last week I’ve seen five individuals adorning that tattoo, while I couldn’t be certain that two scrawny hipster types with black elbow webs didn’t fall under the traditional prisoner stereotype, I’m pretty sure they did not.

I’m not saying people shouldn’t get a tattoo like that, only that there continues to grow generations of people who are completely unaware of the vast array of symbolism around them. Anything from the color red to the number eighty-eight can represent something hostile. My fascination for symbolism has made me aware of what’s around me, and has occasionally proved invaluable. Almost everything around us means something significant to someone else.

When I was young my grandpa used to pick me up from school and drive me home from school until my parents got off from work. My grandpa’s car used to always smell strongly of eucalyptus, which caused me to become nauseous, and to make matters worse, during the ride home my grandpa would play this terrible music that only amplified my nausea. I vividly remember trying to stick my head out the window of the car while covering my ears in an attempt to prevent myself from throwing up.  These were my first memories of the genre they call opera. Thankfully, these events have not influenced my feelings about opera today. For all intensive purposes, my viewing of Rigoletto, last Thursday evening, was my second intense experience with the genre, one that was a much more positive and fulfilling experience than the music that I heard in my grandpa’s car.

The production of Verdi’s Rigoletto revolves around three main characters, a hunchback named Rigoletto, Rigoletto’s daughter, and the Duke. The Duke is your typical ladies man, he proclaims his love to different women every time we see him. Rigoletto is the Duke’s jester, but Rigoletto also has a secret, a daughter who he has hidden from the rest of the world. His daughter, Gilda, who is your typical naive damsel, falls in love with the Duke after they catch eyes in one day in the church. In the opening act we see the Duke courting a married woman while Rigoletto mocks her husband. Her husband, before being dragged away to prison, curses the Duke and Rigoletto. Only Rigoletto takes the curse seriously. After Rigoletto’s daughter is captured and violated by the Duke, Rigoletto seeks revenge by hiring an assassin to kill the Duke and avenge his daughter’s honor. This act of revenge, as well as the curse drives the plot for the rest of the opera. In the end it is clear that Verdi takes a cynical view when it comes down to what kind of person ultimately suffers the worse fate in life.  The plot is contrived and outdated, but that’s okay, because everything else about the opera, the most important parts, is done beautifully.

The singing was like nothing I had ever heard before. The richness of the voices, the fact that the entire opera was sung, and the beautiful melodies were beyond anything I had ever encountered. It did not matter that it was in Italian, because the emotions were so obvious that just by listening you can feel what feeling the singer is trying to convey. Even though the singer, who played Rigoletto, George Gagnidze, had a cold, there was only one word that could sum up the performances given that night, “Bravo!”

Honestly I wasn’t very surprised by the singers amazing voices, I had been expecting some of the best singing I had ever heard in my life, what I was genuinely surprised about was the elaborateness of the sets and the costumes. Every time the curtain opened there was a different set, which was interacted with throughout each Act in different ways. One minute there could be dozens of people walking around on stage, moving up and down stairs and through doors, the next minute a singer is on stage, behind him is the elaborate set, but all he does is stand in front of it and sing. These shifts from the elaborate use of sets to a more minimalist approach was shocking, something I had never seen before. What was even more impressive was that every time the curtain came up it revealed an even more elaborate and unbelievable set than the last one.  Not only were the sets great, but also the lighting was constantly changing from once scene to the next. In the third Act alone there was a sunset, a moon moving across the sky, and lightning signaling an incoming storm. This wasn’t just for looks though, the lighting and set design amplified the mood which was trying to be conveyed by the opera singers, the plot and the orchestra.

It was a pitch perfect production. At first I thought it might be boring, or too long, but I quickly learned that operas have a right to be long because they are epic. They throw everything that can be done live on stage and jam it into one production, making sure that each individual part is the highest quality on all levels.  When it fires on all cylinders, like Rigoletto did, the only outcome is an overwhelming sense of spectacle. The songs, the costumes, the music, the final curtain falling on the defeated husk of a former man, the opera is like magic.

My family is really big on traveling. Not to make this sound like a laundry list or anything but I have been to Russia, Spain, France, Egypt, Armenia, Canada, Mexico, and the Dominican Republic. Traveling to different countries offers the ultimate cultural encounter, and I will not forget many of the customs specific to each region from around the world.

I have already written an entire separate post about my trip to Armenia, but here, I want to focus on traveling in general. My parents have always been very cultural and have tried to keep up the traditions of our heritage. They value the importance of culture, and that’s why they tried to diversify me as much as possible when growing up – by immigrating to America instead of Australia, by sending me to all these countries to get a glimpse of how others live their lives, and by constantly reminding me of my own heritage.

Each country that I visited offered something unique that I never saw before in my life. Even the countries that I visited for pure leisure like the Dominican Republic and Mexico had a ton of traditions flowing around in the atmosphere. Things as simple as the dances that the performers performed during shows, the accents they spoke with, and even their average facial expressions all gave hints as to who they are ethnically. In Russia, people look like they are the most miserable people on earth – no one ever smiles in public. In Spain, they seemed very proud of their history and it definitely showed in the ancient cities like Toledo. In Egypt, the merchants spoke every language you could throw at them. In France, people were really nice – until you turned around and were out of earshot. Canada… well it was actually pretty similar to America to be honest.

I definitely think that my cultural encounters around the world have benefited me in one way or another. Although I wasn’t a fan of spending my summers touring the Hermitage and Louvre because I was too young to appreciate any of the art, I now realize that my parents wanted the best for me in having an education that was not only intellectually stimulating, but also diverse.

A few weeks ago, I decided (for no particular reason) that rather than take the subway, I would walk through the downtown Financial District. At some point, every so many steps that I took, a plaque appeared on the sidewalk bearing a date and a particular person or event. It didn’t take me long to realize that I was walking down the “Canyon of Heroes,” a walk that I had certainly done before at a much younger age but since forgotten.

Anyway, as I progressed down the street, I passed such placards noting past parades celebrating world leaders such as Winston Churchill, or Dwight Eisenhower, and events such as ‘V-J Day,’ (the day World War II ended). It dawned on me however that the most notable use in recent years of the ‘Canyon’ was by the Yankees and the Giants, both sports teams celebrating their respective championship efforts. Certainly, sports teams have been lauded in the past, but never were they the main focus of the parade route. In August of 1945, at the conclusion of the Second World War, in the masses all different kinds of Americans centered on the Canyon to celebrate, ultimately dumping some 5000 tons of ticker-tape (compared to avg. 50 tons for sports teams) down onto the streets. Of course it is great to celebrate when the Yankees (or Mets for that matter) win, but it is also great to think of the time, when such parades were reserved for more important things.

There were several points during Thursday night’s production of Rigoletto that I lost track of what exactly was going on. It wasn’t a miscast character in the ensemble, an unentertaining script, or the fact that the words were spoken in archaic Italian that caused my lapse in attentiveness; rather it was the set behind the performers that for the better part of the play kept me in awe, and pure amazement. Naturally there are more aspects to an opera than just the set design, but once the chandeliers and the curtains rose, the grandeur of the Duke’s palace enveloped the stage, and with no coincidence, the splendor of the rest of the performance followed suit.

While certainly I am no opera critic, I’d like to think that I have somewhat of a discerning taste when it comes to various art forms; yet when I entered the New York Metropolitan Opera for the first time last week, it dawned on me that rather than treat the experience as an assignment to be reviewed, my primary purpose should be to enjoy it first…and what a difference the change in mindset made. Being its some one-hundred and fifty years since the opera’s transition from Victor Hugo’s forbidden French play to a world renowned opera, it is difficult to criticize the overall storyline, which proved to be not only humorous at times, but an observation of the society at the time of its initial production.

The opera, first performed in 1851, consists of three acts and is widely held to be one of composer Giuseppe Verdi’s greatest works. Having never seen a previous rendition of ‘Rigoletto,’ naturally it is impractical to try and compare it to anything else. While having little outside knowledge of what to expect may be considered a negative to some, it allowed for me to enjoy the performance for what it was, not what it could have been. That being said, I felt the opera was particularly well cast. Playing the title character, Georgian-born baritone George Gagnidze (in his debut role at the Metropolitan Opera) adopted the role of the hunchback Rigoletto as well as one could hope, bringing with him not only his singing ability, but an emotional portrayal of a man mocked, jeered and beaten down by life, only to later on lose the single thing most important to him. Playing his daughter Gilda, was German-born Christine Schäfer, a soprano not many years Gagnidze younger (if any at all), Schäfer skillfully interacted with her costars onstage, all the while maintaining the innocence and naïveté that her secluded (and not yet mature) character possessed. Having not enough time to devote to the other singers, it should be mentioned that considering that the entire opera was done in Italian, each of the stars should be commended for their ability to inflect the emotional significance of their words in their voices.

An opera, while very much similar to a play, relies heavily on its orchestra and conductor; while I may not have the ‘ear’ to have heard possible errors, I was able to appreciate the integration of the music into the action as well as the great dramatic effect that the orchestra had on what was going on. It has always been said that the soundtrack makes or breaks a Hollywood movie, the same holds true even more so with opera productions. Whether it was supplying the background to the now well-regarded “La donna è mobile” or completely setting the scene with a dramatic open, the orchestra only deserves praise for what they accomplished.

Undoubtedly there were points of the production that I could not fit into this limited review, yet the important thing remains: I, a sports-loving, comedy-watching, teenage male, not only went to the opera, but it enjoyed it.

From the curtains opening up to introduce the first scene and to the last applause the audience gave, Rigoletto was a feast for our senses. Although, the play may not have appealed to everyone in the audience it most certainly did not fail in bringing joy to our ears. The singing was eloquent and the actors projected their voices strongly. On top of the incredible singing were the fluid movements of the body that accompanied the singing. If none of these aspects of the play were appealing, then the plot itself was rich enough to send tremors down our body as we watched Rigoletto fall in the final scene.

Rigoletto is a tragedy about a hunchback jester who mocks the misery of others. He eventually has a taste of his own medicine when a curse is laid upon him. The jester, Rigoletto, has a beautiful daughter who he hides away from the world. We cannot help but to feel that tragedy shall befall the two in regards to his curse and in the way Rigoletto had so perfectly kept his daughter hidden away. The lasting stability of Rigoletto’s life brought about a sense of eeriness as we began to suspect that his life was too good to be true. The plot was an enriching experience that leaves the audience wondering what exactly was Verdi’s agenda and what message he was trying to send us.

The acting and singing brought the theater to life. Every actor hit their notes with powerful voices that brought chills through out the body. What was even more amazing was the way the actors moved so well as they projected their voices. It was not opera without someone hitting soprano notes and Rigoletto does not fail us in that aspect either. Rigoletto’s daughter sings many of her parts in the highest pitch. Her voice was awe-inspiring and her voice travels along the walls of the theater eventually reaching our ears.

The costumes and the stage was one of the first things that I noticed. Each scene was made so well that it seemed as if they imported an actual castle into the theater. No detail was left unnoticed. The lighting and the backdrop were positioned so the eyes would not be strained, instead our eyes gobbled up all the visual food that we were presented with. If the scenery were already not enough for our senses, then the costumes would take our senses to another level. Every costume was unique to each actor and was designed so we could immediately tell each person on the stage from one another.

Although, almost every part of this play was flawless, the experience would have been better enjoyed if we could have seen the facial expressions of each actor. There were issues with simply seeing the actors, but paying extra for better seats could easily solve this problem.

Every dollar is worth the investment in watching Rigoletto. The mix of singing, music, acting, and scenery creates an unforgettable experience that everyone should enjoy at least once in their lifetime. Even if it was another play it was the actors, musicians, and scenery that brought this play to life.

Image from: http://www.theufochronicles.com/2009/03/return-to-foggy-bottom.html

Last weekend, I took a trip down to Washington D.C. to visit my best friend from High School, Olivia. She’s attending the George Washington University as a freshman, a school that I had an interest in but was turned off by the stereotype of the elite snobby students. I was curious about how true the stereotype was, and this weekend would be the opportunity for me to get a feel for the GW culture. After a long and uncomfortable bus ride and a sleepless night preceding my arrival, I immediately crashed and had to take a nap. When I woke up, Olivia rushed me to get ready for a tour that we were going to take. The Black Student Union had organized a tour of the black history of Foggy Bottom. We met somewhere along F street and as the group congregated, I couldn’t help but notice that I was the only white person among them. I was made very much aware of this by the strange looks I was receiving, a kind of “Why are you here?” being asked.

Interestingly enough, when the tour guide arrived to start our evening off, he was a middle aged white man. One of the first things he addressed was just that: “You may ask yourself why a white guy is giving this tour. I’m not an African-American but i’m an African-Americanist..” and then went on to describe his studies and his role in the Civil Rights movement. He spoke about how this predominantly white rich neighborhood used to be a black neighborhood, a part of history often completely ignored. On this tour we would uncover the hidden gems of black history that GW has, and be in the “presence of the absent.” He opened it up for questions before beginning the tour:

“As we go along, can we pick up black people to join on the tour?”

“Actually, wait, there’s a white person here too. Can we just acknowledge that for a second and give a round of applause!?”

The big elephant wandered out of the room when I was commended, not shunned, for participating in the tour of the spirit of black foggy bottom.