As a dancer for around 12 years, I found myself looking to the technique of the dancers.  Their lines, as they whirled about the stage – creating divine shapes to delight the audience.  Watching “I Don’t Believe in Outer Space,” I didn’t see these brilliant lines; the technique – missing.    What was I watching?  A mocking of all I have ever learned?

The story, if it ever remained consistent, seemed to be twisted, dark.  Everything was aggressive – each movement seemed to pierce the aesthetic qualities of any performance.  Even the acting overwhelmed the audience – especially of the conversation between the uninvited guest and the polite host.  The disparities in the two characters, yet played by the same woman were amusing and disorienting at the same time.  It was mere recitation, even mentions of the stage directions – but they were brought to life in different voices and a masterpiece of exaggeration.  These bent views of the performance became a style that many in the audience appreciated, with laughter at various moments.  But are we supposed to laugh?  Was this social commentary – in this presentation of freaks, are we supposed to realize something?

This may go back to the notion of whether art needs to have meaning.  I’d imagine that this did not have much meaning; there was no story, no moral message.  It might require a certain intellectual or creative stamina to ride along with the performance – the sweat, the infinite movements, and the relics of a quasi-story.  However, the intensity of the piece is not to go unnoticed – it forges its own existence in the gaps of traditional dance performances.  As it left me with more questions than answers…

Riding up the escalator from the subway, I was instantly greeted by a tall, elegant structure made up of glass and highlighted by lights.  I felt severely underdressed as women in gowns and men in tuxedos walked with me, up the stairs to the Metropolitan Opera House.  I trekked higher and higher up the red, velvety stairs of the Opera House in order to find my seat.  My fear of heights becoming more and more apparent as I frantically gripped the railings next to the seats and relieved when finally locating my seat.  Looking at the stage, I waited as the radial chandeliers slowly ventured up, dimming their lights to indicate the start of the production.

The musical performance began, a nuanced set of sounds, which enhanced the grasping singing of those on stage.  As a huge foreign film watcher, the subtitles in front of me didn’t become a distraction – though knowing the libretto certainly helped.  As a first time spectator at an opera, I expected large voices, enough to encapsulate my very being and overwhelm my senses.  But I, being pleasantly surprised, did not receive that.  In fact, I found the quieter, but full voices of the actors to be enchanting, in a way.  As it forced me to really listen in to the tones of their voices.

The use of the sets in Don Giovanni was also ingenious, as I expected more of a metaphorical approach to the scene changes.  The rotation of that one set created a recognition of the different locations, and the nooks of the set also provided the characters with leeway to not be seen by the other characters, making every movement of the opera extremely believable.

One of my favorite parts of the opera was the “Catalog Aria,” which featured Leporello belting out his master’s tally of conquests all around the world. The laughter shuffling through the audience bolstered the atmosphere of light amusement – it showed how universal the ideas that the opera created actually were.  Another amazing component of the opera was when Don Giovanni actually falls through to hell, the stage opening up, spitting fire – the heat of which brushed my face – an unexpected technological innovation that brought the opera to life.

The imaginative aspects of the opera derailed any preconceived notions I had about all operas, and opened up an entirely new and different world for me.  The day after the opera, I still had many of the arias stuck in my head – displaying the universality of the opera, even coupled with a language I don’t know.

Thanks to the trains, I was running a little late for this performance, thanks MTA. The never-ending climb left me almost breathless by the time i reached the seats at the Family Circle. It was another hike up the steep steps to a seat. Since i wasn’t sitting in the seat printed on my ticket, i got to sit next to a really pretty girl. Unfortunately, she had a boyfriend . 

I had read a synopsis of the play before attending, so I had a pretty good overall idea it as well as the sequence of scenes. Despite this, I tried to read the subtitles as I watched the play. The problem was that it was extremely difficult to look at the back of someone else’s chair and watch the stage at the same time. Ten minutes into the play, I was getting dizzy from constantly looking back and forth and decided I needed another approach. Luckily, to my left was a guy who understood the play. He kept commenting to his friend sitting next to him. This helped me out a great deal, because every time he laughed, I knew to look at the subtitled box, and it was quite funny. I remember Prof. Minter asked us if we thought this was a comedy or a tragedy, and after seeing it, I believe it is a comedy.

I give a lot of credit to the people who played the roles. Not only is it unimaginable to me to remember the whole script in italian, but they sang with perfect pitch from beginning to end. It was also quite amazing to me to see the legend behind the play at the Met. Looking through the program, many CEO’s and stars have attended and supported this opera since its beginning, which I believe was 11 seasons ago.

I have to admit, that even though I am not a fan of the opera, I was absolutely surprised when the stage opened up and what appeared to be real flames marked the transition to hell. From reading the script, I would never have imagined that a modern day opera house would go to such lengths to signify such an event. It was absolutely impressive. 

I was quite intrigued at (what I believe to be) the wedding when the entertainment (violins and violas) was playing on stage, and completely independent from the music of the orchestra off-stage. It really added to the authenticity of the opera. I wonder if the people playing those instruments in the orchestra had gone onto the stage for that scene if these musicians were not part of the orchestra at all. Since I couldn’t see the orchestra from where I was sitting, I’ll never know. 

By the end of the opera, I left the same way I had arrived, breathless.

Hearing the Tokyo String Quartet play musical selections from the great Beethoven brought back many memories for me. My mother, who used to play the violin in orchestras, had brought me up with the music of Beethoven, Bach, Tchaikovshy, and other classical geniuses. I haven’t been to any concerts of such a genre in years, but hearing the quartet play brought back the memories of sitting on the grass at SPAC late at night, eating junk food as I played my video game and listened to the music in the background. 

While I’m not exactly a fan of the classical genre, I can appreciate the mood it creates for its audience; it allows the people to just close their eyes and feels relaxed and soothed. My mother constantly says that this generation is always so stressed because we don’t know how to survive without constant stimulation (i.e. tv, internet, entertainment). The Quartet provided absolutely no visual stimulation, only allowing the audience to hear their sound and take it in as they may.

Watching the old people listening to their preferred style of music, many of the gestured with their hands and fingers as if they were the conductors. It was adorable, but it also made me realize that there is such a disconnect between generation. These elderly people are sitting there, understanding the meaning of this music and enjoying it, and us youth are short of being tortured. I found this observation both thought-provoking and sad.

Despite the fact that I’m not into this type of music, I hope that one day I can learn to appreciate it because all music is a gift, not a right.

It was a good thing that I brought my inhaler to the Met last night because by the time we climbed Mount Everest to the Family Circle, I desperately needed it.  I guess it didn’t really matter that I brought my glasses because I wouldn’t even have been able to see the stage with the Hubble Telescope.  The thing that really makes the opera better than the rest of the things we’ve done so far, is that even though the seats were beyond terrible, the opera was still fantastic.  The opera was great from beginning to end.  I assume that the only good thing about the family circle is that it actually makes the opera more believable because you really can’t tell the difference between Don Giovanni and Leporello.  The Don’s and Leporello’s performances were absolutely fantastic.  Leporello is a true buffo.  The commendatore also did a great job even though he only had a small, but pivotal, role.  There were three instances during the opera that I can use to illustrate the magnificence of this opera.  First, I would choose Leporello’s Catalog Aria.  This aria, where Leporello tells Elvira about The Don’s list of women, exhibits Leporello’s real personality and is a pivotal aria in the opera.  (Audio of Leporello’s Catalog Aria performed by the man we saw, Luca Pisaroni, can be heard here.)  Second, I would say Don Giovanni’s Champagne Aria.  This aria, exhibits the inner Don Giovanni, and although short, is also a pivotal aria advancing The Don’s character.  (Audio of The Don’s Champagne Aria performed by the man we saw, Mariusz Kwiecien, can be heard here.)  Third, I would say that the end of the opera just adds the icing to the cake.  The final scene of The Don being dragged into hell can be portrayed in many different ways, some better than others.  This particular performance included the stage floor opening up and sucking The Don into “hell” in a blaze of pyrotechnic glory.  These three components of the performance of Don Giovanni proves the true magnificence and genius of the opera that we saw.  The last thing that I can say about Don Giovanni – Bravo!  Bravissimo!

The evening started with me getting lost a wee bit too close to Harlem.  When I eventually found the theater, which looked nothing like a regular Y, it was about five minutes past eight.  The ticket-taker told me that I would have to wait for the end of the first piece before I could go in and take my seat, so she directed me to the waiting area.  In this area, I watched the entire first piece on a high definition TV with extreme close-ups of the quartet.  The sound quality was fantastic, and it was amplified.  To top it all off, I was sitting on a small couch in an air-conditioned room.  It doesn’t get much better than that.  The ticket-taker then told me that I was clear to enter the theater.  I walked into the stifling hot theater and found my seat amidst the rest of the geriatric ward.  It was more difficult to hear, harder to see, and it had to be about seventy degrees in there.  Without a doubt, this was one of those things that was worse live because of the theater conditions.  Slow classical music itself does not really interest me, live or not, but it definitely was better outside of the theater in the waiting area.  The music was so slow and it was so hot, that it was difficult not to fall asleep.  I honestly can say that even when the music got fast, and more to my liking, it ended so quickly that it wasn’t enjoyable.  The only truly good part of the performance, in my opinion, was the last five minutes of the performance, the allegro molto vivace.  Much like the Italian translation suggests, the last five minutes are cheerful and lively; therefore, it was the only part that I enjoyed.  The music and the surroundings were so depressing, that during the performance, I temporarily lost the will to live, but the end of the performance lifted my spirits, much like Christmas music, and I went on my merry way, cheerful and lively.

The day after the performance, a friend of mine asked me what it was about.  I had to think about that for a few minutes, and I eventually realized how to describe it.  I told him that the performance was a peek into the mind of a deranged psychopath.  After all, only someone who is deranged would repeatedly recite the lyrics to a bad disco song throughout the entire performance.  Most of the characters in the performance seemed deranged as well, especially the split personality character.  When she had the deep voice she seemed like a serial killer, but I think it was even creepier when she had the high pitched “tame” voice.  I didn’t really understand or enjoy the performance in a traditional sense.  The only part that I found somewhat enjoyable was the part when the professor needed two of the dancers to keep propping up and straightening out his spaghetti legs; and then he would say “thank you” in his thick accent.  The fact that the stage was full of balls of tape that everyone had to tiptoe around for the entire play was strange.  It was even more strange when the guy started playing with the balls of tape and shoving things down his pants.  It was almost as if the entire cast and crew were on the stage having a happening and the audience knew nothing about it and was just told that it was a performance.  Finally, the name of the performance itself made absolutely no sense at all.  What did the performance have to do with outer space or the disbelief thereof?  Nothing.  I believe that the only way to respond to this performance is to say how one feels as an individual while sitting through it.  Personally, at first I was afraid, I was petrified, but I grew strong, and I learned how to carry on.  Did they think I would crumble?  Did they think I would lay down and die?  Oh no, not I.  I will survive.  It took all the strength I had not to fall apart, but now I hold my head up high and you see me, somebody new, and I’ll survive, I will survive.  Hey, hey.