People have always said that classical music is an acquired taste.  Personally, I never quite understood that.  I have always liked classical music, even when I didn’t know who the author was or what the name of the composition was either.  Most people when they think of classical music, a stuffy concert hall filled with extremely elderly, high society socialites, all listening to classical music playing ever so softly by a snooty conductor.  However, nothing could be further from the truth.  My first musical concert featuring a classical piece, Missa Solemnis written by Beethoven was very memorable and completely deviated from the stereotype.

The height of our seats in the concert hall put the height of our seats at the performance of The Elixer of Love to shame.  Regardless, however, we could still see the performers.  Looking around, the spectators were people of all ages which instantly debunked the stereotype.  The lights dimmed and the performers walked onto the stage, followed by the conductor welcomed by a round of applause.

The concert hall became pin drop silent as the conductor picked up his baton.  With quick flicks of his wrist, the orchestra began to play.  Despite being seated in the back, we could hear every note crystal clear.  Instantly I was drawn into this alternate world of musical notes and melodies.  I could not tear my attention away from the performers.  Each melody contained a simple face value appearance and complex inner mechanisms at the same time, smoothly transitioning into the next melody.  I would try to follow along and predict the melody but each time I would try, there would always be a subtle yet noticeable change.  The voices accompanied the music perfectly.  What was really mesmerizing was the precision and unison which each section moved in.  The violins in the string section moved in perfect synchronization.  Overall, I thoroughly enjoyed my very first classical concert.  It was nothing like I ever imagined it would be.

The lights dimmed and the orchestra tuned their instruments and I instinctively knew, in the words of Michael Scott, “Something exciting is happening.” I had never been to an opera prior to this. My preconceived notions of operas had always been of rotund singers in vibrant outfits holding notes long enough to crack glass. My uneducated paradigm quickly crumbled when the stage lit and Nemorino stepped to the forefront of the stage.

One thing I immediately noticed was the background set. Initially, I believed it to be two-dimensional, perhaps because my experience with the theater was generally limited to high school performances, so it was amazing when the actors started walking longitudinally through the stage. This depth to the stage really helped to emphasize the things going on the background with the extras and the chorus, while still keeping the main characters as the points of focus.

The actual music of the opera had me enraptured. The orchestra sounded great and the acoustics of the hall made it so that you could hear even the slightest nuances in their playing (I always liked hearing the creaking from the fingerboards of string instruments because it adds a natural element to the playing).  I often found myself leaning in closer to see what was going on in the orchestra pit, much to the dismay of the person sitting in front of me. The orchestral accompaniments to the arias were pleasant and the vocalists weren’t overpowered by the instruments and vice versa.

Then the second half began. And excuse my vernacular, but the second act was dope. The first aria of Act II was a duet with Adina and Dulcamara, the quack doctor. The highlight of Act II, however, came afterwards and was Nemorino’s solo Una Furtiva Lagrimal. Nemorino’s grief and joy from his love for Adina are imbued into this aria, which gracefully picks up in intensity. Una Furtiva Lagrimal is the climatic resolution to our protagonist’s plights, as he finally has receives the love of the girl whom he has been chasing for so long. Though the opera still had its concluding scene to get to, a ripple of applause sounded after the actor’s solo as the audience and Nemorino alike rejoiced at our hero’s happy ending.

The first play we have seen as a group, Ivanov, was also the first performance that I felt I could truly relate to and put into perspective. I could compare and contrast its execution with all the other plays, movies and television shows that I have seen, and, therefore, actually judge it. I could finally know whether a particular performance was good or bad, an ability that I lacked regarding Spellbeamed, Political Mother and Le Elise De Amore. Consequently, I was pleasantly surprised at how genuinely great Ivanov was, and how it shattered any of the expectations that I had held. The aspects of the play that appealed most strongly to me were the theatre venue, the acting performances, and the characters themselves.

The only word that can adequately describe a venue that looked, smelled, and felt like coffee, is intimate. When, in addition to the stated intimacy, saliva is visible flying from the performers’ mouths, the audiences’ relationship to that venue can be considered almost symbiotic. Ivanov was performed in such a venue, and the effect was dramatic. Unlike the performances we previously attended, I could actually see the expressions on the actors’ faces. This lent the play an entirely new layer, one that was not present in the other performances, and contributed heavily to my understanding of the characters’ motivations and actions. One felt as if he or she was a part of the performance itself, factoring into the decisions and resolve of the characters on stage.

What astonished me most about the acting performances was the sheer vastness of the gap between the abilities of Ethan Hawke, the lead and an established movie star, and those of the other actors. While the performances of the other actors were excellent in their own right, Ethan Hawke, in his role as Ivanov, exuded a sense of confidence that overwhelmed and overshadowed everyone else on stage. No matter where he was, he drew my attention; I could not seem to look away from him, even if he was simply sitting in a corner, playing with a deck of cards. The second most notable performance would be that of Juliet Rylance in the role of Sasha—the attempted martyr. I felt that she was really able to convey the bubbly determination that courses through her character, all of it directed towards “fixing” Ivanov. I also thought that those same two characters had remarkable chemistry together, easily making me believe how quickly their relationship progressed from admiration to marriage. This, perhaps, can be attributed to their prior work together, a film, “Sinister”, which was released in October of this past year.

What intrigued me most about the characters was how Chekov, in his imagining of them and their personalities, was able to so nimbly sidestep any clichés, with the one notable exception being the Count. It was surprising because most dramatic performances are steeped in clichés, since they are a useful device, which enables the audience to identify with the characters and their difficulties. I thought it was amazing how Chekov was able to avoid boxing Ivanov in with all the other neurotic, self-absorbed, Hamlet-like roles by making him mock that very same identity. Another intriguing aspect of the characters in Ivanov was how simply entertaining they were. The qualities possessed by Ivanov and the psychological torture he inflicted on his loving wife, made him one of the most unlikable fictional characters I have ever had the pleasure of detesting, right underneath Delores Umbridge. There is something oddly satisfying of being able to truly despise an imaginary person, and everything that he stands for.

It’s always nice to walk into a café and find out it’s a theatre.

Albeit our class had been forewarned, I still found the café to be quite a nice surprise.  It added a very creative, “hipster” ambience to the whole evening, so much so that I felt in the mood for a cup of coffee.

As we walked into the theatre, we were greeted with another surprise: a small theatre with seats on three sides of the square stage, and so close you could see the actors spit (that’s how you know when they get really emotional).

And emotional they were.  The actors, for the most part, played their parts fantastically, so that even when I hadn’t pictured the scene or character in a certain way, I find myself loving the production’s interpretation.

With one exception: Ivanov (Ethan Hawke).  He was annoying, and a whiner, and unsympathetic.  Which is bothersome because, quite frankly, I kind of like the written Ivanov.  I suspect a fraction of my dislike for this Ivanov was due to the different interpretation of Anna (Joely Richardson); I had pictured Anna to be a passive, weak character, similar to Stella from Tennessee Williams’ A Streetcar Named Desire.   Yet Richardson played a strong-willed, bold, smart woman, making Anna more sympathetic and Ivanov much less so.  Maybe their sympathy levels work in an indirect relationship?  I’m digressing.  Ivanov’s character was not unlikable solely because Anna was a strong character.

Listen, Ivanov, I understand you are depressed, slightly crazy, and possibly an unwilling existentialist, but that does not mean you rant and spit and talk faster than a New Yorker.  You should have the normalcy crack subtly and decay; there should be a loud quietness.  You, dear Ivanov, did not seem like a normal guy lost in a mysterious struggle; rather you seemed spoiled.  Unlike J.D. Saligner’s Holden Caulfield, you did not have any reason for your depression, nor did you have witty commentary on the world.  Unlike half the twisted cast from Narita Ryohgo’s Baccano!, you did not speak with conviction, which turned possibly meaningful speeches into unpleasant rants.  I expected you, Ivanov, to be like Richard Corey, the titular character of A.R. Gurney’s play.  Both of you lead lives with little reason to be unhappy (and illicit lovers), yet you both decay, showing that a “happy” person can become disillusioned with life and break.

Now that I’m done with my own rant, let me applaud every other interpretation.  I have already gushed about the pro-feminist performance of Richardson.  Misha Borkin (Glenn Fitzgerald) was less comical than I had pictured, but he was just wonderful.  I almost wish he and Babakina had fallen for each other.  Shabelsky (George Morfogen) was super wry and sarcastic and great!  I would have directed Shabelsky as a more “big” character (such as this production’s Lebedev or a little less extravagant Dulcamara), but gosh darn it I simply adore Morfogen’s version of him.

There were other characters I would have directed differently, but enough of that; as I director, I am impressed with the entire cast and crew.  In theatre, I have been taught to never turn my back to the audience; but when directing on a stage with which the audience is totally involved, that rule is defenestrated with force.  Even so, I never became annoyed if an actor was not facing me, because the proximity of our seats made up for the odd angles we viewed the actors; the inclusiveness was kept, if not increased.

On to some miscellaneous thoughts:

Seeing the performance, I noticed details I hadn’t in the book: the owl being an omen of bad luck, the Hamlet parallels.  I also noticed more French, which was a nice historical touch because upper class Russians used to speak French.

I believe they added baby powder to Hawke’s hair to make him look older.  By the second act his hair was a couple of shades darker.

Uncle Shabelsky is a count… and if you would like to be a count too, you can buy such a title from the Principality of Sealand!

I like the play a lot.  I hope to see or read it in Russian one day, after I have learned the language.

When many of us think of classical music, our minds instantly jump to a vision of a few violinists playing some unimaginably dull tune which inevitably puts all within earshot to sleep; this could not be farther from the truth in the case of Orchestre Révolutionnaire et Romantique’s performance of Beethoven’s Missa Solemnis. The true success of this performance in my opinion was in its ability to be intricate yet accessible at the same time; not only did it remain true to its initial and intended form but it was performed so expertly that even those among us who lack significant experience in classical music (myself included) could tell based on its euphony that it had been well-performed and therefore could appreciate it.

The orchestra in its totality was a cohesive unit which never strayed from uniform perfection for as much as an instant. Gardiner, clearly having led this symphony with utmost precision, excelled at transitioning smoothly between rapid and powerful musical segments and more subdued expressions. While the orchestra as a whole performed phenomenally, I would be remiss if I failed to mention the extraordinary performance given by Peter Hanson in the role of first violinist. While he was spot on throughout the entire performance, his true violin acumen only became apparent in the few moments in which he was allowed to perform unaccompanied or with limited other accompanying instrumentation; in a word it was sublime and almost entrancing, far exceeding any expectations I had for the entire performance through his own individual merit.

This technical ability displayed by the entire orchestra—with Hanson in particular—was bolstered by the extraordinary acoustics of Carnegie Hall; rivaled only by the Metroplitan Opera, I have since learned that this venue was designed specifically to have excellent acoustic properties. This fact I believe allows for equal enjoyment of the performance regardless of where you are seated (which was very important for our group considering we did not exactly have front row seats). Moreover, this provided a greater level of clarity of that which the vocalists were singing (despite the fact that the language barrier still existed) as well as the contributions of each individual performer which may have been lost in a less-effectively designed performance hall.

My true appreciation of this performance, however, came not through the performers’ abilities but through the mental ease that this performance elicited within me. Coming into this performance I expected either to be lulled to sleep by the melodious nature of the classical music or to be utterly riveted and enthralled, waiting on and anticipating every note as it arrived. Ultimately, neither of these was the reality and I found myself somewhere in the middle ground between this active entertainment and boredom; I found myself in the realm of passive entertainment. The beauty of this form of amusement is that by neither completely demanding my attention nor losing it I was able to enjoy the atmosphere that the music provided while thinking about the current issues and matters pertinent to my life; I felt as though the music acted as a sort of means for the state of relaxation necessary for me to effectively collect my thoughts.

I can unequivocally and unabashedly say that I loved the performance of Ivanov that our class attended at the Classical Stage Company. I found it enticing, illuminating and fairly true to the story itself which enabled me to appreciate how this play can come alive when actually performed. This appreciation began with the intimate and welcoming atmosphere provided by the venue. At a glance, this theater seems to be just a simple café with a fairly pleasant and mellow atmosphere. However, when one proceeds inside and realizes the beauty possessed within this quaint theater, one is astounded by how unassuming the street-view is. Moreover, the fact that the performance took place in a venue that is as small as this was—seating roughly two hundred audience members—allowed our class not only to have excellent seats but also to feel almost involved in the performance based on the fact that we had almost no choice but cross over the stage in order to get to our seats.

Additionally, I believe the overall acting prowess displayed was good enough that while it was not extraordinary, it did not detract from the experience and those actors that excelled overshadowed the few shortcomings of those who were not as successful in my opinion. While it may seem unlikely—based on my expression of enjoyment of the play and the fact that he is an extremely famous actor whose roles in movies I have greatly enjoyed—I did not thoroughly enjoy the acting of Ethan Hawke as Ivanov; while I did enjoy the fact that he began his portrayal much before the performance began by sitting on a bed and reading to set the stage for the play, I found his acting in the majority of the first two acts to be unconvincing and not befitting the complexity of the character of Ivanov. However, by the third and fourth act I felt he had hit his stride and began to reach the levels of emotional expressiveness I felt were warranted.

There were also a few characters who I felt were adequately represented but not extraordinarily so; such characters include: Dmitry, Martha, Dr. Lvova and Sasha to name a few. The portrayals that I believe truly stole the show, however, were that of Borkin and Lebedev (as well as Anna to a somewhat lesser extent). Borkin was as lively and utterly sleazy, effectively causing you to at once detest his lowly actions and soon after envy his energy and vigor. Lebedev was portrayed perfectly as an old man who wishes for no more than peace of mind which is constantly out of his reach, causing you to feel a strong feeling of empathy for his struggles.

Overall, I must say that this production was a complete success not only for the sake of entertainment but also for the sake of representing the economic, racial and in many ways universal struggles present in late 19^th century Russia. I feel that in this aim it stayed true to Chekhov while transitioning exceptionally well into New York City.

Kyrie eleison. Christe eleison. Where had I heard these words before? Then I remembered. I remembered the vast candle-lit altar; I remembered the overpowering silence; I remembered the priest chanting these same words.  He often recited these words, which translate to “Lord have mercy, Christ have Mercy,” right before Mass ended. Hmm. And what exactly was I watching as I heard these same words? Missa Solemnis, or “Solemn Mass.” Interesting.

Ludwig Van Beethoven’s Missa Solemnis was performed by the Orchestre Révolutionnaire et Romantique and the Monteverdi Choir at Carnegie Hall, which I must say, was as grand and magnificent as I thought it would be. I passed by Carnegie Hall before (often on my way to get Jamba Juice) and always wondered what it looked like inside. The concert hall was absolutely ginormous. It seemed perfect for acoustics. The seats were extremely comfortable and the view of the stage was perfect as well. I could see every single performer on stage clearly. Thankfully, this time we weren’t all the way in the back!

Although I’m not a musical expert, I loved listening to Missa Solemnis. The combined harmony of the orchestra and the choir sounded so sweet and lovely. I especially enjoyed the vocal ranges of some of the women in the choir because I seldom hear such heavenly high notes.

Missa Solemnis was engaging because its music kept switching from gentle and smooth to wild and harsh. There were moments when the performance sounded dream-like, and other moments when the music was overwhelmingly loud and eccentric. The two opposites complemented each other; when one became boring, the other would surface and again the performance would captivate my interest. It’s interesting that Missa Solemnis was composed during what is considered Beethoven’s Late Period, mostly because a few moments of the music were so dramatic and passionate.

What most stood out during the concert was how hard the performers were working. A few parts of the music were extremely fast-paced; I was shocked that all of the musicians on stage were able to move their hands and arms so swiftly and rapidly in accordance with their sheets of music. I would have never been able to withstand such a harsh workout, and I applaud all of the musicians for moving so remarkably to play such passionate music.

Beethoven’s Missa Solemnis was magnificently performed. It was a pleasure to listen to and watch. My only regret was not being able to sit in the front row!

WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME!

That’s the line so effortlessly said by Ethan Hawke who played the insane but relatable character of Ivanov in Chekov’s first play. It stuck to me. And it stuck to me well.

I can’t even begin to describe this feeling of amazement and engagement that swept through me while watching this play. It has been a while since I actually watched something of the sort. I was so used to watching media from the comfort of my home with a remote in hand. But there was something different…the engagement of actor and audience, even though there wasn’t supposed to be one. Not to sound pretentious or anything but the “connection” that actors and directors strive for was present, especially within Ethan Hawke.

Believability. Strength. Commitment. Right from the first scene, I could see Hawke’s true talent. Behind the tall set, there was a chair in which actors on deck could wait. Many of the actors just sat on the couch with anticipation. However, Hawke “fell asleep” and tuned into that crazy but sympathetic character that is reminiscent of his recent performance in Sinister. So captivating and enrapturing was Hawke’s performance that I couldn’t take my eyes off of him. In the scene before he breaks down in front of the doctor (Who in my opinion I wanted to punch in the face because he thought he was so correct and pompous with his knowledge.) His eyes, along with his visual saliva and spit episodes, told me everything and his dynamics within his tone of voice kept me trembling and engaged in his train of thought.

While listening to what Ivanov was ranting about, I couldn’t help but have a moment of Déjà vu. I kept saying to myself, “This guy is crazy. A bitch. A loner. A loser. How could one do that?” However, at the same time, I realized that he was describing a lot of people, like myself.

In the midst of midterm week, I was almost frightened to see my own character and personality come to life on stage, especially with Hawke’s skills. He began to speak of his failures in life, along with these overwhelming feelings that forced you to become paralyzed within life. I definitely knew the feeling. When school, work, love life (if there is one), just start collapsing on your shoulders that you slip to the point of almost surrender, wanting to just die to relieve all this stress. (Yes, I know this confession is dark, but this play brought it out of me.) And when people continuously nag you about your life and disappointments, you just yell…WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME? And that’s what Hawke did. So true to this feeling of failure and paralysis did he portray this performance. Although at times I called him crazy, I couldn’t blame him because I knew what it was like. (Although not to the point of adultery) He was human and that was it. So simple but complex did Chekov explore the aspect of human error.

Along with this analytic first half, one other thing that got my attention was the way in which actors chose the delivery of their lines. While reading the synopsis of the play, I was very surprised to find all these comedic undertones. From all the context, it seemed as though Ivanov was a very strict and stern play about failure and such. At first, I thought I was watching a completely different play from hearing all of this laughter but I soon got the jest of the comical play. (The obnoxious laugh of the man in the upper deck was a clue.)

Even though many of the actors and actresses couldn’t match Hawke’s energy and emotion, I enjoyed the psychological aspect of the play. It brings up the idea of sanity, which is normal and human.

New York is a gridlocked city; it is not only congested, brimming, jammed, it is architecturally confined to its grid of streets and blocks.  New …

New York is a gridlocked city; it is not only congested, brimming, jammed, it is architecturally confined to its grid of streets and blocks.  New …