Don Giovanni is universally considered one of Mozart’s best operas. A major part of this charm is the fact that it can be viewed as both a tragedy and a comedy. There is no correct classification to this opera, since it effortlessly transitions from joy to sorrow and back, within the span of a moment. Thus, it is up to each individual viewer to decide what the performance made him/her feel.

Personally, I view Don Giovanni as a comedy. This opinion, though, was only established after actually seeing the opera. Prior to watching it, upon reading its libretto, I was certain that the opera is in fact a tragedy. That is, because it both started and ended with death: first the Commendatore’s, then Don Giovanni’s. Such morbidity provided the opera with a gruesome and depressing tone. The fact that Don Giovanni continually deceived and exploited women didn’t help brighten up the mood, since it made me lose faith in his humanity and compassion. However, experiencing the libretto, rather than merely reading it, completely changed my perception of the opera. The bright costumes, upbeat melodies, exaggerated acting, and of course – Laporello’s witty remarks, all managed to embed some lightness and joyfulness within the otherwise-heavy plot. I left the opera house in a rather good mood, which would definitely not have been the case if Don Giovanni were a tragedy. The performance still managed to convey themes such as betrayal, gluttony, lust and vengeance, but it did so by incorporating comedy and keeping the audience engaged.

Another aspect of Don Giovanni is the fact that class differences were quite evident in it. Even though there were characters from both the noble and peasant classes, these characters didn’t interact equally and were well aware of their rights and limitations. This was most evident with Don Giovanni himself, who used his high class as justification to dehumanize noble and peasant women alike. Moreover, he practically abused Laporello, his servant, by making him an accomplice of his womanizing ways and even putting his life at risk. The best representatives of the lower class, though, were Masetto and Zerlina. They were supposed to symbolize pure young love, but even this unique bond was shook by Don Giovanni’s selfishness and impulsiveness. He sought to steal Zerlina from her fiancée, knowing full well that his lavish lifestyle would charm and blind her. The second romantic relationship in the opera – that between Donna Anna and Don Ottavio was quite different from Zerlina and Masetto’s relationship. It’s quite interesting how opposing these two dynamics are. In a way, it seems that nobles’ love is more “powerful” than a peasant bond, since Don Ottavio was simply obsessed with his fiancé Donna Anna, and was willing to unconditionally wait for her no matter what happens. This wasn’t quite the case with the two peasants – as soon as Masetto saw Zerlina with Don Giovanni, he wished to leave her. So, it seems that noble and peasant relationships in this opera are everything but similar. The only part of the performance where some class equality was evident was its very ending, when all of the characters were standing together, celebrating Don Giovanni’s demise. He seems to have been their uniting force.

One simply cannot discuss an opera by Mozart without mentioning the music in the performance. A major part of the reason my Don Giovanni reading and viewing experiences were so different was the instrumentals and vocals of the opera. The actors’ voices were absolutely enchanting, while their accompaniment was superb. I was thoroughly impressed by Mozart’s melodies, since they perfectly coincided with the opera’s plot. Morbid and heavy scenes, such as Don Giovanni’s death, were accompanied by low, dramatic and ominous music, while funny and happy scenes, such as Laporello’s dressing up as his master, were accompanied by fast, joyful and light melodies. This juxtaposition of different musical styles enriched the performance, set the mood for the audience, and enhanced each actor’s talents.

My overall experience of viewing Don Giovanni at the Metropolitan Opera was one I shall never forget. It was my first time ever going to the opera, but surely not my last. As I was watching it, I couldn’t help but be mind-boggled by the fact that people were enjoying this exact opera over two hundred years ago. This sure puts modern entertainment in perspective, since it teaches teenagers such as myself the value of timeless talent and music. Most other performances we viewed in this class were modern, so it was quite refreshing and mind-opening to watch an opera. Of course, contemporary forms of self-expression are crucial parts of our culture, and for that I deeply respect them. The main example for this is the first performance we’ve watched together – RoseAnne Spradlin’s  “Beginning of Something,” which was absolutely revolutionary and unforgettable. It is hard for me to decide which performance I enjoyed more – Beginning of Something or Don Giovanni – but what is clear is that they are each beautiful in their own ways, and should both be celebrated.

Pina Bausch’s “…como el musguito en la piedra. ay si, si, si..”is a very loose portrayal of post-modern dance. By definition, post-modernism is all about the human body. It uses mundane and everyday movements as statements that everyone can be a dancer. Music and costumes aren’t always used and complex technique isn’t emphasized in order to keep the audience focused solely on the dancers. Dances following this ideal can don’t necessarily have a deeper meaning, using movements as mere movements, not as hidden statements about society’s ills. Thus, post-modern dance is both revolutionary and simple, neglecting the bells and whistles of dance while still maintaining the integrity of choreography that celebrates the human body.

Pina Bausch’s piece didn’t quite follow the criteria described above. This dance was an exploration of male-female relations; even though it didn’t make its statement absolutely obvious, it made the audience think. Bausch’s choreography was quite technical at times, yet the dancers made it flow beautifully and put their emotions in it. Moreover, music, lighting and props played a major role in this piece, which isn’t typical to post-modernism. The lighting set the mood, different props such as tables and chairs were brought upon the stage, while the magnificent Spanish music kept the audience captivated and moved. The most obvious aspect of this dance, though, was the dancers’ costuming. The women wore colorful long gowns, while the men wore grey or black suits. Most dancers wore shoes, which is another departure from post-modern dance. The collective impression this ensemble made, then, was rather striking.  As if this wasn’t impressive enough, the stage broke apart from under the dancers at certain parts of the performance, symbolizing the fragility of some relationships and keeping the audience on the edges of their seats.

However, Bausch did incorporate some aspects of post-modernism in her choreography. She incorporated short, whimsical scenes in between dance segments in order to make the performance more segmented and less traditional. Additionally, mundane movements such as eating and talking were part of the choreography, which represents the post-modernist celebration of the human body in its simplicity.

Overall, then, the post-modernism of “…como el musguito en la piedra. ay si, si, si..” is debatable. The piece contrasted the ideologies of this movement by using bells and whistles and making a societal statement, but it stayed true to the genre by celebrating mundane movements and the human body.

Full-frontal nudity on a Friday night… Apprehensiveness would be an understatement to describe my feeling before viewing RoseAnn Spradlin’s “Beginning of Something.” However, keeping Wendy Oliver’s “Writing About Dance” in mind, I made a conscious effort to stay extremely open-minded; I was ready to witness something completely new and revolutionary, no matter how uncomfortable it would make me feel.

Walking into the dim performance space at New York Live Arts was an experience in itself. A beautiful curtain made of silver beads enclosed the elevated runway that served as a stage, and every single seat was in arm’s reach of the stage. From the moment the house doors opened to the moment the actual performance started, a naked woman sitting on the edge of the stage was strumming powerful notes on a bass guitar that strategically covered her body. The dance hadn’t even begun, but Spradlin had already succeeded in making her audience feel. The mood had officially been set and the quietness among the audience members spoke for itself – everyone was reverently waiting for the performance to start.

When the strummer put down her guitar and walked onto center stage, she put on glamorous shoulder and head pieces made of the same royal beads that the curtain behind her was made of. This was quite the image – a fully naked woman whose only clothes cover her hair and shoulders. Somehow, this was all she needed to make a striking statement of beauty. The dancer then started strutting up and down the stage with powerful footsteps – she seemed confident and vulnerable at the same time, which, in retrospect, was a recurring theme in the show. One by one, three more dancers joined the first one. However, they were all more dressed than she was and were all different shapes and sizes, which was a clear statement celebrating womanhood in its many forms.

The four dancers were eventually strutting along the stage in unison. Despite their minimal clothing, which would typically elicit vulnerability, all four women seemed to be putting up a front. As a female, I recognized that their confidence was made to look artificial just as far too many women in our society are too afraid to show their vulnerability to the world. This was also made apparent by the music choice for the show – the song “Don’t Make me Over” was performed live by the all-female small orchestra behind the stage. “Accept me for who I am, accept me for the things that I do” – there simply couldn’t have been a more poignant choice of lyrics as the background for four women undressing in front of an audience. It speaks so loudly for so many women whose main desire is to be accepted for who they are.

At different points of the show, the women were either walking in a uniform matter or doing their own elaborate spins and turns, which is symbolic of the difference between identity and individuality. Identity is simply who you are, while individuality is who you are in comparison to other people. The women definitely had both – they weren’t wearing clothes that would distinguish them from one another, yet each of them was distinct and special in her own way; I’m sure that not a single audience member had trouble telling the dancers apart. This theme of beauty in individuality was also made apparent by the props around the dancers – except for the shiny curtain, the only other props were mirrors in varying sizes and shapes all along the house walls. The choice of mirrors as a set is so very powerful: not only does it allow the dancers and the audience members to look at themselves and at others as exploration or self-evaluation, but it also correlates with the different shapes of the women. Just like none of the dancers had similar bodies to one another, none of the mirrors looked similar. Yet they were all beautiful.

The second part of the performance consisted of the four women stepping onto the stage in short evening dresses. The dresses all differed from one another while perfectly flattering their wearers. This could possibly be a statement about the fashion world: it doesn’t matter how fashionable or “in-style” clothes are, as long as they fit and bring out the uniqueness and powerfulness of their wearers. Ironically though, all four women seemed rather uneasy in their dresses. They looked striking, but they didn’t seem to feel so. This brought about the most emotional part of the performance, during which the dancers started fidgeting in a seizure-like manner, seeming to reject the clothes upon their backs. Making this moment even more powerful were the heart-wrenching screams and groans coming from the dancers. Raw pain was expressed, leaving not a single audience member unaffected. Distressing and enlightening at the same time, the women’s twitches resulted in them taking their clothes off. As soon as the clothes were off, the dancers seemed truly happy – possibly for the first time in the performance. They simply beamed as they proudly walked around the stage and looked their spectators in the eyes. “Accept me for who I am” finally applied – not only for the people around them, but more importantly for themselves. Their faces were bright with self-acceptance. Seeing the love these women felt for themselves and their bodies was nothing short of inspiring – we should all strive to be so pleased with who we are and how we look.

Leaving the performance space, countless thoughts were roaming through my head. “Beginning of something” was like nothing I have ever seen before. Saying that I fully enjoyed every moment of the show would be inaccurate, since enjoyment was not the purpose of this performance. It was all about intensity and raw emotions – Spradlin sought to make the audience feel uncomfortable and even fidgety at times because that is the most efficient way to bring about a message. As audience members, this powerful showcase of femininity is bound to stick with us since it made us feel. It doesn’t matter if such feelings are “good” or “bad”; if a choreographer moved your heart, she succeeded. It’s as simple as that.

RoseAnn Spradlin definitely succeeded in moving my heart. Her strong statements about the ever-changing definition of femininity, the constant struggle to be accepted as a real woman in today’s culture, the balance between who you are and who people think you are, and the pressure society places on women to look a certain way are extremely relevant. Every single female can relate to these dilemmas, which is why “Beginning of Something” might just be a beginning for some of us on the way to self-acceptance.

This is a New York Times review, published by Brian Seibert on September 9th 2012. The dance in question is Kapila Venu’s “The Abandonment of Sita”, presented at Asia Society.

http://www.nytimes.com/2012/09/10/arts/dance/kapila-venu-in-the-abandonment-of-sita-at-asia-society.html?_r=1

            In his book Ways of Seeing, John Berger brings up several interesting points regarding the perception of art. According to Berger, we no longer perceive visual images as merely what see in front of us. Rather, our view of them is obscured by that which we already know – the image’s reputation and value, the artist’s other works, the context of the art, and the many reproductions created of the image. This, Berger argues, distorts the concept of art; it is virtually impossible for adults to restore the “innocence” with which a child looks at a visual image.

Berger’s theories can be applied to any type of visual images, including modern art. When visiting the Museum of Modern Art, one should keep in mind that a piece of art is meant to be looked at and analyzed with no preconceived views. Even if a painting is extremely famous, seeing it “live” is equivalent to seeing it for the first time. The experience of being a museum-goer isn’t about the value of the art one is looking it nor is it about the meaning the painting is “supposed” to have. One should walk into any museum, especially the progressive MoMA, with an extremely open mind and a willingness to feel. One must be comfortable enough to trust his/her own judgment and go with his/her gut regarding feelings towards a certain piece. This is the only way to truly appreciate and enjoy art.