Rigoletto (and La Boheme) at the Met

I had considered staying home from Rigoletto last night but, on balance, I'm glad I went. My sense before hand is that it was one of those operas I could just go without seeing performed again. My classic case of this is La Boheme: unless the production is really innovative in some way, or the cast absolutely not to be missed, I really don't think I could manage to sit through another evening with Rodolfo and Mimi and friends. Although more experienced opera-goers were appalled by it, I enjoyed the Baz Luhrmann production of Boheme that played on Broadway last year. Yes, the cast wasn't as vocally accomplished as one might find at the Met or City Opera, but it was refreshing to see a story about young people of an artistic bent actually performed by young people of an artistic bent. And while I'm not a fan of everything Luhrmann has put to film, the limitations of the theatrical space seem to have tamed (or hindered) his more excessive tendencies. Plus, my own interest in opera stems, at least in part, from my participation in musical theatre in high school and earlier, so I'm not that averse to a certain amateurishness of production if it's amateurish in a good way (as in: exhibiting a passion or love for the craft, if not the highest ability). But when I saw Boheme performed at the Met last fall, I couldn't wait for the dang thing to end. The Zeffirelli production is eye-candy, and the audience always applauds the set pieces for Acts II and III, but the energy (and interest) just wasn't there for me the way it was at the Luhrmann production. Truth to tell, La Boheme is scheduled too often, especially at the Met. As for many of today's problems, we have Cher to blame. (Just kidding, Cher! - er, as if you'll ever read this sad little blog of mine.) Ever since Moonstruck fetishized it as (1) the opera of choice for first-time opera goers and (2) the opera of love that will establish a tantric/aesthetic connection between you and your beloved, La Boheme has become a destination in itself, especially at the Met, which is where, of course, Nicholas Cage and Cher became Rodolfo and Mimi, without the tuberculosis. So my main interest in seeing Boheme at the Met was the meta-operatic aspect: observing first time opera goers and/or young people on a date in the act of going to the opera, holding hands and kissing (kissing! at the Met!), and, perhaps inevitably, getting their photographs taken at the fountain outside, which features prominently in the movie. And the fountain is an important symbolic linchpin to the whole experience of Boheme at the Met, and not just because of whatever jokey observation one might make about the geyser-like bursts of water that one sees after leaving the auditorium (sometimes a fountain is just a fountain, but that doesn't mean we have to ignore its erotic suggestiveness): the fountain is part of the Boheme experience, Epcot-Puccini, where the young lovers become not only Rodolfo and Mimi, and Nicholas and Cher, but are also (in the context of the movie especially) washed of their ethnic, working class daily lives in the aesthetic/tantric space of the opera house. And I don't mind that part of the experience - in fact, like I said, that's where my real interest resided - but it's too bad, for them, that the performance itself kinda sucked. Because it's become the ur-opera and is therefore over-scheduled, Boheme doesn't always attract - shall we say - an A-list cast, and the performances can seen somewhat listless. So if it's going to be the opera-of-initiation and/or the opera-of-let's-have-sex-after-the-show, I think the youth and energy of something like the Luhrmann production is the way to go. However, another part of my being bored by the opera is that - well - it's not that good an opera. I mean: okay, okay, it's a "classic" opera, and the third act is really really good, and there are some good tunes elsewhere, but there's so much padding. Oy! The first act until Mimi arrives on stage could be cut, and the fourth act until Mimi arrives on stage could be cut, and there are other things that could be cut. So my fear about Rigoletto was that it, too, would fall the way of La Boheme: the over-scheduled classic opera that generates the listless performance. However, my fallacy was immediately dispelled. Idiot that I was, I forgot that Rigoletto is inherently a much more interesting work, dramatically, musically, however you want to cut it. As a noob to New York City, I haven't seen the production before, so it struck me as refreshingly new instead of old hat. (And, in a possibly embarrassing admission, I must now truthfully confess that when I first saw the Met production of La Boheme - on Christmas Eve! - when visiting a friend over winter break back in grad school years, I remember characterizing it as a perfect evening, or words to that effect. But instead of getting bizzay afterwards, I went to Midnight Mass, which may explain my current reservations about the opera. Instead of geyser-like sex, all I got was communion wafers.) So I'm glad I went to Rigoletto, is all I'm trying to say.