There’s a club which is somewhat famous among international
students in Wroclaw. Many of my classmates habitually go there during the week.
I’ve never been; I have no regrets.
Where I have been is the opera house. Possibly more often
than most people on my program go to their aforementioned evening venue.
I’ve attended 16 operas since September.
Some I’ve seen before. Yet, I still go. The art form often transports one
to another world. Sometimes I’m convinced that it acts on the mind as a drug.
I first took in an opera 8 years ago. It was during my first
trip to Poland. A sojourn which defined
my future interests, and aspirations. My captivation by the art awoke in the
world’s smallest opera house.
What began as a
casual interest in the old-world novelty of opera transformed over the years. Most
opera companies rely on popular classical operas to fill seats. They’re often
popular for a reason; you find yourself attending titles you’ve seen before. Instead
of novelty, you relish hearing your favorite operatic moments preformed live. Few
new works are written or preformed.
Opera is far from popular in the larger sense. In LA, I went
to the opera relatively rarely. I attended most-all operas in Romania, Hungary
and Poland by myself. Who else would want to go every other week? After a while it became like a quasi-religious
ritual. The experience became internalized. I only began attending shows with
someone who shared my passion for high culture during the second half of my
time in Wroclaw. At first, it felt odd discussing with another person between
acts. I found that a night at the opera can
be a shared experience.
Wroclaw also
maintains some mystique of times gone by. I started going to the opera while
traveling. In LA, company directors pride themselves on importing performers from
far corners of the world. In Wroclaw, I came to understand the concept of
yesteryear’s opera star. Wroclaw is Poland’s opera Mecca. This may sound banal.
But, the city stages more productions than any city in Italy. The company does
so with a tight cast of talented performers. You come to know the singers after
a time. You develop your favorites.
Yesterday I saw Rigoletto for the third time. I found Opera
Wroclawska’s modern staging a compelling metaphor for the sympathetically tragic intransigence
of the title character. I used to decry modern scenery. Now the staging has
become almost as important as the singing.
My friend had trouble understanding the story. There’s no tradition
of opera in her country. She’d never seen Rigoletto before. The staging confused
her. I was surprised at first. Then I
remembered similar frustrations. I wouldn’t have understood the
staging had I not seen two traditional interpretations before. I explained the plot to her. It dawned on me
how much I’d changed.
The world’s changed too. Though commissioned by kings, dukes
and aristocrats opera had a wide appeal. Now it holds a cult following. La
Scala recently reduced its upcoming season from 13 operas to 10.
I recently read an article in which a prominent soprano
calls opera a ‘dying art form’. She maintains that we largely re-stage works of
the past and eschew modern alternatives. Indeed, I can’t name any regularly preformed
modern opera aside from Nixon in China (one of my favorites).
A group of young
people attended Wroclawska’s Rigoleto. They applauded the Count’s famous solo
with wordless shouts of approval. Some
claim we’ve made opera into something it isn’t.
That it’s become un-egalitarian. No longer a place to let your proverbial
hair down. The opera of times gone by
isn’t the opera I know. I wouldn’t have it any other way.
The most tragic character in opera isn’t the one who
dies. It’s the person that must go on
living. Many opera’s lay bare the living tragedies of individuals. It’s somehow
fitting that this should reflect the art itself. If opera must die. Let it live
on nobly in death.
