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iluvtv · 3 years

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Still Watching: A Love Letter to my Mom

The content below has not been censored for your consideration as neither the Real Housewives nor my mother would have approved of such blasphemy.

The decline in blogging was conveniently intentional.

There were other projects.

My career as a TV critic wasn’t exactly gaining steam.

My readership technically wasn’t booming.

For a time there had been an unmistakable fulfillment in my blogging habits.

Full disclosure: this work held undeniable titillation, provoked as it were by the vain echoes of my own subconscious. It was too enticing not to indulge the ego, booming, unselfconsciously through the page as I “eloquently” deciphered probable intentions of a writer’s room.

But was this self-aggrandizing, albeit surely intellectually stimulating task truly worthwhile?

I kept falling back on this tricky notion of time management. Was taking copious amounts of notes regarding my viewing habits (a laborious task which required endless rewinds and thusly an inability to watch TV with others) coupled with the studious investment of actually researching and writing a cohesive piece which included a clear argument for television as a medium and thereby proving a consistent thesis, truly a valuable use of my time?

Not to mention, of course, the added effort of finagling my mother to invest her energies toward a strong copy-edit.

It was an investment, sure. But then again none of it was necessarily difficult at least in the classical sense of the word.

Actually, the engaging my mother bit was sort of easy. Not only was I skilled at the subtle art of stroking of her ego; “Your attention to detail is just so much better than mine. You are so smart…” I also possessed a valuable trump card which, admittedly, brought as much pleasure as my own voice: she actually liked my writing!

To have known my mother is to know what a huge compliment this fan-dom truly was.

My mother was proudly authentic. She had no shame over her inability to “fake it”.

This personality trait demanded a certain dedication on her part. She was famous for telling my girlfriends they looked like sluts at our eighth-grade dance and embarrassing fits at the market while her younger children tried to disappear into the kid’s seat of the shopping cart. Patronizing eye rolls were par for the course. When a third grade Hebrew School teacher lauded my literary skills my loving, supportive mother made it abundantly clear she didn’t think I was a bad writer but maybe just too… precious?

Admittedly, poetry about attempted genocide from an eight-year-old may hold some tonal issues.

No matter, after 30 years of practice I had found my niche. I was everything she seemed to be looking for in a writer: I would rather drink turpentine than emote and I like really “got” satire. Finally, my words were funny and thusly, the woman who had helped foster this cynical humor had little trouble understanding my intentions.

We fell into lockstep. Her killer, critical eye and unparalleled editing skills were a welcomed privilege. I was no longer precious. A trait which carried over in my ability to “take a note.” I fully understood the value of a critical red pen from a grammar die-hard. Particularly one, who not only had a deep ceded appreciation for my style (she helped cultivate it, after all) but also a keen understanding of the objective, which only a mother could boast.

I was fully aware what a priceless service this was.

And so, I kept watching. My notetaking became obsessive. Whenever I pondered this expense of time, I considered the reality: rewriting dialogue was improving my own. I was becoming a better writer.

Since both my mother and I were committing countless hours to the free and underappreciated service of my viewing recommendations, it didn’t take long for the shows and topics I bothered dissecting to be unequivocally dictated by her unapologetic tastes. Or better stated, my own experience of such.

As an aside, I’d be remiss not to note that in losing both my parents it has become abundantly clear that one’s guardians (especially good ones) mostly exist in relation to ourselves and our already noted inflated egos.

Basically, the television I studied, the theories I pondered, the conclusions I drew had to appeal in large part to Dale Allen Boland. This was a nuanced role. An honest woman of remarkable talent she also happened to be the strict television gatekeeper of my childhood. Back in the 90’s a desire for this blue light pulsed through my veins like an addict in search of her next hit. I hadn’t been picky at all back then. This was a time in my life when even Jerry Springer reruns in black and white, streamed through bunny ears in my Jr. High weight room took the edge off.

To be frank, while at first her editing felt crucial so as not to embarrass myself on the interwebs it soon became clear that the bigger part of my ask was just any sort of consistent audience. In time it became obvious that my mother hadn’t only become a fan, but she was, in fact, my blog’s only fan.

And as any good writer knows, you gotta’ appeal to your base.

It helped, of course, that my mother had been my earliest educator (dictator) of media. The San Francisco Chronicle’s Datebook and the New Yorker were mainstays next to the can, meaning my earliest poos were made all the more pleasurable by the accompaniment of Adair Lara and John Carrol. By 34 I was not only well versed in what she found tolerable, but also possessed a keen understanding of how to stylize this appeal.

Simpsons? Yes. Danielle Steele? Not so much. Had she given Danielle an opportunity? Of course not! But I was willing to play her game.

We both were expending a lot of energies at this point and since any real readership was in the slim to none margins it was crucial that we at least reward ourselves.

In retrospect I understand that this was actually how we enjoyed time together.

After she died my father noted that my mother and I had always shared a very special intellectual connection. A greater compliment than sharing a literary bond with Dale had never been given. In fact, in my father’s wake it is easy to see that this final gift from him may have been the most important. In saying so, he finally acknowledged what I’d always longed to hear. He respected, perhaps even envied not only my intelligence, but my mother’s too.

While I had given up on blogging years before their deaths, my diligent notetaking continued up until them. I accepted that my time critiquing television for free to a marginal audience had not been without purpose (though I missed the motive of the maternal connection it fostered until just now). I am well aware that through my efforts I had gained the confidence to write a novel. I understood that to maintain this skill set a continued attention to television’s minutia was critical.

But then, she died. Suddenly, grief allowed me space to achieve an entirely different and antithetical goal I’d set years earlier and had made no real efforts to achieve: to do less.

Finally I was able to let thoughts wave over me. I allowed flashes of “brilliance” to be fleeting. I relaxed into a space of agitated ease. I exclusively sought joy. In doing so I concurrently and without coincidence leaned into a brand of watching which had always been considered “just desserts.”

Bravo TV became a life raft. I watched Real Housewives and Summerhouse with a certain amused stillness I hadn’t exhibited since my complacent years as a co-ed.

The day following my mother’s memorial I listened to “Radio Andy” on Siris XM in a monotonous loop throughout the entire 6-hour drive home. I slept to Bravo podcasts. I read tweets from Bravo fan accounts during session breaks.

I noticed Bravo was keeping me smiling. The network and commentary was rewarding me with a source to which I could focus. I appreciated the humor.

Two months later my father died. Mind blank I leaned in harder to the quiet blankness this watching served.

But then, I noticed something.

Watching Kathryn Dennis of Southern Charm open a coke can with her teeth in a loudly expensive living room, next to her foam roller it occurred to me that these women were the antithesis of my own mother.

Vicky Gunvalson whooping it up at a classy resort represented everything my mother had no tolerance for.

To see these women as satirical requires a certain level of empathy for their antics that would have eluded Dale.

Their bad behavior was just too black and white. For my mom there would have been nothing charmingly relatable about a woman like Lisa Barlow of Salt Lake City, placatingly sipping a constant stream of fountain soda through a plastic straw while proudly bragging she wasn’t “like a regular mom,” proving this factoid by feeding her children drive through fast-food for every meal and ignoring their calls when she was at a party.

These are women that bat fake eyelashes and scream at each other through plastic pumped lips. They float effortlessly in azul pools in Mexico boosted by the silicone in their tits.

My mom also wasn’t a regular mom but she wouldn’t have found this indulgent brand of opulence at all inspirational, aspirational or relatable. She did not identify as a “powerhouse” or a woman who needed to tell other women that she “lifted up other women” over an expensive cocktail brunch with “40 of her closest girlfriends” all of whom wielded designer purses like coats of armor.

This trope, repeated often throughout every Housewives franchise for the past 20 years would have just pissed my mother off.

It’s not that she didn’t relate to women behaving badly this just wasn’t her brand of bad behavior. She maybe could have sympathized if they’d been wearing Walmart rather than Prada.

Lorelai Gilmore? Sure, why not? Emily Gilmore? Definitely not.

It’s funny because in a certain sense my mother’s proud authenticity and lack of shame in her outbursts would have made her an ideal housewife. But the weight these women put on things and beauty would have been too damn distracting to her.

In spite of being a woman whose love language was often a good screaming match she would have found any and all of the dramatic fights on Housewives absolutely insufferable.

And in spite of my deep love for the genre, convincing Dale that any of this was actually satire worth watching would have been an exercise in futility.

I embraced this factoid quietly and with little work on my end (other than setting the DVR to catch up on back seasons of Atlanta) I leaned into a space which never would have been tolerated.

It felt good.

It was my own.

In doing so, I came up with a million things about Bravo to share. Perhaps one day I will. God knows I need to create a new fan base.

But before I could even consider either changing the channel or sitting down to a blog analyzing how one housewife’s ludicrous and racist notion that eating chicken feet was somehow any different than eating chicken nuggets, I got this text from my mom’s best friend: “have you seen Derry Girls.”

Maybe an audience was asking for a resurrection, after all.

But as I flipped to Netflix and started a new note labeled “Derry Girls” it occurred to me that I first must come to terms with how much things have changed.

There is a certain level of self-actualization left amidst the cluttered grief of losing my parents. As I write this, I am continuously tempted to take a break for “Mom’s consideration”. Her feedback would have supplied an unrequited serotonin boost, like a gentle promise to my oh so evasive ego that there was purpose in my efforts, that the writing I was doing was valuable. When my mom was alive I always knew that someone would appreciate my continued efforts, making it tolerable to finish, and tidy, and publish. My mother was like a promise that not only my words but also I myself was worthwhile.

This chore of loving, maternal reassurance is, of course, now my own. A truth my mother, who never needed to brag about lifting up other women, would have celebrated.

Nothing would have made my mom happier than me making my own choices, editing my own words and being my own cheerleader Perhaps she died just to prove it. To know Dale Allen Boland is to suspend belief that she maybe could have made her last stubborn point through such dramatic means.

And to be totally frank; that is a storyline not even a housewife could pull off.

Thank you for being my greatest cheerleader. I love you Mom.

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lodelss · 5 years

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Soraya Roberts | Longreads | January 2019 | 8 minutes (1,974 words)

Covington Catholic High School, St. Michael’s College School, Georgetown Preparatory School. All three are Catholic, mostly white, mostly rich, all-boys, and all three have recently made the news. At Covington, student Nick Sandmann went viral after a video emerged showing him, surrounded by a bunch of white classmates in the same glaring MAGA hats fresh off the same anti-abortion rally, mocking Native American Indigenous Peoples March attendee Nathan Phillips. At St. Mike’s school — Canadian, suggesting we may be less nice than we are similar — several students were charged after a video appeared on social media in which their fellow classmates were assaulted, one with a broomstick. Eight boys were eventually expelled after several incidents were investigated, all, according to reports, involving football and basketball players. Georgetown Prep, meanwhile, made the news when Christine Blasey Ford accused U.S. Supreme Court nominee Brett Kavanaugh of assaulting her when they were teenagers while fellow Georgetown student Mark Judge watched. “Indelible in the hippocampus is the laughter,” she said. The quote reverberated across social media once again after the Covington video went viral.

“I’d think it important to consider the presence of the peer group, since for boys and young men that’s often the crucial public in shaping the enactment of masculinities,” says University of Sydney Professor Emerita Raewyn Connell, an Australian sociologist and one of the first to carve out men’s studies as discipline in the 1970s. She is referring to the Covington video but could just as well be talking about any of the other schools, or any other all-boys school in America, really. She says that “collective bullying behaviour” can target anything from gender to sexuality to race. Same-sex environments can be particularly noxious, Connell explained in a 2003 report: “Some institutions designed for boys, such as sporting clubs and boys’ schools, define a strongly-marked, even exaggerated, masculinity in their organizational culture.” These days we would call that toxic masculinity, but back in the ‘80s, Connell, who wrote the seminal 1995 book Masculinities, called it something else.

“Hegemonic masculinity” was first coined in 1982 by Connell and co-authors Dean Ashenden, Sandra Kessler, and Gary Dowsett in Making the Difference: Schools, Families and Social Division. The Australian government had released a report in 1975 — “Girls, School and Society” — which prompted the 1982 study, in which students, teachers, and parents in local schools were interviewed in order to explore social inequality. They did their field work in the late ‘70s, an era in which questions of sex were in vogue following the women’s liberation movement and subsequent feminist critiques of the patriarchy. “It wasn’t that gender hierarchies had become more pronounced,” Connell tells me, “but that debate about them had become more intense.”

Though certain elements of “hegemonic masculinity” were later heavily critiqued, the fundamental concept persists, which is that of a dominant masculinity in any given situation that supersedes all other masculinities around it. “Because the concept of hegemonic masculinity is based on practice that permits men’s collective dominance over women, it is not surprising that in some contexts, hegemonic masculinity actually does refer to men’s engaging in toxic practices — including physical violence — that stabilize gender dominance in a particular setting,” Connell and James W. Messerschmidt wrote in their 2005 reevaluation of the original theory. That same year, these “toxic practices” were dubbed elsewhere by another academic as “toxic masculinity,” marking the term that 14 years later has become so pervasive its origins have been almost entirely lost.

* * *

One of the first appearances of toxic masculinity in the mainstream press was in a 1990 New Republic article by Daniel Gross. “The Gender Rap: ‘Toxic Masculinity’ and Other Male Troubles” focused on a new-age movement that appeared to resonate with a healthy number of American men (the first annual Men’s Studies Conference had launched the year before). Gross credited Shepherd Bliss — who preferred the term “mythopoetic” to “new age” — with coining toxic masculinity as a phrase “to describe that part of the male psyche that is abusive.” Bliss comes from a military family and says his authoritarian father embodied the term he defines to me as “behavior that diminishes women, children, other men.” He still has a men’s group, which he separates from “negative” men’s rights groups, and he emphasizes that the expression he invented is “not meant to condemn all males.”

The California-based retiree is surprised his ‘80s neologism has gotten so much attention lately, considering no one really seemed to notice it before. Bliss couldn’t recall exactly when or where he first uttered “toxic masculinity,” but claims it was around the time he named his men’s group. That would have been in 1986, when he was a contributing editor of Yoga Journal and wrote about how the mythopoetic movement “seeks to learn from ancestors and retrieve wisdom from the past that can be applied to the lives of men today.” The man he proposed was the opposite of the urban industrial model; he lived more primally, with stronger father-son connections, male bonding, and a close relationship with the land. Bliss held $200 healing retreats that were attended by about 50,000 men looking to get back to literal nature, but also the figurative nature of man. “I use[d] a medical term because I believe that like every sickness, toxic masculinity has an antidote,” he told TNR. (In practice, this antidote, according to one attendee, involved “farting, crawling around on all fours, wrestling, crafting animal masks, and butting heads.”)

So, yes, technically toxic masculinity was coined in the mid-’80’s, but Connell had already recognized the concept. And there are reasons Bliss’ version didn’t really take off outside of that side-eyeing TNR article. This was the era of the feminist backlash, so there wasn’t much room for a backlash against men outside the minutiae of academia. And Yoga Journal hadn’t exactly cracked the mainstream — the ‘80’s were, ironically, not a very radical time — and even if it had, toxic masculinity would have still been bathed in a vague fanciful hippie-ish light. Not to mention that Bliss’ definition of his own term was itself a little airy-fairy. No, masculinity was too impervious for yoga — we needed science.

Scholars point to psychiatrist Dr. Terry A. Kupers as the source of “toxic masculinity” as we now know it, particularly his definition in a 2005 prison study: “Toxic masculinity is the constellation of socially regressive male traits that serve to foster domination, the devaluation of women, homophobia, and wanton violence.” Kupers has been studying incarcerated masculinity for most of his career (his most recent book is Solitary), but in the ‘80’s he was involved in the pro-feminist men’s movement and realized he could integrate his knowledge of gender with his knowledge of prisons. Kupers found that Connell’s hegemonic masculinity, when applied to prisons, was in fact toxic masculinity — which is to say prison is toxic masculinity in its “pure form.” He points specifically to black men who are disproportionately (along with Hispanic men) incarcerated by America’s “justice” system. These are men for whom institutionalized racism has shut them off from “positive ways” of expressing masculinity — excelling at school or at work, for instance — causing them to resort to “negative ways” like crime. In prison the lack of authority is complete, so the toxicity is equally complete. “I don’t think it’s a matter of them being inclined to fight with each other and gain dominance; they’re not,” Kupers says. “Rather they’ve been deprived of all the more positive avenues to get ahead so they choose to maintain their manhood in the prison yard.”

What does this have to do with a bunch of white upper crust school boys? “My sense was that what we see in prison, the sort of tough guy on the yard kind of thing, where prisoners buff up and fight each other for dominance and where sexual assault is the ultimate humiliation,” Kupers explains, “my sense was that that’s not that different from what men do out in the world.”

* * *

“[Y]oung men use crime as a means of constructing the kind of stereotypic masculinity that helps them traverse their adolescence and win the acceptance of peers, as well as fathers, coaches, and other hypermasculine role models,” writes Kupers. This is where stealing a car, joining a gang, bragging about rape — or confronting a Native American, groping a girl, assaulting a boy — becomes a way of being a man. This is also where privileged white boys are divided from other boys. While the kids at Covington and St. Mike’s and Georgetown Prep are acting out in their adolescence, they have the opportunity to graduate to a more socially acceptable adulthood of building a career (a Supreme Court position, maybe?) and a family. Without the same opportunity, the boys who are not white, who are not privileged, sidestep from the school yard to the prison yard.

Without his friends around him, sitting in front of NBC interviewer Savannah Guthrie, Nick Sandmann, the Covington teen from the viral video, looks like he’s soiling himself. Unblinking, speaking in a slow monotone, he is the opposite of how he looked in the video — smug, shameless, full of power. He is emasculated, as ineffectual as Brett Kavanaugh’s red-faced temper tantrum as he testified after Christine Blasey Ford. Yet both have arrived: Sandmann’s voice in the media has drowned out that of Nathan Phillips, and Kavanaugh is comfortably installed in the Supreme Court. And St. Mike’s, though none of its students have spoken publicly, has reinstated a Varsity team in which police say members participated in the assaults. These young men have successfully used crime as a means of constructing the kind of stereotypic masculinity that helps them traverse their adolescence and win the acceptance of peers, as well as fathers, coaches, and other hypermasculine role models.

This is the reason Gillette’s latest ad shows, among other aggressive male behaviors, a group of boys chasing another, and asks, “Is this the best a man can get?” Men who thought the ad was portraying them — yikes — believed they were being made to feel toxic just for existing. They responded with the hashtag #gilletteboycott and dumped Gillette’s products en masse. A week after the ad went up, Toronto writer Audra Williams posted a vintage image of Kris Kristofferson comforting Sinead O’Connor on stage at Madison Square Garden in 1992. It was two weeks after she had ripped up a picture of the pope on Saturday Night Live to protest abuse in the Catholic Church, and the audience would not quiet down. Kristofferson had been tasked with removing the 25-year-old singer from the stage, but instead he held her until she was ready to perform. “The recent Gillette ad has started/furthered a lot of conversations about what alternatives to toxic masculinity look like,” Williams tweeted. “This is it.”

The recent Gillette ad has started/furthered a lot of conversations about what alternatives to toxic masculinity look like. This is it. pic.twitter.com/xATL9KUr9K

— Audra Williams (@audrawilliams) January 20, 2019

“There’s a very strong confrontation between the two ends of the spectrum right now and in it I think there’s the potential to form a new idea about masculinity,” says Kupers. On the right side there is the President and his hatred of the other, whether it be a woman or literally anyone else who is not like him. That is to say, the loudest voice in America “is giving permission to the most reactionary, the most racist, the most homophobic tendencies in people to be expressed.” On the left side, however, there are a growing number of others — women, women of color, LGBTQ people — in politics, there are campaigns like Gillette’s, there are fourth-wave feminists calling out oppression. So even though hatred may be freely expressed, it will no longer go without being challenged, and therein lies the option to change. “Masculinity is not a fixed entity embedded in the body or personality traits of individuals,” writes Connell. “Masculinities are configurations of practice that are accomplished in social action…” To paraphrase Kupers, they’re not bad kids, but it’s up to their parents, their role models, society as a whole, to ensure that they don’t grow up to be worse.

* * *

Soraya Roberts is a culture columnist at Longreads.

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monotonous-minutia · 4 years

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So I weirdly actually did a thing I said I was going to do.

Here’s a handy dandy list of Nozze productions to avoid if you, like me, love Cherubino, and believe he is a precious sunflower that needs to be protected at all costs.

After watching about 20 productions of this opera (though not all of them in full) I have compiled the following list.

Truncated because it got pretty long:

*Some of what is written here is subjective so I apologize if I end up disparaging a production you’ve seen and enjoyed. But I tried to stay objective and focus on the specific details that made the production safe or not for Cherubino.

**If you’re morbidly curious and want to know what, exactly, goes on in the first two listed here, perhaps message me first to ask before seeking them out to see for yourself, to prepare.

Salzburg 2006

Do not watch this one.

It’s weird, disturbing, and borderline sadistic. I can appreciate odd productions if they look at operas in new ways, try a different take, or magnify certain elements to bring in a fresh perspective. This production does none of that. It’s just weirdly disturbing for no apparent or forgivable reasons. I’ve spent a decent amount of time searching for answers on this one but none of the critiques I’ve found have any clue what this is supposed to be, so whatever the director was trying to say, their attempts failed miserably and left an atrocity in their wake. EVERYONE in this damn thing (except Cherubino) is a freaking asshole, the set is minimalist to the point of being irrelevant and confusing, and there’s this weird, winged Cherubino look-alike going around controlling people like puppets and making them do weird dance moves during their numbers. Obviously this director did not know how to embrace the concept that some people can just stand still while they’re talking or singing. Also, people hardly ever make eye contact and it’s unnerving, like they’re all zombies. There are a lot of other small, weird details that just keep building to make this thing a terrible production overall. The worst thing about it is poor sweet Cherubino. He’s an innocent, delicate flower that’s abused by everyone in unbearable ways. I don’t even want to go into it. I beseech you not to watch this because it’s honestly kind of traumatizing. Just pretend this one doesn’t exist and you’ll be okay.

Redeeming factors: absolutely none. Cherubino is adorable and too pure for this world but that just makes the whole thing ten times worse because of all the terrible, terrible things that happen to him.

Dutch National Opera 2016

Proceed with caution for this one. It’s a shame because the production itself is pretty decent, and Susanna and the Contessa are great. The set is interesting—versatile, rotating, lots of doors that are utilized in interesting ways. It’s mostly portraying the somewhat-empty house that the cast is moving into it (at least that’s what I gathered). Reasons to avoid: Figaro is an asshole, the Count is downright gross, and Cherubino is treated terribly by almost everyone (except the Contessa and Susanna, bless them). The only part I like is the Act 2 scene between the three of them where they are all very sweet to each other and Cherubino is delighted to dress up and the kindness he’s shown here by the ladies makes up for some of the other things that happen. The worst stuff I won’t get into; I can’t talk about it without getting super upset. In general, Cherubino is terrorized by the Count on multiple occasions (physically threatened, punched, and thrown around), Figaro is super mean to him, and he doesn’t really get any closure at the end except that Barbarina dotes on him and he clearly loves her so we can imagine that he’ll be okay. It is a joy to watch him being super awkward, dreamy, and cheeky; I just wish he’d been given a better production.

My recommendation for this one, if you do want to watch it, is skip “Non piu andrai” and go right to Act II, although there’s one aspect that’s hard to explain without seeing that. For now let’s just say: there’s a reason Cherubino is wearing a beanie at the top of the second act, and it’s Figaro’s fault. You don’t need to know what else happens. (My rec: skip forward like ten minutes after the last recit, then seek backwards until you see Susanna sitting on a crate holding a remote which is the start of Act II. That way you don’t have to see the scene even in fast-motion.) At any rate please don’t watch that scene. I want to find the person who staged it and punch them. The rest is bearable; just be warned, it’s not fun or pretty.

Honesty hour: Figaro is mean enough too that I want Susanna and Rosina to run off together and just marry each other because their chemistry here is amazing. And take Cherubino with them and keep him safe and loved forever.

Redeeming factors: Interesting set, great leading ladies, insanely adorable Cherubino, and also it’s insinuated that the Contessa actually leaves Almaviva at the end; she even threatens him with his own hunting rifle and everyone else just watches in morbid fascination. She does put the gun down at the last second, but she doesn’t go to him after, so maybe he gets kicked out. We can only hope.

Salzburg 2015

Tbh this one’s just weird and probably not worth your time anyway. The set looks like the wall of the house was cut off so we can see all the rooms inside, upstairs and downstairs, at the same time. It’s an interesting device showing how all of the scenes interact, but it’s no utilized very well. There’s so much business in multiple rooms at one time that it’s hard to focus on the people who are talking and singing at the moment. The cast is mediocre. We get Pisaroni as the Count which should have been worthwhile but isn’t because of the weirdness of the production. It’s honestly hard to tell what or who anyone is supposed to be here. Plus there’s blatant abuse from the Count to the Contessa and it’s hard to watch especially because I’m more used to a huggable Luca and this doesn’t do him justice imo. Additionally, I typically stan gay Basilio, but here he’s got a thing for Cherubino, and Cherubino is super not into it so it just comes across as gross. Mostly Cherubino is just pushed to the sidelines (the Count literally locks him into the closet for most of the end of the first act). So it really minimizes his character in general and is disappointing to Cherubino fans.

Redeeming factors: Susanna is really cute, Figaro is nice, “Non piu andrai” is not sadistic, but this is mostly because everyone leaves the room when he starts singing it so he’s just talking to himself which is weird anyway. At least there is nothing Unspeakable although I do wish I could wipe this Basilio out of my brain. Also Margarita Gritskova as Cherubino being dapper and sweet and I’d say Pisaroni but I’m not a fan of him being the mean old Count when he should be playing those sweet Rossini baritone roles.

Salzburg 1995

Susan Graham is Cherubino and she’s super adorable, although she’s taller than almost everyone else which is awkward and amusing. However everyone is VERY mean to Cherubino. Even Susanna. He gets thrown around a lot which is just sad to watch. The production overall is kind of unremarkable and the picture/sound quality isn’t great either. Watchable but just be prepared for an annoying amount of meanness from characters who should be a lot nicer.

Redeeming factors: Susan Graham is amazing and adorable. That’s pretty much it. Someone tell me what is up with Salzburg and this opera, seriously.

Royal Opera House 2006

This Cherubino is a precious duckling who gets thrown around by everyone, especially Figaro, which is super sad. Honestly so many of these are ruining the character of Figaro for me. This one is watchable and decent except for Mean Figaro. The set is elaborate and detailed but sometimes the background action with the supers gets distracting. The rest of the cast is alright but I wish they would be nicer to Cherubino who hasn’t done one single thing to warrant the abuse. I recommend avoiding it for those reasons but it’s not as bad as some of the others.

Redeeming factors: Intricate, pretty set, Dorothea Röschmann being an adorable Contessa, and Cherubino being gawky and cute.

To balance out the depressingness here are some Nozzes that I highly recommend!

Garsington 2017

My absolute favorite, a pure delight. Though there are no big names here, the entire cast is amazing. The set is glorious, detailed without being distracting, super versatile to fit all the scenes, and the final act is actually in a garden and it’s just so PRETTY. The chemistry between Figaro and Susanna is lovely; they obviously adore each other and are a great team throughout all their plots. The Count is reasonably dislikable without being detestable, so the apology at the end is actually kind of believable (though it’s hard to pull off in general). He and the Contessa actually have an interesting dynamic so you can kind of see how they might make things work in the end (some of their arguments are more banter-y than mean and they actually make out briefly in “Susanna, or via, sortite” as if they’re kind of turned on by each other’s fury). The supporting cast is great too, full of personality and mischief. The staging is lighthearted, genuine, and intricate. THIS is what a Nozze should be! Cherubino is adorable, cheeky, super loveable, a SHAMELESS flirt, and best of all everyone loves him (except the Count obviously). Figaro is really nice to him too and “Non piu andrai” is really cute because he and Susanna are teasing him the entire time but it NEVER gets mean and it’s honestly so refreshing. Highly recommend this one!

Met 1998

Featuring my ABSOLUTE FAVORITE CHERUBINO, the incomparable Susanne Mentzer, as well as my favorite Contessa ever, Renèe Fleming. I could talk about those two forever. They are both individually fantastic and their collaboration is amazing. I died, to be honest. Also features an amazing Susanna courtesy of Cecilia Bartoli and a simply adorable Danielle de Niesse as Barbarina. Figaro is pretty mean to Cherubino especially during “Non piu andrai” (seriously what is it with directors and this number) but it’s nothing compared to so many others so it’s watchable especially because Mentzer is fantastic and she steals the entire scene without even saying anything because she’s amazing. Her Cherubino is just the sweetest, sassiest, most adorable, energetic, and expressive Cherubino ever to bless the operatic stage. She’s exactly what Cherubino should be in every way and the production fully supports it. Watching the entire Cherubino-Susanna-Contessa scene in Act 2 is one of my favorite things in the world. The production itself is classic, detailed and true to the period, busy without being distracting, and the rest of the cast is good too.

Liege 2018

A very cute production featuring a super sweet Figaro who teases Cherubino but is not mean to him. Cherubino is sassy and endearing and very much the flirt with every lady in sight, and is pretty popular among them. The rest of the cast is good too and we get a particularly sassy Susanna (whose chemistry with the Contessa is lovely). The set is simple but very pretty. Another lighthearted, sweet, and genuine portrayal that stays true to the heart of this opera.

Glyndebourne 1973

A classic; lots of familiar names, lush period set/costumes, and staging that’s simple but effective. Featuring the insanely adorable Frederica von Stade as Cherubino. Her smile melts my heart every time. A mostly nice Figaro and great leading ladies.

Obviously there are way more productions out there, and I’ve watched more than this, but these are the ones that to me are most noteworthy from one end of the scale or the other.

This list may get longer as I watch more, but I think I’m going to take a break from Nozze for a little bit (or more likely just re-watch the Garsington one and Mentzer’s Cherubino over and over again).

#Le nozze di Figaro #the marriage of figaro #Cherubino #opera #opera tag #opera reviews #beware the Salzburg 2006 #if that's your only takeaway i've probably succeeded #petition to slap whoever came up with that one #anyway i hope you find this helpful #Cherubino is precious and must be protected at all costs #monotonous-minutia critiques

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monotonous-minutia · 4 years

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Hi! Randomly found your Marriage of Figaro critique while browsing the opera tag. Which versions have you seen that DO stay true to the Libretto?

Thanks for asking! Sorry if this post gets a bit rambly. Former literature major here. If you’re not interested in the analysis, I won’t be offended if you just skip to the list at the end.

So, in the original libretto, there aren’t a lot of specific stage directions for “Non piu andrai.” But there is some context. Right before, Figaro has an aside with Cherubino (”Io vo’ parlarti pria che tu parta”--“I need to speak with you before you leave.”) He’s going to tell Cherubino the plan that he reveals to Susanna and the Contessa in Act 2: that they’re going to dress Cherubino as a girl to trick the Count, etc., and Figaro wants to catch Cherubino before he heads to Seville. The insinuation here, though, is that Figaro wants Cherubino to stay. The Count told Cherubino that Cherubino had to leave right away, but Figaro’s plan takes place that night. In order for the plan to work Cherubino has to stay. So, whether intentionally or not, Figaro’s plan is helping Cherubino too. So that’s the setup.

The only other stage direction is “Figaro e Cherubino partono marciando come soldati” (Figaro and Cherubino exit marching like soldiers). Vague, but here’s my hot take. They’re leaving the room together doing the same thing, and given Figaro just spent the last four minutes or so describing army life to Cherubino, one might think then that Figaro is continuing his demonstration by marching and Cherubino is following along. Should be cute, right?

I won’t go into how it’s usually portrayed since that’s not part of your question and I have another post forthcoming that goes into that. So instead after a probably unnecessary amount of background here’s the answer to your question.

There’s two kinds of interpretations that I personally would see as acceptable for staging this scene. 1) Following the libretto exactly, and 2) staying true to the heart of the piece; that is, having Figaro be nice and kind of mentor-y even if he’s not following the direction exactly.

(There’s a few more here than mentioned in previous posts that I’ve seen since writing them, thankfully; I find that older productions tend to portray nicer Figaros. But this is still out of the 20+ renditions I’ve seen so it’s not a great ratio.)

Some productions I’ve seen that follow more literally:

Stagione (2006) Figaro helps Cherubino dress up like a soldier and fixes his posture (though he could be nicer about it) and they leave marching like soldiers.

Paris (1980) Pretty much same as above but Figaro is a little nicer.

UCSB (2018) Similar to above, but Figaro’s kind of pushy and his teasing goes a little overboard physically.

Livermore Valley Opera (2017) Figaro teaches Cherubino varies soldier-type poses and helps him dress up in an officer’s uniform, and gives him a flag and he leaves the room marching with it.

Some that don’t follow as literally but stay true to the Figaro-should-be-nice-to-Cherubino vibe:

Garsington (2017) Figaro spends the entire number shaving Cherubino; we can imagine to help him feel more mature because he has absolutely no facial hair. Very teasing and Cherubino does get nervous when he shaves under his chin but it’s not mean.

Liege (2018) Figaro demonstrates how to stand, walk, and salute like a soldier, gives Cherubino a hat, and indicates that the ladies love a man in uniform. Best part: they high-five at the end.

Glyndebourne (1973) Figaro sits Cherubino down for some real talk and gives him an officer’s hat, shakes his hand, and waves at him as he leaves.

Hope this is helpful and not too long-winded! Most of these can be found on YouTube if you’re interested in seeing them.

#Le Nozze di Figaro #The Marriage of Figaro #Cherubino #Figaro #Non piu andrai #opera #opera tag #opera productions #opera analysis #monotonous-minutia critiques #opera asks

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monotonous-minutia · 4 years

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Les contes d’Hoffmann (Munich 2011) pt. 4

More reactions but fewer pictures

So this version was very interesting. First, it was a mixture of spoken dialogue, recit, and sung dialogue between the big numbers. So that made the dialogue kind of mixed-up as it was a patchwork of the versions I’m used to.

Then, there were some pieces missing, some new pieces, and familiar pieces that were shortened or slightly different. The Septet in Act 3 was gone completely, which is supposedly more authentic, but it would have been interesting to see how this cast handled it, especially Damrau, because she’s a goddess. But the way they did Act 3 wouldn’t have had room for it anyway. More on that later.

This production was very Niklausse-centric (100% okay with me since he is my favorite character). Brower is overall fantastic in this role and gives us a really layered portrayal of the character. I was a little concerned at first when there was no costume change between Niklausse and the Muse because I saw that in another one once and it was handled very, very poorly. But they pulled it off here and in some ways it made everything more gay because he was Niklausse the entire time, and is literally declaring his love for Hoffmann while in male form so it’s like...obviously. How can anyone watch this opera and not understand that it is gay.

It focused on Niklausse a lot--he was even listed in the credits before Hoffmann. In some productions I see the camera tends to focus on everything but Niklausse and we only see him when he’s talking or doing something important. But this time the camera followed him around almost more than it followed Hoffmann. I really think they were embracing the idea that this is actually his story. I mean, he gets the opening and the closing numbers, and all of his motivation comes out within the first five minutes of the opera. The overall plot is him watching Hoffmann’s love life thwarted over and over and in every single act he has a moment where hes making it painfully obvious that he wants Hoffmann for himself. It’s easier to forget that in the shortened versions which is why I like the extended ones the best. The only time the camera DOESN’T flip over to Niklausse every couple seconds in this one is, ironically, one of the most important moments: when he runs away from Pitichinaccio in Act 3 after being kidnapped. Apparently that’s when he saw Giulietta take Hoffmann’s reflection and somehow figured out how to fix it by the time he made his way back.

In this one Niklausse is ALWAYS doing something. The only other one I’ve seen where he’s this busy is the Met’s Sher production. He’s all over Hoffmann, all the time. He’s running around being adorable. He’s spying on the other characters. He’s eating a popsicle while watching Hoffmann serenade Olympia. He’s giving Lindorf the roses Stella left for Hoffmann and helping him cut off the stems, just to be spiteful. He REALLY does not like these ladies. He can laugh at Olympia because she’s a robot, but boy does he hate Giulietta. At some points he looks like he’d like to go fight her himself. But he’s too busy keeping Hoffmann out of trouble...as best as he can.

I loved Villazón as Hoffmann. This was my first time seeing him in a comic role. I wasn’t sure how he’d handle it, because sometimes it’s hard for actors to go from one type of role to another. Also, though, Hoffmann is kind of a comic and dramatic role. Villazón manages to match them both. I love his ridiculous dance moves in the Olympia act and his awkward, smoky flirting with Giulietta in Act 3. He seems consistently irritated with Niklausse but he also kind of has RBF anyway. The only thing I’m missing is his interactions with the villains. They take out the entire insult duet that they’re supposed to have in the prologue and a section of the Trio des yeux in Act 1, as well as their interactions before and after Schlemil’s death because they did it so differently. Because of these a lot of their interaction is missing, which takes a lot away, I feel. Especially a shame because Relyea is fantastic as the villains, taking on each persona with ease and making them totally believable as incarnations of the same person. His Miracle was phenomenal. I got so many chills.

Damrau. OH MY GOD ahhhhhhh. She’s so fantastic I can’t handle it. I love her so much. I flipped out when I saw she was playing ALL the heroines. Hot damn. She did it so well. Like I would have believed it was actually four different people because of how well she encapsulated all the characters. Her fierce, broken Antonia, her blank-faced, flighty Olympia, and her seductive, malicious Giulietta were all so well done. She had an interesting portrayal of Stella--usually I see her as kind of a snooty figure, or dismissive, but this one seemed really sympathetic. She doesn’t have any lines in this one, but she’s so expressive as she sneaks into Hoffmann’s room in the prologue to leave him the letter, and again in the epilogue only to find him dead drunk and having torn up the picture and flowers she gave him. I actually felt really sorry for her.

And of course her signing is phenomenal. EEEEEK. She gets all of Olympia’s coloratura on point and her Antonia is so wistful and her duet with Miracle was phenomenal. And Giulietta was ridiculously sexy and she got a whole new number which is awesome because in some versions the character doesn’t really have a lot to do, and the song, though it was short and not in itself spectacular, let Damrau continue to show off her skills.

I’m going to take a moment to talk about the poison scene for my own edification. In the Wikipedia and Britannica summaries of this opera, both describe Act 3 (Giulietta) ending with Dapertutto trying to poison Niklausse because he’s tired of him constantly rescuing Hoffmann, but Giulietta drinks the poison instead and dies. I have never seen a production where this happens, or read a version of the libretto where it does, so I don’t know where that comes from. There IS a part in the original play (of the same title) at the end of Act 3 where this happens: Hoffmann wants to see Giulietta, Niklausse (who is called Friederick in the play...I do not know why) tells him he’s going to get a ride for them and drag him home of he has to. Dapertutto goes to Hoffmann to try and convince him to go to Giulietta because it’s all part of his plan; Hoffmann tells him he can’t because Friederick is coming back, and Dapertutto gives Hoffmann a sleeping potion to give to Friederick. It turns out to actually be poison and Giulietta drinks it before Friederick gets back. But again nothing like that has ever happened in any production I’ve seen. I’ve seen her get stabbed plenty of times but this is the only one where she drinks poison and it’s not even close to what happened in the play so idk how it even got here. But it was an interesting device and it suited this production. I just wish we could have seen the moment where Niklausse breaks free from Pitichinaccio and runs out.

The set was so great. I loved it. Like Sher’s, it did a great job of balancing the comic and the dramatic parts of the opera. Act 1 was all pastel colors and patterned wallpaper, vibrant, eccentric costumes and bright lighting. Act 2 was dark and sombre, and the house was crowded with furniture and a bunch of giant books which really helped me feel the suffocation that Antonia was experiencing. And Act 3 was open, dimly lit, and had that huge mirror. There was a distinct divide between the two spaces--Giulietta’s room and the hallway--but there was no wall, so seeing the action on both sides, but not having them interact or being very aware of each other, was a really interesting dynamic, especially in the Hoffmann/Giulietta duet where they’re in the room getting saucy and Niklausse is stuck outside with Pitichinaccio, staring at the door. And then the prologue and epilogue, going back and forth from the tavern to being Hoffmann’s room in what appears to be a hotel (or maybe an apartment). The fact that those two sets are really similar though, and travel right into each other, adds to the feeling of intimacy; Hoffmann is letting the others into his life, even as he enters their space (the tavern).

I can’t get over Niklausse coming out of the wine cabinet. And Hoffmann not thinking twice about it. Was he just too drunk to think it was weird? Or is he used to Niklausse hanging out in strange places? Also Lindorf didn’t seem to think it was odd that Niklausse tagged along for his aria or took his hat for him or helped him cut up the roses. It’s interesting because there are some versions where there’s a bit of an association between the two, because they have similar goals but different methods (though there is a notable exception to this, but that is a rant for another day). Sometimes I wonder if Lindorf has any idea that Niklausse is also the Muse. Here it’s left ambiguous, but also Lindorf doesn’t have a lot to do, because his duet with Hoffmann is cut short and he doesn’t talk in the epilogue at all.

There are literally no two Hoffmanns that look alike. I’ve seen several, and even revivals of old productions sometimes have differences. There’s literally a whole book about it (which I most definitely did not spend a ridiculous amount of money to buy). Even so, this was the most interesting edit I’ve stumbled upon. It would have helped to have English subtitles so I could better understand the parts I wasn’t familiar with, though I was able to use Google Translate at some points.

Overall this was solidly one of my favorites. Niklausse was surprisingly adorable, despite looking creepily similar to Hoffmann. It was quite gay, but not as angsty as some others, because Niklausse was rarely in doubt of his ability to win the day--even during the Violin Aria; he recovered fairly quickly. Only in the Giulietta act did he seem to be nearing the end of his rope, so tired of Hoffmann’s BS and having to constantly drag him out of trouble. They have an interesting device throughout where Niklausse writes in a notebook at the beginning and end of each act, as if he’s recording their adventures. He’s positively giddy in the epilogue when the book is finished, to the point that he just laughs when Hoffmann yells at him. He has what he wants and he knows he won. I am a sucker for the angst, though, and am known to destroy myself by repeatedly watching various renditions of the Violin Aria that break my heart. This one could have been gayer in that sense, but again, the way Niklausse is portrayed in general is super gay and the fact that Villazón plays Hoffmann as pretty gay too helps in that area.

Also I will never get over this picture.

I’ll leave you with that.

#Les contes d'Hoffmann #The Tales of Hoffmann #opera #opera tag #Jaques Offenbach #Jules Barbier #Michael Carré #opera reactions #opera analysis #monotonous-minutia reacts #monotonous-minutia does lit crit #is it lit crit if it's visual media?#monotonous minutia critiques

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lodelss · 5 years

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The Classroom Origins of Toxic Masculinity

Soraya Roberts | Longreads | January 2019 | 8 minutes (1,974 words)

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The recent Gillette ad has started/furthered a lot of conversations about what alternatives to toxic masculinity look like. This is it. pic.twitter.com/xATL9KUr9K

— Audra Williams (@audrawilliams) January 20, 2019

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Soraya Roberts is a culture columnist at Longreads.

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#IFTTT #Blogger

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