Sunday 25 October 2009

cultural weekend

On Saturday morning I hopped the bus and train to Carcassonne:
booked into a hotel, La Bastide in the Rue de la Liberté, which I
recommend if you need to stay in Caca. (Little family place,
clean and cheap and far, far from pretentious -)

Did some galleries and met up with Adrian and Maggie - Phillipe
having dropped out on account of work - and drove out to the
Pont Rouge for the much awaited live link-up with the
Metropolitan Opera in New York, doing Aida at the multiplex.

Blindin'!

As my neighbour said, beaucoup d'emotion... of course the singing
was amazing but seeing everything that close up gave a chance for
the acting also to develop. There were strange glitches in continuity
during the intermissions when the stars were interviewed; from
huge stage and massive voices and big frocks, to backstage chat -
then back on for deathless avowals of love. Weird.
I liked seeing backstage, the revealed fact that an opera is like an
iceberg, only an eighth visible (and audible). Mega support staff
silently making it happen.

I'm sure you know the plot - boy meets girl (1), boy in business of
killing girl (1)s family and friends, other girl (2) demands love of boy
who denies it on account of being in love with girl (1), who is
bullied by her father into tricking him to give away military
secrets. Girl (2) denounces boy who is sentenced to be buried
alive, joined by girl (1) who has anticipated this and instead of
bringing sandwiches and a shovel, sings an incredibly
beautiful song and dies.

What can you do? Boy meets girl, sees futility of relationship
and marries princess? Girl falls for boy, recognises the
impossibility of life together, goes out with the milkman?

Verdi was apparently interested in the old argument of state
versus personal fulfillment. Betray your country or your friend.
I wonder what people argue about nowadays - whose name to
have tattooed where, probably.

On getting back late to Caca, in an operatic daze, found the
Occitane manif going strong. They want to be recognised as
an independent region with its own political representation,
culture and language. José Bove was allegedly speaking though
I didn't see or hear him but 20 thousand others were there, very
mixed; old and young, families and activists. Mostly good
humoured, some militancy, air punching and shouting.
Pussycats though.

I had a video of them singing in Occ but it wouldn't upload... so
here they are not singing in Occ.

1 comment:

vanilla beer said...

P.S.just told Msr François that I'd been to Caca to go to the cinema and he asked if I'd cried. Turns out that there used to be 2 cinemas in Tilling - café de la gare and where the old tennis courts were in Rue des Jardins - and on a Monday morning it was the custom to ask which film you'd been to. When asked if it was good, you then replied: it was beautiful, I cried.