A Night At The Opera

We went to go see Madame Butterfly at the Bolshoi. Well, not the Bolshoi exactly. The actual Bolshoi is sinking into the swampy frost on which the legendary theater rests. The building is wrapped in scaffolding while the government figures out how to afford the nearly 3 billion dollar restoration cost. Billion. With a 'B'.

So there are a couple of other theaters in the plaza that defines the Bolshoi complex. Texan Robert Wilson's controversial avante garde staging of MADAME BUTTERFLY was in the so-called 'Small Bolshoi' next door.


I gotta tell you, I'm not really much of a chandelier man. Don't like 'em. Never have. Probably never will. Seem garish and tacky to my eyes. But you go to a place like this and it would seem wrong somehow if there weren't a few about.

Now I have to tell you that many Gungans died bringing you these photos. Camera are strictly not allowed. But I smuggled one in anyway. Which was an accomplishment in and of itself since you are also not allowed to bring your coat into the hall. You are required to check it.

The auditorium itself is understated and lovely. I liked its size. Everyone had a great seat.


We had seats in the very front row. That's us, an orchestra, and opera singers -- in that order. Over our heads hung another ubiquitous and seemingly obligatory chandelier. Can we just stop already?


As for the opera itself, all the performers were top notch. The staging was beautiful in a spartan avant garde kind of way. Ultimately, the form squeezed out the emotion for me and by the time Cio-Cio-San invokes her own demise I was almost completely disconnected. Still, it was cool.