I was full of anticipation of every sort, but I wanted to focus on similarities—and differences—between sitting in the audience at the Metropolitan Opera House in New York City, and sitting in a movie theater in Boise watching the simultaneous stream of the HD transmission. In other words, it was time to consider the authenticity of the out-of-theater performative experience: Are aesthetic appetites sated in HD? Who is the target of our bravos? What would Verdi do? Will I be able to enjoy this?
The house lights dim. Oh, wrong... those were the house lights at the Metropolitan. Why didn’t Edwards try to dim the house lights in the movie theater at the same time? Wouldn’t be nice to coordinate lighting calls in an effort toward an authentic experience? I’m I the only person to be distracted by this? I make a note to send a pointed letter to Edward’s management, and then try to relax. I take a deep breath and think buffo thoughts. But just as unwillingness begins to destabilize suspended disbelief, the house lights at Edwards dim. Things are moving forward. Willingness returns in the forgiving darkness.
Act one, scene one: a large close up of the singing character of Macbeth fills the giant screen, followed by a quick cut to the same character from another camera. Then, there is a sequence of cuts, from many cameras, each from their own angle and degree of zoom. Violations of the rule of performative authenticity mount, and we're heading for multiple citations.
After all, brick-and-mortar audiences don’t have the option to vary their sight lines. At the opera our seats are fixed, our heads face one direction, in the dark, and oblivious to others sitting around us (ideally). And, on the other hand, brick-and-mortar audiences can focus on anyone or anything on stage as they choose.
But not so, with cameras and video directors who limit our options. The multiple and oblique camera angles, quick cuts, mediated POVs and the added sense of movement that this creates begin to chip away at the authenticity of the experience. It destabilizes our internal, self-directed, connective experience; the very reason live theater was invented in the first place. (You remember then.)
If producers were sincere in their attempt to recreate the experience of sitting in the Met, then they should limit camera movement, or at least make dramaturgical choices. For example, if I want to focus Macbeth’s reaction to his wife’s meltdown, then frame both characters, not just the soloist. Request denied. The apparent directorial rationale—amount of screen time is equally proportional to body weight—forces me to focus on the single character of Lady Macbeth, and Macbeth's reaction (contrived to reflect my own) is hidden from view.
By and by, I witness the most exquisite aria in the operatic repertoire, performed by the supreme diva du jour. It stopped the show on stage in New York, but the local theater is completely quiet.
Great performances incite thunderous applause, bravos and bouquets of flowers raining upon the stage. Being part of that energy is thrilling; the shared experience an important element of theater. But the relative quiet at Edwards is disquieting. I want rise to my feet and howl “bravo,” but I don’t. Why? why not? whatever. When composing this area, Verdi had loftier intentions than to challenge my esprit. Do I applaud or not? How else am I to put a lid on the fervor that burns within?
So, is there any hope for HD transmissions? Of having an authentic experience as if attending live opera? Can I enjoy the music as drama as Verdi intended without the distraction of technology and obstacles to my full participation? Well... yes.
By Act II, I was properly transported, mostly by the incredible vocal performances of the artists on Metropolitan stage. The audio and visual quality is excellent and being technically enhanced, it could be argued, to surpass anything one could experience in the theater. The distraction of camera angles evaporated, as it does for a well-directed film. For the most part, technology serves performing arts very well. Verdi wrote so his audience could touch the sublime and, damn it, I’m there, even if I don’t show it.
Pragmatically, I consider comfort and convenience: a short drive from home, a $22 admission cost, enjoying an in-show mocha and biscotti. Think briefly on the cost of traveling to New York, hotel accommodations and the price of a ticket at the Met. ‘Nough said.
As far as my intrapersonal catharsis, I’m there. My communal expression of choice...tears. I have no problem with tears. I cry at good theater, even if no one else is. For me, a well performed opera touches the sublime. The music, text and spectacle have a cumulative effect that short-circuits my emotional center. The best will bring on the tears: tears of sadness, tears of joy, tears of orchestral richness, tears of exceptional set design, even tear of vibrant gel colors! It doesn’t matter the cause because good theater is non-rational. Today, several arias touched my t-spot and, as the house light came up, I saw I was not alone. A darkened theater is the sanctuary for the exposed heart...very real, very communal, HD notwithstanding.
So I’m a believer. The Met’s HD Transmissions are an exceptional opportunity and I look forward to continued and expanded programs in future seasons.
In this production: Lado Ataneli as Macbeth, Maria Guleghina Lady Macbeth, John Relyea Banquo, Dimitri Pittas MacDuff and whose performance of "Ah, la paterna mano" is among those sublime. Conductor James Levine is the world’s greatest lyric-theater conductor, no contest.
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