Easter

Check the Basket

I never really think of Easter as a holiday. I know it is; at least for Christians.  There are traditions associated with it; at least there were when I was a kid. I remember coloring eggs. I enjoyed doing that but the fun was diminished by the knowledge that, when finished, they were still hard-boiled eggs which I have always loathed.

Easter usually meant there was a new jacket to wear to church; purchased at Robert Hall.  My family was Southern Baptist. In my experience, Baptists always dressed up for church and Easter was like Project Runway. Men always wore suits. Boys always wore sport coats, usually plaid. Woman would always wear hats.

Church in those days was always an inconveniently long affair and it was even longer on Easter Sunday. I was always jealous of my Catholic friends who could go to Mass for an hour and be done with it. Southern Baptist services lasted all morning and, unless your family was a member of some kind of Satanic cult, involved returning to church in the evening for more of the same. In between, there was always ham, scored in a diamond pattern with pineapple rings and whole cloves. Some people also used maraschino cherries but my grandmother disapproved. “We’re not that kind of ‘showy'” she’d say, though I suspect she just disliked maraschino cherries.

On the other hand, Baptists knew how to sing. Easter was a time to rejoice so the hymns were more upbeat. My favorite Easter hymns were “He Lives” and “Up From the Grave He Arose”. As hymns go,  I don’t think they’re particularly spiritual, but, except at Christmas and Easter, Baptist hymns tended to be a little dark. “The Old Rugged Cross”; “Amazing Grace… saving a wretch like me” . These are not cheerful toe-tappers. The Baptist churches with African-American congregations seemed to have better music but this was the early 1960’s in Southern Illinois coal country. A church was more likely to be integrated with Martians than African-Americans.

As an adult, long since estranged from what has become known as Evangelical Protestantism, Easter is more often about brunch than church. The ham is unchanged.

I still remember all the words to “He Lives” and “Up From the Grave He Arose” but I am more likely to be humming Irving Berlin’s “Easter Parade”. When I hear that song in my head it is Bing Crosby’s voice from Holiday Inn. Somehow this version seemed more in keeping with an Easter holiday tradition. Besides, it’s Judy Garland. She’s an icon to my people.

I hope everyone finds themselves in the rotogravure today.

Songs I Would Sing If I Were a Drag Queen – 50 Percent

The fine folks over at Deep Dish remind me that the Broadway musical Ballroom opened in December of 1978 and ran for 116 performances. I’ve never had the opportunity to see this show. I own the original cast recording and I’ve seen the teleplay on which the show is based, Queen of the Stardust Ballroom,  many times, but I’ve never seen the musical. Truthfully, I think the history of the show, it was Michael Bennett’s project between A Chorus Line and Dream Girls, may be more interesting than the show itself but that is unfair to say since I have not seen it. One song in the show, however, has always been a favorite of mine. “50 Percent” is a song about a widow who finds love, later in life, with a married man.

In some ways it is an odd song to think of this week. At a time when so much attention is focused on marriage equality a song about settling for less may seem politically incorrect. Ironically, the song is about adultery, not marriage equality. At its core, however, it is a song about the true meaning of love and an empowering anthem from a woman who finds it in a non-traditional relationship and defies others to judge her for it. I’ve always found the lyrics near the end of the song moving;

“So we don’t have memories
I have enough memories
I’ve seen enough mornings
I’ve cried enough evenings
I’ve had enough birthdays
To know what I want.”

Dorothy Loudon sang the song in the original production where the song included more character exposition about the changes that brought her to this point in her life. But I found a recording on Youtube of Michael Feinstein singing an edited version of it. He made some changes to the lyrics I find odd but, in the end, they don’t diminish Marilyn and Alan Bergman’s lyrics. In the Deep Dish survey, the song is paired opposite “The Bus From Amarillo” from The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas; another show that opened that season. That is a fine song as well but, to my mind, it is not even close.

Tonight at 8.30

One of my favorite gifts received last Christmas is a book called “Tonight at 8.30; ten one-act plays” by Noël Coward. I have always enjoyed Coward’s writing. He had a unique sophistication and wit and, in addition to his considerable talents as a dramatist, composer, lyricist, actor and cabaret performer, he was a master of the ‘drawing-room comedy’.

In 1935 he was arguably at the peak of his career as a playwright. He had enjoyed great success with Hay Fever, Private Lives and Design For Living and was only 3 years away from completing what would become his masterpiece; Blithe Spirit. Partly in an effort to revive the one-act form, Coward wrote 10 short plays. An equally important goal was to capitalize on his popularity with his long-time performing partner, Gertrude Lawrence, by showcasing their talents in diverse roles. The audiences would come to see Noël & Gert; the material was secondary. Presented under the title “Tonight at 8.30“; the plays were presented in seemingly random groups of three. The only apparent commonalities among the plays is that there were always leading roles for Coward and Lawrence and, because of their length and one-act format, any three of them could be performed in an evening, divided by two intermissions. The production toured England in 1935 with new plays being added into the rotation as they were completed. The production opened in London in January of 1936 and the New York run began in November of that year.

The plays are wonderful individually; some more than others to be sure, but even more so when viewed collectively. They cover a complete spectrum of styles from drama to farce. There are comedies; both light and very dark. Some of the pieces include music.

The best known of the plays is Still Life. The drama tells the story of the relationship of a man and woman, both married to others, as they continue to meet, over time, in a London train station. Coward later adapted it as a screenplay and it became a successful film under the title Brief Encounter.

I think the weakest of the plays is We Were Dancing, a comedy about marital infidelity among colonial Brits who are just a little too sophisticated.

The Astonished Heart is a tragedy about infidelity and obsession.

In Red Peppers, described as; “An Interlude with Music”, the title refers to a husband & wife team of English Music Hall performers who are not exactly at the top of their game.

Hands Across the Sea is a classic Coward drawing-room comedy of manners and mistaken identity.

One of my favorites, Fumed Oak is a dark comedy about a very dysfunctional family. Described as; “An Unpleasant Comedy in Two Scenes”, the play appeals to me in the same way as the work of contemporary playwrights like George Walker and Tracy Letts.

Shadow Play, captioned as; “A Musical Fantasy”, is the most unusual of the pieces. With music and a surprisingly non-linear structure, it shows the life-cycle of a romantic relationship.

Family Album, a comedy set in Victorian England, is the only period piece. It shows a bereaved family coping with grief by means of madeira and fraud.

Ways and Means is a farce involving burglars and house guests who won’t leave.

Star Chamber is a satire of the stereotypes of show folk.

In 2009, Canada’s Shaw Festival produced the series. The plays were presented in groups of three throughout the season and, twice, were presented in what was billed as the “Mad Dogs & Englishman Marathon” when all 10 plays were performed in the same day. Even for a Coward fan, the marathon was daunting but it was the only way those of us traveling a long distance to the Festival were able to see all 10 plays. It was a long day for the audience, evening longer for the actors, I’m sure. But it was absolutely worth it. Rereading them was enjoyable and a wonderful reminder of a once-in-a-lifetime theater experience.

The Problem with ‘Hate-Speech’ – It’s So Hard to Get It Just Right

There is a petition campaign underway to recall our County Sheriff.  Sheriff Arpaio; known locally, by friends and foes alike, as “Sheriff Joe”, has been described as controversial and has become known nationally for his actions here in Arizona.

I have no intention of blogging about Sheriff Joe. To my mind, support for the Sheriff is among those rarest of all political issues; a clear case of right vs. wrong. There is so little basis for common ground that the debate is futile. He is hugely popular and was overwhelmingly re-elected to a 5th term. We live in a society with (relatively) free elections so I express my values at the ballot box and hope for better times to come. It also helps to watch “Guess Who’s Coming To Dinner” for the 200th time so I can hear Ms. Hepburn say my favorite line; “People who think that way are wrong to think that way. Sometimes hateful, usually stupid, but always, ALWAYS wrong.” But I digress…..

Larry Klayman, an attorney and Arpaio supporter with ties to the Tea Party and ‘Birther’ activists (movement?… community? – I’m not sure how to refer to ‘Birthers’ collectively), has been threatening to mount a legal challenge to the recall effort. In a recent email, Mr Klayman referred to William Fisher, chairman of Respect Arizona, the group  organizing the recall challenge, as a “Homo”. Mr. Klayman followed the epithet with a euphemistic reference to his own testicles.  Respect Arizona is calling on the Sheriff to denounce Klayman’s comments. Uh huh; I don’t see that happening.

This and other current events, prompted me think about anti-gay ‘hate-speech’. I don’t know Mr. Fisher’s orientation. <Insert Tallulah Bankhead quote here.> I don’t think Klayman was really talking about Fisher’s sexuality. It’s just one of those things some people say to show disrespect; a term of derision. Some day we’ll live in a society where political discourse rises above the level of elementary-school-playground name calling. As I said, better times to come.

Mr. Klayman didn’t intend his email to be public. I don’t think that matters. We’ve heard worse spoken directly into the microphone by activists with a lot more prominence than Larry Klayman. And this kind of polemic is not limited to one end of the political spectrum. ‘Right-wing’ folks are more likely to use epithets relating to sexual orientation or race but I’ve heard activists from the ‘left’ use terms to describe evangelicals and NRA members that could hardly be characterized as high-minded eloquence.

As a gay man, of course, I have a heightened sensitivity to the use of homosexuality as basis for derision. But, candidly, as ‘hate-speech’ goes, “homo” is pretty tame. He could have used the “F- word”. I think that is easier for many homophobes to say than to write. They look really dumb when they spell it wrong.

Hate-speech is bad for many reasons but what offends me most, in this case, aside from the whole acting-like-a-12-year-old thing, is the banality.  “Homo”? Really?? Surely Klayman could have chosen something with a little more panache.

‘Fairy’, ‘Poofter’, or ‘Bum Chum’ would have been whimsical but I don’t think he was going for a light-hearted tone since the following sentence, after the reference to his testicles, was “Let’s Go to War”.

I’ve always liked ‘butt-pirate’ and ‘bum bandit’. They have a swashbuckling character and conjure a sense of adventure. That’s probably more romantic than he was hoping for.

‘Nancy-boy’ conveys a continental sophistication and Python-esque wit but it assumes the reader understands ‘nance’ as a verb. This is not a common usage in Arizona.

‘Queen’ is an option but I don’t think I’ve ever heard that term used to describe a gay man by someone not also ‘in the club’ <nudge nudge wink wink>. That, along with his apparent focus on bringing his testicles into the discussion, might have sounded some warning bells at Tea Party Central.

I checked the Online Slang Dictionary for other possibilities. I was surprised by the number that I’d never heard. In some cases, like “shirt lifter” or “peter puffer”, I understand the reference even though I’ve never heard the term used.  Others, like ‘jobby jabber’ or ‘lemon’; are completely inscrutable. If the reference is too obscure for me to understand it is unlikely the average Tea Party activist would have gotten the meaning; making the testicle reference that followed even more bizarre.

I noted three others; ‘bear’, ‘cub’, and ‘girlfriend’. In all three cases I think using them would have implied a level of familiarity with the gay community he was probably not hoping to convey. (See ‘Queen’ above.)

I guess he was going more for directness than literary style. That makes sense. He is a serious, conservative political activist talking about important issues. I guess ‘homo’ was the best choice afterall.

Harper Comes Home – Big Smiles

When Harper’s Other Dad and I travel, as we did last weekend, Harper goes to the PetsHotel. During the day she goes to Doggy Day Camp where she plays with friends,  old and new.

When I pick her up after boarding we always get her “Pawgress Report Card” for the visit. They know Harper well at the PetsHotel.  We always board her there. It is also where I took her to obedience school and where I take her for grooming. The Report Card always tells us how much they love having her. Harper’s Other Dad and I suspect they say that about all their guests but in Harper’s case we know it is sincere. How could it be otherwise?

This visit the Report card advises she made friends with Puggles, Chloë and Mya; obviously dogs of discerning taste. She was a little picky about eating “but nothing unusual for her when she boards with us”. The report card also tells us she had “no problems going potty”. Good news, to be sure but, for some reason, the word ‘potty’ always makes me laugh when I see it written.

The report card varies from visit to visit and I am confident she is well cared for the at the PetsHotel. One thing that never changes is the big smile on her face when we take her home. OK, there’s a smile on my face too.

Oh My God!

Photo credit to Mark H. Thanks for a terrific memory.

For the life of me I cannot remember what was happening in this photo. It was before dinner, but well into the cocktail hour(s) of the recent Spomageddon Blogapalooza.

I’m choosing the caption; “Oh Douglas; you do talk scandal!”

The thought bubble; “A room full of bloggers and someone just took my picture wearing this tacky jewelry. I may as well just buy a wig and change my name to Tawdry Hepburn“ works equally well.

Oh, The Horror!

There is drama. There is melodrama. And then there is Francesca da Rimini. To say the acting style is exaggerated doesn’t begin to describe it. Imagine a production of “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?” if Martha and George were played by Norma Desmond and Snidely Whiplash. That said, I think I liked it. It was an uphill battle to get there, however.

Being unfamiliar with the opera, everything about the production was new to me. The costumes and sets are lavish. The setting, 13th century Italy, is true to the text. The music is wonderful and sounds vocally challenging, especially for the soprano. The music is unusual, from my experience, for opera. There is definitely a ’20th century’ feel to it. It often sounds like a film score. But not the score to a big costume drama; more like the score of film noir. By the last act I was thinking of Hitchcock.

It must be difficult to direct melodrama. If played with too much subtlety or realism the text seems cartoonish. If played too ‘over-the-top’ it risks becoming a parody of itself. In this case, they chose to embrace exaggeration for all it is worth. It took a while for me to get onboard but, eventually, I got there.

I almost left at the end of Act I. The opera opens with a chorus of woman. They strike overly dramatic poses, look knowingly into each other’s eyes and stare off into space for no apparent reason. They move in a way that seems to have more to do with maximizing the visual impact of their flowing chiffon gowns than supporting anything taking place in the scene. There were times I had to force myself not to laugh. The title character enters to fret about the pending arrival of her betrothed. While vocally beautiful, the acting is quite a bit less subtle than Tippi Hedren hearing the gulls tapping on the telephone booth. It took a few minutes to realize what I was seeing was not bad acting but a stylistic choice. All the performances are consistent. There is plenty of scenery to chew for the whole cast.

By the time Act IV arrived the performances seemed ‘spot on’. I’m sure this is, in part, because I’d been seeing it for 3 hours. It is also because that style is perfectly suited to the music as it develops toward the climax. The text points that direction as well. I was confused by our heroine describing her existence as a “feast of fear” when nothing bad had happened yet. One character or another said some variation of “Oh, the horror” in almost every scene. Later on, when Francesca tells her would-be lover he should “die like a galley-slave rowing a ship called Despair” it begins to feel familiar. By the time she tells her lover he has “broken her soul like a stem” and he is promising “to take her to where all is oblivion and time will be their slave” I was fully invested. To quote a line from one of my favorite musicals; “This sort of talk just doesn’t come up in normal conversation”. There are only two ways to say (or sing) lines like that; tongue-in-cheek or over-the-top. They made the right choice.

Breakfast With The Arts

It is 6:30 AM in Harper’s Valley and I am preparing to go to the opera.

One of the quirks of our little red state in the sun is that we do not change our clocks with the rest of the country. It is part of our cowboy ethos, ‘We don’t need no stinking daylight savings time.’ Today’s Met “Live in HD”  simulcast is Francesca da Rimini. Because it is on the long-ish side; a little under 4 hours including 3 intermissions; the powers-that-be at Lincoln Center opted to start the performance at noon (EDT) instead of the usual 1:00 PM. Last Saturday that would have meant a 10:00 AM start in Arizona. This week, because of that DST thing, it starts at 9:00 AM instead.

I’m intrigued to see this opera; as intrigued as I can be to see any opera at this hour; because it is one with which I am completely unfamiliar. Indeed, I don’t think I’d heard of the composer, Riccardo Zandonai, before this season was announced.

Consulting the reference books at hand, I find The Limelight Book of Opera mentions neither the composer nor the opera. I am more successful, however, by flipping through to page 1031 of Kobbe’s Complete Opera Book. F da R is an early 20th century piece with a text by Tito Ricordi based on a play of the same name by d’Annunzio. It premiered in London in 1914 and at the Met in 1916. The synopsis tells me it will be a tale of star-crossed lovers thwarted by an arranged marriage. In true operatic style, the lovers die in each other arms. It is sure to be a toe-tapper.

My best friend, Wikipedia, tells me Mr. Zandonai composed 13 operas, a number of sacred works. symphonic works including concerti or violin and cello, and the score for a 1936 French film. Who knew?!

*****

On a possibly unrelated note, apparently I have become a saint. Having only a passing knowledge of all things papist, I am not sure how these things happen. For starters, I thought one had to be dead. I thought there was usually some kind of martyrdom or suffering involved as well. I did have to get up at 6:00 AM on a Saturday to get ready for Francesca da Rimini. Come to think of it, there is a new Pope; Francis. Francis?….Francesca?….hmmm. At lunch I shall try to turn water into Malbec.