When I say Cherie Gil, I bet you think, "You're nothing but a second-rate, trying hard, copycat!"  Furthermore, you imagine the abrupt tipping of the wine glass, and Sharon Cuneta's sodden, miserable face in Butuing Walang Ningning.

          Maria Callas, on the other hand, is a reference that's a little more obscure to the younger set, unless you were weaned on opera, like some children are--part of that old belief that all things classical transmutes babies into geniuses ready to stride out of the womb.  I myself grew up in a heady cloud of musty old pop: The Cascades, Neil Sedaka, Nat King Cole, a little Abba.  Opera it was not.  The lucky fact that I even knew a little about Maria Callas stems from mundane dinner conversation, many years ago.  Like most interesting factoids, it was laced with a little scandal:  Maria Callas, the great soprano, had an affair with Aristotle Onassis.  And Onassis is another one of those sticky names that accrue labels: billionaire, shipping magnate, and of course, Jackie O's husband (As a side note though, Maria Callas came before, not after Jackie.  At a glance, it seems like the classic case of a rich old man trading up to a younger model, matrimony-wise.)

          It's all a bit sordid, I know, but the human mind seems to want to collect the worst details.  That and memorable movie lines.

          Of memorable lines, Maria Callas seems to have many attributed to her.  "When my enemies stop hissing, I shall know I'm slipping," refers to early hardships establishing her career as an artist in the--pardon the pun--cutthroat world of opera.  She was also quoted as saying that comparing her to Tebaldi--another soprano, and supposedly her rival at the time-- was a travesty, like comparing champagne to Coca Cola. 

          If I may say so...Ang taray!  =)

          I mean "Ang taray" in the best possible way, of course.  But she does look a bit fierce, don't you think? 

         Fabulous, no doubt, but almost untouchable, a diva even in pictures.  Of course, Cherie Gil also has that glorious diva aura about her, a certain steel-rod-down-the-spine quality that one cannot help but respect and even fear, just a little bit.

          In a masterful stroke, the universe has conspired to bring these two characters together in a play, the ultimate meet-cute.  Cherie Gil plays Maria Callas who, in delirious monologues, is at turns Aristotle Onassis and Giovanni Meneghini (Callas's first husband) as well.  It is all deliciously complicated, and scandalous, and brilliantly feathered, as only a true diva's life can be.



           A brief backgrounder: The play is set in Juilliard, where Callas taught a master class in opera from 1971 to '72.  Aristotle Onassis had just wed Jackie O, leaving Maria Callas just as she had finally severed her marriage to Meneghini.  It is tragic all around.  In the ultimate ironic twist, shortly after the wedding, Callas got cast as Medea, that archetype of the "woman scorned."  Jason of the Argonauts too had traded up.  More's the pity.

           But that's not what the story is about, not really.  It is the tapestry which colors the scene, but it is not the scene itself.  The story is about art.  And life.  Discipline.  Devotion.  High drama.  Fire.  Gumption.  And above all, how to sing: the sweet desperation, the total loss of self to the character, the whole out-of-body experience.


      Cherie Gil seems to have an out-of-body experience herself, fully inhabiting the role of the humorous but deadly sharp teacher, one of that rare breed whom you either love or hate as a student, but whom you never forget.  The suspension of disbelief is complete: at a glare from those serpentine eyes, you sit a little bit straighter, listen a bit more attentively.  She will not repeat herself twice.  And no applause please.  There is work to be done.

The Callas in Master Class is full of aphorisms: 

     "To be remembered, you've got to have a look." 

     "Art is domination." 

     "Vowels are the inarticulate sounds of the heart.  In consonants lie the meaning." 

     To a student wearing a short skirt, "The public that looks at you from down there sees a little more of you than you might want." 

     Chiding a student for not bringing a pencil to make notes with:  "At the conservatory Madame de Hidalgo never once had to ask me if I had a pencil. And this was during the war, when a pencil wasn't something you just picked up at the five and ten. Oh no, no, no, no. A pencil meant something. It was a choice over something else. You either had a pencil or an orange. I always had a pencil. I never had an orange. And I love oranges. I knew one day I would have all the oranges I could want, but that didn't make the wanting them any less."

      Everything is a pronouncement, delivered to the point, and weighty as holy writ.

* * *

         Of course, there is that matter of historical correctness: Was this really what Maria Callas was like?  General consensus seems to be that McNally did take some liberties with the characterization of Callas.  For one, according to accounts, she was not as acerbic as the character in Master Class was.  Also, of the quotes above, only the one about the skirt is true.

         Makes me feel a bit sad, really.  I liked the character a lot (Brava to Cherie Gil for a brilliant and intense performance).

         Still, artifice is meant to highlight some greater truth.  In this case, I think it is that art as a higher calling can also be a ravenous pit to which you surrender yourself completely.  Most of the time, it is worth it.  Or is it really?

        Of Callas herself, who knows what happened?  She died of a heart attack, five years after her Juillard stint.  Who knows what she was really thinking?  That there are no definite answers means we are all free to draw our own conclusions.  The Callas in Master Class is ultimately tragic, plagued by demons of the past. Multiple comparisons are made to Medea the Jilted One. 

        The real-life Callas seemed cool as a cucumber here in her interview with a younger Barbara Walters.

           Muy elegante, no?

           There were also rumors that she was still seeing Aristotle Onassis even during his marriage to Jackie.  Another version, that one.

           Still, my favorite theory is that she got herself a younger boyfriend, ala Demi Moore.  Fanfare and racy scandal are necessary in an ending fitting for La Divina herself.  No tears shed over rich old men, please!

* * *

          Master Class will run at the Carlos P. Romulo Theater, RCBC Plaza on October 17, 18, 23, 24 and 25, 2008 at 8:00 p.m.

          For inquiries please call Philippine Opera Company at 892-8786 or log on to www.philippineoperacompany.com or TicketWorld

[Many thanks to Ms. Lorna Lopez, and Ms. Karla Gutierrez  of the Philippine Opera Company, for graciously inviting us to watch Master Class take shape]

Is ignorance ever a positive thing? I know no Italian and I have never seen the Broadway musical Rent. Furthermore, I have never been to an opera in my life. Taking these three things into account, I felt rather ill-prepared to watch La Bohéme—that immortal Puccini opera even plebians like me are aware of. Would I like it, even if it’s in Italian? Will I cry, like those sensitive leading men in romantic comedies? Does it imply something horrible about my psyche if I don’t cry? These and other more serious questions tumbled in and out of my consciousness in the week leading up to Day Zero: the La Bohéme technical dress rehearsal that I managed to wangle an invite to (Many thanks, by the way, to Ms. Lorna Lopez and to Ms. Karla Gutierrez for making this possible, as well as to Director Floy Quintos for being nice enough not to mind the intrusion, and for gamely answering our questions in the open forum).

But one man’s ignorance is another’s tabula rasa, and you could not get any more tabula rasa than I was. So I looked forward to my operatic deflowering with naïve enthusiasm, holding onto my ignorance with a death grip. I figured that I was the acid test: if I managed to enjoy it, even with all those counts against me, then you probably will too. (Also, I have the nagging feeling that I’m one of the five people of my demographic—middle class Filipino, early twenties—who has not seen Rent. I mean, there’s even a movie version, so I have no excuses, really. =D)

So going back to my original point: Did I like it? Even if it was in Italian, and I had no knowledge of the plot, and there were no subtitles to be found anywhere? Even if I was, godammit, an opera virgin and an admittedly ignorant one to boot?

All I can say is, La Bohéme is a gentle way to start, if it’s your first time too.

Let’s start with the music, because taking language out of the equation, your senses are heightened to what you can relate to, which is the score.  Signor Puccini did know a thing or two about music, wouldn’t you say?
 

 

The orchestral accompaniment is at turns sweeping and grandiose, whimsical and light, and gentle as a breath. But these words mean nothing. I stare at them and they are just adjectives that do not describe. Music is something that must be experienced, as cliché as that may sound. On the merit of the orchestra alone, I would recommend that you see the local production. In this case, it is the Philippine Philharmonic, conducted with painstaking and passionate attention to detail by Helen Quach. I also recommend that you take deep breaths while you listen. The resonance produced by the expansion of the chest cavity seems to enhance the experience. (It’s either that or the increased oxygen making me inordinately happy. The cellists could probably see my silly grin from the orchestra pit.)

Of course, the heart and soul of opera are the singers and their inhuman vocal ranges! =) The opera singers in the local production are revelations, performing over the din of the orchestra without the benefit of a single microphone. I was told by my friend David that sometimes in operas, either the set itself is mic’ed or there’d be an overhead microphone. But no artificial amplification for these artists. You’ve got to admire the cojones of that, right? There were a few odd patches where the orchestra predominated, but on the whole, the cast did a stellar job. I expect they’ll be even better come opening night.

Of the cast we saw, the stand-out performances for me were by Gary del Rosario as Rodolfo and Jennifer Uy as Mimi, although the rest of the singers are extremely good as well. There is a lot to be said for being expressive while doing the intense vocal acrobatics required in opera. And Mimi singing in bed! Wow, don’t even get me started.

But what about the story?

Seeing as I have not “spoiled” myself by reading English translations before watching the opera, I could say that (1) yes, the score does carry you seamlessly through each Act (but the Acts, in relation to each other, have abrupt time jumps), and (2) there are many ways to tell a story aside from actually telling the story.

Firstly, the set is a character in itself, depicting the changes in moods and seasons, and aiding greatly in nonverbal storytelling. Though the production used the original libretto, the setting is greatly different from Puccini’s, transplanted to contemporary Metro Manila. Thus, there is a preponderance of barong-barong, rusty corrugated iron and cyclone wire. It mostly works though. Poverty is timeless. So is love. So is lust. So is death. And so on.

Also, the way the scenes are choreographed makes for easier comprehension of events. Act Two, which all happens in a busy market, is particularly brilliant. However, it gets a little hairier in Acts Three and Four, because the events are more introspective and harder to express through action alone.

That’s why it’s good to watch this with a knowledgeable friend. =) So I cheated a bit.

I also watched with my mouth open half the time. Such is the purpose of the dark.

(La Bohéme will have a limited run from October 3 to 5 at the CCP. Like the proverbial snowflake it is beautiful, unique and short-lived: only three performances. Suportahan po natin ang mga artistang Pilipino. For more information, and to order tickets, visit TicketWorld.)

Panoorin nyo po ang Siquijor, suporta na rin sa pelikulang Pilipino.  Still not THE great Filipino movie of our generation, pero ok naman. Comments: there were a few loose ends left at the end of the movie, and sometimes mahina ang sound.  But it's a fairly good mystery/suspense story, and the irony at the end was simply delicious.  Playful ang camera angles, very characteristic of indie filipino.

Rhea, Jerc and I watched it last saturday.  We had lunch in TemptAsian.  Then we burned everything off at an arcade game called "Final Furlong".  Guys, ito yung horse racing na game sa Timezone. Grabeh, nakakapagod, very physical.  They should put the damn machine in gyms; they'd make a killing.


* * *

Films.  We're writing a film script for the CinemaOne contest.  I'm burned out from trying to be creative for hours on end.  Now I can only think in stark Hemingway-esque prose. Declarative sentences:  I am tired. My neck hurts.  I want to rest, but I still need to prepare kefir.  Kefir is a health drink I ferment everyday for my parents.  It's made from milk, and tastes like creamy vinegar.

This is what you do for love.

It's a bit of an adjustment, working on a creative thing with new people.  By new, I mean not the gorgeous and talented writers in dormant muses.  Tougher.  And full of compromise, iba iba kasi ang creative vision nyo.

Worn out. Tired.  Squeezed dry. (But not dry enough to run out of rants.  Which brings me to my newly formulated theory that hope isn't the last thing to survive in the face of adversity; rants are).

Bye for now.

Kakabasa ko lang ng "Dekada '70" ni Lualhati Bautista, at taliwas sa inaasahan ko, mabilis ko syang natapos! (ako na sadyang may pagkatanga pag malalim na salita na ang ginamit). Naiyak pa nga ko sa ibang tagpo. Basta, galing. Madaling basahin, tsaka maganda ang kwento.

***

Panata ko na ngayon na magbasa ng maraming babasahing Filipino. Medyo sawa na rin akong maging makabayan kuno, pero sa "imported" na wika naman. Naaalala ko lang yung isang kwento ni Eli Ang Barroso ("Our Lady of Arts and Letters," na isinulat niya sa Inggles, take note), na sinasabing di talaga tayo maaaring maging tunay na bihasa sa Inggles. Pagkasabi nya: "E.M. Forster we are not." (At sumasang-ayon ako rito, dahil magaling talaga si E.M. Forster. Pero patay na ata sya).

Ang tanging magagawa raw natin sa wikang di atin ay "lean, unlovely prose, like Hemingway's" o puro "lush imagery" at "flowery language" na lang. Maysala ako sa parehong bintang, depende na lang sa mood ko. Sabi nga ni Rizal, di ba, na "ang di marunong gumamit ng sariling wika ay higit na mabaho sa bilasang isda"? Baka nagpaparinig rin sya sa sarili nya nung sinabi nya yun, siyang may-akda ng Noli, Fili, at Ultimo Adios, kapwa Kastila lahat ang pagkasulat. (hehe. bakit ba ko banggit nang banggit ng mga taong patay na?)

Basta, basta, basta! magiging magaling rin ako magtagalog (ewww...parang linya ng foreign-germ yun a! eww...)

***

Kailangan ko na nga palang magempake ng mga gagamitin ko sa Bohol.

I had a yummy brunch today. It was the result of some last minute ingenuity, as a lot of good things tend to be (i.e. i was starving and needed to prepare something quick before i keeled over from hunger).

The anatomy of a quick, delicious brunch
~ The base: a bowl of steaming rice (inoculate this with Aspegillus oryzae, then Saccharomyces, and you'd have sake. But that's an altogether different matter)
~ 2nd layer: Del Monte Filipino style spaghetti sauce, poured over rice (quantity to taste)
~ 3rd layer: a slice of Provolone cheese (yumyum)
~ 4th layer: pan-seared bell peppers and portobello mushrooms, both marinated in a mix of soy sauce, drained fruit cocktail juice, and thyme.
~ 5th layer: a slice of ham
~ topping: drizzle balsamic vinegar over all (to taste)

Voila! amazing what you can do with holiday leftovers.

Sarap nito. The cheese melts with the heat of the rice, and makes it a bit rich.
(haha. tama ba namang maglagay ng recipe dito? I've been reading too many cookbooks)

***

Natutuwa ako sa Tito namin na sa amin nagsstay for the moment. Bigla ba namang nagluto ng fried frog legs. Siya mismo yung humuli ng palaka sa bakuran namin. Hehe. Napaka-outdoorsy. Parang Steve Irwin (although the crocodile hunter would probably catch the little critter for educational purposes, not for food).

Natakot lang ako tikman dahil baka poisonous yung palaka. Malamang hindi, pero malay mo ba. <-- paranoid

***

I watched Blue Moon with Jerc today. Ok naman siya. Naiyak ako. Malaking bagay na siguro yun, kasi di naman ako yung tipo na madaling maiyak sa pelikula (i think. o baka feeling lang ako)

Wala na akong sasabihin pa, dahil baka ma-spoil pa ang mga nais manood.

***

Bah! Tama na ang katamaran! Back to work.
Incidentally, swerte daw and mga year of the ox ngayong year of the fire dog! Aba, baka swertehin na tayo sa thesis! hehehe