The Standing Room: Mr Bean and Il Traviato

La Traviata was the first show I could get to this season at the SF Opera, and given the cast (Ruth Ann Swenson, Rolando Villazon, Dmitri Hvorostovsky) and the reviews, my expectations were fairly high.

There were indeed some truly fine things. Acts I and III (unlike the SF Opera, I'll call the two middle "acts" scenes 1 & 2 of Act II) were pretty strong overall. Swenson sang particularly well in her scene with Alfredo and her soliloquy in Act I, and the Addio in Act III was for the most part really lovely. But as the night wore on, she started scooping incessantly (really, like on every single ascending leap) and her vibrato slowed way down, which completely distracted me from all the beautiful things she was doing.

People went fucking nuts over Villazon as Alfredo, but I can only say that his sound doesn't do it for me. Some may call it "robust" and "burnished," but to me it just seems like there's a whole lot of unnecessary pushing going on and like he's artificially darkening the sound. And I know this is petty, but surely I can't be the only one who thinks that Rolando Villazón looks and moves just like Rowan Atkinson as Mr Bean.

Then there was Hvorostovsky. I had heard through the grapevine that he was sounding strong and healthy these days, and was really looking forward to hearing him. I cannot believe how consistently he stopped the show -- by sucking the life out of everything on stage whenever he appeared. Ahime! He was as boring as a sponge, and completely ruined Act II, scene 1 for me. And the sound wasn't even there: the top was all closed off, his tone wasn't good, he was in his own weirdo tempo universe, and he consistently went out of tune. Truly, a disappointment.

It was a traditional, attractive, lavish/ opulent/ [check-thesaurus-here] production with gigantic hoopy skirts that all the ladies in the audience cooed at. Direction was mostly park-n-bark, with touches of wall-hugging here and there. (Thankfully there was no floor-rolling, a personal pet peeve.) However, the entire cast stood immobile come scogli for what seemed like the last 10 minutes of Act II, scene 2. Era strano.

But then, what the hell do I know? People were out of their heads at the end of the show. (Some, like the bozo who screamed BRAVISSIMI!!!! at the top of his lungs after every number, big and small alike, were clearly insane already.) Ovations, screaming, repeated curtain calls, the whole bit.

It may be that I was just distracted that night by an idea inspired by Billy Budd: What if La Traviata were also done by an all-male cast? Now that'd be something I'd be interested in seeing in repertory. So I hereby present TSR's contemporary reconceptualization of:

IL TRAVIATO

Act I: Vincent, a high-priced escort and gay porn star, hosts an A-list party at his decked-out SoMa loft. Youthful and earnest Freddie arrives. Biggie D, Vincent's director and "protector" is put out by Freddie's toast. Vincent hints that he's sick. As the beat kicks up in the other room, Freddie admits to Vincent that he's, like, seen all of his movies. Vincent offers him some E and a lollipop, and tells him to return when it's worn off. Freddie is delighted and goes off to party. Vincent muses on what it'd be like to give up tricking for cash and fall in love with innocent Freddie, and decides to celebrate life and its pleasures by remaining Sempre libero.

Act II, scene 1: Vincent and Freddie have moved up to Guerneville to try out the country life. Freddie surreptitiously discovers that Vincent's been hawking underwear and jockstraps and stuff from his porn days on eBay to cover their bills, and embarrassed Freddie heads back to the city to pay off some of the debt. George, Freddie's father, arrives to ask Vincent to give Freddie up: Freddie's sister is getting married to a politician who can't afford to have a porn star in the family. There is much gnashing of teeth, but Vincent finally agrees. Vincent hints again that he's sick. George heads out to the vineyard to wait, while Vincent writes an email to Freddie. Freddie comes back to read that Vincent has gone back to his sugar daddy, and is humiliated. George tries to comfort him, but Freddie sees an Evite to a party on Vincent's computer and decides to go to exact revenge.

Act II, scene 2: The scene opens with a drag show hosted by Miss Coco Peru. Some go-go dancers come out dressed as matadors and then do the fully monty. Vincent arrives with Biggie D; Freddie and D exchange bitchinesses. The party gets going in the other room, and Vincent and Freddie stay behind to argue. Freddie calls all of the partiers back and throws a wad of money at Vincent, announcing that he's paid back everything he owes him. Everyone thinks Freddie's a dolt, and he runs off.

Act III: Vincent's cancer has metastasized and the chemo hasn't helped. Resting at home, he hears partying outside: It's the Folsom Street Fair! He re-reads the email from George that says he's told Freddie everything and they're coming back to Vincent. Freddie returns, full of remose; they sing about how they'd love to move out of San Francisco to someplace cheaper, and then Vincent expires. True love conquers nothing. And it's all George's fault.

Who will step up to the plate now that Jonathan Larsen is gone? Matthew Bourne's Swan Lake meets Y tu mama tambien meets Naked Boys Singing! meets The Fluffer -- I'm telling you, this has some real potential.

Comments

Didn't Peter Sellars do a modern version of Traviata, with Violetta as a high-priced NYC call girl stricken with AIDS in the go-go 80s? And this is the man that I confused with Peter Sellers until I was at least twenty-two... . Anyway, I like your "Traviato" better-- local color, and all. If you can arrange a production, I'll be the bozo Audience Left who screams BRAVISSIMI after every aria.

Posted by: Jessica | Sep 24, 2004 at 10:06 AM

Villazon = Bean! Yes yes yes! Thank you -- I knew there was someone he kept reminding me of, and I couldn't put my finger on it. But that's exactly who it was...

Posted by: Joshua Kosman | Sep 25, 2004 at 09:28 PM