Feb

Big is Beautfiful or A Night at The Metropolitan Opera

I’ve always wanted to go on a date to The Metropolitan Opera. It’s like the Lincoln Center was made for falling hopelessly in love. Alas, there is no man in sight at the moment, but thankfully that doesn’t put the kibosh on me going to an opera and having a wonderful time. I went last night to see Aida with two fabulous and foxy friends, Ekene and Hanna, and I even donned a bow-tie (which I tied all by myself, thank you very much).

Now permit me to go on a little tangent (I promise it’ll all make sense. At least partially). Coming from a film background, I’ve learned that less is more, subtlety is key and big is rarely ever better. Some of my favourite moments in film consist of small moments. I watch the BBC’s 2007 version of Persuasion at least once a month because Sally Hawkins’ Anne Elliot manages to tell you everything she’s feeling with one upward glance. And watching Gary Oldman in Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy was bananas. There’s a scene early on in the film, when his character, George Smiley, gets a bombshell dropped on him. You don’t see the reaction in his face but in the back of his head. Tension rises to his neck as he turns slowly and stiffly to his boss. You can he’s stunned and is trying desperately to compose himself from the back of his head. If that’s not skill, I don’t know what is.

Why on earth am I going into this? Because I really wasn’t sure I’d like Aida. I know I’m a pretty cultured person and I love music. But the thing is opera is all about being big and I wasn’t sure I’d truly love the big-ness of it all.

Yes, opera is big. Especially Aida. From where we were seated in the Family Circle (aka the nosebleed section), we could see the grandeur of the set pieces and most of the details on the costumes. There were horses – legit, very much alive horses on stage – and some of the most magnificent dancers I’ve ever seen. We couldn’t see the actors’ faces in great detail, but it was absolutely fine. All the subtlety and nuances were in the performer’s voices and the music and that’s all we needed. You can hear how torn Aida is between the love of her home country and the love of the man who has become her home. You can hear the jealousy and pride in Amneris’ voice and the loyalty and love in Ramades’. You hear so much in the music: reverential awe, desperation, hatred, valour, repentance. And it was all big and it was all beautiful and I not only appreciated it, I loved every second of it. You cannot hear the performers’ voices without being amazed by the fact that someone can make you feel so much with their voice even though they’re singing in a language you don’t understand.

I still don’t know what my favourite part was, but the most memorable moment for me came at the end. Aida and Ramades sing their last song, a song about heaven and freedom, and there’s a point where they pause and the orchestra keeps playing. I recall hearing two wind instruments (the flute and the oboe, I think). I have no idea what notes they played and I cannot describe it to you, but all I know is that it made my heart flutter. No man, none of the many men I’ve fancied, not Michael Fassbender, not Idris Elba, has gotten my heart to flutter like that. The singers, the musicians, the director, hell, the stage hands had me in the palm of their hands by coming together and creating this big and beautiful piece. And in that moment I was so happy I took the opportunity to go on that day, to that opera with two fantastic friends. I was totally and utterly captivated and I realized I haven’t felt like that in a really long time. It was nice to know that being an adult hasn’t totally hardened me and that there’s still a bit of childlike wonder in me. But most of all, I was happy that I didn’t wait for a man to ask me out on a date to the opera. Taking me to the opera may not be on any guy’s to-do list and if I had waited for that to happen, I may very well have missed out on a truly breathtaking experience.