Another 24 hours and I may actually be able to read something - have a class presentation today. In the meantime, what do you get when you cross a Hollywood horror film with twelve-tone music? It's an opera of The Fly. The baritone gets buck naked, the soprano lets her breasts be fondled and Antony Tommasini in the Times has his underwear completely in-a-knot. Only in L.A. The production has its own website. No... really. And if that's not enough, the L. A. Opera has also hired Woody Allen to direct Puccini's only comic opera - Gianni Schicchi. I'm not kidding. Allen describes it as "funny compared to Tosca, not funny compared to Duck Soup." He continues, "I'm not the greatest choice in the world for this, but I'm doing my best, and hopefully nobody will get hurt." I hope we can say the same of The Fly, as an actor walks on the ceiling. Apparently the days of Monserrat Caballe - the generously proportioned Spanish soprano - choosing to walk off the stage "like Queen Victoria" at the end of Tosca rather than jump from the parapet, as written, are over.
If that wasn't enough of the movies, Sheila has a wonderful post about Garson Kanin's memoir of Hepburn and Tracy. Fabulous story about Hepburn's last day working on Suddenly Last Summer. And Sarah S. is eating up Twyla Tharp's book The Creative Habit - I liked it too - and if you read it, you may have an idea about how to have a more creative day than mine. Or at least you will know how to scratch.
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I'm so glad you liked the Hepburn post. The best part of the story is that Joe Mankiewicz, the director, the first guy she spat at - said later, "Yeah, she spat at me. But I had it coming."
Ha!!
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