I would like to talk to you today about Fire Shut Up in My Bones...but obviously, I'm not. Because the goddamn movie theater fucked everything up: they apparently didn't have the right feed, so we kept getting these loud previews (there aren't supposed to be movie previews before Met in HD screenings), and while it did apparently start eventually, it cut out the first part, and there was just no currency in staying. The mood was wrecked. Some theaters do reshow these things as encores on Wednesdays, but none near where I am, so fuck me, I guess. Barring unforeseen circumstances, now I won't be able to see it until it appears on Met on Demand in nine goddamn months or whatever. This pisses me off so fucking much, and the frustrating thing is, there's not really anyone I can blame. That's something we have a really, really strong impulse to do, don't we? Even as I write this, I'm trying to convince myself that it's somehow plausible that it's the underpaid theater employees' fault, but it's obviously not. I suppose there's someone at some level that pushed the wrong button or something, but that's at a level of abstraction that is not cathartic to me. It's certainly the case that this impulse to find a scapegoat is the cause of a lot of the fucked up shit in human history.
Well, I saw this instead. It was a wholly arbitrary decision, and no parallel should be drawn between it and Fire. Some time ago I had stumbled upon it on Operaonvideo; I'd been seeing if there was anything else by Ferenc Erkel I could watch and came up with this, which isn't by Erkel, but which does feature a cast member named "Ferenc," so close enough, I guess. Dohnanyi was, I don't know, just some guy. He mainly worked using the Germanized name "Ernst von Dohnányi," but this opera is in Hungarian, so let's go with the original. He was apparently instrumental in saving a lot of Jewish musicians during the Holocaust, so that's good.
So here's the story: the Szeklers (a Hungarian tribe) are trying to build a tower to repulse attacks from the Pechenegs (a Turkic tribe of some sort). These include the chief, Orbók, and two warriors, Kund and Tarján. Unfortunately, their tower keeps falling over. They hear a spirit (the "spirit of hiring," as the autotranslate would have it) who tells them that they need to make a sacrifice: the first woman who walks across the bridge will be sealed in the tower as a sacrifice. They finally agree to this, swearing that they won't tell anyone so as not to influence chance.
There are two women, Emelka and Orbók's daughter Iva. Iva and Tarján are married, much to the regret of Emelka, who's in love with him. Instead, she was stuck marrying dumb ol' Kund, whom she emphatically does not see as an adequate consolation prize. In spite of having sworn, Kund in a moment of weakness warns his wife not to cross the bridge. Seeing her chance, she encourages Iva to go (because she had wanted to go fight side by side with her man as per tradition but had been denied). She does, and Orbók, with great reluctance, is compelled to sacrifice her, which he does by walling her in as the two of them sing, "Cask of Amontillado"-style. In fairness to him, at one point he does decided, fuck it, not doing this, but she insists. There's a very macabre bit where she requests that there be holes in the wall so she can breastfeed her infant child one last time, but nothing ever comes of this--I feel like the librettist just sort of forgot.
At any rate, she is sacrificed. Six months later, Tarján is still feeling bummed; the tower held, but they're still being beset by the Pechenegs, and in addition to the thing with his wife, Kund has been killed in battle. Orbók decrees that he is going to be the new chief and tells him he should marry Emelka, which he agrees to extremely reluctantly. And there's a little dance when they've decided to do this, which, per google translate, begins thus:
...excuse me, there's a what whose name is Emelka?
I actually checked, and the Hungarian word is "menyecske," and yes, if you type "milf" into google translate, that IS what you get. But if you translate "menyecske" from Hungarian, you just get "bride," which somehow seems more apropos in the context. Does the word really have those two disparate meanings? Seems like it could result in some awkward situations. Hungarian readers, let me know what's going on. Also, could you please get rid of your white nationalist prime minister? Thanks a million.
Anyway, the truth comes out about Emelka's role in Iva's death, and Tarján stabs her, as you do. A spring of fresh water emerges from the the tower as a result of Iva's sacrifice, and we learn that the Hungarian reinforcements are on their way, so...the future looks bright, I guess.
So how'd I like this? Well, 'sokay. Fire Shut Up in My Bones is almost certainly better, but we take what we can get. The music is, unsurprisingly, late-Romantic, Wagner-influenced stuff. It's pleasant enough, but I didn't find it overly exciting. I sort of got into the story as it progressed. What else is there to say? There are many operas that almost no one will ever see, and this is one such. That's not a tragedy, but nor is this particular opera wholly devoid of interest. One thing that's of interest to no one is that for a long time I was tied as far as Polish and Hungarian operas go with eight each; now, Hungarian pulls ahead with nine. Woo. Hoo.
No comments:
Post a Comment