A Night at the Opera (Not Featuring the Marx Brothers)

Sometimes in your life, you need to step outside the circle you've known and experience something completely out of character. Whether you enter a relationship with someone who's not good for you, blow a lot of money on an impromptu weekend road trip vacation, or finally leave Tattooine to join in the fight to topple a corrupt Empire, new experiences are good for the soul.

So it was that I found myself at the New York Metropolitan Opera's presentation of the Mussorgsky classic "Boris Godunov" for Halloween weekend.

A longtime friend of mine is a native of Russia, and had been encouraging me to join him at the opera for more than a year. Giving in to his persistence, I obliged him when he presented me with a chance to witness what he called "the greatest opera of all times and nations...it espouses many manly principles." My friend is not given to hyperbole, so with that kind of lead-in, and with the Met being the figurative big leagues of opera, I decided it would be uncouth of me to decline.

The Lincoln Center is among the world's most foremost, prestigious venues, host of theater associations around the globe, perennial home of the Met and more recently, bedbugs. My newly acquired fiancée (!) was jealous of my attending the opera, but was rather adamant that I should not "get fleas" as it were.

"Boris Godunov" is the story of a period of great tumult in Russia (quaintly known to historians as "the Time of Troubles,") when the Ryurik Dynasty had collapsed and the line of succession was muddied by death, either natural or debatably foul. It follows the story of the title character, who assumes the throne under shady circumstances and is weighed upon by a deeply troubled conscience.

As an opera, "Boris" is a technically complicated show. Not nearly as visually grandiose as Broadway affair like "the Lion King," it instead takes a great deal of coordination because of the intricacies in choreography. "Boris" is one of the rare operas that feature an entire chorus for whole scenes, so those thirty or so people must not only be on key, but also act as a chorus without necessarily looking like a chorus. So, even though there is no dancing, each member of the chorus must be choreographed to look as natural as a real gaggle of onlookers would, which is an impressive feat. Each time the chorus is present, there is a central visual focus as one or more of the lead characters interact with them, but there are also secondary and tertiary things happening on the periphery, just as there is with a crowd at a sporting event, social gathering, or mosh pit.

Furthermore, "Boris" is rare among operas in that there is no true main character. Certainly, Boris himself plays a role, but so does the monk acting as pretender to the throne, as well as any number of ministers, monks, foreign dignitaries and even street folk. The central character, if it could be called thus, is either Russia herself, or the chaos that was engendered during the period preceding the ascendance of the Romanov dynasty. Therefore, breaking the mold of most traditional opera, "Boris" slithers out of the idiomatic chain dictating that there must be a tenor/soprano relationship and that relationship must be the center of the entire work.

To that end, "Boris" predominately features male vocalists (there is only one major female role and that only after Mussorgsky was pressured to add one,) and most of the vocalists are bass or baritone-bass.

The orchestra is busy but reserved for this performance, as the opera centers on interaction between characters over grand soliloquy. As such, the musicians are used more to create palpable tones of tension, which add to the overall emotional context of the show's four acts. At their most sublime moments, the opera seems to blend into the show; to the point that I practically forgot I was hearing live music. Their timing was perfect, and their skill superb. The orchestra’s foremost effect on the show is their ability to perceptually alter the speed and intensity of each scene. Should they speed up, the given scene is lent a greater sense of drama, and draws the observer figuratively closer to the action.

All of the performers were excellent, although the large number of roles and limited stage time of each made it difficult for any one singer to steal the show. Rene Pape was a fixture as the anguished, seething, tense Boris, and most of the other roles share their best moments (particularly Pimen the hermit,) with him.

I think if I could criticize the show in any way (two warnings here: One, possible spoiler ahead. Two, I am way outside my bounds as a knowledgeable music critic at this point. Take my criticism with all due reservation,) it's that when Boris carries out his anguished part in the final act, I am not certain that the script has done an entirely complete job of demonstrating the extent of Boris' mental agony.

All in all, I'm glad I took my friend up on the chance to expand my cultural horizons, so to speak. While not a life altering experience, my attendance at the world's premiere house of opera put me clearly out of my element, and it was rewarding to witness something which had previously been so alien to me. I think if I were to venture to the opera a second time (which is probable, now that I have stoked the fires of envy in my fiancée (again: !)) I would go to see an opera such as "Die Walkure" that features all the Wagnerian bombast so stereotypically endemic to opera. This would round out my experience and allow me more proper comparison and contrast.

So, the lesson here for you metal fans is this; get out and treat yourself to something radically different. It doesn't have to be "Boris Godunov," but you could certainly do worse. Take along your risky significant other who's not good for you.