Review: La Bohème

At the start of intermission I asked Friend Anne if La Bohème was usually this hilarious. Puccini’s tragic opera got at least five big belly laughs out of me in the first half. She said it was not usually presented that way.

After that, I turned to the man sitting behind us and told him directly, “Men are dogs.” He nodded his head in solemn agreement. Men and their foibles were the basis for the belly laughs in the first half.

After that, the crowd returned from the gardens, then the lights rose on the set for the second half. That set was in black and white, with graffiti that read, “L’amour est mort.”

“Okay, here we go,” Anne said. “This is where it gets sad.”

And it would have been sad, only it came with a surprise vocal treat. Some attention-hungry garden cicada tailgated his way into the auditorium during intermission. At first we only heard him warming up in the back seats. But he had waited seventeen years for his big break so he grew bold, seized his moment, and flew to the dead center of the theater ceiling. (Prime peeing location.)

He heard the violins making the shriek of his people and he sang along with most of the second act. (Happily, he kept quiet during the compelling vocal departure at the very end.)

As people left we were all talking about the bonus cicada performance. This is not to suggest the cicada stole the show. Sure, we heard him, we loved him, I would have cried “bravo” if he had an opportunity to take a bow. All the other, human singers were great as well.

But really, even without the cicada La Bohème was great. Astonishing singing, tremendous staging. I really enjoyed it, though I feel as if I should be a bit sadder about it.