Some people run marathons; I sit through long operas. I finally finished my fourth opera in five weeks. Wagner’s Ring cycle is not for those of a short attention span, restless legs syndrome or little gluteal tissue. Each opera in the four-part saga runs progressively longer; I was inside the (blessedly) cool interior of the Metropolitan Opera from 12 noon until six in the evening, with two intermissions to stretch my legs and obtain a swish of water in a paper cone cup from a watering station dedicated to the late great singer Ezio Pinza (I offer up one for him every time I grab a sip).
Sitting (as I mentioned before) in the peanut gallery high above the stage, I and a packed house of Wagnerites (at least one of whom wore a horned helmet for the occasion) enjoyed one of the last performances of the Ring in a romantic/magical theme as the composer originally imagined it. The retirement of this version, a staple at the Met for 20 years, is a sad event. The performers were all first rate, the Brunhilde strong and brave, Siegfried a bold and rash hero for the ages, the sets all eye-catching and the orchestration under the master, James Levine, tear worthy in its sweeping grandeur. I enjoyed every minute of it.
At my age, though, it’s tough to hoof from the Port Authority bus station and back again, it’s expensive for a cab (hard to get one, too), and the body just doesn’t like being cramped up in a darkened theatre for hours at a stretch anymore. I think I’ll attend shorter operas in the future and relegate my Ring fixes to DVD.
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