This is Drama Masks, a Bay Area performing arts column from a born San Franciscan and longtime theatre artist in an N95 mask. I talk venue safety and dramatic substance, or the lack thereof.
Welp… that whole election thing coulda gone better, right? As the rest of the country couldn’t stop talking about the blue wave that swept from coast-to-coast, the one city everyone would expect to lead the progressive path was the one that took a big step backwards.
Sure, RTM passed, Berkeley got Prop Y, SF’s public bank is closer to reality, and our own Jane Kim is California’s new insurance commish, but trust-fund baby Mayor Bluejeans also got his three propositions passed to gain greater control over my hometown. That means that the next time he goes slum-tourin’ in the Tenderloin and has his SFPD storm troopers attack an innocent homeless person, there’ll be less push-back.
It was bad enough when Breed (and Scott Wiener’s) attacks on the homeless paved the way for the nationwide demonization of the unhoused, but this sucks. And yeah, Wiener gaining Pelosi’s seat really sucks. If you think Guv Gav throwing trans kids under the bus was bad, just wait ‘til Wiener gets to DC and does the same while using his own queerness as a shield.
Still, the whole point of looking at stories means I tend to look at the big picture. As such, I rather like the picture painted by Tim (echoed by Joe Eskanazi days later): now that the mayor has everything he wants, he’s painted himself into a corner.
You know that old story (apocryphally attributed to Kruschev) about the new regime that takes power, with their predecessor leaving them two letters—one for emergency that says “blame me,” and the other for extreme emergency that says, “write two letters”? I honestly wouldn’t be surprised if Breed left Lurie two letters, and that he’d be tempted to open one pretty soon, because now he has absolutely no one to blame.
I’m a theatre critic, so I see parallels in stories like Richard III, where the eponymous king gains everything he wants, which is exactly what leads to his inevitable downfall. “What would that look like,” you ask? Just look around the country right now: Solid red states have turned so blue, you’d think they were opening an act in Vegas; “socialism” is no longer a pejorative; the majority of voters have shouted their disdain for AI so loudly that it can be heard from space.
Everything they’re against is what Lurie supports. Now, he doesn’t just have we home-grown activists against him, he’s got the whole damn country. Recall that just last year, he happily rolled on his belly in the hopes that Trump wouldn’t invade SF. (The belly-roll didn’t even work: It took calls from the guy behind that Dildo Building and that guy who had an affair with a possible Chinese spy.) Now, even Trump is licking his wounds from last Tuesday.
Danny has no fight in him, and now his opponents are here in SF as well as all over the country. Like Caesar, he’s surrounded by close enemies and an angry populace. He knows he’s screwed. That’s why I’m not completely heart-broken over the midterms. Yes, it sucks that my hometown comes off as the quintessential red state, but we just saw what can happen to all those red states, didn’t we?
SF Opera presents The Marriage of Figaro
If you know me, then you know I’m fond of that quote about a dramatic art’s running time being aligned with the size of the human bladder. I’d say that goes double for comedies. Timing is key to the genre, from delivery to set up for the next zinger. Most of all, comedy should never overstay its welcome. Of course, no one told this to Mozart when he decided that his next operatic comedy would be an endurance test.
Following up SF Opera’s earlier-season production of Rossini’s The Barber of Seville, it naturally decided to follow with that story’s chronological sequel: Mozart’s The Marriage of Figaro (through November 29 at the War Memorial Opera House, SF). I’m surprised they didn’t go for the hat trick and also program The Guilty Mother or The Ghosts of Versaille. I guess SF Opera fans will have to wait to see where Figaro and Rosina eventually end up.
For now, it’s a few years after the events of the last story, and Figaro (Slovak bass Peter Kellner) is the one in love this time. He’s working as head servant and about to be married to Susanna (Slovak soprano Slávka Zámečníková). At least, that’s the plan. He was sorta, kinda already promised to Marcellina (Bay Area mezzo Catherine Cook, a standout as a different role in the last opera) as part of a business deal.
Rather than let the terms of that deal expire, our old friend Dr. Bartolo (now played by Italian bass-baritone Maurizio Muraro) wants to help Marcellina to get back at Figaro for the shenanigans he pulled years back. As if that weren’t enough, Figaro’s old pal Count Almaviva (UK baritone Thomas Mole)—lord of the house where Figaro and Susanna work—is eager to get his “prima nocte” on with the soon-to-be-bride. This doesn’t sit well with his wife, Rosina (Canadian soprano Olivia Smith).
Naturally, hijinks ensue.
Say this for the production: Everyone commits to their work. Maestro Sebastian Weigle hits the ground running with the signature overture, and the show takes off from there. Director Shawna Lucey has a fine eye for slapstick as she has her cast whip and dash around the set full dell’arte-style. She knows when to let a performer’s physicality take over (such as with Swiss-Canadian mezzo Simone McIntosh in the traditionally cross-dressed role of Cherubino) and when to let them project from the lungs (Cook once again stands out with her powerhouse pipes, as does Zámečníková). This production is, if nothing else, energetic.
It’s also very exhausting. Whereas this past summer’s Barber of Seville had a lull in energy, this one goes in the opposite direction. Mind you, the last thing you want to do is have the audience feel a lull during a four-hour farce, but there’s also the chance of running them ragged by keeping them cranked to 11 the entire time. I’m not sure I can say what the compromise would look like, but we’ve now seen two volumes of this epic comedy saga swing the pendulum in both directions. Maybe a Guilty Mother production would have figured it out?
As I watched this during a livestream, there were no CO² levels to closely monitor. (Though, I will say that I saw no masks during any of the lobby or audience shots.) SF Opera turns The Marriage of Figaro into marathon performed as a sprint. If your twitchy fanny can tolerate that much long-term hilarity, you won’t be disappointed.
THE MARRIAGE OF FIGARO runs through November 29 at the War Memorial Opera House, SF. Tickets and further info here.
