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.
Last week sucked, didn’t it? Between “Manifest Destiny,” Nazi-saluting oligarchs, and our new mayor declaring a new “war”—nay, “state of emergency”—on the most headline-grabbing drug of the day, it seems that everything old is new again. None of it good stuff.
It’s those times when we look to the arts for refuge from the rest of the world, even if just for a short time. I was particularly looking forward to last week because I’d not only be attending a birthday party for the first time in five years, I’d be attending two SF Ballet events at the War Memorial Opera House. Regardless of what I may think of a production or the pretenses of the 1%-ers attending, I’ve always been able to feel safe at the Opera House. Part of that is due to my own extensive safety measures during this still-ongoing pandemic, another part is the mix of classic (post-1918 Flu ventilation) and modern (state of the art HVAC) tech within the 93-year-old building, and yet another part is due to the staff working.
Wouldn’tcha know it? The latter caused my first problem. Wednesday was the Ballet’s 2025 Opening Night Gala. It’s one of those events where, despite the company relaxing most of its dress code of late, everyone attends this one dressed in their schmanciest level of fancy. Really big deal and often dazzling, this event. It’s where the city’s remaining old money Nob Hillers congregate (alongside more plebeian members of the press corps) to see what centuries-old acoustic bombast lies in store over the next few months.
I had a spring in my step as I made my way to the Grove Street entrance, leading to the press room, which was unfortunately derailed by a guardian gremlin, one I’ve known for many years but have managed to purge (mostly) from my life, screeching at me to enter by another door. I’ve successfully avoided this trust-fund baby worker during my regular excursions to the Opera House. But this night, no doubt inspired by the other bullies flexing since election night, they puffed out their chest and pretended to act tough. Their tone of false authority was one I’m familiar with from the likes of the Oakland and SF police, and I paid it no mind, not even surrendering eye contact.
I’d like to say that was the only negative event of the evening, but then I got to my seat. First, there were all the dirty looks I got because I refused to stand for the national anthem. Again, I’m used to that, so I found them more amusing than anything else. What really got to me was how the patrons in my row were treating one another. The woman next to me was one of the few other masked patrons. Next to her were an unmasked, cranky elderly couple whose sense of entitlement saw them gabbing away through most of the evening’s first half. They even got into an argument with the masked woman, eventually inspiring her to leave her seat and never return.
(According to a person in the row in front of us, who tried to play peacekeeper, the man in the couple actually spit on the masked woman—possibly because of her mask—and boasted about it to his companion in Russian, which the peacekeeper understood.)
These events reminded me why I don’t like being around the affluent unless I have to. They don’t want to live in a world they share with everyone; they each consider the world their personal playground, and if you don’t play by their rules, they’ll throw the biggest tantrums you’ve ever seen—often to the detriment (and destruction) of those around them.
And it’s a shame, because the rest of the evening was a great showcase for the Ballet: excellent work by both individual dancers and ensembles; an appearance by artistic director Tamara Rojo and local celeb Ayesha Curry; three different pas de deux scenes; and an audience that loved it all. It all should’ve been nothing less than a pleasant night of classical music and dance. Plus, the CO² levels on my Aranet4 only peaked at 978ppm during the 90-min performance.
But by the time I got outside and saw patron escorts being aggressive toward homeless people, I knew that I’d be skipping the post-show feast at City Hall. Which is a shame, because I never went during Breed’s tenure, and I’ve never seen this Lurie character up close. C’est la vie.
Fortunately, I had no such encounters when I returned two nights later for the opening of Manon (through February 1 at the War Memorial Opera House, SF). The Jules Massenet-composed and Sir Kenneth MacMillan-choreographed ballet about the doomed romance between the eponymous sex worker (Jasmine Jimison) and her young lover (Max Cauthorn) remains as controversial today as it was when it premiered in 1974. Despite a greater societal understanding of sex work, it continues to be demonized (something likely to increase these days). Plus, the 19th century novel on which it’s based is one of those La Bohème-style stories where you know a woman won’t live ‘til the final bow.
A contemporary mind finds themselves conflicted over the fact that the story seems to delight in Manon’s many short-comings, but it also goes out of its way to make sure our sympathy is with her above all others. This is certainly made easy by the performance of Jimison. She and Cauthorn previewed a scene during the gala, showing she was more than ready to take on a role that seems primarily performed en pointe. She’s lighter than air with every step, which is hypnotic to watch.
Jimison seems to still be finding her comfort level in the more overtly sexual moments (including a sexual assault in the final act). Whereas her former colleague Sarah van Patten and current colleague Sasha de Sola have found a way to make the role their own, the up-and-coming Jimison—a Bay Area native only recently made a principal—is still working at defining herself among her contemporaries. She isn’t green, by any means; she’s still shaping her own mold. The results are fine thus far.
Also fine is the still-striking scenic and costume design by the late Nicholas Georgiadis. Many times, the set blurs the line between the actual stage and the scene it’s portraying (such as with the opening scene), other times make bold use of minor pieces in empty space (the bedroom scenes). All of it catching the eye without distracting. I should also mention that this is the first SF Ballet production I can recall to use pop music before the show, with Sade’s “Smooth Operator” being a stand-out. Plus, CO² levels peaked at only 743ppm during the entire show, and there was plenty to enjoy.
The ballet is a provocative intro to the British-heavy season in which AD Tamara Rojo seems to really lean into the dichotomy of the old and the new. In that regard, the show Manon is a success. Hopefully, the rest of the season proves just as memorable, keeping in mind that the dancers have, hopefully, resolved the contract issues that nearly derailed The Nutcracker last month. This shows that they deserve to be paid what they’re worth.
I left the Opera House after the gala honestly thinking I might never return. It took an e-mail conversation to convince me otherwise. I’m glad that my next trip was much more agreeable, but I’m not foolish enough to think any of the above events (positive and negative) has happened for the last time. I dare say that when it happens again, the only difference is that I won’t be caught by surprise.
Too bad we can’t just have a night of ballet. That part is done excellently.
MANON runs through February 1 at the War Memorial Opera House, SF. Tickets and further info here.
