Boos at the Met

We were in Lincoln Plaza for the gala opening of the new Met season Monday night, the performance inside broadcast on HD screens in the Plaza and a mile further south in Times Square. Tosca by Puccini. This Tosca, the Finnish soprano Karita Mattila , has been plastered -- poised to leap to her death -- for weeks on pretty near every bus and billboard in Manhattan. Director Luc Bondy promised a production that would not get in the way of the music. Still pretty new to all this, I came with no expectations, a rudimentary -- mostly act III -- knowledge of the plot and no understanding of the historical background or, for that matter, that each of the three acts is set in a real place that can still be visited. So for me, the production succeeded. The settings seemed functional, too dark, austere, but not distracting from the music. The palace vamps cavorting with Scarpia (George Gagnidze) at the beginning of Act II were a bit cringe-inducing, aside from most assuredly not appearing in the libretto, but I was OK with Tosca slashing her lover's painting and Scarpia canoodling with a statue of the Madonna. It certainly wasn't the 25 year old Zefferelli production, beloved by many, never seen by me, but it was believable -- Scarpia is a conniving lout, Tosca is jealous and passionate -- and true, I thought, to the goal of letting the music speak. The principals and conductor James Levine received rich ovations at curtain call, but then the storm of boos for Bondy and the production team, took us completely by surprise and seemed to have the same impact on the cast and artistic team. The line of held hands swayed, and seemed for a moment unsure whether to step forward again into the mixed reception, for some cheers had now answered the booing. Here's the lesson: you stay there bowing no matter what the sounds. And here's another: a little controversy is good for box office; the remaining Tosca performances are all sold out. And here's a third: in New York at least, don't mess with an overstuffed warhorse. But the bottom line, I think, is that unlike Mary Zimmerman who last season thought so little of La Somnabula that she had to wrap it as an opera within the opera cliche, Bondy did respect the work and gave it a setting to unleash its complexity and its passion. The singers did the rest and did it well.

Sam Visits the Hospice

On a wonderful late summer day in NYC Sam and I walked up to Riverdale from the subway station, much stopping and being petted along the way, and into the suite of one of my favorite patients at the hospice. Sam led the way; he's familiar with all the rooms we visit, but particularly this one because we've been seeing her for several months now. And it was empty, which usually means only one thing and since E. has been declining rapidly, often sleeping over the last few weeks, I was afraid we'd lost her too. But, no she had been moved to another, larger room so her companion could stay with her. He was out of the room, but she was with two of her relatives from Scotland and, although very weak, wonderfully awake and alert. Because she likes him so well, I take Sam with me almost every visit, hoping to find her like today on one hand and on the other knowing that each time might be her last. In the year we have had Sam, it's been one consolation whenever one of my patients dies if they got to see Sam the last time I visited. I don't know, it feels like a good last stage memory for them. And so it will be for E. -- I lifted Sam up on to her bed and for fifteen minutes she petted him and talked softly to him while he gave her his biggest compliment, a licking of her thin, thin arms. After we saw other patients, and before we left, once more. She was nearly asleep but rallied to wake at the promised return of Sam and again, the two of them on the bed, she petting, he licking and me just glad to be there with them.

2722 and 2723 For Good Measure

I have a picture of the swing Derek Jeter took tonight for his 2722nd hit as a Yankee, breaking Lou Gehrig's record. The hit was a shot just inside the first base line, past the diving Oriole first baseman,Luke Scott. On any other night, the game probably would have been postponed for it rained all day in New York, was raining at game time, was raining when the game started an hour plus late, was raining when Jeter struck out in his first at bat, and rained on and off throughout the game, currently in a rain delay in the seventh inning, nearly six hours after it was supposed to begin. I imagine the crowd size looks something like this now:



These folks were part of the throng of 413 who watched the Yankees lose to the White Sox 4-1 on September 22, 1966.

Derek added number 2723 in the fourth inning, both hits coming after I had to have someone buy me a beer for the first time since I was 19 or so. They card everyone at the Stadium and I'd gone up, once it was clear the game would be played, in my pocketless sweatpants, so no ID. The woman wouldn't let me pay her for it. We were all festive in the rain, at that time 45000 or so. I said "You'll have a great story from tonight, how you bought a beer for a 63 year old man because he couldn't prove he was 21 on the night Jeter broke Gehrig's record."

Later, somewhere in the midst of horrible Yankee relief pitching that turned the game into an Oriole rout I ate institutional nachos and watched the showers fall against the stadium lights and thought that with the temperature 15 or so degrees lower this is how it might be on November 5 when if everything breaks right, Game 7 of the World Series will be played in the new palace. November frigging 5th! There will, however, be considerably more than 413 people hanging around then, no matter the length, no matter the cold, no matter the wet.