I can't figure out how to do the caron and the macron and many of those pesky diacritics, so I'll just dispense with them and simply say that Leos Janacek's Jenufa kicked major Moravian ass at the Met yesterday. It's hard to beat this tale of tortured love and infanticide in intensity, but when you have Karita Mattila and Anja Silja in the leads, well, the three hours fly by particularly fast. (Not sure about those boulders, but at least the staging wasn't intrusively bad.) Forget the two intermissions: Do it nonstop! Watching and listening in awe, I thought that this was a prime example of human achievement, like sending someone to the moon or inventing a vaccine.
The return to New York reality was so much harder then, and the sight of all the well-heeled Met patrons callously ignoring a freezing homeless woman panhandling by the exit was nauseating.
To all of you rushing to your cabs and limos without pausing to give someone in need a few bucks: Fuck you, assholes!
To all of you who thought she made for a downer end to a wonderful, wonderful evening at the opera and wasn't Karita's upper register tremendous: I'll suspend my disbelief of this grab-bag of superstitions known as religion long enough to tell you to roast in hell.
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