Book of Pyrite

First off, let me say that I am an opera lover. I majored in vocal performance for a while, and hoped to study opera. This was a long time ago. I think it may have been when Verdi was still alive, because his was the kind of opera people went to see then, and it was very delightful. Things apparently change.

Secondly, I admit that I have been spoiled. Growing up near San Francisco and frequenting that city's great opera house has given me a standard to which I compare other performances. I have also had the great privilege of viewing a performance at the Metropolitan Opera, which was a highlight of my life. Still, I try to enjoy each performance, no matter how amateur, and feel I'm not too much of a snob in that area. It's just fun to watch live opera, no matter who is performing. Almost.

So daltonboy and I were excited to attend a performance of BYU's new opera, "Book of Gold," recounting the story of Joseph Smith and the translation of the Book of Mormon. Discount tickets, and the promise of fine dining at the Cougareat were among several incentives that drew us to the DeJong Concert Hall on Friday night. After a delicious plate of pasta alfredo from Tomassito's, we took our seats in the wings of the balcony, just behind some students who were either filming or providing moral support to the cameraperson.

One of the support people had the sole task of watching the stage and orchestra pit, and clapping really loud to get the audience started. He performed this with great gusto, sitting on the edge of his seat and holding his hands high in the air. It was very nice to see a student with such a fantastic work ethic.

The opera begins. The orchestra performs with great skill. The student cast is also very talented. The music is . . . interesting.

All opera has a certain amount of recitative. That's the part that would be talking if it were musical theater. In opera there is no talking at all, so when they need to get from one point to another, there's this sort of ambling tune that doesn't represent a traditional melody at all, and you just sort of listen to it until you get to an aria or chorus. No big deal. The problem here was that it was very difficult to find anything that didn't sound like recitative. I mean, the singers would be standing in a certain attitude, and they'd be going on, and on, and on, and you'd be thinking, "Hmm. That certainly is quite a monologue they've got going there. I wonder when the melody is going to kick in." It never did. Ever.

Here are a few more things I couldn't appreciate: Joseph's teeth were unnaturally white. He also sang with a lisp. Most of the people had had trouble in costuming, because their wigs were crooked and their clothes appeared to have been thrown on very quickly. Oliver Cowdery was played by a blind man. Either that, or the singer thought Oliver was blind, because he kept staring into space in that sort of odd way that blind people do. Slightly unnerving. Martin Harris had the most interesting lambchop sideburns I've ever seen. A microthin row of four-inch-long hairs attached along the upper jawline and hanging down to the bottom of the jaw. I spent quite a bit of time wondering how a person would go about shaving to obtain such a look, and why they would do it, even if they could. Perhaps the opera department's spirit gum budget was lower than expected this year.

The camera people in front of us had seen the thing a few times, I guess, because that night they were having a little party, including Doritos and Pepsi. Then one of them went out through the emergency exit and brought back a date, at which point the four people had to get to know each other and chat a bit. That's understandable, sure.

At halftime (and I use this term because under the circumstances I think it fits better than intermission), DB and I decided to move back a row. The row behind us was unoccupied, and we could see better without the people in front of us constantly leaning forward to check out their friends in the pit. This too was a mistake. The guy in the row behind us had apparently purchased two seats, because he was determined to keep his feet on the back of my new seat. Even when I sat down, he kept his feet there, preventing me from sitting all the way back in my chair. So we moved over one. I figured if a hint like sitting down in the seat and putting my head against his shoes wasn't enough to get him to take his feet down, asking him outright wasn't going to help. The problem with the next seat was that Foot Propper's date had some kind of tic, and was unable to stop kicking the seat in front of her. So maybe they each had two tickets, I don't know. We moved down again. I guess it was a good thing that we moved, because the people who had formerly been sitting next to us got to use the backs of the seats in front of us for their footrests. I wondered about this behavior until I looked around the hall and saw that many of the college-age guys had their feet up on the backs of the seats. I guess that's a new thing that has started since the old, more formal days that I am accustomed to. That, and the wearing of jeans to a cultural event.

We also said goodbye to one of the camera crew and his date, leaving two people to finish off all those treats and make sure the clapping was taken care of.

About half an hour from the end the Tomassito's kicked in, and I had to leave the performance abruptly. It was a highly symbolic moment, though. Just as the mobs were gathering to protest the publication of the Book of Mormon, my intestines were holding their own highly-effective protest and subsequent riot.

I returned to my seat later to find that the person running the subtitles had also eaten at Tomassito's that night. At least I assumed they had, and were experiencing intestinal difficulties outside the hall, because the subtitles had completely disappeared. Not that they had been much help before that anyway. They were consistently mixed up, as though the person were typing them in as they heard them, and sometimes got confused about what people were saying. Anyway, shortly after I returned, I guess they felt better too, because they came back and things were much better.

I guess the most telling statement about the quality of the performance was that there was no standing ovation at the end. I kid you not. I think it was the first performance in Utah that I have ever been to in over fifteen years where no one stood up. Incredible.

It wasn't all bad. In fact, the orchestra was very good. True, they were so loud you couldn't hear the singers half the time, but that didn't detract too much, because we had those great subtitles to look at. The women's characters were very compelling, and well sung. The lighting was well done, and effective. The set was interesting. And well, the bathrooms were also very clean.