Mahler's Ninth at the SF Symphony

I love leaving a show feeling all weak-kneed and exhausted.

I don't think that before the Symphony started their Mahler cycle, I would have said, "Mahler-- What a brilliant way to show off the dynamic range and soul of your orchestra!" I'm sure my Dad would have set me straight on that point, but there's no need to do so anymore, since I have become a Mahlerian. Ever since I was shot through the stomach by the Mahler Hammer when the Symphony offered us their towering version of the Sixth, we haven't missed a one.

The Ninth, so different in tone, but more rewarding in many ways, was exquisitely rendered by the Symphony on opening night. Never has a string armada sounded so layered and rich to me, or so balanced dynamically against the wind section. The horn solos, slightly problematic at times, were nonetheless stirring, and by the time the final movement, with its whispering swells, died away, the audience was left in a puddle.

The only thing that marred an otherwise perfect performance was the presence of a patron in the orchestra with some kind of oxygen support device. Throughout the evening, the click and whoosh of the device could be heard throughout the section of the orchestra I sat in. A reminder of fragile mortality, I suppose, but in the end, one which only frustrated and irritated patrons.

San Francisco Symphony rocks out on "Rite"

It wasn't the "big guns" program -- that would be next week with the much-anticipated Mahler Ninth, but this little gem of a concert proved in its own way how well-deserved San Francisco Symphony's reputation is.

Featuring two Starvinsky works, a "Firebird" suite and also his "Rite of Spring," as well as a palate-cleansing interlude with Tchaikovsky's "Little Russian," the evening was satisfying start to finish.

Filmed for a PBS television series, the program was looking in danger of being buried under the massive cables strung between the clouds in the ceiling, and the dozen or so cameras posted around Davies Symphony Hall. But when the orchestra got down to the business of music, the distractions were easily forgotten.

The abbreviated "Firebird" still evinced all the grandeur and excitement-- perhaps even more than had been generated by the Kirov Orchestra when they appeared with their associated ballet company last season.

Drama, however, was the hallmark of the "Rite," over whose more savory passages Tilson Thomas seemed to linger. Perhaps it was a result of having "Firebird" in the same program, but listening to this performance of the "Rite," I heard far more of the Russian folk origins than I had ever noticed before.

It will be well-worth tuning in when the program is broadcast next year!

A stroll through the Cal Academy

If you haven't hit the new Cal Academy building on Howard Street, take an afternoon to visit. Although there's not quite the space as the old building, they still have some great exhibits and it's well worth the time.

At the moment, the ANTS! exhibit is up, and you can literally spend hours observing those little critters. We found ourselves tracking a particularly intrepid leaf cutter ant as he trekked from the branches of a tree all the way along to 20 foot path laid for him up to the nests.

If you make it past the ants (sadly the army ants have been decimated by an infestation of predatory beetles -- The Trials of Life) there's tons of fun in the aquarium, not the least of which is the Biggest darned sea bass I've ever seen. "But is it ill-tempered?"

He's accompanied by a crowd of moray eels, that I imagine would have the whiny weasally little voice of a Disney cartoon, "Hey, Boss? Boss? Boss, yeah, that's the ticket, Boss, you can take 'em, yeah, go ahead..."

"Aw shaddup," Murray the Sea Bass would belt out.

Marga Gomez at Theater Rhinoceros

I feel like I finally belong in SF. After all these years, I can laugh at the Pride jokes.

Marga Gomez performed her one woman show at Theater Rhinoceros to a delighted crowd last weekend and she was HIGH-larious. Funny, self-deprecating, but smart, smart, smart, Gomez riffed her way through Pride-born relationships with verve and a racy energy.

She's based now in New York, so there were a lot of jokes about Bayonne and Secaucus, but she plays to the hometown crowd as easily as ever.

HOT HOT HOT - so we see a movie

Well it was so godawful hot in San Francisco this last week that we HAD to locate air conditioning. What is wrong with people in this town that they don't understand the need for air conditioning?

Well after turning up empty at the Asian Art MUseum and the SF Public Library, we went to the movies and saw "Hero." A gorgeous flick, well worth the full price of admission. Read more about it here: http://imdb.com/title/tt0299977/

Jet Li is always a favorite, but he has never looked better than he does here. But it's the production itself that's the star. Like Kurosawa's dreams, the cinematographer has painted pictures and fantasies on the screen. And although we've seen similar sequences before, not just in "Crouching Tiger" but in anime classics like "Ninja Scroll" they're no less breathtaking.

Importance of Being Earnest and Force of Nature

Theater season is full swing at last and I'm dizzy with the options. We went to see Cal Shakes' production of "The Importance of Being Earnest." Lots of fun -- but how could you go wrong with Oscar Wilde. The modern sensibilities of his offhanded wit never cease to amaze me.

Jonathan Moscone has conceived a very pretty although spare rendition, which allows for focus on the play itself. The drawing room furnishings at the beginning of the play suggest a comfortably Turkish atmosphere which the actors use for a few additional laughs.

The evening are perfect for being out in the Orinda hills late now. I couldn't help but enjoy the stars, which were beautifully clear that night.

The next night I took the trek to Walnut Creek to catch Playhouse West's "Force of Nature" at the Lesher Center. It wasn't the greatest text, or the most imaginative of situations (Do we have any control over the people we fall in love with?) In fact, in my opinion, the play itself lacked lyricism, even as the actors worked so hard to put it across. I did enjoy seeing Gary Martinez, who played Mittler, again. He had made an impact in Willow Theatre's "Solid Gold Cadillac as McKeever, and it was nice to see him in a drama.

Black Rider, Part Deux

Well, we've seen "The Black Rider, the Casting of the 12 Magic Bullets" twice now and I do have a few more clues.

Firstly, let me say that I did enjoy it a heckuva lot more the second time. I'll grant that the first time round it was still during previews, and by last night, many of the technical glitches (long pauses between scenes, obvious mistimings, sound problems) seemed to be largely ironed out. However, I still walked away from the play unwilling to call it a masterpiece. Perhaps a very interesting experiment, a work-in-progress, but far from satisfying.

A little bit of reading and research after my first viewing turned up some interesting ideas underlying the show. For instance, I had not known that William Burroughs, the author of the play's text, had shot his second wife -- albeit, accidentally -- while attempting to reenact William Tell's shooting an apple off the head of his son. Although he was reputed to be a good marksman, Burroughs missed, with fatal consequences and the incident would color his entire literary career, including the "Black Rider." Indeed, the play's protagonist is named Wilhelm, and I don't think I'm giving away anything to reveal that with his last magic bullet he unintentionally kills his wife.

Among the other pieces of information I learned was that I was not hallucinating and the "Cabaret", "Cabinet of Dr. Caligari" proto-Fascist themes were indeed intentional. One commentator even proposed that the extra "ss" that appear in the title on the curtain ("The Black Rider: The Cassting of the Magic Bulletss") were in fact a reference to the Nazi SS. I continue to maintain, though, that I never heard 12 bullets cast, or even 12 bulletss casst and I counted shots during the play. However, I was glad to hear that there was some reasoning behind the choices even if I still couldn't help wanting to slither into a Joel Grey chorus of "Wilkommen, Bienvenue, Welcome..." every time I saw the actors prance out.

Which brings me to what I think I have identified as the thing that really bothered me. As a dancer and a dance reviewer, movement quality stands out to me. Wilson's biography includes time spent with choreographers like Merce Cunningham. But in this auteur-driven production, in which Wilson directed, designed the sets and lighting and choreographed, the movement was the weak point. These actors are not dancers, and yet Wilson's vision of "The Black Rider" seems to demand wildly quirky movement, to go along with the weird voicing and peculiar characterizations. To my mind, this was a style that, frankly, the actors were not prepared to take on.

Although a Wilson-fan might insist that movement was a key consideration in the direction of the play, ("Look at the way they walk, at the way they move their arms just so, at the carefully posed interactions between the characters...") there was a naivete to this "choreography." These are not professional dancers -- there are limits to the movements they were capable of executing while singing and acting in an awkward costume. But the movements they were given never came off as more than elaborate blocking and affected posturing.

It was the kind of thing you or I or really anyone could do -- Ministry of Funny Walks entrances, flowing in and out of scenes with hands posed as if they were choristers, fey wristed Al-Jolson squats -- but nothing so extreme that it matched the oddness of their the clown-white faces or the chilling sound of a prissy falsetto voice dropping into grating, bear-like baritone.

The great Martha Graham once said that movement never lies, and in this case, for me, inauthentic movement sucked away all the interest of the production. It would have been better to hire an actual choreographer -- someone with a background in experimental movement. After all, when the Rider was first developed, Wilson knew he wasn't a composer and instead turned to someone who knew more about music than he did.

The one scene which I liked best, and which I still do, was the scene at the crossroads in act 2. Crossroads are traditionally places of tormented spirits. Back through ancient times, they are associated with the dead, and some traditions note that if you wanted to make a deal with the devil, you went to the crossroads to meet him. The Delta bluesman Robert Johnson evokes just that in his "Cross Road Blues."

"I went down to the crossroads and fell down on my knees, asked the Lord up above for mercy, save poor Bob if you please."

"Black Rider's" crossroads tap into that archaic sense of the evil and mystery at the place where various ways intersect, where people meet and pass without even noticing the tortured character right at the center.

It makes me rue the missed opportunity -- what if the whole evening had been that good?