An Evening at the Opera

I have always considered myself rather well-versed in New York City’s artistic culture. I keep track of what exhibits are opening when at nearly all of the city’s major museums (many of which I am lucky enough to live within walking distance of). I visit the Met often and can navigate its permanent collection with the skill of a racecar driver, as well as the speed—even during weekends and holidays, when tourists waving museum maps like flags of surrender seem to outnumber the works on display. I have seen most of the major Broadway shows, as well as several off-Broadway pieces, and I even found a production of Jane Austen in the basement of a church in my neighborhood several years ago (a gem of a discovery). I’ve been to every ballroom from Bowery to Hammerstein, sat in the refined Beacon Theater, and stood in the drafty and imposing Terminal 5. Yet there was one staple of the New York City arts and entertainment scene with which I was not familiar: the Metropolitan Opera. Luckily for me, however, that changed last week.

When my friend Ruth let me know that she had an extra ticket to the opera, I jumped at the opportunity. I didn’t yet know how much the ticket was, when the performance would be, or even what opera I’d be seeing—I just knew that I had been wanting to go to the opera for quite some time, and this seemed like the perfect opportunity. The thought of the exquisite costumes, the sweeping arias, and the elegance of Lincoln Center were enough to sell me on the idea even before I found out that the ticket was only $15 (thanks to a student discount). And so, last Thursday evening, I found myself walking across Lincoln Center’s distinctive courtyard, on my way to see the Met’s performance of Puccini’s La Rondine.

“Hurry! Hurry!” Ruth and I heard as we strolled up to the front entrance, taking our time to admire the structure’s grand architecture. We noticed that, all around us, people were rushing—some even running—toward the glass entrance doors.

“Oh, gosh—it’s almost eight, and I’m pretty sure they don’t let you in until intermission if you arrive late,” Ruth said, explaining a well-known opera rule of which we were suddenly aware. We began to scramble toward the doors along with everyone else, flashing our tickets on the way in before climbing a majestic staircase . . . and another . . . and one more.

A bit out of breath, we found our way to our seats, which, despite being in nearly the last row of the theater’s highest tier, afforded us an ample view of the stage—as well as of the theater itself. With plush seating, ornately-detailed woodwork, rows of private boxes on either side of the stage, and a magnificent, sparkling crystal chandelier suspended over the orchestra, with other smaller chandeliers surrounding it, the theater was as elegant as I had pictured. As we took in our surroundings, the chandeliers began to rise toward the ceiling, the lights dimmed, the orchestra began to hum in preparation for the opening of the curtain—and a small electronic screen lit up in front of each of us.

Thanks to the Met’s website, I knew that the performance would be sung in Italian with subtitles, which I had naively been expecting to appear on some sort of screen near the stage. As it turned out, however, each seat came complete with its own subtitle screen embedded in the railing that ran down each aisle, able to provide subtitles in English, German, or Spanish with the push of a button. Ruth and I turned our screens on and settled in to watch the performance.

La Rondine, which means “the swallow” in French, is one of Puccini’s lightest and least well-known operas. Originally set in the mid-19th century but updated to the 1920s, La Rondine is the story of Magda, a woman who risks all for a chance at true love. Featuring Art Deco sets and costumes, the backdrop was beautifully done. In three acts, Magda moved from a luxurious Paris home filled with fashionable gowns and exquisite décor, to a raucous and rowdy Parisian dance hall, to a bright and breezy hotel on the French Riviera. I was amazed by the strength and range of all the performers’ voices, most notably those of Angela Gheorghiu, who played Magda, and Giuseppe Filianoti, who starred as her lover, the young Ruggero.

The real star of the show, however, was the music that told Magda and Ruggero’s story. Light and lively melodies intermingled with soaring, romantic pieces, and playful scenes full of dancing and laughter alternated with dramatic moments filled with longing and anxiety, perfectly complementing both the physical and emotional setting throughout. The subtitles were essential to my ability to follow the plot; yet, had they not been available, I would have enjoyed the performance just as much, as the music was really the most compelling element of all.

When the performance came to an end—after a total of two hours and fifteen minutes, including an intermission—Ruth and I took our time climbing back down the majestic staircase, taking in the elegance of our surroundings.

“You know,” she said, “we just went to the opera for about the same price we’d pay to see a movie.”

“Wow, and we got so much more,” I replied, glad to have experienced such a wonderful and elegant event—and a valuable piece of New York City culture.

While our low ticket price was thanks to a student discount, there are other ways to get such a deal at the Met. Tickets in the family circle tier are typically available for between $15 and $40, while standing room tickets are available on the day of most shows for $15 to $20. For more information on ticket prices and the Met’s current performance schedule, click here.