Fourth entry

CSO, Music of the Baroque, R+G Are Dead, La Chimera, Fear and Loathing, Breaking the Waves, Meiji art

Happy Monday! I just woke up, checked my email, and saw Chris Jones’ newsletter. In it, he writes exclusively about New York theatre. To quote Mama Rose, “New York is the center of New York.” Happily, my week here in Chicago has been pretty stacked—a play, two orchestra concerts, three films, and an art exhibit. Let’s dive in.

On Monday, I treated myself to a wonderful double feature of La Chimera and “Birds, Frogs, Crickets, and Dogs” at Music of the Baroque. After hearing the hype around La Chimera for about a year (it screened at the Chicago International Film Festival), I’m happy to say it lived up. It’s a strange, lyrical masterpiece. I hesitate to say it “owes a debt” to Fellini, at the risk of diminishing director Alice Rohrwacher’s bold achievement, but I would certainly say it’s in conversation with Fellini, and I mean that as the highest praise. It still has a few more showings at the Music Box: if grown-up films about loss and yearning and art and beauty and mortality are up your alley, make an effort to go. Bellisimo! 😚👌

Following this very Italian film, I hopped on the brown line to the Harris Theatre to see the Music of the Baroque orchestra. This orchestra (along with the Chicago Symphony, of course) is one of my favorite Chicago institutions. I often think they’re under-appreciated. The concert on Monday, however, was VERY appreciated. It was one of the fullest houses I’ve ever seen at one of these concerts, with a notable presence of families. As the title—“Birds, Frogs, Crickets, and Dogs”—would suggest, the theme was the animal kingdom, with music written in the Baroque period that imitated various animals, or at least embraced natural phenomena (opening with a great performance of Vivaldi’s familiar “Spring” from The Four Seasons).

The entire program was exceptional—varied, whimsical (whimsy is difficult to pull off without becoming grating or saccharine, but by God, they did it!), and excellently performed—but I’d like to draw attention to one movement in particular. The third piece on the program was Vivaldi’s Flute Concerto in D Major, “The Goldfinch.” This piece establishes very early on that the flute soloist is meant to represent the voice of a bird (which is a cliche at this point, but let’s cut Antonio some slack: it was the 18th century). After an energetic opening movement, the flute—that is, the Goldfinch—sings a melody imbued with such melancholy and serenity, sorrow and peace in utter agreement, to suggest that this little animal has infinitely more wisdom and perspective than we do. To experience it in live performance was an act of humility. Here’s a link to the concerto (the beautiful second movement begins 4 minutes in).

One more note: this particular concert had an extramusical treat, which was a visit from The Natural Naturalist, displaying real animals before the concert and during intermission. It was a delight to go from the first half (ending with the Vivaldi piece) to the lobby, and to hear real bird calls, and see these beautiful animals in person. It was equally a delight to see the audience of a Baroque music concert—normally so dignified and serious—gleefully hovering over zoo animals as if it were a school field trip.

Doing an emotional 180, I saw Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas on Wednesday night, at the Alamo Drafthouse. (On principle, I don’t love to endorse the Alamo Drafthouse— a gimmicky, overpriced, corporate movie theater in the same neighborhood as the Music Box—but they do offer cool screenings at odd times that work with my unusual bar schedule.) Like La Chimera, the film’s reputation had followed me long before I actually saw it. Director Terry Gilliam has said, “I want it to be seen as one of the great movies of all time, and one of the most hated movies of all time.” With a 50% on Rotten Tomatoes, he definitely succeeded.

The adjectives on both sides of the aisle are the same. Vulgar. Intense. Angry. Unpleasant. Me? I fucking loved it. I found it thrilling and engrossing. It’s shamelessly about two guys who do a lot of drugs and wreak havoc on Las Vegas in the ‘70s (occasionally, it must be noted, with cruelty). And certainly, the main appeal of the film is the surreal visual thrills, and Hunter S. Thompson’s evocative text. But the context is crucial—it’s specifically about using drugs in response to being stuck in the United States, trying to forget that your country is raging pointless, brutal war on foreign countries. Using drugs in an age of imperialism. Using drugs in an age of consumerism. As tempting as it is to say “the sociopolitical climate of the ‘70s is eerily similar to today,” there’s nothing truly eerie about it, because the narrative simply hasn’t changed. And thus, this story continues to resonate. (If you’re basically content with the way the country is being run, this is not the movie for you.) The lens through which one must watch the film is simply, eloquently offered by way of an opening intertitle: “He who makes a beast of himself relieves himself the pain of being a man.”

It was also fun to leave the theatre (okay, yes, I was stoned) and be immediately greeted by the garish and chaotic sights and sounds of Wrigleyville on a Friday at midnight. Life imitates art!

I saw Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead at Court Theatre, which was another long time coming for me, having watched the movie a few times (it was a favorite of my sister’s growing up) but never having seen it onstage. It was another wonderful experience (did I mention it’s been a good week?). In Shakespeare: The Invention of the Human from 1998, Harold Bloom argues that the plays of Shakespeare expanded the collective human consciousness. That by watching Hamlet ruminate on the idea of being, we, the audience, expand our own concept of being. Back in 1966, Tom Stoppard took his own approach to the idea that Shakespeare shaped human consciousness. In the play, we watch these two side characters, with very few discernible features, discover themselves in real time, within the context of the narrative of Hamlet. It cuts to the core of what it means to be alive, and also what it means to perform. Like all the best existential art, it grounds its audience. And it’s also very funny!

Court’s production was excellent, making great use of a bare stage (I always think of Diane Paulus’ Pippin). I’m not sure I needed the singalong at the end, however (as much as I love the song in question).

A quick note: everything’s coming up Hamlet! In addition to this excellent Hamlet spin-off, I have tickets for two different upcoming productions of Hamlet in Chicago over the following week. On Wednesday, I’m seeing Eddie Izzard’s solo performance of Hamlet at Chicago Shakespeare Theatre, and on the following Monday, I’m seeing Red Theatre’s storefront production of Hamlet in my own neighborhood.

Right next door to the Court Theatre is the Smart Museum of Art, a free art museum. If you happen to be on the University of Chicago campus between now and June, their current exhibit—Meiji Modern: Fifty Years of New Japan—is unmissable. This collection of artwork (in a wide range of formats—paintings, prints, photographs, vases, kimonos) is a vast, awe-inspiring portal into a fascinating period of Japanese history. Perhaps my personal favorite was Yamaga Seika’s Painting of a Cuckoo, which I’m kicking myself for not getting a picture of.

(And before you go, be sure to familiarize yourself with the concept of ma. You’ll benefit from the knowledge as it pertains to this exhibit.)

While on the University of Chicago campus, I also visited Doc Films for the first time—a student-led movie theater and film society, with absolutely God-tier programming (the only reason I hadn’t been in the past is it’s just soooo far away). After the play and the art exhibit, I saw Breaking The Waves, presented on film. I can’t say I loved the movie. Lars von Trier was important to me in college, but it’s possible I have, at least tentatively, outgrown him since then. It struck me as a bit of a second-rate version of what Ingmar Bergman or the Dardennes brothers have to offer, and the bleakness—unlike Fear and Loathing—wasn’t buoyed by very much visual imagination. To its credit, it was an interesting story, and it was well paced and superbly acted. Maybe I was just tired. Maybe I’ll give it another shot someday.

I finished out my week (phew! If you’ve made it this long, thank you!) seeing the Chicago Symphony Orchestra yesterday. Following Andrzej Panufnik’s incredibly strong and surprising Heroic overture from 1952, the two centerpieces on the program were Chopin’s Piano Concerto No. 1 and Tchaikovsky’s Symphony No. 1.

It’s widely accepted that Chopin’s two piano concertos are piano showcases with orchestral accompaniment, as opposed to orchestra pieces featuring a piano. I do think his orchestration abilities get a bad rap (he knew exactly what he was doing!), but the audience came to see great piano playing. It pains me a bit to say I wasn’t completely in love with Yulianna Avdeeva’s interpretation. Her second movement in particular, with its liberal use of rubato, leaned into sentimental territory—I prefer it played with a bit more restraint and dignity (the melody speaks for itself). But she certainly knows what she’s doing, and quibbles aside, it was a good performance. And the orchestra sounded balanced and robust.

Tchaikovsky’s first three symphonies tend to be overshadowed by his latter three. I used to be an ardent defender of his early work, so I was looking forward to my first live performance of his first symphony. In retrospect…I didn’t need to be quite such an apologist. Structure has never been Tchaikovsky’s strongest quality (and I say that as a Tchaikhead), and in this very early work, the cracks definitely show. But the orchestra, again, sounded fantastic (the principal horn player has a new horn! And it’s working!). And if Tchaikovsky’s first symphony isn’t as sophisticated or consistently engaging as his masterful fifth and sixth, there were still enough stretches of his trademark rapturous melodies to make me happy I was in the room. That bombastic finale, too, was a blast—and an exciting indicator of what was to come from young Pyotr.

What a week! If you enjoyed, appreciated, or were in any way moved by my ramblings, feel free to like, comment, tell your friends, or give me money. This upcoming week is going to be a good deal lighter for me, which I need (the aforementioned ma), but I look forward to sharing!