Opéra Scientifique

A spaced-out opera called Einstein on the Beach, by Robert Wilson and Philip Glass, made its memorable U.S. debut at the Metropolitan Opera House on Sunday, November 21. It had actually premiered last July at the Avignon festival, and spent the summer touring Europe. In fact, although Wilson and Glass are American, members of the cast claim that they have had greater success in Europe than in the States, getting a full house every night even in small provincial towns. Are Europeans smarter than we, or are they just addicted aficionados of the avant- garde, good or poor?

It was interesting to observe the crowd at the New York opening with that question in mind, and easily done since, although the audience was gathered and waiting outside long before the scheduled 6:30 starting time, the doors opened twenty minutes late— presumably to generate excitement among the Wilson devotees. There were some well-dressed older men and women present and some “just plain Americans,” but the audience consisted overwhelmingly of beautiful arty-chic youth dressed in low-key but impeccably hip taste. The many Italian and French initiates were distinguishable from the New Yorkers only by their speech. But the show itself—would it be slick and superficial, slavishly iconoclastic? Was the venerable Metropolitan Opera Association attempting to deny her image, archly sporting platform shoes for the night and stepping out with someone half her age?

MB

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Mary Effie Burnham

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A spaced-out opera called Einstein on the Beach, by Robert Wilson and Philip Glass, made its memorable U.S. debut at the Metropolitan Opera House on Sunday, November 21. It had actually premiered last July at the Avignon festival, and spent the summer touring Europe. In fact, although Wilson and Glass are American, members of the cast claim that they have had greater success in Europe than in the States, getting a full house every night even in small provincial towns. Are Europeans smarter than we, or are they just addicted aficionados of the avant- garde, good or poor?

It was interesting to observe the crowd at the New York opening with that question in mind, and easily done since, although the audience was gathered and waiting outside long before the scheduled 6:30 starting time, the doors opened twenty minutes late— presumably to generate excitement among the Wilson devotees. There were some well-dressed older men and women present and some “just plain Americans,” but the audience consisted overwhelmingly of beautiful arty-chic youth dressed in low-key but impeccably hip taste. The many Italian and French initiates were distinguishable from the New Yorkers only by their speech. But the show itself—would it be slick and superficial, slavishly iconoclastic? Was the venerable Metropolitan Opera Association attempting to deny her image, archly sporting platform shoes for the night and stepping out with someone half her age?