Every now and then I digress and I know I speak on the other, mountains, princesses waiting for the kiss of spring trapped in a cascade of ice, clouds and floating souls. But tonight I will try to tell again something about Japan, a Japan that I have seen in my travels, a history of other times but I know by heart, a story of a screen sticker paper parasols and, at least in the imagination of the beginnings of this century. E 'Japan among the notes written by Giacomo Puccini, who did not go over there but never tells an unforgettable story, tender and terrible, that the little geisha Cio Cio San, Madama Butterfly alias. I'm afraid to talk about why I'm not at work but it is a story that is close to my heart and is one of the most beautiful music ever written for the opera house. That scoundrel Puccini knew how to touch his audience and, as a perfect mechanism, his music is a bomb capable of hitting consistently today the nervous system of the listener even more cynical. I am not cynical, and every time I let rip and to tear this sublime music, be it a test at the piano, is a cd or above the mink in the theater, as has happened to me yesterday. It 's crazy, the history of the lesser butterfly you know by heart, a child bride sold for 100 yen American officer Pinkerton, who uses it as a toy and mocked her and her culture, waiting for the day when they will marry a REAL American wife! Yet every time you hope that there is not as shit ... but no, the bride and seduces her even though she has only fifteen years, says empty words while she sings her sublime love and then leaves, promising to return in the season when the robin makes the litter ... Passaniti Butterfly waits three years and still fighting for her love against all those that say he does not returns. But she waits with her little baby, born of the rape and which ignores the existence Pinkerton.
And then he comes back ... but not to her, returns with his American wife and does not even have the balls to be seen and tell him personally but knew of a child, if it takes a while no Cio Cio San that is suicide.
Damn, Puccini women in the work-and perhaps a little too into his private life, has just treated badly in the name of love, but this time with overstates and exaggerates the beauty of music with which it does! The usual story-opera she loves him, he loves her, not here! And 'to love one-way Butterfly, from the melodies to shudder when Pinkerton asks tenderly loving her "a little love, love a baby ..." Pinkerton responds only with the senses, with the desire to have that pretty little toy that you buy, and despite the warnings of his friend (mind you, she believes ") are pleased of his instincts. Butterfly's love is pure and sincere, is that of a grown child who does everything to please her husband, a stubborn love the edge of madness ... but may not want to understand with what a person has to What to do? Yet every When his cry of pain is killing me, the theater falls silent and leaves us all stunned by its eternal relevance. Especially when you see that this sublime music creates a sense of stark contrast in a scene imagined today, in which Butterfly has become one of the many daughters of sex tourism object sings "Fresh Prince Of Bel" in jeans and a shirt of Hello Kitty, imagining the return of Pinkerton locked in a showcase home for her games that overlap with those of his son.
I care about the love of Butterfly and the pain on the scene a while I experienced it myself. A few years ago in a previous more traditional setting at the Teatro Regio, imagined as a mime-dancer in a kind of personification of its objects (The fan, the pipe, the mirror etc ...). In the end I was to give her the knife to kill himself ... God that anxiety! Every evening after all the tears behind the scenes already paid along with a large group of seamstresses, teachers, technicians, etc. .. I entered the scene, sobbing, fortunately, his face covered by a black veil, feeling all the tension of the moment and the same interpretation of Butterfly that made that moment more so than ever ... But the theater is a madhouse from weak nerves or the magical place where love is expressed in all its facets through art is the most sublime music?
tell me you do not know why I am biased, but before we do close your eyes and listen to the voice of Butterfly waiting for the return of Pinkerton's return of Life ...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KVRhuQWS4tc
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