Re: opera
A little more from Robert Everett-Green, from the Globe:
The earth didn't move . . . yet
The jury's still out on the acoustics of Toronto's new opera house. Meanwhile, a few quibbles and caveats
ROBERT EVERETT-GREEN
From Thursday's Globe and Mail
'How was it for you?"
We were all asking that question last week, those of us who got into Toronto's Four Seasons Centre for the Performing Arts to see and hear what the fuss was about. About 10,000 people have heard something in the place by now, at the opening concerts or at two test events in May. We've gone up and down the glass staircase, peered into the huge pit and weighed the question of whether $150-million has bought a jewel in Toronto's crown or another dull building in a city of blown chances. And the sound quality -- there's got to be at least 10,000 opinions about that, because I've gone through several already myself.
I've been in the hall four times (five, if you count a hard-hat tour) and heard music from six different seats on three levels. It has been a steep learning experience so far, and I'm not just talking about the stairs up to the fifth ring. One thing I'm sure of is that it's mighty interesting to have a new opera house on the block. The place shows a different aspect of itself every time I go, and I've been keeping notes. Here are some of them.
Acoustics is a nerdy form of witchcraft, in which one spell can have many effects: "10 to 15 per cent is black magic," says Richard Bradshaw, the Canadian Opera Company's general director. I felt the truth of that quip most keenly while sitting in the last row of the house, listening to the unnaturally clear and present sounds billowing up to me. I couldn't distinguish the singers' features, but I could hear the softest pianissimo. From two different seats in the third ring, however, the sound was still very attractive but somehow less involving: very distinct, lots of bass, warmly resonant but a little remote.
From a left aisle seat halfway back on the floor, the sound was more voluptuous, but also a bit one-sided, as if most of the orchestra had crowded into that side of the pit.
In sum, I've yet to understand or fall entirely in love with "the sound" at the Four Seasons, but I believe acoustician Bob Essert when he says that the full magic will be revealed only when the company knows the hall better and there's an opera on the stage.
If a small opera house is good, a cozy one is even better: The compact hall interior seemed bland when I first saw it, but after a few nights, it felt homey. Lack of flash turns out to be an asset, and anyway, who needs a distraction from the stage? What a contrast to the voyeuristic foyer, with its glass front, dangling staircase and jalousie wall.
Hearing everything means just that: If I were a musician in the opera orchestra, I'd be excited and scared. Every little sound carries clearly, which is great in a delicate passage, but make a teensy mistake and there's nowhere to hide. Put a dancer on stage and who knows how much racket we'll hear? Shoes squeak, bounding bodies thump to earth. Did you know that National Ballet of Canada dancers talk to each other on stage? Not a little but a lot. It's all a bit worrisome for the company's gala this evening. But they also know (as publicist Julia Drake put it) that "hearing better means seeing better." One sense supports the other. It works the other way too: If sightlines are good (as they are everywhere in the Four Seasons), you'll probably feel more involved in the music.
Bring lots of money or leave your long pointy shoes at home: The cheap seats are also the most challenging to one's sense of level ground, thanks to the saddleback curve of the fifth ring and the rows of handrails that outline a swirling spiral descent to the stage (check out the alarming view from the ring's back corners). Steep stair climbs and skinny entrances into the rows (made narrower still by more rails and jutting step-corners) make a compelling argument for sensible shoes.
Many people fear getting locked in stairwells: What's with the austere, underdesigned stairwells hidden behind doors on either side of the hall? These necessary portals (the elevators are slow and the glass staircase can be slower) look and feel like the way down to the bowels of a parking garage. Every time I've been in them, someone has fretted aloud that the door at the bottom may be locked. There could be a thriller plot here: After a wrenching performance of La Forza del Destino, 50 people find themselves stranded inside the opera house, in evening clothes, with parking running out and babysitters waiting.
AoD