Bluebeard’s Castle – there but for the grace of a background check.

This opera is by Bartok, which means that even if it were about unicorns, butterflies and cupcakes, it would still be disturbing.

In Bluebeard’s Castle, Judith leaves her home and fiance and comes to live with Lord Bluebeard. Given Bluebeard’s reference to “your family’s probably putting up flyers with your picture on it” (I don’t speak Hungarian, so that might not be an exact translation), it was not an approved union.

But she’s crazy about him. So crazy, in fact, that she misses the 140 or so red flags, thereby missing her chance to escape while the escaping’s good.

And he does wave red flags, starting with asking her several times if she’s sure she doesn’t want to leave. Under his psychotic exterior, he wants to be good. He really does. Sort of.

Judith notes that it is very dark in the castle and, despite Bluebeard’s insistence that that’s how he rolls and if she wants a castle with roses she should hit Disney, she asks for the key to unlock the seven doors and shed some light on the subject. It’s just like any new couple – she wants to find out what he has hidden in the dark recesses of his soul/castle. He tells her she shouldn’t go there, she says “but I love you, how could this possibly go wrong?” and then we find out how wrong it can possibly go.

She opens the first door and finds a torture chamber.

If we are honest, we all have a torture chamber lurking somewhere. It’s just that his has hot coals and a rack. And it looks like it gets used quite a lot. She is understandably shaken by the sight but pulls herself together and  says “It’s okay, I’m good. Next key.”

Note: in live performances it is not appreciated when you yell at Judith from the audience.

The next room is the armory, which would have been distressing if Judith were un-deluded enough to have hoped for a rescue party. “My, what pointy daggers you have, Bluebeard.”

Bluebeard is starting to enjoy this therapy session and offers Judith the next three keys, thinking five doors should keep her happy.

The third door is his treasury, which Bluebeard proudly announces now belongs to Judith, shiny crowns and all. Judith is delighted until she realizes there’s blood on the crown. So she does what any normal person does when she realizes she’s looking at something unpleasant – she looks somewhere else.

The fourth door opens to Bluebeard’s garden. Judith really should stop here, since it’s letting in the light and that was the whole point of this exercise. But the light is not dawning in Judith’s pretty little head, and although the blood on the flowers throws her for a loop, she presses on.

The fifth door opens to Bluebeard’s kingdom. It goes on and on. But again, the river is tinged with blood and Judith goes from “I love you, how could this possibly go wrong” to “I love you but is that lipstick on your collar and why don’t you love me and who’s that on the phone and I AM NOT THE FIRST WOMAN YOU’VE LOVED, AM I?”

Which is all fairly normal for a new relationship (if you discount the torture and the blood and the fact that the castle occasionally moans and that Bluebeard smiles at all the wrong times).

Bluebeard begs her to stop asking questions and kiss him. She does. And then she asks more questions. And then she kisses him. And then she loses it completely and demands the sixth key.

Behind the sixth door is a silvery pool. “What made this silvery pool?” Judith asks.

Weeping, says Bluebeard.

In this scene, his answer to everything is “weeping.” Why is the sky blue? What’s for lunch? Why did the chicken cross the road?

Weeping. Weeping. Weeping.

So Judith goes from losing it to really, really losing it, but not in the “I AM GOING TO DIE” way like she should, but in the “you are having an affair/are hung up on your mother/don’t think I’m pretty” way. Which is not helpful. She wants to face her competition and see what she’s up against, so she opens the seventh door and meets his previous wives. Sort of.

Bluebeard’s Castle is based on a fairy tale.The modern tendency with fairy tales is to clean them up, give them a happy ending and feed them to our children. Which teaches children nothing. This, on the other hand, teaches young women to be strong within themselves, listen to their inner voices, do a thorough reference check and always, always heed the person in the audience screaming “run, you moron.“

Capriccio is an Italian word that means “caprice” in English. It is pronounced ka-PREE-cho. (Bless you.)

This opera, however, is by Strauss and in German capriccio means “Eeney Meeney Meiney Mo Oh I Can’t Decide. The End.”

I was a foreign language major.

Capriccio is about a poet and a composer who are both in love with the Countess, which is a metaphor for the battle of attention between words and music – which in turn explains why some librettos are complete morons (in which “libretto” is a metaphor for my high school boyfriend who spent most weekends playing Dungeons and Dragons).

It all begins (and ends) in the Countess’ salon, where Olivier the poet and Flamand the composer are pining for her love. Olivier writes her a sonnet, which Flamand sets to music and sings. In normal operas this would lead to a duel but in Capriccio they argue over the merits of the two arts. Not to be left out, the impresario La Roche wakes from his nap and throws in his two bits. Where would poetry and music be without him, after all?

Warning: There is a lot of talking in this opera. If you do not speak German or read subtitles, you may be tempted to feign death on the floor. [Photo redacted]

The Countess’ brother, who we shall call The Count, has a thing for the actress Clairon.  They go off with La Roche to practice a little thing they’re working up for The Countess’ birthday. The Count then forgets completely about the Countess and goes to Paris with Clairon (who used to have a thing with Olivier).

Before they leave, La Roche trots out his latest discoveries – actors and dancers – all of whom are at their very most narcissistic. Strauss had some fun with his last opera, giving us a backstage glimpse at what the people we admire are really like (I don’t believe it for a minute). Everyone in turn claims that their part is the most important – right down to the prompter.

They leave and the servants clean up, observing that they are all self-obsessed dorks.

The Countess has so far fought off Olivier and Flamand’s advances, but made the mistake of telling them that she will give them an answer the next morning. They are writing an opera based on the events of the evening and need to know how it ends.

The Countess then goes and changes, thereby upping her ratings with the eight-year-olds in the audience. Operas need lots of fabulous dresses.

When she comes back, she discovers that Olivier will be waiting in the library for her at 11am, which is where and when she told Flamand to meet her. “They seem doomed to be united,” she says, which probably means they’re lovers but haven’t figured it out yet. It wouldn’t be the first time.

She writes something on a piece of paper which we think is the name of her chosen suitor but actually says “I have a plane to catch, let’s wrap this thing.” The butler dims the lights. The end.

Agrippina is the historical tale of a mom who wanted her son to be Emperor. He later kills her, but that must wait for another opera.

The son is Nero. Perhaps you’ve heard of him.

Agrippina was written by Handel, who brought us such smash hits as the Messiah. Do not confuse the two and play Agrippina at Christmas dinner.

Fun fact: this opera calls for three countertenors. Countertenor is a vocal range that would have originally been sung by a prepubescent boy or a castrato. Think of it as the sound a dog toy makes when you step on it.

When it premiered in 1709, the role of the teenage Nero was sung by a soprano castrato, which explains what happened to Rome.

It all starts when Agrippina receives news that her husband, the Emperor Claudio (Claudius)*, has died. By way of grieving, she does a happy dance and informs her son Nerone (Nero) that he gets to be Emperor now. Nerone is her son by a previous marriage, so this is not as simple a process as one might think.

She starts a social media campaign by seducing the already besotted Pallante (Pallas) and Narciso (Narcissus) – not at the same time. She asks them to support Nerone as the new Emperor – making it look like the choice of the people.

*I’m giving the names we are familiar with at the beginning for reference, but use the Italian names throughout so you don’t go see the opera and wonder what happened to Pallas and who is this Pallante?

1) How did Pallante and Narciso get all their friends to show up and chant “Nerone for Emperor” without Twitter?

2) Agrippina is the mother of a teenage boy and the seducer of countertenors. There are terms for mothers who seduce countertenors.

With countertenors in pocket, Agrippina stages a ceremony at which she announces that Claudio has perished. As she waits for the cry of “Nerone for Emperor!” to rise from the crowd, she gets the memo that Claudio is not dead yet. Which spoils everything.

Not only is he not dead, but he is not dead because Ottone (Otho) saved him. In return for saving his life, Claudio names Ottone the next Emperor.

Meanwhile, Nerone is busy playing Fall of the Roman Empire on his Wii and can barely be bothered to look up.

Lucky for Agrippina, Ottone has carved “Ottone and Poppea 4 ever” in the staff bathroom (archeologists will find it later). Knowing that Claudio has a thing for Poppea, Agrippina decides to use her in her plan. She tells Poppea that Ottone got promoted by giving her, Poppea, to Claudio. She suggests that Poppea tell Claudio that Ottone has claimed her all for himself and refuse the advances of the Emperor. This makes exactly no sense if you think about it, so don’t.

Agrippina’s thinking is that Claudio will be annoyed at Ottone and take away his merit badge, and the Emperorship.

It kind of works. Angry, Claudio offers Agrippina a new pony. Or whatever she wants.

Little by little, Pallante, Narciso, Poppea and Ottone all figure out they’ve been played by that vixen Agrippina. They take it in stride, except for Poppea, who sings “Ingannata una sol volta” which is Italian for “that bitch is going down.”

Agrippina tries to get everyone to kill everyone else. It doesn’t work, but in the kerfluffle, Nerone’s looking more and more like the next Emperor.

Poppea realizes it’s all about Nerone and, in something approaching a french farce, has 3 men hidden in her boudoir. She exposes Nerone (hopefully not literally) to his stepfather, Claudio. Poor Claudio.

Then everyone is yelling, pointing fingers and maybe hair-pulling if we’re lucky. Claudio demands that Nerone marry Poppea. Ottone then trades Nerone, giving him the throne in exchange for Poppea. Thinking the throne is a recliner with wireless gaming synch, Nerone is psyched.

The end.

I grew up in Colorado, where everything was about two years behind New York. And yet! Colorado Symphony and the Opera Colorado Chorus did Nixon in China in 2008 – almost three years before the Met.

So there.

Now, where was I?

Nixon in China is an opera by John Adams with a libretto by Alice Goodman. Goodman’s libretto is one of those things that you may need to read all on its own. I don’t usually say that because librettos tend to be pretty dorky. This one makes you hope you haven’t missed anything.

Fun fact! John Adams specified that the leads wear body mics. As I am sure you are aware, opera is not amplified. But if a company does Nixon, mics are a part of the deal.

Act I opens on a crowd of people – members of the Chinese Army and what look to be random civilians. They sing about Three Main Rules of Discipline and the Twelve Days of Christmas Eight Points of Attention. See what I mean about reading the libretto? They need subtitles with drop-down options explaining revolutionary theory and so forth.

Now that I think of it, this would be a great opera to do those pop-ups with – like on music videos.

President Nixon, Mrs. Nixon and Kissinger arrive by jet and are met by Chou-En-lai, who introduces them to a bunch of people presumed to be dignitaries. Nixon does that thinking outloud thing.

Nixon and Kissinger then meet with Mao in his study, where they talk in circles. Kissinger sums it up best: “I’m lost.”

The day ends with a dinner party. Toasts are made. There are probably hangovers that go unmentioned in Act II.

In Act II, Pat Nixon is taken on a whirlwind tour. She goes to a glass factory (“Is this handmade?” she asks. “Yes! We can make hundreds a day!”), a school and a pig farm. She likes pigs and children perhaps slightly more than dignitaries.

The Nixons are then treated to an opera-within-an-opera written by the…er… energetic and… uh… possibly sadistic Madame Mao. Kissinger does not join them because for reasons best known to Adams and Goodman, he is in the opera cast as Lao Szu. He’s completely creepy and Mrs. Nixon, forgetting that it’s just a play, intervenes on behalf of the female victim. With all due respect to Madame Mao, her play sucks and is not in any way harmed by the constant interference of the stage audience.

For all you bun-heads, the Mark Morris choreography is lovely.

Madame Mao ends with singing “I am the Wife of Mao Tse Tung,” which will get in your head and not leave.

Act III is retrospective and introspective. Richard and Pat reminisce about when they didn’t have to travel to China. Pat reminds Richard that he has already told her his stories from World War II.

The Maos talk in revolutionary riddles and dance (Madame Mao lays down one of the opera’s most memorable spoken lines here.)

Kissinger gets lucky (in the Peter Sellars version, at least).

Chou gives the “was any good done” summary.

And then everyone holds hands and bows – probably the most diplomatic thing that happens in the whole opera.

Possibly related: I am taking down my Donny Osmond poster and replacing it with one of John Adams.

One more thing. Adams and Goodman wrote Nixon in China in 1987. The top 10 hits of 1987 were (as you may recall):

“Faith,” by George Michael;  ”Alone,” by Heart; “I Wanna Dance With Somebody (Who Loves Me),” by Whitney Houston; “C’est la Vie,” by Robbie Nevil; “Shake You Down,” by Gregory Abbott; “La Bamba,” by Los Lobos; “Livin’ On A Prayer;” by Bon Jovi; “Here I Go Again,” by Whitesnake; “Heaven Is A Place On Earth,” by Belinda Carlisle and “(I’ve Had) The Time Of My Life,” by Bill Medley & Jennifer Warnes

I’ve been worried about telling you about Franz Lehar’s The Merry Widow because it takes place at the Pontevedrian Embassy and, having never been to Pontevedro, I didn’t know how to pronounce it. Imagine my delight at discovering that it’s a fictitious Balkan state – so I can’t possibly pronounce it wrong. I don’t remember where I read that, but it was on the internet so it must be true. Pronounce it however you wish. You have my blessings.

Anyway. There’s a party at the Pontevedrian Embassy, in Paris. Baron Zeta doesn’t notice his wife flirting with the attache because he’s in a dither about Hanna who may or may not marry a Parisian because Parisians are cute and she is a widow. A merry one.

Zeta doesn’t like the idea because if she marries a Parisian her wealth will leave Pontevedro – bankrupting the country. Her husband, the dead one, not the potential one, left her a pile of dough. Enough to run a small country, apparently.

Zeta’s wife, Valencienne, continues flirting.

Count Danilo Danilovich arrives after staying out at Maxim’s for several nights running so he falls asleep in the pile of coats in the guestroom. Hannah finds him and wakes him up. It turns out they had a thing for each other in their youth, but Danilo’s aristocratic family shut them down. Now Danilo refuses to tell Hannah he loves her because everyone who claims to love her is really just in love with her money and he’s not so into that

Oh he is so cute I can’t stand it

Zeta tells Danilo he has to marry Hannah, for the good of his country.  They dance, but not together.

The next evening everyone goes to Hannah’s house for a party. That’s what I love about operas. It’s always party, party, party. This is where things get sticky. Zeta and Danilo go off to the summerhouse to watch football, not realizing that Zeta’s wife, Valencienne is in there with her attache, hopefully not attacheed. Zeta’s aide, rescues Valencienne out the back door. Zeta’s pretty sure he saw his wife in there and is quite surprised to find Hannah in the summerhouse with Camille (the attache) which makes it look to Danilo as though she’s the one having the fling with Camille. She’s a stinker, that merry widow. Danilo stomps off to Maxim’s.

In order to make him feel more at home, Hannah transforms her parlor into a replica of Maxim’s – dancing girls and all. Danilo realizes Hannah never meant to marry Camille and admits he loves her. Zeta realizes his wife has been carrying on with Camille and demands a divorce, saying he’ll marry Hannah instead. Valencienne gets out of her pickle by showing her husband the note on her fan that says she totally didn’t just cheat on him.

And then everyone runs around in circles and the people who are in chairs when the music stops get to marry each other.