It’s a story that begins simply enough. A small group of free-spirited artists—high on life and exuberantly passionate—contend with the bitter cold inside their dingy garret on a snowy Christmas Eve. They have few physical possessions and no money for rent. But these boisterous souls—Rodolfo, Marcello, Colline, and Schaunard—do have each other. They pursue what they love, the arts, even though they’re broke as a joke. And when Rodolfo meets an attractive lady named Mimi, his heart flutters with excitement. As these two characters—along with Marcello and Musetta, the latter a feisty bombshell—experience the vicissitudes of love, a story unfolds that is powerful and transformative.
It’s not for nothing that Puccini’s La Bohème is one of the most popular operas in the world. It premiered nearly 125 years ago, yet its humor and energy and charm never fails to attract audiences of all kinds. This is an opera that gets performed all the time. Except, that is, when the world experiences a shattering pandemic.
So much has changed over the last several months. Some lives have undoubtedly been more affected than others. Families who have experienced the loss of a loved one know this. Other consequences of the pandemic are ultimately less significant, but still salient: unemployment, medical costs, entire industries in limbo. As for the latter, the art world—everything from museums to concerts to operas—has taken a major hit.
Some companies, in an effort to get their artistic creations out to the world, as well as help support their staff of artists, designers, etc., have put up free content on platforms like YouTube, with an option to make a donation. The Royal Opera House is one such example. Right now, Puccini’s La Bohème is available free to watch, as are other excellent operas. (Romeo and Juliet is premiering the day of this post.)
This is a nice idea: a chance to financially support artists (if you can), and a chance to experience incredible drama that you might not otherwise get to see. And there’s something especially relevant about viewing a performance of La Bohème during this time. Indeed, there are parallels between the upheaval currently going on in America (calls for comprehensive reforms and a fractious political climate) and the tumultuous Paris of the 1830s in which Puccini’s play is set. There’s also the illness of Mimi, which drives most of the play. She’s not stricken with the coronavirus, but with something that was as horrifying during her time: tuberculosis.
As this 4-act opera nears its end, it’s fascinating to compare our observations of these young artists to our perceptions upon first meeting them. In Act One, on Christmas Eve, Rodolfo and crew are a lively and rowdy bunch, to the point of being sophomoric. They are full of youth, lust, and ideals (the latter especially true in the case of Rodolfo). The world is, in some sense, still quite new to them.
By the end of the drama, we still see many of these elements; but we also see them sober and serious, and we sense that they have changed in significant ways. This is true even for Musetta, the loud, flirtatious, and fabulously beautiful woman who flaunts her good looks and sings about her unfailing ability to draw the eyes of men and women wherever she goes. She, along with others, pull together to help Mimi. They sacrifice what little possessions they have in order to give her comfort. They stand around her, concerned and compassionate, looking at the ailing young women who is scarcely in the prime of her life. Not long before that, Mimi and Rodolfo recall how they first met: the candle and lost key, the magic of the moment, the passionate swirls of love churning in their hearts.
Crisis does that. It makes us look back on things in a contemplative way. And when we do so, hopefully there’s joy to be found in those memories—those moments which are now past, but have made us who we are.
The Royal Opera House’s production of La Bohème, directed by Richard Jones, offers a humorous, lively, and heart-wrenching presentation of Puccini’s magnificent drama (the libretto by Luigi Illica and Giuseppe Giacosa). Notable is the chemistry between the small band of male artists—a chemistry which feels authentic and convincing to a very high degree (something not always the case). The production also puts in its share of unique flourishes, but rarely in a way that distracts from what we should be focusing on.
As for set design, one decision seemed slightly bewildering. The garret, which is of course a key environment in the play, seemed more like a yet-to-be-furnished upstairs room in a modest home than it did the living environment of a handful of penniless young artists. It just didn’t feel right, and perhaps made some scenes less engrossing than they otherwise could have been. That said, the set designs which occur both inside and outside of Cafe Momus, in Act 2, were excellent, as was the simple but effectively used tavern in the following act.
There have been countless productions of La Bohème, and opera lovers have their favorite one or two performances. But the story is so endearing, so powerful in its presentation of love, friendship, art, and loss, that every production offers something different and worth seeing. This production by the Royal Opera House is no exception.
After finishing it, I found myself dwelling on many questions, but one more than others. It’s a question that derives its eloquence from a pronouncement of Tennyson’s, but one that is probably just about age-old: Is it better to have loved and lost, or never to have loved at all? A thought-provoking question, for sure, and one that could be put more broadly. Is it better to sit on the sidelines and passively receive whatever limited joys might happen to come our way, or to venture into the limitless terrain of life and seek out supremely beautiful experiences—even if they might come with penetrating sorrows? Rodolfo’s zest for life makes him vulnerable to the type of circumstances that transpire, but if he could go back in time, would he choose to avoid meeting Mimi? Certainly not.
There’s a lot of uncertainty right now. There’s no doubt about that. But one can take a peek at any century over the last who-knows-how many millennia and find very similar worries of the kind that are currently on our minds. Life, after all, is delicate; human beings are frail; there’s much that we can’t control. It’s through art that we very often contend with this small but powerful set of facts. Good art teaches us how to live richer and more meaningful lives, even—perhaps especially—in the face of fear. Now as much as ever, then, it’s important to support the arts and to relish the invaluable nourishment it gives us.
Spectatio 