From The Top: Impulsively escaping routine and responsibility is healthy

I don’t joke when it comes to opera — it’s an art form I take very seriously. I’ve devoted many weeks to this column that centers around opera. I work full-time at a professional opera house. Eighty-five percent of the music I listen to is opera or classically based. I’m such a devoted fan that a few days ago, I booked an impulsive trip to New York City just to see an opera with some of my colleagues.

I leave in two and a half weeks.

The opera in question is the American premiere of Thomas Adès’ The Exterminating Angel at the Metropolitan Opera, based on the 1962 surrealist film by Luis Buñuel. The opera itself garnered acclaim at its world premiere in Salzburg two years ago, and is slowly making its way across the globe. Though I enjoy all eras of opera, I have a proclivity for 20th- and 21st-century works. I admire contemporary composers’ creed for investing in unconventional and offbeat stories, and for also seeking inspiration in the avant-garde. The result of their creations has sparked my own curiosity to explore unusual narratives.

I had not seen the Buñuel film prior to learning about Adès’ operatic adaptation. Furthermore, there are a handful of other books and movies I now hold close to my heart after first seeing its operatic successor. In a way, opera has navigated myriad other interests in different mediums. It has opened me up to not only new music, but also new filmmakers, styles and aesthetics as well.

After watching The Exterminating Angel twice in the last week, I found myself eyeing what to expect in Adès’ opera. The film focuses on a group of bourgeois guests who attend a dinner party, ignoring the abnormal tinge that lingers in the air. After retiring to the salon, following a sonata by Paradisi performed by one of the guests, they find themselves unable to leave the room. All the doors and entrances are still there — nothing has physically changed to the structure of the house. Yet when a guest approaches the entrance to the next room, they are simply unable to cross the barrier. They eventually realize they’re stuck in the salon. They attempt to remain cordial, but as days pass, all hell breaks loose.

Buñuel never explained much in the way of symbolism; the interpretation of these themes is left entirely to the viewer. I expound the obvious. The upper-class guests are unable to leave the room because, formally, the evening never ended (something I picked up while watching it the first time around but decided it wasn’t imperative to the story — I was wrong). Their early concerns revolve around social cues, and how to deal with the situation without appearing impolite. As days pass, these facades melt as they begin to turn on each other, bludgeoning each other for the shrinking supply of food and water. Their true colors are revealed amid the madness. They wonder if they’ll ever be rescued, unbeknownst to them that rescuers surround the perimeter of the house just as unable to enter as they are to exit.

At times, the film is hard to watch. The way Buñuel captures their impending insanity is muted, yet uncomfortably accurate. There is nothing over the top about their mannerisms — all dialogue is delivered in moderate voice and action. I take it as the self-deterioration of the bourgeois class. In the end, it’s their own actions that cause the implosion.

How Adès plans to convey this in an almost-three-hour opera will be fascinating. Of course, emotions are heightened and dramatized for the stage, but it’s more so how the music will convey Buñuel’s simplistic delivery with new libretto that I’m most interested in hearing. I’m sure Adès wasn’t interested in making a carbon copy of the film. But the film’s premise does not simply revolve around how these guests can escape the salon. In fact, they all seem to give up after the first few days. The gut of the film is how each character changes as each day goes by. As food and water are depleted, the guests give in to their primal instincts.

One by one, they turn on each other. One of the elderly aristocrats dies of a heart attack. A young couple eventually commits suicide. A sacrifice nearly commences against the host. When confined, each of the aristocrats, who were once concerned about social etiquette and overstaying their welcome, now find their worst attributes beginning to surface. One could say that the circumstances changed their psyche but it is never disclosed how long they’re stuck for. I guess a week tops, or else all of them would have perished. Surely, their beastly tendencies were intrinsic.

The passing days feel like weeks, and they’re all waiting for something to happen. I couldn’t help but relate to their predicament. When I fall into a routine for too long, I tend to feel just as confined. It’s been a struggle attempting to balance a required routine with just enough room to shake things up so I don’t get bored. Planning this impulsive trip, though somewhat irresponsibly, will allow me some breathing room, a chance to listen to my body and give myself some time to frolic in the city. Like the guests confined in the salon, I hope to escape routine before losing my mind.

New York City is my favorite place in the world, especially during the autumn months. This trip is coming at the perfect time, as I feel the urge to pull out my hair from the duties of adulthood. I hope to have a few more irresponsible voyages before I’m forced to confine myself to a strict schedule. For now, I hope to escape my salon of responsibilities.