What a frozen little heart: The false hopes of opera


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A few days ago, I was scrolling through my Spotify in an attempt to find a suitable accompaniment for my morning run. During this strenuous search for the perfect soundtrack, I stumbled upon an old favorite of mine: a rare, bootleg 1966 recording of Giacomo Puccini’s La Bohème, starring Franco Corelli and Renata Tebaldi. Smiling, I pressed play.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve always found solace in opera. I believe that opera is one of the great treasures of life, a gem not fully appreciated by a majority of the public. Of all the operas to have had a profound impact on me, it is La Bohème that has shaped my being. And as Valentine’s Day approaches, I find myself once again rediscovering this jewel and listening to it over and over (and over) again.

“It’s that time of year again,” I thought.

I’m not exactly sure when the correlation between La Bohème and Valentine’s Day began, though the association makes sense; La Bohème is essentially a highbrow equivalent of cheesy Hollywood romance. In fact, I consider La Bohème to be more of a guilty pleasure than an operatic masterpiece; it’s not necessarily the most musically complex nor is the storyline innovative or provocative in any sense. Yet, it will always triumph as my favorite opera, and never ceases to make me emotional.

To give a brief synopsis of the plot, La Bohème follows a group of struggling Parisian artists (née bohème) and their unsuccessful attempts to make art and find love. In Act I, the protagonist Rodolfo, a poet, meets Mimì, a seamstress, and after a few arias, a duet and an oh-so-tender embrace, they declare their love for each other. In 2016, one could only describe this phenomenon of “love at first sight” as chimerical: highly unrealistic and wildly fanciful. However, these scenes, which are intended to serve as a heartwarming precursor for an incredibly grim finale, are in fact harder, if not the hardest, for me to watch. Usually, what produces the monsoon-esque sobs from the audience is the Act IV finale (spoiler alert: Mimì dies). For me, however, the waterworks begin much earlier, in Act I, specifically with Rodolfo’s aria “Che gelida manina” (“What a frozen little hand”) and continue all the way through the end of the act. These scenes prove to be the most difficult for me to watch because it gives me anxiety watching two people fall in love and having that love be reciprocal.

Since first being introduced to La Bohème as a child, I’ve lost track of the number of times I’ve seen the show live. Moreover, I couldn’t even begin to tell you how many times I’ve listened to the multitude of audio recordings that have since been released. But this show becomes more difficult to experience as I get older: as a blissfully ignorant teenager, I was drawn to La Bohème not only for the schmaltzy, verismic creaminess of its orchestration, but also because of Rodolfo’s ardor and fervor. But now, as I approach my mid-20’s, I find myself enveloped in a cloud of melancholy with each listen. And perhaps the reason I find it so difficult to see two people falling in love is because it’s something I have yet to experience. Though I’ve been in romantic relationships before, I don’t think I can truly say I’ve been in love within the realm of a rewarding, mutual relationship. So why is it that two people, albeit fictional Parisians, are able to establish monogamy within 20 minutes of meeting each other? I can’t even get the guy I’ve been seeing since last August to fully commit.

Regardless, every year, as Valentine’s Day comes and goes without the serious prospect of a significant other, I think, “Next year will be the year.” Because even though unrequited love has left me feeling empty and foul, I still remain optimistic; I’m certain it’ll happen eventually. And though I continue to listen to La Bohème as what seems to be a form of musical self-mutilation, my arduous quest to find true love remains intact.

Arya Roshanian is a senior majoring in music. He is also a lifestyle editor at the Daily Trojan. His column, “From the Top” runs on Tuesdays.