Previously on Wine from the Pop Machine, we learned the name and composer of Bugs Bunny's raucous piano solo in the critically acclaimed think-piece, Rhapsody Rabbit. Today we're going to jump from cartoon to film with the help of our new best friends, the afflicted and conflicted women of the night. Let's journey together back to 1990. Hair is big, bangs are bigger, bangles are plastic, Paula Abdul is not yet a punchline. Cinema is bright this year. We have Goodfellas, Edward Scissorhands, Home Alone, and the pick of the bunch, Pretty Woman. Dear Pretty Woman. Delightful Pretty Woman. You brought the wonder of downtown Hollywood to the big screen. I remember when I moved here to L.A. and sat in my first, magical traffic jam at Hollywood and Highland and smelled the smog and sweat and watched all the map vendors and flyer-givers and crack sellers working together in harmony and thought, "Ah, Pretty Woman, how full of shit you weren't."
Fellow time-traveler, you'll recall several memorable moments from the film, I am sure. There's the "Big mistake. Big. Huge," scene, the playful snap of the necklace box scene, and the "So good I almost peed my pants," gaff at the opera. You might also remember Edward's speech as the curtain goes up.
People's reactions to opera the first time they see it is very dramatic; they either love it or they hate it. If they love it, they will always love it. If they don't, they may learn to appreciate it, but it will never become part of their soul.Our protagonist watches with undivided attention as the opera unfolds, and at its close she stands to applaud with tears in her eyes. Clearly, she is one of those opera newcomers who absorbs the medium into her soul (I assume in some kind of horcrux ritual). I always wondered what the story is that so engrosses her and inspires him, and ten years after I saw the movie for the first time, I got my answer.
The opera they attend, if you have been curious to know, is called La Traviata, and it was written by Giuseppe Verdi. The story goes a little something like this: Poor boy falls in love with a—shall we say—mistress of the courts. Mistress abandons life of immorality and opulence for poor boy's true love. Outsiders convince no-longer-mistress it would be wicked to stay with poor boy because of factors A, B, and C. Woman goes back to being mistress and tells poor boy she doesn't really love him (but she so does). The lovers overcome the obstacles and reinstate their love just in time for mistress to die of tuberculosis.
I certainly hope the synopsis sounds familiar. Moulin Rouge is one of its most recent incarnations, but the story was born even before Verdi grabbed it. It was first a novel by Dumas called La Dame Aux Camelias. The novel was quickly adapted as a play, then an opera, a ballet, a movie, and about twenty more movies. You know how little orphan Annie goes to the movies with Daddy Warbucks? Yeah, she's going to see Greta Garbo in Camille, the 1936 movie version of the story. I guess Daddy Warbucks wants Annie to get a complete and early education about all of her career options, since she definitely ain't getting her dirty orphan hands on his fortune.
Over time, the Dumas story transcended its literary origin and became rooted in our cultural consciousness. You can see its influence on any romance that sees one person putting the needs of the other individual over the desires of the relationship, even if it means giving up the relationship. Aragorn parts with Arwen because he knows she belongs in the Grey Havens. Edward tries to resist Bella because she doesn't belong in the vampire world (but maybe as a snack? Just an idea, Ms. Meyer). Those guys with unbuttoned shirts sing, "It's the hardest thing I'll ever have to do, to look you in the eyes and tell you I don't love you. It's the hardest thing I'll ever have to lie, to show no emotion when you start to cry." Nick Lachey, the glory of your selflessness dims only in comparison with your shining pectorals.
Verdi chose well when he snatched La Dame Aux Camelias' story for his opera. He chose a romantic conflict that every generation could adapt and appreciate. If you haven't seen La Traviata, I hope you get to do so soon. The arias are soaring, the story—as I've mentioned—is timeless, and you get the rare pleasure of rooting for the whore. Well, rare if you've never seen Camille or Moulin Rouge or Pretty Woman or Memoirs of a Geisha or Firefly or Taxi Driver or Trading Places or L.A. Confidential...
3 comments:
This is why I like you, E-Walls: I always learn something. Unlike when that loutish husband of yours fills this site with his lies!
This isn't funny, Emily, my great-grandmother was a mistress of the courts!
Bravo, I mean, brava! Brava! I shower your feet with roses.
It occurs to me that sometimes there's a riff on the mechanism: when someone (usually a tough man) tries to "end" a relationship with a mutt (insert inspirational animal), through throwing stones and yelling, "go on, git! git outta here!" while sniffling with anger, and mucus. Although usually in those stories, the animal/pet/kid/rebel returns to save the hero in the nick of time, instead of dying horribly. So, there's that.
Post a Comment