Dido and Aeneas: A Greek Tragedy on the English Stage

Mise en Scene

I feel lucky to have picked this opera, despite knowing so little about it, and was pleased to discover a small, albeit faithful, adaptation of the opera from a cast of students at the Ruth Asawa San Francisco School of the Arts. I could sense the reverence in each of the performers, and was impressed by the production quality.


The opera begins with a white stage filled with performers, many of whom serve as the background chorus, in traditional Greek fashion. The chorus adds much-needed life to an otherwise minimalist set, as between their singing parts they freeze atop small pedestals, as if statues lining the halls of the queen Dido's palace.


In the very center, looming over the stage in the background, sits a woman in a chair, pretending to be a statue. In the second act, the statue comes alive and sings, detailing the dark deeds there to come at the hands of the sorceresses and imps of the forest, seeking to sabotage the eponymous couple's wedding.


Overall, I believe the set and costumes served their purpose well, and while it lacked the complicated pulleys and set changes seen in larger operas, the clever use of living props makes up for it.


In Times Past


Historically, this opera was performed at the Josais Priest's girl's school in the 1680s, in London. Throughout its lifetime, the opera is most prominently performed by students in front of a smaller audience. I believe this can be attributed to the small cast (only about four named characters) and the simplicity of the piece, with only three or four scene changes total.


This doesn't diminish the piece, certainly; its small scale allows for greater intimacy, as Dido's turmoil isn't overshadowed by the spectacles on the stage. The Greek plays it mimics sometimes lacked any set at all, only a chorus and the actors, further reinforcing the theme.


Its arrival in America echoed its arrival in London: performed by the girls of Rosemary School in New York in 1923. An interest in baroque music had been reawakened at the time, and it was well-received. From then on, it was produced more often across America, and remains a common choice for school productions and adaptations.


In the 21st Century


As I watched the opera, I tried to strip away its overall theme and reorganize it into its basic components, to better turn it into a video game. It centers around Dido and Aeneas's engagement, and subsequent downfall by the machinations of the sorceress and her servant—so what if I adapted it into some sort of parallel-plot adventure game?


This would serve as a heavy divergence from the source material, but I find the setting rather interesting, and would prefer more context as to why the malicious creatures exist in the wilderness of Dido's territory. Therefore, Dido's tale would begin with how exactly she encountered Aeneas and why she cares so much for him. The player could experience the narrative from her eyes, including especially the exciting encounter with the magical creatures in the glade.


Aeneas's side of things, meanwhile, would focus on his position as a Trojan, how he is tricked, and his venture through Dido's territory and his own personal turmoil. This would invite the player to feel a greater connection to the characters, and understand the story in deeper fashion than simply through the opera.

Combination

For my combination piece, I thought long and hard on just what sort of creation I could come up with. I knew I wanted to do something funny--to me at least--and thus the Crab Dildo was born: the dildo made of tiny, live crabs. God wishes he didn't know how they all stay together in such a formation.

I wanted to do some kind of dildo made out of some kind of uncomfortable material; I wanted perhaps one of the last things one could possibly want to stick inside themselves. A cactus came to mind, but that's too cliche in my mind. Everyone thinks of cactus! I had to search elsewhere. I deconstructed: what about a cactus makes it dangerous and painful? The needles! Perhaps a bundle of needles would do the trick, yet shaping them into a recognizably phallic shape proved difficult. I wanted texture and depth, something such thin, rigid needles couldn't give me.

Crabs! Of course! I like to think of this epiphany as one part visual pun, one part total silliness. If tiny stabbing things couldn't give me what I wanted, then surely tiny, wriggling, pinching things would inspire all nearby orifices to clench in fear. I hope this thought is illustrated well.

Madama Butterfly; Pjotr Sapegin

I struggled with watching Sapegin's animation. Chiefly, I find it hard to connect with stop motion animation; it unsettles me. Yet in a way, perhaps the disquiet of the tale is well-reflected in the medium, and it takes on an entirely new lifeforce in the climax, after the eponymous Madama loses her child and literally tears herself apart in grief.

While some scenes made me cringe and avert my eyes, such as the awkward and perhaps satirical love scene between two sexless dolls, the final minute set the animation apart in my mind, and presented an image I still think about in quieter moments: the calmness with which the Madama sheds her dress and skin, unscrews each joint and sets it aside, so deeply methodical, as if it's the only logical step in her tale.

When nearly nothing remains of her, she lays back and never moves again. Something about that haunts me more deeply than if she'd just flung herself from the studio table and shattered into pieces. It makes me think of a broken woman, too trapped by society to end herself quickly, so she strips herself down through the years until she's taken by either the burden of time or the consequences of her fall. Haunting.

Living Smart: Sparking Creativity

After watching Dr. Raul Cuero's interview, I felt inspired by his anecdotes on his childhood and the struggles therein. I couldn't imagine how it must feel to be raised by parents who can't write or read, and yet manage to grow into such a highly respected scientist in the international community. Losing family to such simple things as tetanus is unimaginable, and while I felt inspired, I also felt overwhelmed.

I've never suffered much in my daily life. Perhaps one of the deepest sources of Dr. Cuero's creativity lies not just in his brilliant mind, his ambition and the intensity of his focus, but the suffering around him. When there's so little else but pain and squalor around you, where else could your mind go except to the relief of better, brighter things?