Oh, How I Love My Husband

I am positively profligate in my affection for my hubby, and the proof is, once again, I sat through 5 hours of Wagner with him. Siegfried this time (or as I like to call him, "Nature Boy.") They played him as a beer-swilling thug, which I didn't understand, since Wagner's point is supposed to be Siegfried's natural purity and goodness (a heart so untainted it knows neither fear nor the gods). I guess it was supposed to be funny, but it was as if Rousseau revealed Emile to be the insufferable brat you know he would be if you actually met him.

Here's a quick clip. Setting the action in the city dump didn't open up new worlds of meaning for me...

and I didn't understand until I saw the slides in this clip that the producers think their staging is about the collapse of Wall Street last fall. In the first place that's absurd --and I wonder if they realize that in this analogy, only evil dwarves take bailout and stimulus money?

I suspect Wagner would spin in his grave if he knew the only gods these artists wish to overthrow are the gods of Wall Street, but I take comfort in thinking Wagner's biggest boosters haven't a clue what he was up to.

Mr. W. sat on the edge of his chair like a kid during the whole performance; I can in no way fathom his delight, and I do wonder what sinister things lurk hidden in his character, but watching him so enjoying himself makes it fun.