Word: shawl
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Though the role might have winded any singer, Luciano Pavarotti easily sustained the ringing high notes, the plaintive appoggiaturas, the hummingbird runs and trills. Not his own, but those of 150 hopeful young singers. Bespectacled and wrapped in a colorful shawl, the celebrated tenor spent the past two weeks judging the finals of the second Opera Company of Philadelphia/ Luciano Pavarotti International Voice Competition. "If you win this competition," said Pavarotti at the outset, "it promises you an opportunity. But more important, if you do not win, it doesn't mean you will not have a career." Still, the expansive...
...Avenida Madero, a white-stubbled man with no legs holds up a few packs of Chiclets for sale. Just beyond him in the dusk sits one of those silent Indians who are known as "Marías," this one a grimy-faced girl of perhaps 15, in a ragged shawl and pigtails, with her baby wheezing in its sleep on the sidewalk beside her. She holds out a thin brown palm, but nobody stops...
Rauch's interpretation succeeds in generalizing Yerma's dilemma into a cross-cultural experience. Rauch tones down the Spanish influences until there are only subtle suggestions of it in the delicate frill of a classical guitar and the fringed shawl that Yerma drapes over her head. And in this he excels; the villagers could belong to any village. Juan's possessive sisters to any brother and Yerma's pain to any women...
...legs buckle; she smiles sweetly through her writhing mouth. An old woman sitting in bed confronts a round slice of bread, tearing it to small bits, which she tosses one by one on the floor; this is her project. In the bed opposite, a Bedouin wearing a white shawl and a deep purple blouse turns from side to side in fierce perplexity. On her forehead one tattoo, on her chin another. These are marks of beauty. "She did not understand what happened," says an orderly...
...Lincolnish icon of American spirit, makes long, slow speeches about how he "growed up crawlin' on a dirt floor like a goddamned ant" and now that the war's over he's gonna harness these here fifty acres; his wife stands awkwardly on the porch and pulls at her shawl (for the entire play, in fact); and his well-rouged son chimes in about cutting the brush over yonder. Then a badly made-up "old" lady trudges in ringing a cow-bell. "It looks like she's holding a star in her hand," offers the son. So much for imagery...