Not quite Rent – thank goodness

One of the many cool things about living somewhat close to Portland is that we can occasionally get gussied up – with socks and everything – and go into The Big City for a sophisticated night of elegant dining and culture. Catching wind of a new theater production, we recently took in among the best of what Portland has to offer. I give you:

Tonya & Nancy: The Rock Opera

Now I’m not usually one for musicals. In fact, I hate them. On stage, on film, on TV. I just can’t take characters seriously when they suddenly break into song and everyone around them uncannily knows all the steps to a spontaneous dance routine. But Tonya & Nancy had two things going for it which gave me hope. First, it was an opera; therefore, I expected the plot to be sung, not interrupted by song. Second, I assumed it was not meant to be taken seriously. Both turned out to be deliciously true.

My bottom-line review: Simply fabulous! I loved it! A must see!!

The music was boppy, the acting was better than expected, the singing was only occasionally glass-shatteringly shrill, and the “skating” across the stage in Reeboks was surprisingly elegant. I’d say “Tonya” had the best singing voice but “Jeff Gilloly” best captured his namesake, especially in his orange prison jumpsuit. The same actress played both Tonya’s mom as well as Nancy’s mom. It was truly remarkable how she seamlessly transformed from a doting legally blind mother of an ice princess to a hairbrush wielding “Whip her butt or I’ll whip you” mama of a hard-knocks kid from Clackamas, sometimes with just a 180 degree turn.

The music was lead by a conductor who looked like a cross between Robert Smith of The Cure and Sideshow Bob from the Simpsons. His blue floppy spiky hair was simply mesmerizing. “Bob” conducted 30 songs during the opera, among them: Low Rent Trailer Park, Why Me?, The Laces Broke, and my favorite: When You Wake Up Sleeping in Your Car in Estacada.

As the story unfolded I was completely unprepared to feel sorry for Tonya. And yet, I did. Since she is a local girl, I guess I should have expected her to be portrayed as a sympathetic character. Poor thing had so much going against her. No love, no support, weak laces. I actually almost felt bad by the end that I went sightseeing in search of her house last year after I nabbed her address from a publicly released 911 call (see May 25, 2007 post). Almost.

I was also unprepared for the woman sitting next to me to whip out her opera glasses. I did a double-take and confirmed she was indeed trying to get a closer look at the Greek chorus of media and paparazzi. This was rather perplexing since we were in Row 7 of a 10 row theater. I concluded my seat mate must have High Definition at home and was accustomed to seeing pores.

As we left the theater, I overheard perhaps the best review of the opera. Said one 45ish hipster to his friends: “Oh my word! Wouldn’t that translate well to a cheesy mockumentary?”

Personally, I don’t think any translation is necessary.