Clash of Cultures

This week Alex really wanted to wear a dress to school. First time he's left the house smiling in months. #Pride

The Phantom of the Phantom of the Opera: touring the Palais Garnier

Through his work, Pierre gets a lot of invitations to cool stuff, most of which he turns down for dumb ethical reasons (honestly, would two front row center court tickets to the French Open be considered that much of a bribe?) But when an invite came across his desk for a private tour of the Palais Garnier, he knew better than to turn it down.

I've written many times before about how much I love going to the old opera house, so it is kind of lame that I've never taken an official tour. Maybe I was subconsciously waiting for this kind of opportunity. Let's face it, it's much better to go to a party where a company has rented out the Opéra restaurant and arranged special guided tours than wandering around with the masses. Sponsorship has its privileges.

The big draw for the tour was an opportunity to visit the underground "lake" in the bowels of the Opéra building, which may be familiar to anyone who has read or seen a version of "The Phantom of the Opéra." To be honest, I always forget that "Phantom" is set at Palais Garnier. Probably because of the musical, I think if it as a British story. But of course it très français and it is rare for the tours  to include this mythical feature.

Our visit began in the main auditorium, an ornate horseshoe-shaped theater whose every detail, from the color of the seats to the gilded sculpted balconies, were designed by the architect Charles Garnier. We learned some interesting tidbits about the construction, such as that its framework is iron, meaning that it could do away with columns that could mar sight lines, and that the stage is raked a full 5%, making it easier for the audience to see, but very difficult on the dancers (apparently most classic stages are only 3-4% raked). We also got to take a long look at the spectacular crystal chandelier and dazzling ceiling mural by Chagall (very controversial at the time, but championed by American visitors). In addition to pointing out the King's private box, our charming guide also pointed out loge numéro 5, where the famous Phantom watched his beloved Christine perform.

I was surprised to learn that the King's box was not the one with the best view, but closest to the stage, hence the best place to be seen. Because at the time of its construction, the Palais Garnier was as much a salon mondain as a place to take in culture. The nobles and the newly minted haute bourgeoisie, went to see and be seen. You could even pay to have a private box on the stage itself. Basically, going to the opera was an extension of the business day for many, a place to network and gossip. And to meet pretty dancers.

Because, yes , in those days, sponsorship really had its privileges and wealthy men could pay to "mingle" with the dancers in one of the private rehearsal rooms, which were practically as opulent as the main hall. Before anyone is too offended on behalf of those women, this arrangement apparently worked well for both parties, as it was a way for many of the poorly paid dancers to marry up and ensure their futures. Of course, these days the rehearsal rooms are strictly for rehearsals. (At least that's their story, and their sticking to it.)

 

The rest of the tour took us through the (for then) state-of-the-art backstage area, the dressing room for the hundreds of extras who regularly appeared in productions and down down down to basement levels. Our guide reminded us that before the Palais Garnier was built, the entire neighborhood of winding streets and tightly packed buildings had to be razed. The construction was a huge undertaking and the part that most people see - even on a tour - is just a fraction of the whole building. Dressing rooms, rehearsal rooms, offices, and storage areas all are part of the labyrinthian design.

At the lowest level, we were able to see that old-fashioned, but still functional system of ropes and pulleys that moved the heavy scenery around. And of course, the lake.  I don't want to disappoint anyone, but "lake" might be a bit of an exaggeration. It turns out that the Palais was built on an area that had a high level of groundwater , so Garnier, who was a structural engineer as well as an architect, figured out a way to stabilize the building by creating a concrete cistern and flooding it (don't ask me how this works, it just does). This was the inspiration for Gaston Leroux's lake in the Phantom of the Opera novel. Frankly, I prefer the imaginary version, but even the reality has its own air of mystery about it.

What strange creature lurks in these depths?

 

We ended the tour on the grand marble staircase, which looks exactly the way it did when the Palais Garnier opened in 1875 (minus the electricity). The staff seems proud that the Opéra now welcomes people of all social levels, although I admit I will never get used to people showing up in jeans and tennis shoes. There's something to be said for the good-old-dress-up days. But I'm not sorry to miss the gossiping, backstabbing and trysting that was apparently going on right and left. I'd much rather watch the show.

Modern Dance vs Modern Music: Anne Teresa de Keersmaeker at Palais Garnier

Although Pierre and I try to choose a mix of styles when we pick ballets for our yearly subscription, I admit I have a preference for the more contemporary works. Which does not necessarily mean contemporary choreographers. There are plenty of modern choreographers who work strictly in the classical lexicon. For that matter, there are plenty of long dead ones whose work would still be considered avant-garde today.

But the risk with 20th & 21st century choreographers is that they often use 20th & 21st music, which is a bit of mixed bag for me. There are certainly pieces that I enjoy which were written more recently, but there's also a lot I find discordant and repetitive and I don't really know enough about music to get what they're trying to do conceptually. So while I was excited to go see a new program of three ballets by the Belgian choreographer Anne Teresa de Keersmaeker, I was a little wary that two of them were set to the music of Bartok and Schönberg. (Pierre on the other hand was thrilled)

But I'm happy to report that the even a non-fan of expressionist music like me could appreciate the emotion and sweep of these new-to-the-repertoire pieces. The first, titled "Quator n°4" after the Bartok music of the same name, featured four young dancers dressed in black skipping, twirling and falling in different configurations as a string quartet played on stage. De Keersmaeker's use of space - not just horizontally or diagonally, but vertically as well - is one of her trademarks and all three ballets showed off her virtuosity in that respect. I could have done without the deliberate flashes of white panties, which I imagine were meant to be playful, but came off a little too porn-y for my taste.  But I appreciated the chance to see some of the younger members of the company shine and show off a bit of their individuality (I can't remember the last time I saw dancers actually smile on stage).

Beethoven's Grande Fugue, one of his most modern-sounding works, was the backdrop for the second ballet. "Die Grosse Fuge" featured a group of seven men and one woman (my personal fave Alice Renavand) dressed in crisp black suits, who became more disheveled and stripped down as the dance went on. The stark lighting (by Jan Joris Lamers and Vinicio Chell) and black & white costumes (by de Keersmaeker's company Rosas), as well a certain acrobatic playfulness, strongly linked this dance with the previous one both tonally and visually.

The last ballet of the evening, "La Nuit Transfigurée," was a bit different -- a romantic tale of male and female relationships, played out in an atmospheric forest setting (decors by Gilles Aillaud, lighting by Cheli, costumes by Rudy Sabounghi), set to Schönberg's lush score. The music is named after a German poem and de Keersmaeker herself was inspired by the work of Rodin, which explains the poetic and sculptural nature of the movements. The performance we saw was a who's who of Garnier's star players and showed off their dramatic skills as much as their dancing.

De Keersmaeker is one of those choreographers whose work I will always jump at the chance to see and I have to thank her too for breaking down a little bit of my phobia of atonal music. Immediately after the performance, Pierre wanted to go out and by all of the music and I just might listen along. To the Beethoven anyway.

From caves to bricks: 20,000 years of culture at Paris expo

After 20 years in Paris, you'd think I would have hit all the major cultural venues at least once. But you'd be wrong. There are always new ones popping up and old ones I've never quite made it to. One of these is Paris expo at the Porte de Versailles, a huge convention center that houses art exhibits, trade shows, concerts and more. 

In the past, I've resisted going because I don't really like conventions or crowds, plus the exhibits tend to be much more expensive than regular museums. But on a rainy day at the end of August, choices for family outings are relatively limited, which is how we found ourselves on the southwest edge of Paris to see two shows: "Lascaux in Paris" and "The art of the brick".

On the surface, the two exhibits couldn't be more different, separated as they are by 20,000 years of culture and technology. But they are strangely complementary as each in its own way explores the desire for human connection, be it through prehistoric cave paintings or Lego sculptures.

"Lascaux" is a multi-media show, mixing film, interactive exhibits and reproductions to retrace the 1940 discovery of the incredibly well-preserved cave paintings in southwestern France. The show is as much about the efforts to study and preserve Lascaux as the art itself, which may be of more interest to adults than children. But the highlight is a full-scale reproduction of the Lascaux's main gallery, where it is possible to examine the drawings and engravings up close.

Interestingly, despite all the scientists and philosophers who have studied the site, they still don't know what purpose it served: artistic, ritualistic, spiritual? But there's something wonderful about the mystery being preserved. What is clear is that the Cro-Magnon artist or artists had an extremely sophisticated grasp of color and perspective, a strong connection to the passing of seasons and the animal world, and a desire to share the work with others (as proven by the fact that certain drawings are meant to be seen in a certain light or from a particular angle.)

"Lascaux in Paris" is not a large exhibit, which still gives you time to hop on over to the other side of the exhibition hall to see "The art of the brick: the Lego art of Nathan Sawaya," which features over 100 pieces by lawyer-turned-artist Sawaya made entirely of -- you guessed it -- Lego bricks.

I'd heard of Sawaya prior to seeing the show and even seen photos of some of his pieces, but nothing does justice to seeing it in person. What could have been a gimmick instead becomes something incredibly powerful as he explores the complexity of human emotions and the nature of art using only brightly colored, readily available plastic toys. His sculptures range from everyday objects to portraits to reproduction of great works (the Mona Lisa, the Scream) to a life-size dinosaur skeleton.

Particularly striking is the longing and expressiveness Sawaya is able to put into his human figures (a bust of a man opening his chest to let thousands of Legos pour out, another man disintegrating piece by piece). There is something about the simplicity of the Legos Sawaya uses (many of which are recycled and have been played with in the past) that underscores the universality of his message. 

Needless to say, the Legos were a bigger hit with the kids than Lascaux. (Be aware children cannot touch the sculptures, but there is a Lego play area in the gift shop), but both are worth seeing before they move on. Go early to avoid the crowds and take advantage of the reduced price ticket for both shows, which is only available at the venue but not on-line. Taken together, the exhibits are a strong reminder than human beings' desire to express themselves and connect with others have not changed that much in 20,000 years. Plus Legos are awesome.

Ballet review: All the world's a stage - Les Enfants du Paradis at the Ballet de L'Opera

It's not quite summer here yet, but we're starting to enter that particular end-of-year winding down period as the school year heads for a close. This includes lots of year-end parties and shows for the kids' schools and activities, as well as the last performances of whatever theater subscription we've taken out during the year.

Which means last week was our last visit to the Ballet de L'Opera National de Paris. We ended our subscription -- the ballet itself has shows through mid July -- with José Martinez' "Les Enfants du Paradis," based on the Marcel Carné film with a script by Jacques Prévert.  "Les Enfants du Paradis" is a major French classic, although I admit I remembered more about the circumstances surrounding the making the film (during the Nazi occupation) than the plot itself. The story takes place in the 1820's and 30's  revolves around Garance, a theater actress, and the various men who love her: the sensitive mime Baptiste, theater star Frédérick Lemaître, the criminal Lacenaire, and the wealthy Count de Montray.

I'm not always the biggest fan of story ballets, since I spend a good part of the time trying to figure out the plot. (Which I wouldn't have to do if I would spring for the 12 € program, but I maintain that this should actually be included if you're shelling out for top price tickets. But I digress...) So in this case, it was helpful to have a general idea of what was going on. In any case, the details of the story are less important here that the relationships and, of course, the dance.

"Les Enfants du Paradis" is the first major work by former danseur étoile José Martinez, whose carnivalesque "Scaramouche" I enjoyed last year. That earlier work shares some DNA with this one, as they are both colorful, theatrical, large-cast ballets. Martinez goes even further with the theatricality here, having jugglers and acrobats in the lobby of the Opera building, bringing orchestra musicians onto the stage, adding in a mini performance by Frédérick Lemaitre during the intermission, and generally blurring the lines between the show and the audience. In essence, we are spectators not just of the Opera, but of the Théâtre des Funambules, where Garance, Frédérick and Baptiste perform, and therefore part of their world.

Martinez does an impressive job moving the action around to the various locations and is especially adept with the street scenes and the shows-within-the-show. As Baptiste, Mathieu Ganio was as moving, poetic presence and Karl Paquette a charming, charismatic Frédérick. Garance was played by Laëtitia Pujol with beauty and grace, although she perhaps lacks the sexual charisma to explain why so many men are so drawn to her for so many years.

Although it is a bit lengthy, this is actually a good show to bring children to as they are sure to be charmed by the gorgeous costumes (by former étoile Agnès Letestu) and the cinematic sets by Ezio Toffolutti. The original music is by Marc-Oliver Dupin could have come right out of the 19th century (I mean that as a compliment).

So, farewell, Opéra. At least until September. Despite my bitching about the raised prices, we renewed our subscription for next year, a program that includes Jerome Robbins, George Balanchine, and Anna-Teresa de Keersmaeker among others. With talent like that, in addition the amazing dancers and stunning venue, how could we resist? Oh, Opéra, I just can't quit you...

Mad Max & the road back to the cinema

One of my fears about moving to the burbs is that I would get to the movies less. In my old neighborhood, I could walk to a very nice theater that showed most English-language movies in their original version (ie not dubbed). I was worried that if I had to get in the car, even for a short drive, I would more often than not opt to watch a video at home.

And guess what? I was right! I don't think I've seen a movie in a theater since we moved 6 months ago. Of course, a lot of that has to do with the fact that I now have a part-time job, which means much less free time during the weekdays (when I prefer to see movies). But part of it is that I just wasn't excited about the movies that have come out lately. I'll probably get around to seeing the new Avengers or "Birdman", but I figured I will eventually be able to download them. (This from a former film major who used to watch two movies a day). I began to wonder if this was a sign of getting old. I mean who needs the crowds and the traffic and paying those 3-D prices, amirtite? But then came "Mad Max: Fury Road" and suddenly I was desperate to get to the movie theater again.

For those of you not familiar with the Mad Max franchise, it is a series of three Australian films starring Mel Gibson (who was practically unknown at the time of the first film). Set in a post-apocalyptic world where survivors of an unknown war/disaster fight over water and gasoline, the films are largely credited for creating the punk-rock-in-a-desert-wasteland look that countless other dystopian films have copied.

In the first film, Max is a small-town cop whose wife and daughter are killed, sending him on an insanely violent quest for revenge (earning him the nickname "Mad Max"). In the subsequent films, Max takes on the familiar Western movie trope of the guy who just wants to be left alone, but can't quite resist the urge to help those in need. It is interesting to see how the films expanded in visual and narrative scope as their budgets grew and "Fury Road" is the biggest one yet.

Somewhere between a sequel and a reboot of the previous films, this new one has Tom Hardy taking over for Gibson. This is also the first movie where Max actually appears insane, haunted by hallucinations while trying to survive in the desert wasteland. Captured by a gang of "war boys", the minions of a war-lord called Immortan Joe, Max is taken to the Citadelle, where Immortan Joe controls the water supply, harvests breast milk, and keeps a harem of beautiful wives as personal breeders.  After a failed escape attempt, Max is hooked up to transfuse ailing war boy Nux (Nicholas Hoult), an indoctrinated soldier who wants nothing more than to die a good death and be reborn in 'Valhalla' as shiny and new as chrome (in Immortan Joe's twisted vehicle-worshipping mythology). 

Writer/Director George Miller (along with his co-writers Brendan McCarthy and Nick Lathouris) make the very intelligent choice to focus "Fury Road" not on the stoic Max, but on Charlize Theron's kick-ass Imerpator Furiosa, driver of one of Immortan Joe's big rigs that ferry around fuel and milk. Furiosa, who has her own tragic backstory, has decided to help rescue Joe's imprisoned wives and take them to the "green place" where she grew up. When Immortan Joe learns of her betrayal, he pulls out all the stops and sends his entire fleet of armed vehicles after Furiosa, which includes Max as the world's strangest hood ornament since he's still attached to Nux via I.V.

I won't spoil any more of the story. Suffice to say, Max ends up joining Furiosa's quest to find sanctuary. To describe the movie as one long chase sequence would be accurate, but not do justice to the inventive obstacles Miller and the screenwriters throw at them nor the way they are able to find moments of humanity along the way. The visuals and stunts (for the most part practical and not CGI) are truly spectacular and should absolutely be seen on the big screen. And while I found the dialogue (what there is of it) a little on the nose, my expectations of where the story was going was confounded more than once, which is no small thing in a genre action film.

In creating his immersive world, Miller is greatly aided by an impressive cast - Hardy, Theron and Foult are all excellent and remain distinct characters amid all the on-screen fireworks. "Fury Road" can be seen as a deliberate allegory of the tactics of modern-day warlords, or a mind-blowing action film featuring a bunch of strong women, or both. In the US, the movie is rated R, but in France it's rated 'tout public', with a warning that it contains disturbing images. That it does. There's no getting around this is a very violent movie, but the violence is not empty in the way it is in many American action flicks - it has real weight and consequences. We took our 14 year-old, who loved it, but I wouldn't recommend it for anyone younger.

So for the rest of you - get thee to a movie theater and see "Mad Max: Fury Road" in all its 3-D glory. Downloaded six month from now on your iphone just won't be the same.

Whispers and Shouts - Velazquez and Gaultier at the Grand Palais

The Grand Palais is outdoing itself this spring with retrospectives of two major artists -- who couldn't be more different. The first is of 17th century Spanish master Velazquez, who gently pushed the boundaries of portraiture in his time. The other is 20th century designer Jean-Paul Gaultier, who exploded any and all fashion boundaries in his.

It is hard to believe, but this is the first exhibit on Velazquez ever in France. This has less to do with his reputation as an artist (which has always been major) but the difficulty in convincing museums and collectors to lend their paintings. So this really is a special opportunity that might not be repeated anytime soon.

Velazquez is one of those rare painters who was well-known and respected in his lifetime. He was ambitious from the get-go, setting his sights on being the King's official painter, which he achieved at the age of 24. As a result, much of his output consists of royal portraits, which make up the bulk of the exhibit. Unfortunately, my kids were less than impressed with the subtle ways he played with lighting and composition in his depictions of the Spanish king and his offspring.  I guess there's only so many pictures of princesses posing next to dwarves that they can take (yes, this was apparently a Thing in the 17th century). 

But if you take the time to look closely, you can appreciate the way he was able to experiment within the constraints of official portraiture. His travels in Italy exposed him to the latest advances in landscape, perspective and chiaroscuro techniques, and he sought to create a luminosity with his brushwork that hadn't been seen in Spain before.

Velazquez' most famous painting, "Les Ménines," (the one with the Spanish infanta where you can see Velazquez working in the background) is present in the show only in a copy, painted by his protégé and son-in-law, Juan Bautista Martinez del Mazo (quite a fine artist in his own right). Its influence can be seen not only in the work of artists who came immediately after Velazquez, but right through to the pre-impressionists, impressionists and beyond. That said, my favorite paintings in the exhibit were his more mundane tavern scenes, depicting moments of everyday life. "The Forge of Vulcan," while ostensibly a mythological painting, realistically depicts the shocking moment when a man learns his wife is cheating on him.

'Subtle' and 'realistic' are probably the last two adjectives you'd use to describe the work of Jean-Paul Gaultier. For the French designer, more was always more. He appreciated grand spectacle in all its forms - fashion, film, music. This multi-media exhibit details his influences and obsessions through photography, drawings, and most importantly, scores of examples of his designs.

The greatest hits are all here - the striped sailor sweaters, the corsets, the Union Jacks and Eiffel Towers. Gaultier has always loved juxtapositions - masculine vs feminine, nude vs masked, Paris vs London. The exhibit shows that these tensions were present from the very beginning (his first "corset" was a newspaper bra he glued to a teddy bear when he was a child). You can accuse him of being obvious or a consummate self-promoter, but looking at the clothes up close, it is impossible to deny they are works of art. The detail of the beading, appliqué, knitwear and leatherwork are truly astounding and clearly thought out to the last tiny mermaid scale.

I could have done without the "animated" mannequins and their creepy video-projected faces, but otherwise the exhibit is a pure visual delight. After Paris, it is travelling to several other big cities, so if you're not passing through here, you still might get a chance to experience it. For those in Paris, the Grand Palais is also hosting a small exhibit of American art from Fisher collection of the San Francisco MOMA. It mainly consists of minimalist art, which is really not my bag, but there are some nice Calders and Warhols mixed in, too.

So while the skies of Paris have once again turned gray, get yourselves to the Grand Palais (but be sure to reserve in advance). I might actually go back to Gaultier with the kids -- there are some risqué outfits, but they are tastefully displayed and not too shocking for any kid who's seen the advertisements in the metro. While they might someday be grateful that they saw the Velazquez show, I suspect it's Gaultier who will stick with them.

Art review: Victory and Failure at the Louvre

One thing about actually living in Paris, as opposed to being a tourist, is that I rarely go Paris' most famous places. Of course, I have visited all the greatest hits at least once, but after that, I'd rather avoid the crowds and stick to more off-the-beaten-path areas. Which is why my kids have never been up the Eiffel Tower and why I rarely visit the Louvre Museum. But another thing about living in Paris is having friends with cool jobs who get invitations to things. So when a journalist friend of mine received an invitation to an exhibit at the Louvre that she couldn't use, she passed it on to me.

Let me tell you, visiting the Louvre with an invitation is the way to go. Not only do you get to skip all the lines, but people are actually nice to you if they see you with an invitation in your hand. The exhibit in question was centered around the newly restored Victoire de Samothrace, also known as Winged Victory, one of the most emblematic works at the Louvre. For the past two years, it has been out of view of the public and its return to the top of the Louvre's grand staircase is the occasion for the museum to mount an exhibit about its origins and history.

All that said, I recommend that if you're going to crash a press event, it's better to be a little more prepared than I was. I have been to invitation-only events before, but I guess I haven't been to one exclusively catered to the press. I didn't realize that once I flashed my invite, I would also be asked to sign in with the name of my press outlet and join a small group of journalists for a private tour of the exhibit. I had a moment of panic about what to write in the guest book. Should I use my friend's name and employer? Make something up? Or turn around and make a run for it. As I was already being escorted past the ropes by two young pony-tailed press assistants, it was a little late to pretend I was in the wrong place. In the end, I scribbled the name of this blog and mumbled that I wrote for a website, then scurried to join the others, hoping no one would demand to see my press card (although if that little old Asian lady I hid behind was a journalist, I'll eat my stolen press kit).

I was so nervous about being outed, I could barely take in what the two welcoming and informative curators/guides were saying about the statue and exhibit. Things I did pick up: after the statue arrived in France, it took a whole year for it to be shipped to the Louvre because no one wanted to pay for it; the statue and pedestal are actually made of two different marbles and was once painted Egyptian blue; the best vantage point to view the statue is from the front, slightly to right, as the details on the dress and wings are most visible from that angle. 

Despite trying to adopt the serious, yet interested demeanor of a French journalist - and the fact I really was there to write about the exhibit - I'm sure I looked guilty as hell. Which is why I took the first opportunity to slip out of the cordoned off area and make for side exit, sure I was about to be tackled by a guard or a pony-tailed PR assistant any second. So I guess I also learned I would make a lousy art thief.

But invitation or no, I do recommend going to see the newly restored statue. It really is splendid in person and the restoration allowed me to notice many things I hadn't before, like how its pedestal resembles the prow of a boat (it is thought the Victory commemorates a naval battle, although it could just as easily celebrate a sporting event). The accompanying exhibit describes in detail how the statue was originally found and its subsequent restorations, of which this one is the fourth. And to be honest, the regular entrance line wasn't all that long on the Wednesday afternoon I was there. Still, I don't think I'll be headed back to the Louvre anytime soon. Better wait till the heat is off. 

The art of entertainment - Studio Ghibli at the Musée Ludique

You might think that with the number of museums, concert halls and exhibition spaces in Paris, there wouldn't be room for any more. But you'd be wrong. New, large-scale projects are still popping up all over, like the recently opened Fondation Louis Vuitton and the Philharmonie de Paris (neither of which I've visited yet). Also relatively new is Les Docks, la cité de la mode et du design.

Situated riverside at the quai d'Austerlitz in southeastern Paris, the complex features cafés, restaurants as well as the French Fashion Institute and the Musée Ludique, a small museum devoted to 'entertainment' (by which I think they mean pop culture entertainment such as movies, video games, animation and comic books). This month they are hosting an exhibit about the Studio Ghibli, the Japanese animation house best know in the US for "Princess Mononoke" and "Ponyo".

In France, Studio Ghibli (and its best-known director, Hayao Miyazaki) are revered as much as, if not more than, Pixar/Disney. New Ghibli movies are major events and older ones are regularly broadcast on Arté, the European PBS-style channel. I'm always surprised how much my kids like their movies, given they are often slow and filled with specific Japanese cultural references and a layering of Shinto-ism. But the movies reach a level of poetry and artistry that they clearly respond to.

 So one rainy Wednesday, I drove them down to the docks to check out Les Docks. The Ghibli exhibit concentrates on the art of the layout, ie the design and arrangement of each scene. Miyazaki got his start doing layout and his subtle, detailed drawings were very different from what came before. I would definitely say this is an exhibit for older kids, since while the drawings are beautiful, the explanations are quite technical and the visuals are less than splashy. I also would recommend NOT going on a Wednesday during the school vacations, as the small space was very crowded and the staff kind of grumpy. (Despite the museum's name, 'playful' is not something the French do real well). The most fun the kids had was in the museum bookstore, which was chock-full of Ghibli collectibles difficult to find elsewhere. (Alexander picked out a Totoro pencil case and Julia got a small stuffed Jiji cat from "Kiki the Witch").

 You would think that a museum devoted to entertainment would be right up my alley, but I can't say I'm bubbling over with enthusiasm about the Musée Ludique. The next exhibit is on Aardman, the animation studio behind "Wallace and Gromit", which I would love to see. Hopefully, by then, the museum will have found a better way to capture the spirit of the art it displays.

Ballet Review: Salutations from the Palais Garnier

I've written many times about how I love seeing ballet at the Palais Garnier. Pierre and I have had a subscription for many years and save up our centimes so we can get the best seats possible. Having these few guaranteed date nights in Paris spread throughout the year are an important way to remind us that we live in an amazing city and that we actually like spending time together! But guys, this year's season has gotten off to a rough start.

First, we missed the first ballet we reserved because it was just after the rentrée and I didn't realize until too late that I never received the tickets. (The box office claimed I checked the box for "print at home", but I've never done this before and have no idea why I would've started this year. Alas, I have no way to prove it.) Our next ballet was this week and I did manage to print out the tix, but it turns out Pierre had a seminar and had to bow out of date night. No matter, I took my friend David, who has invited me to many a show and I was happy to reciprocate.

David himself was incensed that the Opéra de Paris is raising the ticket rates next year by almost 50%, and let me tell you they are already not cheap. He has vowed to boycott, but I haven't decided since I don't know the program yet. I suspect I will just not be able to quit them (then again, I may not be able to afford them). But let's move on to the show.

It was an evening of four contemporary pieces by Nicolas Paul, Pierre Rigal, Benjamin Millepied (the new director of the ballet) and Edouard Lock. The Rigal and the Millepied were world premieres, which are always pretty exciting. Unfortunately, in this case, contemporary dance also meant contemporary music, which I am not the biggest fan of. I find a lot of it discordant and repetitive and don't know enough about music theory to appreciate all the cool things it's supposed to be doing.

The first ballet, Nicolas Paul's "Répliques", was set to music by the avant-garde composer Gyorgy Ligeti and was notable for its beautiful scenography by Paul Andreu. The dance was spare and fluid, and made great use of the depth of the Garnier stage, using perspective to create a mirror effect for the four couples on stage. However, the jarring music made it hard for me to emotionally connect with the dancers.

The second work, "Salut", by Pierre Rigal, was my favorite of the evening. The word "salut" has a double meaning in French - it can be a way of saying good-bye, or can mean 'salvation'. It is also the root for "salutations", which are the final bows the dancers take on stage. Rigal had the inspired idea to start his ballet with this final bow, as a group of dancers all in black and white face an imaginary audience to the sound of thunderous applause. Frankly, I could've done less with the applause effect, which went on for a bit too long, but eventually the soundtrack settled into a percussive musical theme as the dancers' bowing devolved/evolved into something else entirely. Wigs came off, tutus were removed, and the movements changed from strict to something more dreamlike, filled with animalistic imagery and ending with a kind of mystical rebirth. It was weird and wonderful and wholly original.

After an intermission, we picked up with Millepied's "Together Alone", a pas de deux which our night featured stars Aurélie Dupont and Marc Moreau. Dressed casually in jeans and t-shirts, the couple danced together to a live on-stage pianist playing a surprisingly melodic Philip Glass étude. The choreography was full of romantic longing, but would casual intimacy would probably have been bettered served in a smaller space.

The evening finished with Edouard Lock's" AndréaAuria". Set in a sort-of swanky cocktail party atmosphere, the piece featured six women and five men interacting in groups of two's and three's dancing in and out of ever-shifting spotlights (the striking lighting design was by John Munro). This ballet boasted not one but two live pianos on stage. The pianists echoed the dancers, playing sometimes in harmony, sometimes battling each other. There was an undercurrent of sexual tension and gender politics in the piece, but it mainly served to show off the amazing virtuousity of the Opera de Paris's dancers (including my personal fave, Alice Renavand, as the lead).

There are many wonderful venues in Paris to see dance. Not all of them are as beautiful as the Palais Garnier nor do they have dancers as technically perfect as the Opéra company. The Théâtre de la Ville specializes in the contemporary choreographers I tend to like and I know that Suresnes, which is not far from our new place, hosts a world-class hip hop dance festival every year. Maybe it's time to for us branch out with our subscriptions. Or maybe it's time to cut down on the Starbucks and start saving for the Opéra's next season.