Diva

So I planned to do a review of Il Tabarro with fotos, and I had a problem, a really big one.

When I tried to get a foto of the cash bar area, Mary Whalen intruded.

I wanted to capture the decor and 1938 fork truck set, Mary Whalen crept in.

I wanted a shot of just the mermaids greeting opera goers, and in the background, the lady in black nudged her way in.

When I tried to get a foto of just the river and island background, Mary Whalen nosed in.

When a fireboat happened by to anoint the show, once again Mary Whalen did her thing and loomed.

And check out her bling! Says she in the voice of a very high trafficked blog, “i can has navigashun lights?”

Seriously, I loved the show: singing, costumes and staging, orchestra, lighting, blocking, even the Italian, the unusual venue. But I have to admit, as I watched, a thought that intruded was, “Mary Whalen, you’re such a diva. Your engine is shot. Your systems are way past their prime. But as a hull, you still know how to move. You danced in tempo with the show. With your pitching and rocking, even a little yaw now and again, you captured and heightened the emotion of each moment: alienation, loneliness, sensuality, jealousy, desperation, rage, horror. You got it down. You’re such a diva, MW.” Bravo VPR , bravo portside, bravo American Stevedoring Inc. Bravissimo Mary Whalen.

PS:  The 9/24 New Yorker (page 48) refers to MW as “a Red Hook barge,” and nothing more.  Fie!