We were nearing it. The bustle of the event was everywhere, teeming through the crowd that was filing into the building. Heels were clacking, fur was brushing against tailored suits, curls bounced, lights glistened–grandeur and glamour was everywhere. This was none other than the San Francisco Opera House.
Entering the Opera House is a spectacle in itself; gold lines the vaulted ceilings, doorways loom over the tallest of viewers, champagne is served by composed bartenders with sophisticated smiles. The conversation echoing between the walls is lively and interesting. My group’s excitement built as we file onto the red velvet seats awaiting the curtain to draw.
Tonight’s opera was none other than Mephistopheles, the heart-wrenching yet very relatable story of a man tempted by the devil. Passionate, comical and severe, the opera was everything you hoped it would be. The sets were never subtle; instead they were filled with flames, fortes, feasts and frivolity of various kinds. Preceding daring scenes, which were splashed with deep reds and stark blacks and filled with bacchanalia, were visual sets of a “rococo-esque” nature: light, flirty and soft. Ramon Vargas, a smooth and compelling tenor, played the role of the philosopher who sells his soul to the devil. Playing the satiric, yet obviously sadistic role of the devil, Ildar Abdrazakov provided a booming baritone. Patricia Racette played the sweet, desirable woman whom the philosopher loves.
The audience gave a standing ovation and left the Opera House thinking “why don’t I do this every weekend?” From the refreshments to the performance, a night at the San Francisco Opera House is a must for any person who loves an unforgettably dramatic spectacle with their glass of wine.
