Valentine

My partner had seen The Color Purple several years ago in New York and raved about it -- sets, lighting, voices, all stellar.  In mid January, one of my customers (on a lark) mentioned that the touring company of Purple would be coming to the Heymann Center here in Lafayette on February 14th.  My mind went into overdrive.  I sent off a quick text just to make sure the coast was clear for that Monday.  Tickets reserved and printed, an evening at the theatre was organized in minutes.  It was still early enough that selecting decent seats was relatively easy.  At this point, this was more about the the show title and Valentine's Day, than an outting to see a good play.  Experience over the years indicates that touring show companies are notoriously B-string, if not some string further down the alphabet.  But it was Valentine's Day, and that would cure all ills, even flat pitches and bad sound.  The die was cast.  M125 and M126 were ours for the evening.  

The weekend couldn't have started out better: a surprise visit by one of my partner's colleagues to my own place of business supplied me with a handwritten note and a 3' high glass vase filled with chocolate and wrapped up in lime green and orange ribbons.  I liked the fact that the color scheme was an alternative to the typical.  Stunned I was to receive such a fabulous Valentine.  I kept it unopened and on display for the weekend, a lovely reminder of an exquisite person on a holiday which I had always pretended didn't exist -- because it never had before, really.  The weekend bookended between the candy vase and the show was quiet and low key.  Monday, the day. Curtain was at 7:30.  We arrived at the Heymann around 7:15, found parking and made our way with the crowds to the theatre.  Great turn out for a Monday night show in Lafayette.  Most importantly, it was Valentine's Day, we had tickets to an event which meant time together.  If the show was good: lagniappe.  If it was bad, we'd have plenty to rant on about at dinner, and even more to rant on about with our theatre curmudgeon friends.  Three minutes to curtain, and we were entering the house.  Still, we had plenty of time to settle in, flip through the program, gloss over the bio's.  Overture.  It was from the conductor's downbeat that my attention was captured -- and what I heard was topped by what I saw at curtain's rise.  An amazing set, beguiling costumes, a fantastic score.  I was liking this show.  The singers were spot on.  Harmonies were there.  I was sitting in the Heymann and actually drawn into the action on the stage.  It was magical.  A communication between actors and audience like I've rarely experienced before.  I've seen my share of plays, musicals, and operas, many top notch, but really nothing exactly like this.  These characters were real, their challenges and concerns real.  Supported by an excellent score, fantastic voices, and an absolutely amazing set and lighting scheme, The Color Purple renewed my interest in attending musicals.  The difference here, I think, is that all of these actors really believed in the show.  They presented these characters to us as real people as they know them.  A friend of ours had attended (yet another) performance of Fiddler in the same house a few months ago.  When we asked him whether he liked it he reported that it was long. He also said that it was announced how many thousands of times the lead had performed the role.  So instead of a fresh, engaging show, this Fiddler was nothing more than a stale matzo with a dusty beard steeped in tradition.  Precisely the reason I typically avoid touring shows. 
But this was Valentine's Day.  It was punctuated by pleasant surprises and joyful discoveries.  A man who took the time to assemble a fabulous presentation gift for me to end a hectic and turbulent week that heralded a terrifically calm and relaxing weekend.  And then the holiday culmination: to enjoy a masterful stagework with him that speaks to the heart and moves the soul to weep and to rejoice. What a bombastic, colorful celebration of life!  From Shug Avery's profound solo in Act I: "The grace you bring into this world -- too beautiful for words."