“Ms. Hamill’s “Vanity Fair,” which is being performed to coruscatingly brilliant effect by the Pearl Theatre Company, is something else again, a masterpiece of creative compression that is at once arrestingly original and faithful to its source material, and I’ll be flummoxed if it isn’t at least as big a hit as “Sense and Sensibility.”
“…like “Sense and Sensibility”…a gift to actors and a goody bag for its audience.”
“But let’s be clear. Becky Sharp is not a feminist heroine. She won’t be joining any marches or knitting any hats. The status of women doesn’t interest her. Money does. And position. And the men who can provide them. A girl’s girl, she is not; a sociopath, she probably is.”
With the recent profile of Renee Fleming in “Vanity Fair,” I was thinking about the improbable journey of opera.
Opera is the penicillin of theatre.
No really! Back in the late 1920s Alexander Fleming pretty much left an experiment running while he was out of town, came back, and discovered that the mold on his samples was a cure for bacterial infections. It wasn’t planned, but it was awesome.