Wow, somehow the day ran right into night, at speed! – and it turned into a very late night, at that. And while I have much to share, I have had no time to write about it.

And now today, 20 juin 2024, I’m already busy this morning with a friend, and I have plans for the afternoon with another friend. Montmartre awaits! So, stay tuned. I will have to write this evening. because I already have plans for Friday and Saturday! Next week, my teachers arrive, and promise a soirée, and a few other students from my school (ATFrenchies) are visiting, as well. It started slow, but it’s since been nonstop.

I’m not complaining.

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My windows are open as I type, and I kid you not, the smell of incense and candles from Saint-Paul’s is wafting in nonstop, whisking me back to my childhood days of Catechism and confessions.

“Bless me Father, for I have sinned?”

Yesterday was a lot. The morning started off pleasantly, as I made my way to a local gallery on Rue de Turenne in the nearby and walk-to-able 3rd arrondissement. Jennifer recommended I visit this gallery, as she’d not been able to go. The exposition was by artist JR, and Jennifer had been to the ballet/dance performance that he’d based his artwork on. Each room of the gallery included music – created for his show – playing on pure black vinyl, so even the music was a visual.

When I returned to the apartment, I received notice on my phone that a ticket to the Saturday evening ballet, “Blue Beard,” was available and I immediately purchased it. I had placed myself on the Waiting List a few days ago for this show at Palais Garnier, as well as for Swan Lake at the Bastille Theatre.

About an hour later, my friend Hélène called me and said she had tickets to the ballet and wanted to take me – tonight, in a few hours. It was to be a special viewing of “Blue Beard,” a dress rehearsal for a limited audience.

Having had kids in the professional world of ballet, I leaped at the opportunity. Also, it’s more fun to attend these events with a friend. So, I listed my just-purchased ticket for sale on the ballet website, and got ready to go since we wanted to meet in front of the theatre at 19h, or an hour before the show.

Because it was a dress rehearsal, only a certain number of people get tickets. However, it seemed there were A LOT of us in the certain number of people category. A full house of such certain people. There were at least three queues that ran the length of the substantial iconic stairs leading one into the building. I met Hélène in one of these lines, and we caught up with each other’s news as we waited to go inside. Once inside, it was a kind of free-for-all. Seats were claimed by people putting their jackets on chairs. It filled fast, and we were still trying to decide where to sit, which view was best, etc.

We made the MISTAKE of splitting up, because after a few minutes, we could not find each other. The irony of wanting to attend with a friend, who was now missing, did not escape me. There were a few real moments where I thought we were going to have to watch the ballet separately. So, here I was in a box seat trying to text my friend and give her directions as to where I was seated, without really knowing where I was. And she was doing the same with me. It was hysterical. The Internet in the building was weak, so half of our texts were not going through. It was a complete disaster in lack of thinking/planning, but I knew she was laughing as hard as me. We just could not find each other, and our voices were broken up when we called each other. When we finally met, we had both lost the seats we’d tried to save, so we had to start from scratch – and we were now seriously behind in the process.

After climbing and descending more stairs than I cared to count, we ended up in seats centered on the stage, but at the nosebleed level. Oh, well. Hélène was worried that I had given up a lovely seat on a Saturday night for this crazy experience. I didn’t care. And, as it turned out, she needn’t have worried.

Why? Because this was the absolute worst piece of dance (ballet?) I’d ever seen in my life. And I’ve seen a bit. And honestly, I will see most anything. But I would sincerely, and honestly caution anyone who was going to see this production to reconsider.

There was no music. It was violent. There was blood-curdling screaming. There was a lot of running and bodies being aggressively pulled and pushed. Literal slamming of people into walls – after running full-speed from one side of the stage to the other into these walls. The noise of some 25 bodies hitting walls at various times was indescribable, and alarming. And all of it was done over and over and over again. I never saw so much repetition.

I said there was no music, but that’s not entirely true. There were very brief moments of opera. It was German, from what I could tell, played in snippets. Bartok? Randomly.

The entirety of the stage floor was covered in “dried leaves,” so you mostly heard rustling. Clothing on and off, sometimes dragged through the leaves. Bodies dragged. Random stripping down to skivvies, posing, and getting dressed again. Everything was repeated, ad nauseam. Everything. It was torture: oh, you didn’t like that? That disturbed you? Then let me force you to watch it again and again and again. And the odd cat-like cries as women crawled across the floor on their backs like human crabs in a horror film were also, nonstop.

It was the screaming that did me in. It was random and shocking, and LOUDER than I could ever explain. High-pitched and murderous sounding. It was also very startling. And remember, we were in nosebleed territory. It was almost traumatizing, and I’m not exaggerating. I scanned the audience hoping there were no children present.

We were an hour and 15 minutes in, and hadn’t said one word to each other. I was giving it my all, but it was asking too much. Finally, Hélène leaned over, and asked, “Are you enjoying this?” I replied, “No. Are you?” We decided to discreetly exit.

(I am going to laugh forever as I recall Hélène, in her most British understated manner, asking that question.)

Once out of the theatre, we were speechless. In the grand lobby, two other women came out with looks of sheer shock on their faces. And then a few more. None of us could believe what we had just witnessed, or been subjected to.

Several employees in the theatre heard us and sort of inquired as to what we thought, and we politely told them. The only thing I can say is, I have NEVER before left a performance, and never felt such a NEED to do so.

How was this 1977 production still making the rounds?

The air was chilly as we left the theatre. We found a lovely outdoor bistro nearby, and sat for a glass of wine, trying to decipher what we’d just seen. We lit cigarettes and laughed, happy to have survived, but still shook.