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When there's a possibility I might have trouble falling asleep, I try to think of complex things -- a bit like counting sheep and it usually works. So last night I thought very thinky thoughts about Dracula and Don Juan, and promptly fell asleep.
But the parallel is an interesting one. Speaking mostly about the Mozart/ Da Ponte incarnation of Don Juan, BTW, because I don't remember the Molière piece sufficiently well. Anyway, what struck me was the fact that both the opera and the book (Dracula) have been named after a central figure, which isn't really the central figure, although both plots are, so to speak, under their spell.
Of course Dracula is the one who sets the plot in motion and provides the forward momentum, but the central figure is really Van Helsing. And Da Ponte's libretto is even more brilliant in that respect, because there is *no* main figure. Everybody except Giovanni has about equal amuonts of stage time, arias etc, and thus the impression of Giovanni being a clever puppeteer is even stronger.
After finishing the book, I had of course to rewatch (how many times already? Have lost count) F.F. Coppola's film. And it's a bloody masterpiece, in that they very carefully scraped off a few layers of dust and patina -- including the sometimes very tiresome expectorations re. love, friendship, purity and the superiority of men in general -- and added the love story. Because the latter gives the plot the element of fatal necessity, which is (IMO) superior to the mere compulsion Mina feels because she drank Dracula's blood. Plus, of course, the film is greatly enriched by showing the double moral standards of the late Victorian age -- turning Lucy into a spoiled, flirty but still loveable girl was a stroke of genius.
Re. the casting: genius as well, especially Hopkins and Reeves.
BTW, those of you who read the book, were you equally exasperated by the rendition of Van Helsing's English? I mean, wouldn't it have been possible for the various writers to remark that his English was somehow, well, on the original side, and then to render his words in acceptable English?
Something entirely different: LJ's last Writer's Block question, and some of the answers I saw -- why on earth would anybody hire "experts" (i.e. brokers etc) to invest their winnings? Are our memories really that short?
In other news, there aren't really any other news. PMS is fortunately gone, so I'm feeling physically ok again. You ought to have seen me play tennis on Monday -- total shit, but I'd told Elena not to expect much, and since she, too, suffers from PMS, she did of course understand. About 20 minutes after we'd started playing, I said aloud, "OK, I hereby accept that today I'm a clumsy cow." Didn't play better afterwards, but at least I didn't mind so much.
Given my state of abject tiredness on Monday, I postponed the visit to Alexandra and Lola to today. Black Beast definitely on the mend -- Alexandra had to take her to the vet today, for another control, and the belly has healed well, no more complications. Colour me relieved.
Oh, and another thing before I stop babbling: I've decided to give the Viennese Ball a miss this year. I'm not in the mood for spending a lot of money, or for getting a gown, and I have to admit that the emotional scar made by Mr H still hurts, more than I would have thought possible. Sooner or later I'll have to look into that, but for the time being I'll just take it at face value and won't force myself to go to a ball the last edition of which considerably deepened my feelings.
That's it, folks. A good day to you all!
But the parallel is an interesting one. Speaking mostly about the Mozart/ Da Ponte incarnation of Don Juan, BTW, because I don't remember the Molière piece sufficiently well. Anyway, what struck me was the fact that both the opera and the book (Dracula) have been named after a central figure, which isn't really the central figure, although both plots are, so to speak, under their spell.
Of course Dracula is the one who sets the plot in motion and provides the forward momentum, but the central figure is really Van Helsing. And Da Ponte's libretto is even more brilliant in that respect, because there is *no* main figure. Everybody except Giovanni has about equal amuonts of stage time, arias etc, and thus the impression of Giovanni being a clever puppeteer is even stronger.
After finishing the book, I had of course to rewatch (how many times already? Have lost count) F.F. Coppola's film. And it's a bloody masterpiece, in that they very carefully scraped off a few layers of dust and patina -- including the sometimes very tiresome expectorations re. love, friendship, purity and the superiority of men in general -- and added the love story. Because the latter gives the plot the element of fatal necessity, which is (IMO) superior to the mere compulsion Mina feels because she drank Dracula's blood. Plus, of course, the film is greatly enriched by showing the double moral standards of the late Victorian age -- turning Lucy into a spoiled, flirty but still loveable girl was a stroke of genius.
Re. the casting: genius as well, especially Hopkins and Reeves.
BTW, those of you who read the book, were you equally exasperated by the rendition of Van Helsing's English? I mean, wouldn't it have been possible for the various writers to remark that his English was somehow, well, on the original side, and then to render his words in acceptable English?
Something entirely different: LJ's last Writer's Block question, and some of the answers I saw -- why on earth would anybody hire "experts" (i.e. brokers etc) to invest their winnings? Are our memories really that short?
In other news, there aren't really any other news. PMS is fortunately gone, so I'm feeling physically ok again. You ought to have seen me play tennis on Monday -- total shit, but I'd told Elena not to expect much, and since she, too, suffers from PMS, she did of course understand. About 20 minutes after we'd started playing, I said aloud, "OK, I hereby accept that today I'm a clumsy cow." Didn't play better afterwards, but at least I didn't mind so much.
Given my state of abject tiredness on Monday, I postponed the visit to Alexandra and Lola to today. Black Beast definitely on the mend -- Alexandra had to take her to the vet today, for another control, and the belly has healed well, no more complications. Colour me relieved.
Oh, and another thing before I stop babbling: I've decided to give the Viennese Ball a miss this year. I'm not in the mood for spending a lot of money, or for getting a gown, and I have to admit that the emotional scar made by Mr H still hurts, more than I would have thought possible. Sooner or later I'll have to look into that, but for the time being I'll just take it at face value and won't force myself to go to a ball the last edition of which considerably deepened my feelings.
That's it, folks. A good day to you all!
