The FDR is not cooperating. So Diamond Stingily and I read the synopsis of Vincenzo Bellini’s Norma out loud to each other in the cab because we won’t have time before the curtain goes up at Lincoln Center. We tried to down one too many martinis at Café Select and squeeze in a drive-by of her friend Annie Bielski’s Rachel Uffner debut. Now we are pondering why we always end up out of breath at operas starring infanticidal heroines.
A Night at the Opera: Diamond Stingily, Martinis, and Infanticide
Welcome to “A Night at the Opera,” a new bi-monthly column dedicated to demystifying the art form for the Aida-curious and the Ring Cycle-indoctrinated alike. Along the way, you can expect gossip from the champagne line, epiphanies at intermission, and critiques courtesy of CULTURED's Editor-at-Large Kat Herriman, and the magazine’s favorite artists, designers, actors, and writers. In this installment, Herriman is joined by the artist Diamond Stingily at The Met Opera's presentation of Norma for a night of martinis, murder, and role play.