Opinionist: Astronome: A Night at the Opera

If you're going through the hassle of living in overpriced New York City and not bothering to check out Richard Foreman's annual phantasmagoria, you're really missing out. Stepping into the little theater at St. Mark's Church every February is like taking a mental vacation to another dimension. And this year's Gothic baroque extravaganza is more dynamic than the past few years, in which Foreman experimented with film and a more subdued stagecraft. For now at least, he's dropped the film and picked up avant-garde composer John Zorn, who's composed a feral, heavy metal score for the show, with occasional bursts of Tasmanian Devil vocalization.

It's a real panic, and a challenge to describe. Foreman's stage design alone merits its own monograph; the elaborate set features a massive green nose, giant scissors, ping pong paddles with Hebrew lettering, more Hebrew letters on the walls, a Medusa mannequin hanging upside down above the stage clutching a framed Hebrew letter, the limp body of a dead French maid on the floor, etc, etc. Then things really get crazy when seven actors dressed in post-apocalyptic pirate costumes start swirling about the space, contorting themselves in an obsessively detailed series of tableaux, then scattering like billiard balls.

Foreman's work is non-narrative and non-allegorical, though there's a temptation, as evinced by overheard post-show men's room chatter, to pin down his aesthetic with literal translations. (The giant nose represents Pranayama because one nostril's blocked!) But as the auteur told us in an interview last year, there are "not a lot of symbols you’re supposed to figure out. It is supposed to be, believe it or not, an emotional experience... Here are associations coming up, can you just deal with these associations and not feel frustrated that we’re not giving you any answers?" Approached without any expectation for traditional narrative, Astronome: A Night at the Opera is as "entertaining" as any boulevard comedy, if not more so. What we have here is a taut hour of ritualistic frenzy, sans answers, and if you enjoy art that revels in what l like to call "What the fuck?" moments, you'll love this.