Climbing Brunelleschi's Dome

The Renaissance in Florence was a time of dazzling accomplishments, not only in art but also in architecture, and the (literally) crowning achievement is Brunelleschi's dome atop the Florence cathedral. When the cathedral was begun in 1296, Arnolfo di Cambio, the original architect, built a scale model to illustrate his design, which included a huge dome on an octagonal drum. The design was audacious, in that no one at that time had any idea how to build such a structure without it collapsing under its own weight. Nonetheless, the patrons of the cathedral clung to that bold vision, and when the nave was completed in 1380, they would wait for 40 more years with a huge hole in the ceiling of their cathedral until an architectural genius arrived on the scene with a solution. Filippo Brunelleschi devised ingenious solutions to numerous challenges that stood in the way of building the dome. First, there was the structural problem. While a perfectly round dome, like Rome's Pantheon, can support itself because of the special properties of circles and spheres to evenly distribute their weight stress, Florence's dome was meant to be octagonal rather than round in its footprint, and elongated in its height. These design elements make the dome especially graceful in appearance, but also make it inherently unstable. The solution was to build an interior dome which was more spherical, to bear the weight, and then an outer dome with the more graceful (but non-self-supporting) proportions resting on the inner dome. That design would be stable once it was built, but the next problem was how to support it as it was being constructed. Often, domes would be supported with a temporary wooden scaffolding while they were being built, but the scale of the cathedral's dome made that impossible. The opening at the base of the dome was 170 feet off the ground and spanned nearly 150 feet across. There were not trees enough in all of Tuscany to erect a scaffolding that big. Brunelleschi devised more creative solutions, including a herringbone pattern of laying brickwork that could support its own weight across an incomplete arch while the mortar was not yet dry. And he came up with many new mechanical inventions in order to hoist the 37,000 tons of brick and marble up to the height of the dome. The beauty of the dome and the genius of its construction are one of the greatest marvels of the Renaissance. It remains the largest masonry dome in the world.

There's no better way to get a true appreciation of the scale and the construction of the dome than to climb it. There's almost always a line, but it's well worth the wait. After briefly viewing the vast interior of the cathedral, the climb begins inside the stone walls of the transept, ascending the first 150 feet mostly in tight spiral staircases of medieval stone. Near the top of this part, you enter a large room built into the transept that houses some of the original statuary from the façade that has been brought inside to protect it. In the equivalent room on the downside (you descend the opposite transept), some of Brunelleschi's hoisting inventions are on display.

At this point, you are at the level of the base of the dome, and you emerge to a walkway open to the interior of the church. Over the railing, you look down on the vast open church floor 170 feet below, while looking up into the dome, you have a ringside seat for the cavernous Last Judgment fresco. Swirling high above your head, rising toward the lantern of the dome, you see God in judgment, Christ, Mary, all the saints, choirs of angels, and symbolic representations of virtues, beautitudes, and signs of the end-times. Discomfitingly closer to where you stand is the darker underbelly of the apocalypse, with demons pulling wretched souls down to torture and damnation amidst symbols of sin and Hell. The enormous fresco, nearly 40,000 square feet of surface, is jam-packed with apocalyptic imagery. It was designed to be impressive when viewed from the pews 170 feet below, so you can imagine how fearsome it is when standing right at the base of it.

After walking partway around the base, you enter the interior of the dome itself, in passages that navigate between the internal dome and the external dome. At first, as you walk around, the curvature is slight, but as you ascend, the curvature closes in on you, with the passage not only bending more sharply, but with the walls of the passage leaning further and further in. Near the top, when you can't go around any more, the passage makes a turn straight for the center going up and across to the top of the dome. Along the way, you get to see pieces of Brunelleschi's techniques: the herringbone brickwork, the wooden and metal chains that function like the hoops on a barrel. And the whole inner/outer dome design is completely apparent because you're walking between the two.

On finally emerging at the top of the dome, you can walk around the base of the lantern topper, 350 feet above the ground, with commanding views of Florence and the surrounding countryside. This breathtaking panorama of the city, coupled with the fascinating insight into the architecture, is well worth climbing 463 stone steps.

Along the Arno and the Ponte Vecchio

One of the simple pleasures of Florence is walking along the Arno. The principal river of the region bisects the city, with the historic center of the city on the north bank and the "Oltr'arno" (the "other side of the Arno") on the south. Historically, the river was extremely variable, and could go from a placid flow to a raging torrent in just a few days. It's had its share of floods over the years, most recently in 1966, when it overflowed its banks and filled many of the historic buildings with water and mud. (In the church of Santa Croce, they display photos of the immediate aftermath of the '66 flood, which were fascinating and horrifying.) These days, thanks to modern dams upstream, it is a more regulated flow. The Arno as we found it was tranquil, with water gently passing under historic bridges and sunlight sparkling on its smooth surface, broken only by a few kayaks. On both sides, the river is lined with a bit of wild green growth below tall stone walls. On the north side, a street runs right up next to the river wall. On the south side, some blocks have a street beside the river while other blocks have buildings that back right up to the river. The buildings along the river are mostly 3 to 5 story buildings, some shade of yellow or orange (seems to be required in Florence -- Home Depot here must have a whole aisle just for yellow paint), with green shutters.

There are several charming bridges that cross the river in various parts of the historic center of Florence, but the star is the Ponte Vecchio, the famous bridge lined with shops on either side. Various bridges have stood in this spot probably since Roman times, with previous bridges being washed away by the Arno's notorious floods. In 1345, a few years after the last bridge had washed away, they built the current one using three stone segmented arches, a design which has stood the test of time. (Segmented arches are wide and shallow, not a complete semi-circle, and allow high water to pass more easily.) Originally the bridge was filled with butcher shops, but these days the shops peddle jewelry, art, and souvenirs. In the center of the bridge, there is a gap in the shops on either side, affording views of the river, and a small square often taken up with street musicians. At night, the shops are closed up, but there are still plenty of people enjoying the romance of the bridge.

Above the shops on the upstream side of the bridge is the Vasari Corridor, a secret passage connecting the Pitti Palace to the Uffizi and Palazzo Vecchio. When the Medicis moved into the Pitti Palace on the south side of the Arno in the mid-1500s, they wanted to be able to walk to the government offices without having to go out in the street. (Having seen assassination attempts against their ancestors -- Lorenzo the Magnificent was stabbed and his brother Giuliano killed in the cathedral during the Easter service in 1478 -- you can understand the reluctance of the later Medicis to go out in the street.) If you look carefully around central Florence, you can see bits of the corridor, connecting the Palazzo Vecchio to the Uffizi, running along the river for a stretch to get to the bridge, and then along houses on the south side of the river. At one point on the south side, it passes through the church of Santa Felicita, with a balcony opening onto the interior of the church, allowing the Medici to observe the church service from a safe vantage.

Piazza della Signoria

If the cathedral is the sacred center of Florence, then the Piazza della Signoria is the civic center of Florence. It's just a few minutes walk down the broad Via dei Calzaioli from the front of the cathedral to the Piazza della Signoria, where you first catch sight of the Palazzo Vecchio, the historic town hall and capital building from when Florence was a city-state. While the implied message of the cathedral's design is "be filled with awe and look up at heaven", the implied message of the Palazzo Vecchio is "we're a powerful city-state, so don't even think about messing with us". The Palazzo is a massive stone fortress with a sturdy tall bell tower and clock, dating from the early 1300s. While the design has definite beauty, it exudes strength and defensibility. The stone walls are obviously thick, with few windows on the lower floors and only one large door. The crenellation along the top looks graceful, but also provides the perfect combo of cover and opening for archers. Many of the upper arches contain small openings for dropping rocks or hot oil on unwelcome people outside the walls.

The sense of history in this square is palpable. The great leaders of Florence, like the Medicis, held court in that palazzo, made great decisions, kept prisoners. It was in this piazza that Savanarola (a 15th century religious zealot a la Jerry Falwell who became a political leader for a time) conducted his infamous "bonfire of the vanities", where books and works of art deemed irreligious were burned in a great pyre in the square. When the city soon grew tired of his extremism, Savanarola was himself ultimately burned here too. (An inscription on a flat circular stone amidst the other cobblestones of the piazza marks the spot.)

Upon approaching the palazzo, even from a distance one can't help but notice the two monumental statues that flank the large entrance. One is Michelangelo's David, and the other is a statue of Hercules vanquishing Cacus (a fire-breathing cattle thief). Both statues are solid marble, mounted on pedestals, and about 16-17 feet tall (not counting the pedestal), a rather imposing three times life size. David, looking like he eats nothing but steamed veggies and brown rice, naked and armed only with his sling, represents spiritual strength. Unlike the typical composition of David with his foot on top of Goliath's head, Michelangelo chose to sculpt him in the moment before the famous battle, looking pensively but determinedly toward his foe. In his placement here, his gaze is south toward Rome. Hercules, on the other hand, looking like he eats nothing bt raw meat and steroids, represents physical strength. He too is naked but armed with a club, and appears to be pausing, perhaps deciding whether he's sufficiently subdued his foe or not. He may also be reflecting the confusion of the time, as in the time this was sculpted (1525-34), there was much political turmoil in Florence, and the Medicis were in power, then out, then in again, and the commission of the sculpture was redirected a couple times. So whether Hercules represents Florence vanquishing her rival city-states or merely the Medicis vanquishing their political rivals is a matter of who's telling the story. In any case, anyone approaching the palazzo should be quite impressed by the stone guards at the door.

As if that weren't enough, the square boasts a number of other rather muscular sculptures. At the corner of the palazzo, Neptune presides over a fountain, looking like he and Hercules would make a good cage match. Further in that direction is a regal bronze equestrian statue of Cosimo I Medici. On the opposite side of the square is the Loggia dei Lanzi, an outdoor sculpture gallery with various Roman and Renaissance works. As if more were needed to put the fear of Florence into approaching strangers, the collection includes Cellini's "Perseus with the Head of Medusa", an impressive bronze of Perseus, sword in right hand with Medusa's severed head held aloft in his left, and Medusa's fallen bare-breasted body at his feet, with guts gushing out of her open neck. Giambologna has a couple of great works here. Hercules, not pausing this time, but in stop-frame action actively clubbing a centaur. The sculpture is so active it is literally taut with tension, looking like it might unfreeze at any moment. And the Rape of the Sabine women, a fascinating work said to be the first multi-figure statue in European history with no single dominant viewpoint. The dynamic composition, of one man lifting up a woman while a fallen man cowers below him, has a twisting movement that impels you walk around the statue and view it from all sides. While the David is a replica (the original was moved indoors for restoration and preservation from the rain, soot, and bird poop), most of these other statues are the originals, and you can just walk among them, as it was in the 1500s when so many great artists flourished here.

(Check out highlights of our photos from Florence, or the complete set of first day pics on Flickr.)

First Look at Piazza del Duomo

After getting settled at our hotel, we stepped back out into the piazza, eager to enjoy the remainder of a beautiful warm sunny day, and started to head for the center of town. From the equestrian statue in the piazza, the Via dei Servi runs just a few long blocks toward the cathedral, and even though the avenue was a nearly unbroken line of four or five story Renaissance buildings, the great red dome could be seen peeking above at the end of the avenue. That just begins to give you a sense of the scale of the cathedral. The huge dome was an architectural phenomenon when it was built in the early 1400s, and remains the largest masonry dome in the world today. When viewed from hills outside the city, the cathedral dome completely dominates the Florence skyline. Inside the city, one catches glimpses of the dome along avenues that run toward the central piazza. Coming to the end of the avenue, which runs into the side of the cathedral, we were fully impressed by its scale and its beauty, as our gaze turned upward to take in the tall walls (about 150 feet from the ground to the roof of the nave) and their geometric patterns of the red, green, and white marble that lined them. As we walked along the side of the nave toward the front, I was mindful that the cathedral architecture was achieving its aim, to keep us looking up (heavenward) in awe.

The feeling of awe and visual fascination only increased as we rounded the corner into the Piazza del Duomo, and turned back to view the façade. It is a dazzling display of neo-gothic architecture, taking the original tri-color geometric theme and kicking it up a notch into a wedding cake extravaganza of marble and statuary. The central part of the nave stands a full "head" above the "shoulders" of the aisles, and the façade keeps to that form. Unlike some cathedrals where the façade extends much higher than the actual structure behind it, this façade has substance behind it all the way up. It's hard to know where the begin to take it all in, but the design emphasizes the portals, a huge central one and two merely large ones on either side. Each has a deeply inset pointed arch (tympanum) filled with a mosaic, and above that a chevron-shaped pseudo-arch pointing up (heavenward, always), drawing your eye further up to the ornate rose window above. The whole pattern is echoed to scale in the secondary portals on either side. A gallery of niches with larger-than-life statues of the twelve apostles runs across the top of the "shoulders" and across the "neck". Four buttresses clamp onto the façade at the corners and the divisions, with double-lancet "windows" of green marble running all the way up. Above the rose windows is another gallery of quatrefoils filled with busts of great Florentines (mostly artists and architects, of course). No opportunity for a statue-filled niche or cornice is missed, decorated with borders of intricate inlay with the red, white, and green marble. Just when you think it can't get more baroque, you notice another level of detail of marble mosaic or busts of saints and popes worked into the pattern. Some people think that it's overwrought, but I think it suits a magnificent edifice of this grandeur. I mean, my God, it is one of the world's great cathedrals after all, it's entitled to be a bit overwrought.

The façade is considered neo-gothic since, for various reasons, it wasn't added until the1870s, but it remains faithful to the gothic style of the cathedral, which was begun in 1296 and otherwise completed by 1469. To me, cathedrals in general and this one in particular are stunning human achievements, given that they are built over many generations and centuries, remaining (generally) faithful to an original vision. The men who began the cathedral knew they, their children, and their grandchildren would all be long dead before the cathedral was completed. The architects who began it did not know there would be sufficient resources and materials to finish it, and in the case of this cathedral, they didn't even possess the engineering know-how to erect what they envision, but merely had to go on faith that succeeding generations would somehow carry it out. The undertaking is as awesome a testament to faith as the structure itself.

After taking in the façade for a while, we realized that we had our backs to the baptistry. This octagonal building is also done in white and green marble with geometric patterns, but its less ornate design and rounded rather than pointed arches indicate its Romanesque style. It's actually the oldest building of the cathedral complex, built between 1059 and 1128. Everyone from Dante to the Medicis, pretty much everyone who was anyone in Florence, was baptised here. But the big attraction of the baptistry are its gilded bronze doors, on the north, south, and east sides, which were the result of great artistic competitions in the Renaissance. In the early 1400s, Lorenzo Ghiberti won the honor of doing the north doors, which he labored on for 21 years. The doors were so beautiful that he was commissioned to do another set for the east doors, which took him 27 more years. These latter doors were even more beautiful than the first, and Michelangelo famously dubbed them the "Gates of Paradise", a name which has stuck to this day. The original doors have been taken indoors for restoration and preservation, but have been replaced with replicas so that the doors can be experienced on their original site. The doors are indeed marvelous. Of course being covered in burnished gold will make many things look marvelous, but beyond that, his artistry is exquisite. The bronze panels are deep relief, practically popping out in 3D. And Ghiberti fully exploits the Renaissance discovery of perspective to everything look realistic. (Before the Renaissance, art was generally flat and one-dimensional.) The doors comprise ten main panels, each featuring a major Old Testament biblical character. In most of the panels, all of the significant events in the life of the featured character are portrayed. For example, in one panel, Adam is created, Eve is created, they are tempted by the serpent, and they are booted out of Paradise, all in one fluid composition. Thus, not only are the panels 3D, they are 4D!

(Check out highlights of our photos from Florence, or the complete set of first day pics on Flickr.)

Arriving in Florence

Taking a cab from the airport to our hotel in Florence was like riding in a magical time machine. We began in unremarkable suburbs with McDonalds and other hallmarks of globalization, but as we approached the historic center, we began to see older buildings, arches, narrower streets. At one point, we started to catch glimpses of the great red cathedral dome which dominates the Florentine skyline, stirring anticipation, like kids seeing the Matterhorn and knowing Disneyland is near. When the cab pulled through an archway through an ancient wall into the Piazza della Santissima Annunziata, the time transport was complete. We were in a broad square stone-lined piazza, mostly blocked off from car traffic, surrounded on all sides by 15th and 16th century buildings in High Renaissance style. The square was mostly open and quiet, its most prominent feature a patinaed equestrian statue to one side, and two fountains. Not grand fountains, but the sort you imagine the residents of bygone centuries would come up to fill their water jugs from. On three sides, the piazza is bounded by buildings with loggias that run the width of the piazza. A "loggia" is a classically Italian architectural feature, a semi-enclosed corridor running along the front of a building, defined by columns and arches and open to the air in front. In fact, it turns out these may be the definitive loggias. When I just looked "loggia" up in Wikipedia, it shows a photo of the Ospedale degli Innocenti, designed by the great Brunelleschi himself in the early 1400s, which is one of the three buildings on this piazza. The form is very graceful and courtly, and the Florentines were so impressed by it that when Antonio da Sangallo the Elder designed a monastery for the Servi di Maria order on the opposite side of the piazza in the 1520s, he made it with a similar loggia. And likewise for the church that forms the north side of the piazza when it added a new façade.

It was in front of the 1520 Servite monastery where the cab let us off, as that building has been renovated into a lovely hotel where we stayed the next three nights. Inside the Loggiato dei Serviti, the Renaissance charm has been preserved. Exposed beams, arches and niches with paintings and flowers adorn the halls and stairs, with common sitting rooms and reading rooms here and there making it feel like a large residence rather than a hotel. Amidst the old world feel, a few modern amenities (elevators, refrigerators, blow driers) have been thoughtfully added. Our third floor room featured a canopy bed, some classic wooden furniture, ceilings beautifully painted in intricate patterns, and a window overlooking that beautiful Renaissance piazza. A bouquet of fresh flowers and a bottle of sparkling wine in a silver ice bucket made for an elegant welcoming touch. We would enjoy our charming room and hospitable hotel staff quite a bit over the weekend.



(Check out highlights of our photos from Florence, or the complete set of first day pics on Flickr.)

Marine Corps Commandant Demonstrates Ignorance of Scientific Method

The Fox News headline read "Marines Chief Warns Most Are Uncomfortable Serving With Openly Gay Troops", and the article lead off with this sentence: "As many as 95 percent of Marines would be uncomfortable serving alongside openly gay troops, the retiring commandant of the Marine Corps told Fox News in an exclusive interview." This based on General Conway's survey of his troops. Of course, when you read further down in the article, it turns out the General's idea of the word "survey" means forming an impression based on various ad hoc occasions when he asked a group of Marines for a show of hands on the subject.

Now we learn from a leaked Pentagon report that an actual survey (you know, the real scientific kind) of 400,000 servicemembers showed that there is minimal risk to lifting the gay ban. More than 70% of the respondents thought that the change would be positive, mixed, or neutral. The Marine Corps was only slightly more resistant to the change, with about 40% expressing concern for unit cohesion. Nothing like General Conway's 95% based on his own "survey".

Am I the only one who's concerned that the leader of one of our military services trusts his personal impressions over actual data when it comes to making decisions?

FILM: The Social Network

Of course we were busy posting on Facebook as we sat down to see The Social Network. But the film was more than engaging enough to keep our eyes off of our iPhones for the duration. In fact, I would call this story a Citizen Kane for the 21st century. It is a fascinating tale of a driven young man's rise to stunning success and riches, at the cost of betraying friendships and destroying relationships along the way, culminating in the ultimate irony: does the man who built a network of 500 million friends have any friends of his own? And of course it was impossible not to think of "Rosebud" when seeing the final scene. How closely the film hews to truthful biography is an open question, but it certainly makes for a landmark story. Facebook Founder Mark Zuckerberg is played impeccably by Jesse Eisenberg, who creates an Asperger-like intensity and unsocialized lack of filter in the main character, and as one of my friends (a Princeton classmate) said, "nailed the speech patterns and mannerisms of smartass Ivy League kids". Aaron Sorkin's script is beautifully written, from the opening scene in which we quickly get to know the Zuckerberg character as he is being dumped (for good reason) by his girlfriend, to the last scene (the Rosebud moment). The film tells the story of the events leading up to and through the founding of Facebook, interspersed with scenes from legal depositions from the various parties who later sued him, scenes which reflect on and illuminate the story. Zuckerberg comes off pretty much as a brilliant amoral jerk, though one of the young associates on his defense team sheds some sympathetic light on him, and I found myself cheering for him a little bit when he was being berated by the opposing attorneys and gave them a stinging comeback. (But then even Atila the Hun might be sympathetic when being berated by an attorney.) Justin Timberlake gives a great turn as Sean Parker, the erstwhile founder of Napster who insinuated himself into Facebook, portrayed here as a brilliant, charming, immature power-magnet with a penchant for drink and drugs and a talent for knowing who to flatter and charm. The whole story felt very realistic (again, whether it's true or not), and some scenes were giving me flashbacks to my own dot-com-founding experiences (which included a house which served as company dormitory and office space, though without so much drugs, wild parties, and funding). I predict Oscar noms for Eisenberg and Sorkin (course it's still early in the year for Oscar's short attention span).

FILM: Eat Pray Love

We'd heard mixed reviews of Eat Pray Love, but we were looking for something diverting last night, and figured: Julia Roberts, beautiful world travelogue, beautiful food, and some beautiful men (in that order) -- what's not to like? We were not disappointed and found the film thoroughly enjoyable. I had read the book, which is often a set-up for disappointment in the film. But I didn't go in expecting the film to be exactly like the book. While decorated by beautiful and exotic settings, the book is largely an internal journey which would be hard to translate into a visual medium. Nonetheless, I thought they did a really nice job. There was some amount of Liz the protagonist's voiceover (it would be impossible to make this film with none), but director/writer Ryan Murphy wasn't heavy-handed with it. He and co-writer Jennifer Salt did do a nice job adapting some of the book's great internal scenes. I particularly liked Liz's first attempt at meditating in the ashram, when her thoughts were totally scattered and even one minute of distracted meditation was exasperatingly slow. And the use of flashback and fantasy provided some lovely book-to-film translations such as the scene on the ashram roof when Liz "meets" and makes peace with her ex-husband. Of course in some dimensions, such as the beauty of the locations and the food, the film capitalized on the strength of visuals. A simple scene of Liz making eye-love to a simple but exquisite plate of spaghetti in a Roman café, with Mozart's Queen of the Night aria from the Magic Flute as soundtrack, was genius. As is inevitable, not every bit of the book can fit into a film, but I felt they stayed quite faithful to the book, and did their best to at least allude to memorable bits from the book. (One of my favorite chapters in the book is Liz attending an Italian football match and appreciating the Italian language in the stream of invective from the cheering and howling fans. It would be impossible, I think, to truly render that chapter on film, but they made a nice gesture to it, in a collage sequence interleaving scenes from fans at a soccer game with Liz and her friend trying on jeans that were a bit too tight.) It was also a pleasant surprise to find the casting so agreeable. To me, not a single character was discordant with how I had pictured them from the book, from James Franco as David, her rebound affair, down to Hadi Subiyanto as Ketut Liyer, an aged Balinese medicine man. Javier Bardem did a great job of bringing to screen such a complex character, who comes across as a bit of a playboy but who is actually a heart-broken divorcé and doting father. And Richard Jenkins did a brilliant turn as Richard in the ashram, a brusque Texan who kicks Liz's spiritual butt while becoming her best friend in India. (We remember him best from his outstanding lead role in The Visitor, though he's probably best known as the deceased father of the Fisher family in Six Feet Under.)

Sure, the film leaves out much of the more profound spiritual and emotional elements of the book, but there's only so much you can expect from a 2-hour movie, and there was a lot of ground to cover. Depth of emotional character development just wasn't going to fit. But as a romantic-comedy version of a journey of self-discovery set against a travelogue of beautiful places and exotic characters, we found it thoroughly enjoyable.

Founding Mothers of New France

On our recent vacation to Canada, we learned a lot about the history of the settlement of "New France" in the 1600s, when French colonies were established in Québec in 1608 and Montréal in 1642. As with most cities, the great figures in their history, the founders of their civic institutions, are memorialized in statues and stained glass windows, and in the names of streets and squares. Such was certainly the case in Montréal, but as we wandered through the charming cobblestone streets of the old town, one thing slowly dawned on me as being rather unique. A number of those founders memorialized in statues and streets were women. And I'm not talking about some post-feminist politically-correct honoring of honorable women recently excavated from "herstory". I'm talking about women in leadership roles who founded major civic institutions from the very establishment of the colony, and were recognized from their time onward as founders.

The first one that caught my attention was in the Notre-Dame Basilica, where a series of stained glass windows depict scenes from the history of the city, and one shows Jeanne Mance, founder of the city's first hospital. We came across the name again in a street name, rue Jeanne-Mance, which runs "north-south" from the convention center, past the Guy-Favreau and Desjardins shopping centers, past the Contemporary Art Museum and the Place des Arts, and up to the Hôtel-Dieu, the hospital that she founded, and which still exists (though not in its original location). Today the Hôtel-Dieu is one of Montréal's major hospitals, and is part of the Université de Montréal. There is a monument to Jeanne Mance in front of the hospital. And had the Place d'Armes (a central square in old town) not been under reconstruction, we would have seen a statue of Jeanne Mance as one of the five leading Montréal historical figures memorialized there. We learned that she was one of the original settlers on Montréal in 1642, along with Paul Chomedey de Maisonneuve, the first governor. Maisonneuve and Mance were both recruited by the Societé de Notre-Dame de Montréal, an organization incorporated to fund the establishment of a missionary colony in New France. As we visited Montréal's historical sites, we learned of the great hardships faced in its establishment, the often-dangerous voyages across the Atlantic, the attacks on the settlement by the Iroquois, occasional threats from the English, as well as natural threats from floods and disease. It clearly took great fortitude and courage to be a pioneer in such a place.

Another prominent figure we learned of was Marguerite de Bourgeoys. If you visit the charming Notre-Dame-de-Bon-Secours church, you can't help but learn about her. Governor Maisonneuve returned to France to recruit someone to establish a school in Montréal, and he returned with Marguerite de Bourgeoys. Shortly after her arrival in 1653, she initiated construction of the Notre-Dame-de-Bon-Secours Chapel, and established Montréal's first school. She made a number of trips back to France in subsequent decades to recruit additional teachers and funding, and the women she brought back formed the Congregation de Notre-Dame, a unique community of uncloistered women who established and operated a number of schools for colonists and for native children. She was truly a courageous and remarkable leader.

In another part of town, we came across a couple of streets and a square all named for Marguerite d'Youville. Though she lived in the 1700s, nearly a century after the establishment of the colony, she too played a leading role in Montréal's civic life. After becoming a young widow when her drunkard bootlegger husband died, she answered a religious calling, and established the Order of Sisters of Charity of Montréal, a group that operated a home for the poor, and also took over operations of a bankrupt hospital outside the city walls, bringing it back to financial stability. The "Grey Nuns" (the common nickname for the order) carry on her legacy to this day, continuing to operate numerous women's shelters, food dispensaries, and other services for the poor.

We also saw an obelisk in old town, erected in 1892, with a plaque listing the founders of the city, both those including Jeanne Mance who actively worked on site to establish the colony, but also those back in France who backed and funded the venture, such as one Angélique Fauré de Bullion, a wealthy widow who played an ongoing active investment role in the development of the colony. (She insisted on being identified only as "an unidentified benefactress" in records of her donations, and her role only came out after her death.) Several other female names appeared on this plaque, including the intriguing Madame La Chanceliere Louise Fabry, of whom I've not been able to find out more.

I'm just intrigued by this whole women pioneer thing, and wonder what unique combination of things made this happen in New France? Obviously, the whole pioneer thing is one factor. When founding a colony in a new world, obviously you need all hands on deck, and certainly the women who were among the original settlers in America (the settlement of "the West" as well as the English colonies) were strong and courageous. But I'm not aware of any of our American pioneer women having such leadership roles and establishing civic institutions in the same way. Generally, our streets are all named Washington, Jefferson, and Adams, and our statues are of men. (The nearest exception I can think of was Anne Hutchinson in Rhode Island.) And here in "New Spain" where I grew up, I don't even think the Spanish missionaries (and certainly not the soldiers who supported them) included women at all. So while establishing a new colony created a natural demand for leadership, most social structures of the time didn't enable women to rise to fill that demand. What then was different about New France? Another factor is the Catholic church, which distinguishes New France from New England (our Protestants didn't have the same tradition of nuns and orders that the Catholics had, cloistered or otherwise). And perhaps we have to distinguish the French Catholic church, since Spain too was Catholic. These French women pioneers certainly worked within the context of the church: Marguerite Bourgeoys started her own order of sorts (though an unconventional one that only finally received full church authorization near the end of her long life), and Marguerite d'Youville worked with the church to start her order. (Both of these women were eventually canonized a couple centuries later.) Jeanne Mance, though devout and religiously motivated, was and remained a laywoman, though her hospital was staffed with women of orders. What was it about 17th century Catholic France that enabled such women (and the wealthy widows who funded them) to take on such leadership roles?

FILM: Letters to Juliet

Yesterday afternoon, we saw Letters to Juliet, and as my husband said at the end of the film, "what a total cheese-fest!" And indeed it was, though if you like cheese (and we do), it was certainly a fine cheese. The plot was rather like a Nebraska Interstate: no turns, just a straight line that you could see for miles and miles ahead with the destination clearly sign-posted. Fortunately, the scenery was Tuscany rather than Nebraska, which one can look at with delight for a couple of hours, while being enchanted by Vanessa Redgrave, whose luminosity easily makes one forgive a weak plot. Amanda Seyfreid, with her blue eyes that you could swim in, along with handsome young Brit Christopher Egan and a frenetic Gael Garcia Bernal, charmingly inhabit their by-the-numbers characters, making the whole proceeding quite enjoyable, as well as easy on the eyes. The Vanessa Redgrave and Franco Nero backstory lends another layer of charm with the film's story echoing their real life "once and future" romance. So just turn off the critical part of your brain, and enjoy the fine cheese.

FOOD: Church and State

Last night George and I checked out Church & State. No idea where the name came from. It's not on the corner of Church and State, nor could I detect any disestablishmentarian themes in the cuisine or the venue. It's on the corner of Industrial and Mateo (near Alameda and 7th), in the bottom of the old National Biscuit Co building, in a tiny pocket of trendy lofts surrounded by gritty industrial stuff a few blocks beyond Little Tokyo. In other words, one of the green shoots of the new urbanization of downtown. We'd heard of the restaurant itself from mentions in LA foodie circles (Evan Kleiman, Jonathan Gold, the usual suspects), and our downtown friends were all onto it. With no plans for a Saturday night, we decided to be check it out. Though we were able to snag a table for two on very short notice, the place was pretty hopping the whole time we were there. There was no valet, and we had to park a couple blocks away, in front of the still-industrial looking stuff. We did get approached by one panhandler, but in the short walk to the restaurant, we noticed lights in windows of inhabited lofts, and a few nicely-tended urban landscapes on roofs or between buildings. Right near the restaurant, we noted another nice restaurant across the street, as well as a respectable-looking convenience market and a gym. Inside the restaurant, the scene was that of traditional French bistro furnishings placed in the industrial rehab context, with the extra-high ceiling leaving the construction unapologetically exposed, and strings of lights strung festively around. I thought it worked quite well, being true to both its urban setting and its Belle Epoque themes.

The menu is very traditional French bistro, with mussels, steak frites, frisée aux lardons, roasted chicken, and authentic country touches like pigs feet, pigs ears, roasted marrow bone, and charcuterie. I was delighted to discover a cassoulet on the menu, and was also intrigued to find a "cassoulet aux légumes". I was imagining a cassoulet filled with carrots, parsnips, broccoli, and peas, all cooked with the white beans in magical duck fat, which sounded just as marvelous and slightly healthier than the traditional cassoulet which is filled with wondrous artery-clogging sausages, duck legs, and other fatty bits. Alas, our waiter was unmistakably French, not only in his accent, but in his demeanor, and didn't really sell the vegetable cassoulet when I asked him to describe it. (It is not the style of the typical French waiter to be at all chatty the way American waiters are, nor to spontaneously compose paeans of praise when asked to describe a dish.)

We both started with salads, George with the frisée, and me with a "salade au marché, which had arugula, beets, pine nuts, and thin strips of charcuterie. Mine was delicious and George, while initially looking askance at how lightly poached the egg was (he's the sort that does not like his eggs runny), tucked in and left nothing. I was also intrigued by an item called "pois chiches" on the hors d'oeuvre menu, which was lightly fried green chick peas, so we gave that a try. They were tasty, with a nice seasoning on the outside, although a bit awkward to eat. Like edamame, the good stuff is inside a husk that you really don't want to eat. Unlike edamame, these didn't easily pop out, or if there was a neat trick to eating them, we didn't discover it, so we just squeezed the tasty soft center out in our mouths, while also getting the seasoning off the husk, and then awkwardly removed the crinkly husk. (Anyone have any tips on eating these?)

For mains, I went for the traditional cassoulet au Toulouse, which had succulent white beans, savory sausages that tasted like fresh ground lean pork with garlic and herbs, lardons, a crispy duck leg, and bread crumbs to texture the rich goodness of it all. George had a bit of a time making a selection, as the chef was being extra cautious about the gluten issue, and so steered him away from anything that went into the same frier that other stuff with flour had been in, and said to scratch the au jus on everything. So he ended up having steak frites with bearnaise sauce (but no au jus), and roasted potatoes instead of the usual frites. It was disappointing to have so many limitations, but it was appreciated that the chef was being conscientious (as opposed to another restaurant we'd been to recently that didn't take allergies seriously), and they did go to some effort to accommodate us. (The pois chiches are normally made in the frier, but the chef prepared a special batch for us in a separate frying pan.) The wine list was thoroughly French, and with a nice range of wines to choose from, including selections by the glass. I neglected to get the details (left my iPhone in the car), but George had a nice Medoc (cab-merlot blend) with his steak, and I was pleased to find a Languedoc wine offered by the glass, which was lovely with the cassoulet.

For dessert, the waiter presented us with a tempting display of tarts (the chocolate-raspberry tart looked particularly intriguing), but we decided to share a citron mousse which was lovely. The creamy mousse had a light lemon flavor which was contrasted with a topping of tart lemon shaved ice. It was light and refreshing, and the contrasting lemon/tart/sweet/creamy flavors tickled the tongue. On our way out, George caught sight of an interesting looking glass jar with two small spigots on either side. We asked the waiter who was carrying it, and he explained that it contained ice water and was part of a service for absinthe. Intriguing! We'll have to try that next time.

Why I Am Happy About Health Care Reform

While the Health Care Reform bill is far from ideal, I think it's a big step in a mostly good direction. Let me explain why I think so.

First, I think the status quo was untenable, for two basic reasons: cost and structure. Health care costs currently represent 16% of our GDP (that's higher than any other nation), and have been rising at a rate nearly double the rate of inflation and much higher than GDP growth. For people who have insurance, the rising cost of health care is initially buffered by the insurance companies, although it is eventually reflected in rising premiums. For people who purchase their insurance directly on the individual market (a market in which they have no leverage), they are feeling the premium pain acutely. Several of my friends are among the Californians who got whacked with a 39% increase in their premiums from Anthem Blue Cross this year. For those lucky enough to work for a large employer, the insurance costs are partly absorbed by the employer and the rest buried in an automatic payroll deduction. But the employers are feeling the pain of the rising insurance premiums, which are rising even faster for small and medium-sized businesses than for the large ones. In one recent survey, large companies (more than 50,000 employees) saw their premiums increase 5% in 2009, while small (less than 5,000 employees) and medium-sized companies saw premiums rise as much as 10%. For the employees, that eventually translates into a lack of raises, and lack of new jobs. Some friends have experienced effective pay cuts due to no raises and increased payroll deductions for those rising insurance premiums.

Some would say that the answer to rising costs is less regulation and to let the free market do its thing. Now don't get me wrong, I'm generally a free market fan, but our current system of mostly-employer-provided health insurance bears little resemblance to a functional market. For one thing, I can think of no other segment of the economy where both the consumer and provider of a service are so dysfunctionally disconnected from the cost. Anyone who's on a PPO insurance plan like me is familiar with the insanity: you go to the doctor just for a basic office visit, maybe get some blood drawn and/or an X-ray. The result is three to five bills from your doctor, a lab, the X-ray technician, and maybe some other doctor who reviewed the labs or the films. Then you get a flurry of "explanation of benefit" statements from your insurer saying "the blood labs billed $750, but our negotiated rate with them is $300, of which $78 was unallowable (reference mysterious codes), $113 was covered, $63 goes against your deductible, and you owe 20% of the remaining $46." If I'd have just walked in off the street without an insurance card, that basic office visit would have had a nominal cost upwards of $1,000. (Of course part of that is because the doctor has to employ at least one full-time person just to keep the insurance billing sorted.) It's a bit like airline tickets, where you can find three people sitting on the same flight in the same row who paid $212, $756, and $1640 for their tickets. But at least on an airplane, you know the cost before you buy the ticket. With medical care, you don't know the cost, you usually don't even ask up front (cause you're not paying it), and you don't even know the destination or the length of the flight. When was the last time you cost-comparison shopped a doctor, or asked about the cost-effectiveness of a recommended test or treatment? So how exactly is the "unseen hand" going to get any grip on this?

You might say that you don't need to worry about cost, because your insurance company has done the cost comparisons and cost-effectiveness studies. That's somewhat true, but that just shifts the focus to the insurance market. There you have a number of factors at work. First, there is the negotiated cost of services, which comes down to the relative leverage between insurers and service providers (doctors and hospitals). In areas where an insurance provider has a large number of subscribers and there is a choice of hospitals, the insurance companies can negotiate more competitive rates with the hospitals. In areas where there are fewer hospitals (or the hospitals are nearly all owned by one company, e.g., as in northern California), and where an insurance company has less of a local market, they are in a weak negotiating position and can't get as competitive rates. The key observation to be made here is that increasing competition among insurance companies can work to drive costs up rather than down, insofar as it weakens their leverage to negotiate with service providers. Another factor is the market for selling health insurance, which is very uneven. Rather than a large market of individual consumers, the health insurance market is a lumpy amalgam of large companies buying group plans, small and medium businesses buying group plans, and individuals buying individual / family plans. Large companies obviously have the leverage to get relatively good rates. Small and medium businesses, not so much. And individuals totally get the shaft. These submarkets also operate under very different terms. In the large company sub-market, the insurance company typically agrees to accept all employees regardless of pre-existing conditions, while the company promises to enroll all employees in the plan. The scale creates a broad enough pool such that the insurance business model makes sense: you have enough healthy people in the pool to cover those who are sick. In the individual market, it's a different story. If people could buy individual health insurance policies at any time, regardless of pre-existing conditions, nobody would buy insurance until they got sick, and only sick people would buy insurance. Obviously, that would make the individual insurance pool unsustainable, which is why the insurance companies need to screen for pre-existing conditions to make the current system work.

This uneven insurance market incentivizes some counter-productive behavior in the labor market. Some employees may stick with a job for the sole reason that they can't give up the medical coverage. They may have a child with a pre-existing condition, and if they left their current job, they would be unable to replace the coverage. This may prevent them from moving to a more effective job, or it may prevent them from venturing out and starting a new business. Employee mobility is a key efficiency for an effective economy, and especially so in our modern information and services economy. We recognize the importance of entrepeneurship, and of small and medium business in job creation and economic growth. Our system of employer-provided healthcare insurance made more sense in the 1950s and 60s when the majority of people worked for large employers and often stayed with the same employer. Today, employer-provided insurance is not only a quaint relic of that bygone era, but it is a source of structural inefficiency and distortion in our modern economy, insofar as it hampers employee mobility and entrepeneurship. We'd be much better served by scrapping employer-provided insurance altogether, and creating a robust and level individual insurance market. But massive change like that is politically infeasible, and our economy is like a battleship that needs to be steered slowly.

The recent Health Care Reform bill is a positive step in that direction. By organizing the individual insurance market into state-run insurance exchanges, this key structural change will enable the individual insurance market to effect the same bargain as large group coverage: everyone participates in order to create a rational insurance pool and no one needs to be screened for pre-existing conditions. Those who had been urging incremental change failed to understand how these things need to come as a package in order to work. In order to eliminate pre-existing conditions, you need to make sure the insurance pool is rational by mandating that everyone be in the pool. And in order to make a mandate reasonable, you need to provide premium subsidies for those least able to afford them. The elimination of pre-existing condition screening only makes sense together with the mandate, and the mandate only makes sense with the subsidies. It could not have been done incrementally. (Likewise, those with hopes for a repeal are going to realize that you can't repeal the mandate without also restoring the pre-existing conditions screening.)

Thus, I see this as a positive step toward reforming the structure of our health care insurance market. Regretably, it appears not to address the overall healthcare cost problem, except for a few small but promising gestures (such as a Medicare pilot to explore alternatives to payment-for-service). Even so, I see it as a huge accomplishment. I think the opportunity to make such a change occurs only once or twice in a generation. The last grand attempt at healthcare reform was in 1994, and if this effort had failed, it would have been another 15 or 20 years before anyone would take it up again. The political process was messy, but Washington is messy on the best of days, and one can't expect filet mignon from a sausage factory. Despite the mess, I would say the process worked the way it is supposed to, in that a wide range of views were accommodated in the final bill. Anyone who thinks the entire Democratic delegation has a monolithic view that can be meaningfully labeled "the left" simply hasn't been paying attention. I was also glad to see that the final wrangling to get the needed votes in the House was focused on the actual substance of the bill, and we didn't see the kind of obscene special deals (like the Nebraska tax exemption -- shame on you Senator Nelson) that took place in the Senate. (Thankfully, the most egregious of those were deleted in the reconciliation.) Even the Republicans, with their complete stonewalling, played a role in shaping the bill, by forcing the Democrats to come to a complete consensus across their intra-party spectrum. (Tolkien tells us that even Golem had a role to play in the Lord of the Rings. I reckon the GOP played the Golem role here.)

Frankly, I'm puzzled by the people who are proclaiming that HCR represents the end of life as we know it, or that it implements some revolutionary radical leftist ideas. Compared to the fears many on the right have expressed -- of a government-run healthcare system, or the government as single payer -- what we got is not that, not even close. It didn't even include so much as a public option. What we got was a way to enable a viable independent insurance market without adverse selection and pre-existing conditions, preserving the framework of a free-market competitive private sector to provide the insurance and to provide the healthcare. Anyone who looks at that and sees "socialism" or "government takeover" is just deluded. This was a completely market-oriented reform. Even in the context of market-oriented reform, the reform wasn't all that revolutionary. It did not abolish employer-provided healthcare and immediately establish an individual market for everyone. It did not even tax employer-based health benefits (which I'd love to see them phase in, shifting the tax deduction to individuals). The reform was heedful of people who like what they have now, and it enabled the reform in a minimally disruptive way. Many of the significant reforms don't take effect for several years, allowing people and businesses to plan for the transition. Not exactly the French Revolution here.

What is sad is the apparently intense polarization of attitudes in this country along the alleged left-right divide, when in fact there are broad areas of agreement. I think most folks would agree that healthcare costs are out of control, that the practices of pre-existing condition screening (and rescission) are ugly, and that market-oriented solutions are better than government central planning. The Health Care Reform that passed, with an absolute zero of Republican support, contained many elements that Republicans themselves have pitched in the past. It's like the Republicans and the Democrats are about six inches apart in the middle of a twenty-foot ruler, and they're arguing about the dire chasm of "right" and "left" between them. How pathetic is that? In reality, it serves only to enrich the pundits who thrive on fanning the flames.

Some folks are offended by the idea of an insurance mandate, or question its constitutionality. On the practical side, I'd like to ask those folks: would you have preferred a single-payer system, or direct government-provided healthcare (a la Britain or Canada)? We could eliminate the mandate, and do one of those instead. We only need the mandate if we want to do a market-oriented reform. But if you're really bothered by that mandate, we can go Canadian style. No? I didn't think so. On the constitutional side, while I admit the idea of a mandate does chafe a bit at my libertarian bones, I also concede that it's not really outside our Constitution as it has been interpreted for quite some time. The government has the power to compel things: paying taxes, educating children, serving in the military. Like it or not, the Supreme Court has been pretty deferential to the constitutional power to regulate commerce, as well as the power to levy taxes. I know the challenges are already being filed, but it would be surprising if the Health Care Reform bill is found to have exceeded those well-established powers.

Some folks are just generally nervous about the growth of federal government, and I share that sentiment. But I do believe that it is the proper role of the government to regulate the healthcare market, to ensure that it functions effectively. Just as it is appropriate for government to have a significant role in infrastructure (think roads and airports), as a key enabler of a vibrant economy, I think that healthcare and education are the "infrastructure" of an information economy workforce. In the 1950s it made sense to everyone that your employer should provide your healthcare. It was a reasonable investment for the employer to make sure that the employees were healthy and secure. Today, almost nobody has a single employer their entire life. We move from job to job, place to place, career to career, re-train, start new ventures -- the labor mobility that an effective 21st-century economy requires. But it still makes sense to invest in the health and security of our workforce, so that people can focus on their work and not be distracted by health insecurity. It's just that employers are no longer the logical source for that investment. Given labor mobility, the government is the logical source for that investment, as it is the only stable long-term constant. I think this is what is required for the American economy to remain competitive in the 21st century.

So, that's why I am happy about the passage of the Health Care Reform bill.

FILM: Los Abrazos Rotos

In his latest film Los Abrazos Rotos, director Pedro Almodóvar at times channels Alfred Hitchcock, and at other times, Luis Buñuel. The opening scene, a macro close-up on a single eye, is an explicit homage to Un Chien Andalou, and a tantalizing tip to film theorists that Almodóvar is going to artfully play with the theme of seeing and film. The main character is a famous film director who has lost his sight, as well as the love of his life, in a car accident. And one of the most stunningly beautiful visual scenes in this film is of the blind man "reading" the pixels in a grainy video of his last film as if it were braille. Layers of seeing and watching and filming are fascinatingly woven in this strange tale about a film being made, and the filming of the filming, part of which includes the secret surveillance by a jealous husband of his aspiring actress wife, which leads to the Hitchcock elements. While full of arty references that film theory students will eat up, this is no plotless Brakhage or Warhol film. There is an intriguing film noir plot of an affair abruptly ended by a suspicious death that may have been a murder, and there are some great Hitchcockian car scenes, suspenseful without any actual chase, just a creepy feeling of being watched. The plot lies buried in the blind man's past, and Almodovar lets it gently and mysteriously unfold, as we get to know his characters, all brilliantly cast: Lluís Homar as the haunted blind director Mateo Blanco (who forsook his name when he lost his sight and his love); Blanca Portillo as Judit García, his editor/manager and unrequited lover; Penélope Cruz as Lena, his passionate lover and not-very-talented star of his last film. The film within the film (and the filming of the film within the film) is used to great effect, without becoming too gimmicky. At times, the line between the inner film and reality blurs. There is a great scene when Lena's jealous husband is watching a soundless videotape of his wife making the film, as a hired lip-reader tells him what people are saying; then as Lena addresses the camera directly, the real Lena enters the room behind him and speaks the lines that her on-screen picture is enunciating. While the film was a bit slow to get going, I was thoroughly drawn in by the end with these intriguing characters, the mysterious story threads tying them all together, and the artful filmmaking.

BOOKS: The Post-American World

I came across this book in an unusual way. I received an email from someone who regularly sends me the worst right-wingnut scare rumors, and this particular email was all panty-twisted over a photo of President Obama holding a book which, upon closer look had the title "The Post-American World", and it was written by a Muslim! "See," the email howled with horror, "look what Obama is reading! He really is part of a secret Muslim cabal intent on destroying America!" Being appropriately sceptical of such emails, I looked a bit closer and made out the partly-obscured name of the Muslim-terrorist author of this evil tome: Fareed Zakaria, international editor for Newsweek, and a widely respected expert on foreign policy. I immediately added the title to my list of books to read. So glad I did.

His provocative title, it turns out, is not about the fall of America, so muc as it is about the "rise of the rest". The book is a shrewd analysis of how America's role as the world's sole superpower is inevitably going to be soon eclipsed by China and India, and what that will and won't mean. I'd never read Zakaria before, but I found him to be tremendously insightful, as well as very knowledgeable. The book is eye-opening in its quantification and qualification of the rise of China and India (as well as other countries), but at the same time it is reassuring in its assessment that the surpassing of the US economy need not be the catastrophe many may fear. In fact, he cites Roosevelt's dictum that the only thing to fear is fear itself. Our worst possible policy choices in reaction to the rise of the rest of the world would be ones based on a fearful retrenchment into protectionism and isolation. Our best possible policy choices continue to embrace open trade and immigration, key drivers that have advanced America and can continue to do so. He compares and contrasts the present US situation not to Rome (as is so often done), but to the British Empire in its decline, which given where Britain is today was obviously not the end of the world. He offers some interesting observations about military might versus the soft power of legitimacy and being a center of ideas and innovation. And he had some interesting insights into econometrics, noting that our current measures of savings and consumption are based on an industrial economy. For example, spending on research and development, or a college education, gets measured as consumption, when it's really more of an investment, especially an in information economy.

I came away from this book feeling more realistic and also more optimistic about the future for America. And also very glad that our President is reading books like this one.

STAGE: Camelot

I was raised on show tunes from a young age, and as a kid I can remember listening to my folks' reel-to-reel tapes, especially the great Lerner and Lowe musicals like Camelot and My Fair Lady. I'd never seen Camelot on the stage, and so when I heard that the Pasadena Playhouse was putting it up, I wanted to go see it. Then when I read that the Pasadena Playhouse -- beautiful historic theatre that has put up some truly great productions over the years -- was closing due to financial difficulties, I immediately went out to get tickets. That just added a whole layer of meaning to the experience, to see this play about the fateful demise of a wonderful ideal, as the very theatre was experiencing its own demise.

Not having seen any other productions of Camelot, I can't compare this one, but I found it utterly charming and moving. The set was simple and spare, a series of wooden poles and platforms, and the ensemble of eight players began the play in a self-conscious "we're about to tell you a story, so please indulge us with your imagination" manner (actually rather Shakespearean), and also a touch of self-deprecating humor -- "there was a majestic castle on a hill" as a picture of a castle is noisly unfurled and hung on one of the poles; "it was snowing" as an actress arches an eyebrow while tossing a handful of torn paper in the air. The self-conscious stuff added a nice laugh here and there, but was a light touch, and not overdone. The cast was terrific. Shannon Warne (Guinevere) reminded me of mezzo diva Jennifer Larmore, with a beautiful and powerful voice that glimmered like sunshine, and with a confident charm that commanded the stage. I think she could have got most every guy in the audience to joust against Lancelot for her! Shannon Stoeke (Arthur) did a marvelous job being a tentative idealistic boy-king in the beginning, maturing into a strong man with the conviction of his ideals even when it was torture for him to do so. Doug Carpenter brought a swaggering bearing and a rich deep baritone to realize the unself-consciously pompous Lancelot. The other three fun-loving knights and that deliciously wicked Mordred were all finely enacted too, rounding out a great ensemble. The director did a great job balancing the tone of the play, mostly light and charming with emotionally powerful moments. The climax at the end of Act I was particularly powerful, with Arthur making a desperate, passionate recommitment to his ideals, and then the breathtaking reveal of Lance and Jenny, naked in each other's arms. That was brilliant theatre. And of course I was totally charmed (as well as filled with warm nostalgic feeling) for the brilliant music and lyrics of Lerner and Lowe.

I was sad to see the show end, and sad to see the theatre close. I hope that they will be able to stage a comeback, and that the "(not so) brief shining moment" that was the Pasadena Playhouse will be the "once and future" stage.