I walked out of the Lido cabaret a little past 1:00 am, disappointed. The show was amusing, to say the least, with plenty of scantily clad dancers in fancy costumes, lasers shining through the machine-made smoke, house-brand champagne and pre-recorded music. The spirit of the cabaret was there, but something was lacking.
I've never seen a cabaret show before, which forbids me from making any direct comparisons. My previous impressions of a typical French cabaret were based on what I'd seen in movies (such as Moulin Rouge) and on TV. Perhaps these modern media sources have distorted the image of the cabaret. Whether or not the Lido was a good example of a modern cabaret, it did not match my preconceived notions of grandeur and pageantry.
First, the performers were surprisingly and unfortunately lackadaisical and unenthusiastic. In my opinion, any great performance requires a great level of energy and enthusiasm; for the most part, the performance on Thursday lacked both of these. And when a show, such as the Lido, heavily relies on the stage presence of the performers, this becomes a serious issue. For instance, the diva’s lip-synching lacked the passion and expressivity of the real deal. In addition, all the chorus girls (and boys/men) went through the motions of the show with a blank stare and a fake smile plastered onto their faces, seeming completely and tragically ambivalent to the quality of the production.
While I'm talking about lip synching, I'd like to point out that there is a significant difference in the value of a moderately attractive diva who prances about on stage without doing any significant dancing and a poor job of lip synching and that of a moderately attractive diva who prances about on stage while dancing and singing. I would've liked to have seen the latter, but unfortunately we only received the former. I also feel like I was cheated out of a real performance, since the entire audio portion of the show was prerecorded.
On the other hand, the quality of the production itself was incredibly polished. Sets were well constructed and quite impressive, as well as numerous. There were several very impressive structures that rose up from below the stage including a fountain, a South American-style pyramid and a small ice rink. Every number, I was stunned by the scale. There were at least two dozen showgirls and another dozen men, who rotated through the numbers, decked out in fantastic (and different) costumes for each number. Some had massive headdresses, fancy wigs or other large extensions, and many lacked breast coverage.
In the tradition of the cabaret show, there were numerous inter-dance performances, such as a juggler (with a Chinese yo-yo), ice skaters, a puppeteer and an aerial fabric acrobat. These interludes both added to and detracted from the overall atmosphere. For the most part, I felt like each individual performance was amusing and well done, but they were poorly integrated into the rest of the show, which for the most part flowed very well.
My greatest regret from our night at Lido was that I attended the Thursday late show. There were dozens of empty tables, and it simply lacked the same atmosphere that it would’ve had with a full audience. Even with plentiful champagne, the show lacked the party-like atmosphere I had expected (and would normally expect at a Friday dinner show, for example). Whether or not this affected the performers when I attended, I do not know, but I believe that I would have enjoyed the Lido better if it had been crowded.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Lido Letdown
Lido was not at all what I expected, and not necessarily in a good way. I was expecting more fanfare, pomp, and - well - glamorous nudity than we observed. For starters, I was told to "dress up", and that this was a pretty major event. Never tell a girl like me to dress up. Result? My fanciest dress, pumps, (nearly) all the glitter I could justify in my jewelry. Then I sat in an empty hall watching a lip-sync? No, not the experience I had envisioned.
Let's get one thing straight: cabaret is art, and I love Roberto for finding a way for us to get in. I wanted to see Lido (in particular) badly when we got here, so I was surprised and happy that Stanford offered us an opportunity to see this unique show. That being said, why would anyone want to watch a live show without live music? The costumes, the dancers, the set were all amazing, but the music was very lacking. Cheesy lip-syncs to obviously-overworked English lyrics really didn't do wonders for a show that could stand on it's own just fine in silence.
Actually, after writing those first few paragraphs, I have drastically changed my mind. Lido wasn't good. I think it wasn't good because no one was invested in the performance. Take, for example, the prima ballerina performing in the recording of "The Rite of Spring" that we watched in class. There, we watched someone literally try to act-out someone dancing themself to death. Lido was the exact opposite. The women had this oddly detached way of looking out into the audience, not rustling the wild plumage of their costumes with sass, but with a sense of resigned indignancy. We were sitting at a table right in front of the stage, but when the female dancers looked at me (especially those in the back with their shirts off), I had the eeriest sensation that they were looking right through me. I imagined them practicing (clothes on?) during the day with the same look on their faces, laughing and joking with the other dancers, but practicing that look into nothing.
Now don't get me wrong, I am not about to preach about how unhappy women in this industry may or may not be. I think working at Lido would be pretty fun. In fact, I would love nothing better than to make money being naked all the time, let alone in a fancy feathered outfit, a pink puff ball, or (better still!) on top of a bronze pyramid. It could be pretty empowering, if that's what floats your boat.
Actually, I think that the whole decadence and extravagance of the set and production could be what was turning the dancer's enthusiasm down a notch: I think Lido tries to cover too much ground too quickly. The sense of cohesion of the show was off, (which is fine), but I think that might create for the performers an inability to invest in the show without a sense of what the essence of the show really is. (There might be a sense of "what are we doing" "is this important", etc.)
I was a big fan of the classic Lido aesthetic: the one you see on the poster, of the girl's sparkling smile, fake diamonds, and proud plumage. However, they tried to do too much in one go. Lido spanned generations of musical theatre, sports, and circus traditions. There was a horse doing dressage (which disgusted me because he was wearing something very uncomfortable-looking over his hoofs), a tiny ice rink, and waterfalls. There was "Indian" dancing, as well as a set that vaguely reminded me of "Cats". All in all, it looked like the production was stretching itself too thin, sacrificing integrity for variety.
For example, the Indian dance sequence really bothered me. I have been to traditional Indian festivities, and am a big fan of Bollywood film, both modern and classic. What I saw at Lido was a bastardized version of traditional Indian dance, with only the most vapid resonances to true dance tradition (the open palm, rotated wrist with one hand held high over the head and one at the waist was the best they could do). As I was talking to other Stanford students beside me, we also realized that whoever made the costumes had blended cultures from Asia and East-Asia to create an "averaged" look. I call this an instance of Orientalism.
One element of the evening that was not lacking authenticity was the ice skating display in the middle of the show. Truly, the pair on the ice looked very happy to be there, excited, and was very talented. I was amazed that skaters could gather so much speed in such a small area, and execute moves that have a high level of difficulty under such poor conditions (thin ice, which means whatever lines they carved were that much harder to skate over and not get caught on). The audience generally agreed with me, I'd say, and they got one of the loudest cheers of the evening.
I don't really know how to resume my experience at Lido other than saying that, although I had a lot of fun, something about the atmosphere was a little off for me... Maybe it was the champagne, but I had the overall impression that Lido was holding together a very closely-guarded veneer that was broken by the dancers's expressions, and the sometimes-telling choreographic or stylistic elements.
Monday, February 16, 2009
Equi-whelmed
I was equally overwhelmed and under-whelmed by my experience at Lido. I’m not sure what I was expecting exactly, but I certainly wasn’t expecting a dancing horse, a ribbon dancer, and ice skaters. Yes, ice skaters. Let me start at the beginning.We waited in line for a little while, and I felt incredibly important when we were waved through the door without tickets after saying “nous sommes avec Monsieur Conradi.” Roberto had nabbed the table in the center of the room, right against the stage. Fantastic, I thought. This is going to be amazing. We opened up the bubbly and got settled in, then the lights went down.
I knew there were going to be breasts, and a lot of them…but honestly I got used to the breasts first. I was more impressed with the costumes, the feathers and sequins, the impossibly bright colors and headdresses. After a couple numbers however, I noticed that the stage was starting to smell like the old drama closet at my high school, and I could see the zippers on the skirts and the loose threads at the top. I liked the musical aspect of the show, the leading lady singing both in English and in French, until I realized that she wasn’t singing at all, only lip-syncing. The girls, who were supposed to be uniform in all their fake eyelash-ed, b-cupped splendor, were actually very different. I found I took an instant dislike to some of them, while my eye was consistently drawn to others. As for the dancing…I just wasn’t that impressed. The Lido dancers demonstrated their flexibility occasionally with high kicks or splits, but other than that they just didn’t do much… which I suppose is probably due in part to their glittery get-ups. It was painful for me to watch as a dancer because I felt like I could easily do all of the things they were doing, while at the same time knowing that to be a dancer in Lido you have to be very, very good. The ensemble numbers ranged from Cats on Broadway to Thailand, from the fashion runway to a parasol-ed park scene, but other than the changes in costume, it all more or less looked the same to me.
Now that I have gotten the under-whelming out of the way, I can talk about the overwhelming. The sheer engineering of the stage was incomprehensible to me. From the same pit in the center of the stage rose first a multi-storied pyramid with women on and inside it, then a fully functional lotus-shaped fountain, and finally an ice rink. I just don’t know how it all fits underneath, let alone how it is all coordinated. There was also the random and short-lived appearance of the horse, which impressively sidestepped its way from one side of the stage to the other. The individual acts in Lido were equally striking – first the juggler with his pseudo-jump rope and spinning semi-circles, then the ribbon dancer (best quotation of the evening: “je voudrais êtra sa cord…”), then the comedic miming act, and finally the ice dancers. All of the individual acts were incredibly well executed, and the talent and hard work of each performer came together to create a feeling of near-effortlessness. It was during the special acts that I felt the feeling of wonder and excitement I expected from a Parisian cabaret.
I think in retrospect, we were perhaps simply sitting too close to the stage. I imagine that from a little farther back, you wouldn’t be able to see the differences between the dancers or the zippers on their skirts. The drama closet smell probably doesn’t reach farther than our table. To wax philosophical, I get the feeling that a lot of Paris is like that. At first glance, or from a distance everything looks picturesque, poetic, polished. You could visit the City of Lights for a weekend and be dazzled by the Tour Eiffel, Notre Dame, the spectacle of lights on the Champs Elysée and never notice the homeless people sleeping in the metro stations, the graffiti on the walls or the dog turds on the sidewalk. But then are you really getting to know Paris? I think not. I would much rather be in Paris with the drama closet smell and the dog turds, and be able to say that I have gotten to know the real Paris, not just its feathered and sequined exterior.
In (Conditional) Awe of the Lido Cabaret
spec⋅ta⋅cle
noun: a public show or display, esp. on a large scale
Michael, Christina, Kai and I wait for Lido to start.
To say it was a spectacle doesn’t begin to do justice to the absurd, over-the-top, unpredictable, entertaining, and fabulous performance of the Lido cabaret. It was not quite the sexy show I had anticipated— it was more circus meets musical—but my expectations were exceeded nonetheless.
Notably, the theater was almost empty. A full house adds a positive dimension to performances from which we did not benefit. I felt bad that the performers put on this incredible show to such a small audience, but I hoped that our very American cheering — think “Woo woo!”— made up for it. Our enthusiasm was genuine and I was truly mesmerized.
The show began when a feathery pod descended from the ceiling to deposit the lead woman. It was a dramatic entrance, but the drama was somewhat stifled as she began to “sing.” The song was a happy mixture of French and English welcoming us to the fabulous Lido cabaret, except it was played over the speaker while the main dancer lip-synched. I immediately understood the practicality of this arrangement, but I still would have much preferred a live musical performance.
Meanwhile, more and more dancers flooded the stage in whimsical and elaborate costumes. Topless women and men in ass-less chaps danced about in a grand coordinated effort. The nudity, however, was almost irrelevant. It neither added nor detracted to the overall; it was neither vulgar nor particularly artful; it was neither a turn-on nor a turn-off. What was more interesting was the line of the women’s bodies. They were all statuesque women of at least 5’10”, although that is a rough estimate. They were almost all exceptionally thin but almost none were particularly muscularly toned.
Because I have recently been thinking about how much I eat compared to average French women—which is considerably more—I tried to imagine the eating habits of the performers. I wondered if they restricted their diets even more than the average French woman. This led to the thought of what their lives were like outside of Lido: did they have much free time? Where did they live? I think all of my speculation must have been induced by the strange juxtaposition of partial nudity, usually an intimate occurrence, in the context of the extremely impersonal and grandiose performance.
From start to finish, the show never lost its momentum. Scene and costume changes were seamless and always surprising. I would have liked to be a fly on the wall below the stage. The marvels that rose up from the basement were the most impressive aspect of the show. For one act, an enormous stepped temple à la the Egyptians, replete with women lining all sides in beautiful gold costumes and headdresses, somehow emerged from the floor only to be lowered and replaced by some other fantastic set. Perhaps more impressive was the pool that rose from the basement depths, fed by ornate fountains spewing water and set in front of a sheet of water coming down from the ceiling. Just as I thought nothing more absurd could take center stage, an ice-rink featuring a figure-skating pair was hoisted up. A wonderful little skating portion followed to great applause.
One of the more memorable performers was a man who did the Chinese yo-yo to techno beats. His appearance was quite ridiculous: his long hair hung in wet bunches in front of his face, his stage make-up was overdone, including the dark-lights drawn on his abs that were clearly attempting to mimic muscle definition, and he seemed to be sweating a great deal. Despite these shortcomings, his performance was outstanding because of his energy. He interacted with the audience by feeding off of our encouragement. He even stepped on our table and flung his yo-yo right over heads. He was very skilled and the lighting effects really enhanced his tricks.
The most extraordinary aspects of Lido were those that were inanimate or abstract. The sets blew my mind in their elaborate design and fabulous execution; the costumes were whimsical and beautifully detailed. The concept of the immense manpower involved in the performance, both on stage and behind it, amazed me; the juxtaposition of nudity in a non-sexual performance intrigued me. Overall, the song lyrics were a bit cheesy and the dancing didn’t seem too demanding, but I still thoroughly enjoyed every moment of Lido. It was one of the most memorable performances of any sort I have ever seen and I feel very happy that I got the chance to experience a real Paris cabaret.
noun: a public show or display, esp. on a large scale
Michael, Christina, Kai and I wait for Lido to start.
To say it was a spectacle doesn’t begin to do justice to the absurd, over-the-top, unpredictable, entertaining, and fabulous performance of the Lido cabaret. It was not quite the sexy show I had anticipated— it was more circus meets musical—but my expectations were exceeded nonetheless.
Notably, the theater was almost empty. A full house adds a positive dimension to performances from which we did not benefit. I felt bad that the performers put on this incredible show to such a small audience, but I hoped that our very American cheering — think “Woo woo!”— made up for it. Our enthusiasm was genuine and I was truly mesmerized.
The show began when a feathery pod descended from the ceiling to deposit the lead woman. It was a dramatic entrance, but the drama was somewhat stifled as she began to “sing.” The song was a happy mixture of French and English welcoming us to the fabulous Lido cabaret, except it was played over the speaker while the main dancer lip-synched. I immediately understood the practicality of this arrangement, but I still would have much preferred a live musical performance.
Meanwhile, more and more dancers flooded the stage in whimsical and elaborate costumes. Topless women and men in ass-less chaps danced about in a grand coordinated effort. The nudity, however, was almost irrelevant. It neither added nor detracted to the overall; it was neither vulgar nor particularly artful; it was neither a turn-on nor a turn-off. What was more interesting was the line of the women’s bodies. They were all statuesque women of at least 5’10”, although that is a rough estimate. They were almost all exceptionally thin but almost none were particularly muscularly toned.
Because I have recently been thinking about how much I eat compared to average French women—which is considerably more—I tried to imagine the eating habits of the performers. I wondered if they restricted their diets even more than the average French woman. This led to the thought of what their lives were like outside of Lido: did they have much free time? Where did they live? I think all of my speculation must have been induced by the strange juxtaposition of partial nudity, usually an intimate occurrence, in the context of the extremely impersonal and grandiose performance.
From start to finish, the show never lost its momentum. Scene and costume changes were seamless and always surprising. I would have liked to be a fly on the wall below the stage. The marvels that rose up from the basement were the most impressive aspect of the show. For one act, an enormous stepped temple à la the Egyptians, replete with women lining all sides in beautiful gold costumes and headdresses, somehow emerged from the floor only to be lowered and replaced by some other fantastic set. Perhaps more impressive was the pool that rose from the basement depths, fed by ornate fountains spewing water and set in front of a sheet of water coming down from the ceiling. Just as I thought nothing more absurd could take center stage, an ice-rink featuring a figure-skating pair was hoisted up. A wonderful little skating portion followed to great applause.
One of the more memorable performers was a man who did the Chinese yo-yo to techno beats. His appearance was quite ridiculous: his long hair hung in wet bunches in front of his face, his stage make-up was overdone, including the dark-lights drawn on his abs that were clearly attempting to mimic muscle definition, and he seemed to be sweating a great deal. Despite these shortcomings, his performance was outstanding because of his energy. He interacted with the audience by feeding off of our encouragement. He even stepped on our table and flung his yo-yo right over heads. He was very skilled and the lighting effects really enhanced his tricks.
The most extraordinary aspects of Lido were those that were inanimate or abstract. The sets blew my mind in their elaborate design and fabulous execution; the costumes were whimsical and beautifully detailed. The concept of the immense manpower involved in the performance, both on stage and behind it, amazed me; the juxtaposition of nudity in a non-sexual performance intrigued me. Overall, the song lyrics were a bit cheesy and the dancing didn’t seem too demanding, but I still thoroughly enjoyed every moment of Lido. It was one of the most memorable performances of any sort I have ever seen and I feel very happy that I got the chance to experience a real Paris cabaret.
A Vision of a Mythical Paris through Cabaret
This past Thursday night, I went to see a Cabaret show at
We were fortunate to be sitting at stage center, directly in front of the raised platform. The show commenced with a start as women filed on wearing sparkling outfits with large feathers emanating from their backs. It seemed like a scene from
There was never a pause throughout the show as each sketch had an entirely different theme. Although the themes from each scene didn’t relate to one another, nothing seemed out of place as the entrances and exits progressed with such fluidity that I barely had time to digest what was taking place in front of my eyes.
The cabaret performance pulled from all realms of the exotic, with scenes devoted to far-off places and animals. One of the most vivid images remaining in my mind is the cat scene, during which the mannerisms of the women imitated the cat with perfection. The swift turn of the head, the snobby flick of the wrist, the seductiveness of the gaze, all paid tribute to that domestic animal we know so well. Although the women personified the “sexiness” of the feline, the men played it cool with their shades and loose movements, together creating a unified vision of the animal they represented.
I remember being stunned when a massive pyramid rose from below the stage, hiding the women within. As the pyramid rotated, the women twirled and moved their arms and heads imitating the classic Egyptian style. The ornaments on their costumes, the gold of the pyramids, and the jewels covering their bodies paid tribute to the richness of this ancient civilization.
The Egyptian scene flowed perfectly to the Indian, as women dressed in elaborate saris took over the stage. At first, I was a little disappointed by how the dance moves remain
ed western, but at the scene progressed, the Indian arm postures and leg movements were incorporated in a brilliant way, bridging the orient with the occident. I was stunned when the stage descended again and waterfalls surrounded the dancers, making the scene seem like the surreal images that are often associated with Bollywood films.
The Cabaret show didn’t only capitalize on the expertise of the dancers, but also on that of acrobats, skaters, and yes, even horses! I was completely shocked when a horse was ridden onto the stage, galloping back and forth to the beat. Most of all, I had never seen a horse perform a side step (grapevine). Although the horse added something special to the performance, I can’t help but be dismayed by the poor conditions to which it must have been subjected. As a free range animal, being confined to a small stage and kept in the indoor backstage is not justified, even if for the benefit of art.
My dismay however soon turned to excitement as the stage platform rose, this time containing a small square of ice. I couldn’t believe it when the two skaters started performing their routine. They moved with speed and agility, performing the common moves that are normally associated with figure skating competitions. I took in a big breath as the male skater started to swing the female, holding just her hands. The area of the ice was so small that her rotating body extended outside the boundaries. The skaters were able to jump, skate backwards, twirl, and even lift each other without a glitch, despite the thin layer of ice (I could see the stage floor beneath) and the small surface area. Their actions required skill from the start, but the fact that they were able to succeed in spite of the conditions in which they were performing illustrates a supreme talent.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
La Haine
Vinz, Said, HubertI first saw this film two years ago, and the image that stayed with me was that of a DJ in a Parisian banlieue mixing an anti-cop rap track with Edith Piaf’s “Non, je ne regrette rien” as the camera swooped slowly over the whole neighborhood.
(It begins about 56 seconds into this clip.)
In a film that brings marginalized characters into the center, this musical combination provides the perfect symbol: a feature of maligned urban resistance united with the typically French classic of personal defiance. Though French racial politics may be divided into “gaulois” and “autres” – those whose lineage was around during the time of the Romans, and everyone else – these tracks together remind us that no matter what their ethnic origin, people who revolt against unjust authority in fact participate in a grand French tradition (for reference, see “1789”).
French culture celebrates the results of that revolution, from “liberté, égalité, and fraternité” to what must rank among the most aggressive national anthems, the Marseillaise (“May a tainted blood / Drench our furrows!”). The gruesome struggle that made these possible, however, is long in the past; if your car was torched during the French Revolution, you aren’t still around to complain about it.
By contrast, the characters and events in La Haine challenge a status quo that is alive and comfortable. Through connecting this struggle to Edith Piaf’s signature song, however, the director Mathieu Kassovitz affirms the side of resistance as an authentically French one. He raises the question of whether, in 200 years, the French will celebrate the banlieue riots that kept their country honest in the face of rising xenophobia and racism as they now celebrate Bastille Day.
This complex film casts doubt on that proposition as well; the violence in the film is impulsive and often directed at the wrong people. The characters’ method of protest is incoherent at best and senselessly destructive at worst. Of the three friends, only Hubert, a boxer who is physically capable of violence but condemns its use, is conscious of these flaws in his community’s mindset.
Although Hubert functions as the film’s conscience, Kassovitz’s screenplay continually moves away from simplistic archetypes. It becomes clear to the viewer that the conditions in which these characters live virtually guarantee the destruction of life, property, and moral codes. The irrational logic behind the boys’ methods of protest results directly from senselessness that characterizes their world.
La Haine is an ambitious film skillfully executed. What might have been a depressing, uniformly gritty liberal-guilt film instead invigorates its audience with humor, singularly French surreal symbols (“What is the significance of the cow?” people all over the internet ask), and a depth of knowledge about its subject’s social ramifications as well as its electrifying dramatic potential. In realizing that potential, Mathieu Kassovitz and the cast and crew of La Haine have created an iconic film that ranks among the best of the country it analyzes.
More than a Museum
Soon after I had arrived at the castle of Fontainebleau with several friends, Jen jokingly asked us how much money we thought it would take to buy the entire castle. As we tried to estimate the cost and insisted on staying with Jen and her billionaire husband someday in Fontainebleau after they’ve acquired the property, I was reminded of the fact that Fontainebleau actually was a residence for centuries before becoming a famous tourist attraction. Upon starting our self-guided tour of the interior, I began to think about what it would be like for the kings who once lived in this magnificent palace.
The main entrance of the courtyard was used to welcome French monarchs starting in the Renaissance period, when it was built by Francois I in the 16th century. About 200 years later, the 17th century horseshoe shaped staircase in front of the palace acted as the site of Napoleon’s formal farewell when he was exiled from France in 1814. When we first saw this grand staircase with its curvy, snakelike balconies, Jen and I couldn’t resist sprinting up the stone steps while Midori and Mackenzie took out their cameras.
In addition to the main courtyard, Francois I also was able to enjoy his spectacular art gallery, filled with frescos, wood carvings, and sculptures. Inspired by the early Renaissance art in Italy where he was being held captive, he later commissioned Italian artists Rosso Fiorentino and Francesco Primaticcio to paint frescos and create sculptures for his gallery. Religious scenes and Greek mythology are featured in the paintings, which are all displayed in glistening gold frames. Between the pictures, there are extremely life- like sculptures of various Greek gods. Walnut wood panels rest underneath the frescos and sculptures along the length of the gallery. After observing them more carefully, I could see symbols made of gold protruding from the wooden carvings. The three primary ones were the French royal symbol of the fleur de lis, the letter F for Francois, and a salamander. Legend has it that there was a devastating fire in France while King Francois’ was alive, and he saw that the salamanders were the only animals to survive the fire. Their ability to resist fire is the reason Francois chose the salamander as his symbol. I became increasingly aware of the importance of symbols like these during the course of my visit. Three interlaced crescent moons was the emblem of Henry II and later his daughter Diane. The meaning of this symbol: “until the king fills the world with his glory.” These symbols proudly illustrate the mighty presence of the monarchy royal all throughout the castle.
The grand salon was used by Napoleon I and Louis XVIII as a reception room for their royal guests. Designed in the neoclassical style, the walls of the salon were lined from floor to ceiling in colorful elaborate tapestries. The ceiling was covered in gold decorations, and included 7 sculptures of figures that each represented one of the known planets at the time. (This was before the discovery of Neptune and before Pluto became the 9th planet and then sadly got demoted as an official planet two years ago). The gold engravings on the ceiling were illuminated by an exquisite chandelier that hung in the middle of the room. The table and chairs under the chandelier were a sapphire blue color that provided a perfect contrast with their gold decorations.
When Napoleon I was the emperor of France, his signature spot in the castle was the spectacular throne room. Originally the bedroom of the kings who lived there, Napoleon transformed it into the location of his throne. He had the room completely redecorated in order to incorporate his personal imperial symbols. There was a shiny gold eagle with its wings outstretched above the letter N resting on each of the two golden poles supporting the canopy. The throne’s chair had an unbelievably bright gold frame, with a navy blue cushion and back rest. I can almost picture Napoleon issuing orders to the royal court members from his small yet marvelous chair. As we admired Napoleon’s throne in awe, we felt a strong temptation to go and sit in it ourselves. The ceiling was virtually solid gold, adored with elegant designs and figures symbolizing war, peace and the seasons. In the middle of the ceiling, there was a painting of Apollo being pulled by white horses in his chariot across the sky. He represents the sun that is shining on Napoleon during his reign, bringing him glory.
The kings were not the only ones who enjoyed the multiple splendid rooms of Fontainebleau. Queen Diane was given an 80 meter long art gallery that has paintings both on the walls and the ceiling. Diane also had her own garden, which included a statue of the goddess of hunting with her four bronze dogs. Our favorite part of the garden was the stunning peacocks that we encountered en route to the castle. We saw a pure white peacock spread out its feathers, and one whose bright blue color rivaled the royal blues that I had seen inside the castle. An ornate bedroom was furnished for Marie-Antoinette; there were delicate flower designs on the walls, canopy, seat cushions, rugs, and bed. I felt like I was walking through a garden in the spring, where everything is in bloom. Unfortunately, she did not get a chance to sleep in her pretty floral themed room due to a minor incident involving the removal of her head during the French Revolution.
For Pope Pius VII, Fontainebleau ironically served as both a place of celebration and a prison. He was invited to the castle in 1804 to crown Napoleon as the first Emperor of France. This was a monumental moment in the history of France and Fontainebleau, because he was to restore the prestige and magnificence of Fontainebleau after it had lost many of its furnishings during the French Revolution. Pope Pius VII was forced to return to Fontainebleau in 1812, where he was held as a prisoner for two years. We passed the entrance of the dungeon where the pope was kept at the end of our tour. I immediately thought of the prison gate in the Pirates of the Carribean ride at Disneyland when I saw the black gate and door with multiple key holes.
When I first decided to go to Fontainebleau last week, I was worried that the castle would be a letdown after seeing the breathtaking, lavish décor of Versailles. Yet I realized during my visit inside the Fontainebleau castle that the legends of the many kings that have lived there for nearly 8 centuries and the artistic masterpieces that we marvel at today make this place truly unique.
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