La commedia e finita . . .

I was cooking Italian with my twelve-year-old son the other day. Leoncavallo's Vesti la Giubba from Pagliacchi was playing in the background. (Pavarotti does an awesome version, but my favorite is the old, grainy recording of Enrico Caruso. Talk about pain and angst.)

As we cooked the pasta, my assistant/son was entertaining me. He does a spot-on impression of Jamie Oliver. He picked up a tennis ball.

"Look at this lemon," he said, sounding a lot like Jamie. "Fresh, lovely taste. It's literally beautiful."

"Um, Jamie?" I replied. "That's not a lemon. It's a tennis ball."

"What are you going on about, woman? Are you mad? Of course it's lemon. Look at it's beautiful yellow color!"

We went on like this for a while, and it was fun. This child always surprises me. He has a great sense of humor, and he's a bit of a rebel when it comes to following the rules. Kind of like the character of Pagliacchi. He's a rebel, too. He actually speaks at the end of the opera. (You just don't do that, people. Speaking is strictly forbidden in this musical genre. That's why they sing every bit of dialogue between arias.)

Anyway, after killing his wife and her lover in a play within a play setting, the tragic clown looks out at the audience in anguish and says, "La commedia e finita!" The comedy is over. Oh, speak to me some more, Pagliacci. Don't you just love that? Awesome, awesome. Or as Mr. Oliver would say, "Literally beautiful!"

Sometimes breaking the rules makes things better. I wish I could do the stream of consciousness thing like Faulkner. I absolutely love The Sound and the Fury. It's one of my favorite books. Wish I had the guts to throw the rules out the window and create something revolutionary. I also wish that I could use description as a literary tool like Dickens, even though it's frowned upon today. Prologues, epilogues, adverbs. I'd do them all.

As Pagliacchi would say, "La norme e finita!" The rules are over.

Which ones would you break?