Footloose at the Granada

Ms. Rachow wants to point out that, when it comes to a glamorous night on the town, so much depends on the perfect footwear.

My friend Cricket’s husband is skiing with buddies. My guy’s in Las Vegas at the Grading and Excavation Expo.
We didn’t see why being without handsome escorts should stop us from gussying up and seeing what all the glitz is about at the Granada’s Grand Gala.
How often in a lifetime do you get that much alliteration in one historic event?
We’re a bit late to the opening reception. I won’t say which one of us had to get her toenails painted a fabulous scarlet with the theatrical name of “I’ve Read the Script!”
I will say the resulting pop of color sets off someone’s strappy heels, and this is the perfect way to step onto the red carpet.
As promised, there are plenty of fringed flappers and vintage vehicles decorating the street in front of the theater.
And just look at the people! There’re 1550 seats in the new Granada. Or maybe 1552, or 1553. But why quibble? The place’s wall-to-wall gorgeous, and we’re loving it.
For one heady moment I think I might’ve been transported back to my high school prom. I check my left shoulder. Nope, no corsage.
“Where’s the champagne?” Cricket asks.
We forge on through tuxes and gowns to the Founders Room where champagne flows like...um...like champagne at a grand gala.
A waiter with a tray of hors d’oeuvres hovers by. The size of these teeny treats makes me want to sing the theme to Thumbelina. However, the itsy-bitsy bites are delicious, and it’s easier to chat when my mouth isn’t so full.
We spot Susan Gulbransen, our mutual friend who’s one of the movers and shakers who hatched the grand idea of renovating a funky downtown movie theater into a world-class venue for the performing arts. If you go back to that conversation over coffee that started it all, she and her co-conspirators have been on this project for 11 years.
They’ve raised millions (52 and counting) and overseen the Granada’s resurrection with a kind of determination more commonly seen in Jack Russell terriers.
Cricket and I are among the mere mortals who stood by when the giant hole was excavated behind the Granada in order to build a parking structure to hold future theatergoers’ autos.
We watched while the back of the Granada was opened, as if the building had been bombed.
We took a tour a few months ago and tried to imagine how all that scaffolding and cement would ever be an elegant theater.
We drove by in the final days before the gala, when it seemed they’d never get done in time for the opening.
But they did, and now here we are toasting the magic of possibility. Gracias, gracias, to all the people who made this happen. The Granada is grand.
Now Cricket and I must test a critical aspect the theater -- the ladies room, which boasts twice the number of stalls as the nearby Arlington, and hooray! It make’s a difference. Nice tile, too.
Then it’s show time. In fact, the performance has begun by the moment we tiptoe in. The party atmosphere has suspended usual symphony etiquette, and people already seated are tolerant of those who mill in late. More gracias.
There’s been a lot of buzz about the Granada’s great acoustics. Centuries of knowledge went into this engineering experiment, but no one really knows how the theater will sound until there are humans in the seats and the orchestra plays.
Immediately it’s clear the architects of sound knew exactly what they were doing. It’s also evident that not everyone is completely over the bug that’s been going around town. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, we have coughers. And I’m one of them.
I pop a lozenge in my mouth, focus on yoga breathing, and pray. My eyes water, and the top of my head explodes, but somehow I manage to get the situation under control. We settle in for history to unfold before our eyes and ears.
The smorgasbord of a program includes opera, orchestra, a piano solo, ballet, flamenco, and chorus. Hey, there’s my neighbor, Debbie Stewart, in the front row of singers offering a taste of Carl Orf.
Our community has a new treasure in the Granada, which, as you might’ve read means “pomegranate” in Spanish. It also means “grenade,” a perfect word for the explosion of sights and sounds on opening night.
Now try to imagine the colors of toenail polish Cricket and I will try over the next 100 years.
First published in the Montecito Journal March 27, 2008