It's Simply Not Opera......

I went to the opera at the weekend. It's my idea of a perfect night out. I have never been one for pubs and clubs, and so I relish my nights of culture a lot.

Now, I will admit to being a bit of an opera snob – in music appreciation at school we were taught the rules about what you don't do at classical concerts/opera, and what you do. With this training in mind you kind of expect everyone else who is attending such a concert with you to do conform to the “cultural norms” and behave similarly. Well, I'm afraid it doesn't appear so.

Take my night out last weekend. Hubby and I had booked to see “The Barber of Seville” - a very well-known comic opera by Rossini. The evening arrived and the first dilemma hit me. What to wear? On the previous visit to such an occasion I had worn my black cocktail dress with a shawl around my shoulders, but on arriving at the theatre, I felt completely overdressed. Whilst most people were smart-ish, some folks were there in jeans (some of them very scruffy), and logo t-shirts – some of which had decidedly dodgy language on them. I know opera is trying to rid itself of its elitist “stuffy” image, but this seemed a little too far. I scurried to my seat and stayed there all evening! I thought people dressed up for nights out, especially such a traditional one as going to the opera.....they do, don't they?

With this in mind, I was in a bit of a dilemma last weekend, however “it's MY night out”, I thought, and decided to put on my sparkly cocktail dress. If I was overdressed – tough!

Well, granted the torn jeans and scruffy shoes brigade were there, but fortunately this time I didn't feel quite as obvious. I got to think about how sad it is that standards in this country have slipped to such a level that actually dressing oneself up for special occasions doesn't happen any more. Soon “putting on one's gladrags” will be a thing of the past I reckon.....

We find our seats on the lower stalls and within a few minutes the orchestra strikes up with the overture, from the almost subterranean orchestra pit, to a full house. The stage scenery is mind-blowing, and with the aid of optical illusions, the stage looks even more vast than it is. Or at least, what I can see of it. An overly tall female plonked herself and her mammoth hairdo down right in front of me, so I had to peek around her. Darn. I had paid good money for these seats and now I had a view of a back of a head. And who IS that wearing the “claggy” perfume? Phew it is strong!

Act 1 starts, as does my next irritant. For anybody reading this blog who isn't an opera “nut” then within one Act are a number of arias (songs sung by the performers). Now, if the audience had done their research (yes, there are websites about opera etiquette for the uninitiated) they wouldn't have bugged me nor the die-hard opera-goers off. What is SUPPOSED to happen is that the audience are only supposed to applaud after the overture and then at the end of each Act. NOT after every single aria. That would be like applauding after every scene change on a soap opera!!! It interferes with the flow of the performance and it just gets really really bugging. Well, this audience obviously had very cold hands as clapping they did. A lot. Sometimes even DURING the arias. The person beside me even decided to accompany their applause with a seal-like bark, which made me wonder if they were choking on their Pimms that they had smuggled in from the bar with them.

The interval. Ah yes, time to move about. The elderly person next to me asks their friend, “where's the band? Is the music pre-recorded, as I can't see the man waving the stick”. Oh dear. Time for more Pimms. Sounds like it is needed. And it seems that the woman in the claggy perfume has vanished to the bar too as the air is decidedly clearer,

temporarily.

After 15 minutes the bell rings to call people back to their seats. Back comes claggy-perfume-lady (you could tell she had returned even though we couldn't see her), and my seal-barking neighbour, voicebox no doubt lubricated by a Pimms or two. Skyscraper woman returns too, and I resume the job of looking round her to see what is happening. Act 3 starts – the final Act. Aside from the never-ceasing clapping (this was getting tiresome!) there was also another opera faux-pas. Foot stamping. My seal-barking, clapping neighbour decided to show their appreciation by almost running on the spot whilst sitting in their seat, probably causing a minor tsunami in Japan in the effort. This was soon taken up by a percentage of the audience, and I feared that the Grand Circle and the gods were going to fall on top of us! Meanwhile my seal-barking, clapping neighbour was getting quite breathless with the exertion of their foot-stamping, so much so that I was getting a little concerned for their welfare.

The performance ends amidst a cacophony of applause (have to say it was well deserved), stamping (shudder), some yelling (noooooo!) and the odd whistle (no no NOOOOO!!!). The response this opera got equalled that to the last rock concert I went to! The curtain fell, eventually, and people of all ages scuttled exitwards at a lethal rate, clutching programmes and discussing what a “jolly good show” it was – which I have to agree with.

Maybe next time I will take a cushion.........