Opera: not just for granny killers

When I tell people that I'm going to the opera they tend to look at me as though I've just disclosed that I plan to spend the entire night murdering pensioners behind the local supermarket. So I'm writing to reassure you all that opera attendance is a perfectly normal, non-weirdo, socially acceptable activity, even for those under the age of 45. Don't get me wrong, opera lives up to all of its stereotypes - long, complicated ridiculous plots are certainly the order of the day. You know when they hand you a plot synopsis on the way in that it's usually because you're going to need it to be able to make head or tail of what the hell is going on on the stage, but really, one shouldn't fret too much about plot cramming in the five or so minutes between getting to your seat and having the lights go off because all opera plots are basically the same - once you get one worked out you're basically ready for anything. Also, you shouldn't worry that you're not going to understand a thing that anybody sings... it's ok, nobody else in the audience is going to either - that's what surtitles are for. Which brings me to another point - sitting in the front row at the opera isn't actually all that crash hot an idea. For starters you'll probably end up with terminal neck strain from trying to read the surtitles (which are like subtitles, except they're up the top) and it's quite possible that you may also need an umbrella. I'll let you work out what for. Basically opera can be summed up in a nutshell in three statements: Nobody ever does anything quickly (even if a character happens to realise the need to do something urgently, they'll probably spend at least the next ten minutes singing a song about it). Nobody ever says anything just once (even something as 'hello! My name is Chris' can take a good fifteen minutes). Nobody is actually who they say they are (which means that you should never ever assume that any poor beggar type who gets to sing more than three words isn't in actual fact insanely rich).




The Barber of Seville is a comedy set in a health spa owned by Dr. Bartolo who is determined to marry his ward, the beautiful Rosina, who describes herself as docile, meek, easily led and an outright manipulative bitch if anyone tries to stand in the way of what she wants. The Count Almaviva is the creepy dude lurking around the place singing under balconies and whatnot who has fallen in love with Rosina (which is totally cool with her, because hey, she's in love with him... whoever he is), but doesn't want her to know that he's a Count and thus in his attempts to see her goes through about a million or so improbable disguises which Rosina sees through immediately but the Doctor falls for every time. Helping Almaviva is the town barber, Figaro (yes, this is the 'Figaro Figaro Figaro!!' opera) who actually doesn't have any ulterior motives. Since this opera isn't a tragedy all of the characters are still alive in the end and most of them actually end up happy... except of course for the pervy old doctor of course, because lets face it, who wants a story that ends with 'and the oppressive old man got exactly what he wanted'?

Right, even if I haven't convinced you to immediately run out and buy tickets to the longest, weirdest most over the top opera you can find, I at least hope that the next time someone tells you that they're going to the opera you'll say something a little more encouraging than 'err.....'