It was a long Monday. I operated follow-spot for Mozart’s Cosi Fan Tutte, which is allegedly supposed to be good but maybe I wasn’t watching it right.
Yeah, there was technical excellency–music, voice, light, magic, all turned out fine. The one thing that didn’t turn out fine–also the most important thing and the one thing you really can’t change–was the story. Even with the translation and narration and a little synopsis in the playbill it didn’t make any sense. Again, I admit that maybe I wasn’t watching it right–maybe you’r supposed to, like many of the theatre patrons did, get really drunk to enjoy it. But I had a job to do, and amn’t old enough to drink, so that was really out of the equation. I had to suffer three hours of flat characters melodramatically manipulating each other and the end result was a rancid feeling in my mouth. I was supposed to care about these people? I didn’t. I was supposed to be interested in them? I wasn’t, unless you count hoping they die soon a form of interest.
Another interpretation is that Cosi Fan Tutte was really intended for an 18th century audience, and so it’s not really a surprise I didn’t like it. This may also be true, but it doesn’t mean I like it any more than I already didn’t.
P.S. What’s up with the word opera, anyway? It reminds me of math. Anything that reminds you of math should automatically be considered evil. That’s what’s up, dog.