'Magic Flute': It's for Somebody Else, Not Me

Leah and I were on the way home from our first opera a little bit ago when she turned to me and said, "I never loved you so much as when you turned to me as the intermission curtain came down and said, 'Let's escape.' It was painful."

This was our first--and likely last--opera and I won't fault Opera Roanoke, Mozart, "The Magic Flute", the cast, the director, the set designer, the lighting guy, or a shirt and pants that fit me a bit too snug around the edge. We just didn't like it. It's not our bag and it is not likely to be. But I think we're both glad we went in the same we would have been happy to have survived our first plane crash.

The reasons for the awkward fit for us are basic: a story that edges toward the moralistic/simplistic children's book, rather than literature, music that is tuned to an ear that is not mine and an ambiance that is simply foreign to my taste. (Leah, who majored in music, agreed on all points.)

I will say that the full house was fully appreciative, laughing, clapping, leaning forward in seats and enjoying the experience in a way I did not understand. I'm tickled they liked it. I'm glad we have good opera here. But I still don't like it.