In case you missed it, catch up with the last post: Horse Tracks Mesmerism
We went to the opera. I thought it would be good for us.
I saw the sign (a production of Mozart’s Don Giovani) while walking between classes. A night at the opera. The cultural connotations were immediate and nearly magical. When I said the word, the three syllables sounded like a spell, an Italian incantation. I liked the ring of the word. I thought of Pavarotti and phantoms but first — funnily enough — of Thomas and Martha Wayne murdered in front of the future Batman. The connotations rushed in: refinement, culture, beauty, snobbery, pretention. What to do with such things? Go and find out.
I quickly organized our trip, eager to encounter “civilization” in an un-experienced form. I went looking for something, for a story of humanity, latent in a centuries-old marriage of music and narrative. I hoped to quicken at the shaking buffalo robes of an inherited culture. I hoped it might change my life.
Reflecting on the event, it was not grandiose. I did not leave weeping or pledging a new alliance to the theatre. I never saw a bright, flashing light. Yet, there was a quiet transformation. It was something like the foggy change that drifts over us while reading a beautiful novel. Something subtle, quiet, and significant. As I think of that evening at the Lexington Opera House and our group’s post-event meal at Waffle House, I am confident we encountered something simultaneously archaic and revolutionary. The opera, while not a solution to modernity’s malaise, might be a deeply potent medicine, working beneath the quick fixes and flashy “limited-time sales.”
And so, here are five reasons you should go to the Opera, ascending in importance:
I.) The opera is formal. The opera is one of the few truly formal events in modern life. Businesses, conferences, and even weddings continue a slow retreat toward informality: business casual, cocktail attire. We have few social occasions where we can dress up. Walking across campus or around town, the waves of athleisure clothes break on us like waves of fast-fashion fabrics, moisture wicking and soul evaporating. I have nothing against sportswear, but I like to think one wears them while playing a sport.
At the opera, you can wear that suit that’s been collecting dust or that evening dress that’s always felt like it was just too much. Donning such clothes feels wildly rebellious.
I loved seeing the audience and our friends dressed up. We all, in a strange way, were dressing for something other than ourselves. We were dressing for the event.
II.) The opera is difficult. Our ability to comprehend difficult entertainment is quite remarkable. We can keep track of the royal houses and dynasties of the Dune universe, or quickly acclimate ourselves to the political dynamics of ancient Japan in Shōgun. We can even handle —with some intention and occasional help — the sprawling plots of complex novels (even those tricky ones from Faulkner).
Yet, the opera is a different beast.
It provides complex plots and nuanced characterization; yet, it does this in a deeply unfamiliar way. We are not used to its delivery methods. The opera goes beyond the musical; everything is sung. Characterization, theme, and plot unfold through careful lyricism. Such lyricism is tricky. A performance of Shakespeare is lyrical, but lyrical in a very different way. In the opera, we receive no dialogues, monologues, or soliloquies. We listen to overtures, duets, and arias. And, unless you are fluent in Italian, you will usually be oscillating from the projected lyrics to the performers, attempting to hold the musical qualities beside the outworking of the drama.
We prepped for Don Giovani by reading the plot summary and trying to get the unfamiliar names straight in our minds. Who is his ex-lover? Her too? Wait, he’s not actually Don Giovani but Leporetto in disguise? The statue actually comes to life and drags him to hell?
Even with this preparation, the performance commanded our constant attention. This was a refreshingly difficult challenge. Sustained aesthetic attention is unnatural. Moreover, it is constantly undermined by our culture of distraction. The opera allows you to suspend distraction and heft the rewarding task of contemplating aesthetic complexity.
III.) The opera is long. Not only does the opera command your attention, it demands your focus for three hours. This is quite a long time. Although we are getting more and more acclimated to watching movies of a similar length, we are rather exhausted by them. Leaving the theatre, you often hear, “they should have cut 25 minutes.” Given the lack of cinema’s bells and whistles, the opera’s length is more pronounced.
You get a little ache in your leg. You squirm. You get thirsty. The opera requires a marriage between attention and patience.
Again, this is deeply incongruous with our entertainment culture. The reel’s ascendency, across social media platforms, requires no patience. It changes its face every few seconds. It’s a shapeshifter and jester, asking nothing of us but our limited attention and occasional approval.
The opera, however, is not TikTok. We don’t flick the screen when we get bored. We sit and refocus. It’s a gratifying effort. It almost feels like mental weightlifting.
Thankfully, the opera offers a mid-performance respite, the intermission. The hustle and bustle of the intermission is a lot of fun. You feel like taking up smoking cigarettes with the crowd beyond the door. Instead, you settle into the concessions line and share “hot takes” about the performance.
When you return to your seats, you sit down with a renewed sense of freshness.
IV. The opera is beautiful. Many of our inherited operas have been performed for two hundred years. They represent some of the highest achievements in musical composition and allow for the dramatic expression that can only be achieved in a live performance.
The dance between the orchestra and performers is on a tightrope. There is much that could go wrong. And so, the successful harmony of music, song, and acting is all the more impressive.
Beautiful things have a way of being preserved and protected. When you go to the opera, you reap beauty that you did not sow, handed down by the hoary protector we call culture.
V) The opera is communal. When people gather, there is always a geist. It can be a violent and brooding one, as in a mob of agitators. Or, it can be the jovial and easy feeling that washes over the grandstands at a baseball game. Whenever people come together, there is something that is produced and binds the moment.
There is a distinct geist when a group of people gather around something beautiful. I don’t mean the crowds around the Mona Lisa at the Louvre. I mean the feeling of truly encountering an aesthetic object together. Perhaps the most common example of such a communal encounter occurs in the movie theatre. When the theatre is drawn together into a moment, we feel it.
However, the geist in the opera house is more pronounced than in the movie theater. In the former, we are not atomized viewers, but the audience. We gather together and reaffirm, in a small but communal way, the beauty of life.
And, if you are fortunate enough to attend with good friends, you can relish the post-performance drink or dinner. All those opinions, questions, and evaluations that you have bottled up over the last few hours are finally shared together. Then, after all has been laid open, you sink into your seat with the pleasant feeling of your senses being exhausted. You go home with a contended sigh and the performance still ringing in your ears.
Photo: Gwen King
Alright, you got me. I’ll go to the opera
Opera doesn’t have to be difficult! I have loved letting my children watch operas like Hansel and Gretel, and even some of the lighter Mozart operas (Marriage of Figaro for example).