A NIGHT at the opera – and I’d much rather be heading to the Marx Brothers movie, or listening to the Queen album.
Opera really isn't something I'm into to begin with. In fact, I couldn't understand why anyone would want to listen to something that takes three hours to sing when all could very well be said in under 15 minutes.
Opera's for geriatrics, I scoffed to my huffy friend, who insisted on opening my ignorant eyes.
So, I somehow found myself plonked in a plush red seat at the Espalanade concert hall on Saturday night, for the Singapore Lyric Opera's performance of Jacques Offenbach's Les Contes d'Hoffmann (The Tales of Hoffmann).
Being the opera noob I am, I could feel my brain boggling.
I surveyed my surroundings. There was no escape. My clever friend had one-upped me, making sure we were right smack in the middle of a long row. Escape would have meant treading on too many toes. I was stuck.
But a bad beginning did not mean I wasn't prepared to forgo my prejudices and try to enjoy myself.
In fact, I'd looked up Hoffman on Wikipedia and found his profile to be quite intriguing. A German writer of fantasy and horror, he was a key figure of the Romantic movement.
One of his more famous works The Sandman tells the story of a man who falls in love with an automaton, believing her to be real. When he discovered he has been tricked, he is driven into madness and jumps to his death.
I had to admit, the plot of that sounded great. But the delivery of the actual opera...well, I felt it fell a little short.
It was performed entirely in French. Sure, there were English subtitles, but I found myself reading off the screen most of the time trying to figure out what was going on, rather than observing the subtlties of the characters' actions which could have padded my experience with a little more depth.
Given the basic knowledge I had of the plot, I expected to be able to feel the menace. But I found I had little time to soak up the atmosphere considering I was constantly tripping over the subtitles.
I admit however, that I was enchanted by the opera singers and how much emotion they managed to convey in each note. Oh and the costumes were fabulously outrageous!
But in the end, I just felt lost. Blame it on my unfamiliarity with the medium of opera, but I felt that I just couldn't connect with the characters on stage.
I suppose opera is, in itself an art that's already far removed from reality.
It's not like reading a book, or even catching a movie. In books, we construct that reality based on what we know. In films, well it's constructed for us, but it's still grounded in a reality that is somewhat familiar.
But opera? Come on, nobody sings 24/7 in real life, and it really doesn't take that long to get a point across!
And okay, I admit, it became tiresome after a while, having to work so hard to keep my attention on what was going on.
But that's not to say I wouldn't give it another go. After all, it might have been very different had it been in English - it might have been as enjoyable as say, a musical even.
I suppose like many things, opera's an acquired taste. I will try it again, and hopefully next time I won't feel compelled to plan an escape route.