Ooh, there’ll be mutterings amongst the cognoscenti in the Dress Circle this evening. The word on the street is that all tickets for the opening night of a forthcoming production of Don Giovanni at the Royal Opera House are to be offered exclusively to Sun readers. At somewhat subsidized prices.
This story is an absolute hoot for a number of reasons. Firstly the presumption that with this offer they are bringing high culture to the proletariat is way wide of the mark, we reckon. Sun readers are a pretty mixed bunch: perhaps flirting with the Mirror or the News of the World might have been more entertaining. And anyway, it is a well-known fact that the broadsheets are a very useful tool for concealing the tabloids therein. There are plenty of blue bloods who are stoop to Murdoch’s level on a daily basis. Most importantly, the assumption that the *working classes* aren’t familiar with opera is, frankly, insulting.
But maybe the ROH is having the last laugh here. This ‘promotion’ could in fact be conceived as a work of genius rather than cynicism. Just think about the average opera plot: you’ve got tragic (or comic) love, misconceptions, misunderstandings, an unnecessarily melodramatic ending.. You get us? Whence, we pray, are today’s tales of vice, murder, incest, loathsome lotharios and cheating whores most easily drawn? The currant bun is of course one of the longest running operas in the world: it may have questionable lyrics, but all life is there, right down to the fat (chested) lady singing. Imagine the headlines:
MUFFED! Mimi’s tiny hand frozen, Rodolfo sobs.
WHAT THE BUTLER SAW: Figaro speaks exclusively to The Sun.
Or perhaps most appropriately: DON go breakin’ my heart: love rat Giovanni goes to hell…
Oh, this could be very good sport indeed.
Piccie from The Lone Beader’s flickr stream under the Creative Commons Licence.