Madame Butterfly

This evening, a friend of mine had invited me to come see a performance of "Madame Butterfly" at the English National Opera, in conjunction with the ENO Young Patrons.  With the tickets priced at only £15 a piece, along with a drinks reception, who wouldn't be up for a little bit of opera?

When I arrived, it was very hot in the room where the drinks reception was being held, and most people were sweating buckets.  I chatted to a few people I knew, a few I didn't, and the girl who had invited me introduced me to one of the singers who would be on stage that evening.  Very interesting chatting to her, although I mostly noticed her incredibly elegant dictation, which I guess is almost a job requirement for being an opera singer.

After an hour at the drinks reception, we were ushered to our seats for the performance.  At the first intermission, we went back to the hot room for more drinks, although by the second intermission, people had enough of the hot box, and instead stayed up in the Sky Bar to have some water before going back in for the third act.  I found myself chatting to a rather good-looking guy who was obviously into the opera, but I was struck how there was just absolutely no chemistry there, as nice and good-looking as he was.  I just got the sense he was talking to me out of politeness, with no interest whatsoever.  Kind of a shame, but really tells you how much chemistry plays a part in this whole game...

I hadn't read the story in advance (sometimes I just like to be surprised), but it did make for a few laughs among my compatriots when I was saying, "Maybe in the third act he'll come back and say it was all a big mistake!" Alas, perhaps this is why one should prefer comic over tragic operas, as I was to be sadly disappointed...  I was kind of angry at the female lead by the end of the performance, that after her husband abandoned her, instead of getting angry at him or getting revenge on him, she just killed herself.  How lame.  

I also thought it interesting that instead of keeping a young child up past his bedtime, they instead used a life-sized puppet, moved around the stage by shadowy helpers, a la the recent stage production of "War Horse", with life-sized horse puppets. Quite the impressive feat of staging!


At the end of the performance, quite a few others were heading on to an after-party, but after having so many nights recently where I got dragged into staying out when I didn't really want to, I slipped out (without saying good-bye to people), and headed home.

I texted the Young Dutchman before I got on the Underground, and unfortunately missed a call from him whilst I was down there.  (No reception in those tunnels!)  When I got above ground, he had texted to thank me for my kind words in an e-mail earlier.  I came back with a witty quip that made him laugh, reminding him once more of why he is always talking to me, the clever girl with the quick wit, so much more than any other girl.  Now if only I could find a boy who wants to sleep with me for my witty brain!