Be Better at La Bohème
We live in a time in which elitism is no longer defined by strict boundaries. What it takes to be one of the elite class of people no longer seems to incorporate worldliness, intelligence or a strict set of affectations, rather, the rules are pliable for anyone that can afford to have two silicon pillows inserted into their pre-existing arse cheeks.
But there is one pastime and one genre that seems invulnerable to the changeability of the zeitgeist. Opera. A genre and a pastime so aggressively, proudly and unalterably boring that to regularly attend performances is to become part of an elite circle that can never be permeated by an undesirable nor changed by a society that increasingly, perversely markets ‘authentic’ reactions which one would think would spell Opera’s end.
There’s never been a better time to separate yourself from an increasingly complex crowd.
Do so with Puccini’s La Bohème at the Sydney Opera House.
You can’t go past this dazzling story of friendship and first love in La Bohème. This glittering production provides a perfect setting for one of the world’s most popular operas: in the bohemian streets of 1930s Berlin.
A poet, a painter, a musician and a philosopher walk into a bar to celebrate a sudden windfall in a lean winter. It’s Christmas Eve, and the poet has just felt the first pangs of great love. When a seamstress knocks on his door searching for candlelight, the pair fall in love faster than she can sing “Yes, they call me Mimì…”.
Between the ideals of love and art and the cruel realities of cold winters, bitter jealousies and empty pockets, two sets of lovers are trying to find their way. By the time the curtain falls, you’ll know the answer to an eternal question: Is love enough?
Yes. Everybody poops.
But the elite world of Opera pays no attention to the physical composition of the butt cheeks standing guard at the hole, as long as you can sit on them through 2 hours and 15 minutes of Rodolfo, Marcello, Musetta, Schaunard and Mimi without wishing for sweet release of death. Or checking your phone.