La Boheme

I don't know, maybe I didn't like it because I'd already had my fill of culture this week (see previous post). Maybe it was because, thanks to the Tube Strike, I had to walk from Green Park to Leicester Square without a map.  Maybe it was because I had a crappy seat.  But regardless of the reason, I found the English National Opera's rendition of La Boheme a bit painful.

Sure, Puccini's La Boheme is a classic (I loved Rent!).  The performers obviously possessed a hyperbolic amount of talent and dedication.  The dimly lit red decor of the opera house even creates a cooly impressive vibe.  But I just couldn't get into the whole thing!  As soon as the curtain went up and Marcello started whining about the weather, I knew it was going to be a long night.

I think the writing might also have had something to do with my disgust.  I know I'm in no position to criticize Puccini or anything, but let's just get one thing straight.  So your characters meet because one of them needs a light for her candle, the other one steals her key when she drops it, and then precisely thirty nine seconds later the two are halfway through a ballad about their undying love for one another?  That sounds a little over the top to me.