If you were looking for me last night, you would have found me hob-nobbing in the orchestra section of the War Memorial Opera House. Indeed, it was another packed night for Billy Budd, the runaway Opera success of the year. 

I’m pretty sure Ebert and Roper gave it two thumbs up (“The can’t miss sea faring English opera of the year!”), but in case you want another opinion I’ll give you mine. You should know that I’m not really an Opera lover. I’m no hater, but let’s just say that this is the first one I’ve been to in the five years I’ve been in SF.  

But I know a thing or two about good shit. You know, the events that make you scream out, Yeah, that’s what I’m talking about. Billy Budd! Where can I get me one of those sailor costumes? Or like when you come out of the theater shadow boxing because it got you so pumped up. 

It seems like the important part about Operas is for them to be mellifluous. I don’t really know what that word means, but it gives me a warm fuzzy feeling that I think Operas should give me too. You don’t really need to understand what all’s going on in the Opera, you just need to leave thinking that it was cool and beautiful and you pretty much get it and you understand who died and why. Billy Budd didn’t do that. In fact, they tried too hard to make me understand what was going on. Why were all these sailors and officers in love with Billy Budd? And why did they want to kill him at the same time? And why was he so damn hot? They tried to hard to answer the questions, their dialogue atop some serious baritone vibrato.  

Oh, did I mention that it the whole damn thing was like a play but people singing the dialogue? Yeah, didn’t do it for me. No mellifluousity. But they did have classic costumes, if you’re really in to three-cornered hats and knickers.