I can say I was at the Metropolitan Opera for some wonderful productions. This year they are celebrating 50 years at Lincoln Center, and they have enjoyed success there. Sometimes, though, I am witness to some strange goings-on, like this past Saturday.
I went to see the matinee performance of Guillaume (William) Tell, a new production and one which hasn’t been done in decades. The music is well-known to the average person, even if they don’t like opera: the performance starts with immediately recognizable movements such as the storm music often used as a meme in cartoons (Tom and Jerry comes to mind), and a passage probably best referred to as the background music to the comedic short “Bambi Meets Godzilla.” The famous overture is known as the theme for the original TV “Lone Ranger,” and probably one of the most frequently mis-hummed tunes known.* But this is not where the strange things went on. That didn’t happen until the second intermission.
After a walk to stretch my legs, I returned to my seat and dutifully went onto social media to say I was at the Met, put everything away and waited with the rest of the audience–who were also securing their social media gear–for the final act to start. Nothing happened. The orchestra had not even returned to the pit.
Somebody finally appeared onstage to announce that there was a delay and the program should resume shortly. Then they returned about twenty minutes before the production was scheduled to end, to say that circumstances had forced them to cancel the rest of the performance. An obviously enraged patron sharing my portion of the house started shouting rudely, “I want my money back!” and ignored repeated urging from the rest of us to shut up. We did file calmly out of the opera house. I assume the fellow stormed the box office in a snit. Perhaps the staff took the famous prop apple (which Tell shot off his son’s head) and shoved it into his mouth.
I found out later, via the New York Times, that an audience member has come to the Met with the ashes of his music mentor in a bag, and told anybody who would listen that he intended to scatter the fellow’s cremated remains into the orchestra pit. Apparently those who took this in simply replied, “That’s nice,” and didn’t give it a second thought. He did the deed at the intermission, causing the clearance of the orchestra pit and calling police and other law enforcement officials to investigate.
Isn’t the fault really as much with those who didn’t think about reporting the guy’s intentions to the staff at the Met, as it is for this schmuck who didn’t really think through what would happen if he threw a potential biohazard into the air where hundreds of people would be breathing? If he had asked beforehand, some accommodation could have been made to honor his mentor. As a result of his rather rash idea, the orchestra could not claim their instruments, a handful of people were treated by paramedics for handing the unknown stuff, the performance was left incomplete (and the evening performance was also cancelled) and hundreds of paying patrons–not a few of whom travelled some distance or were visiting from overseas to see the Saturday scheduled performances–were cheated of their experience. The man is known to the staff and apparently left without seeing the final act himself and, so far, is still being sought for questioning.
So I won’t get to see the end of the opera (I could ask for another performance, but the remaining dates are not good for me), and I won’t fault the Met or ask for my money back. I would, however, like to meet this fellow who ruined my day and pull a Dr. Phil on him and just ask, “What were you thinking?”
*(Most people hum the tune with all the “dadadum’s” one note until the “dum dum dum,” but if you listen you’ll find the next line does have a change of note. Don’t sweat it: it’s just good to know you have a little culture, and be proud of it.)
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