Aida is set in Egypt because people like seeing exotic things without getting off their couches. That’s why there are so many operas about hookers. This one’s not about a hooker. It’s about the captain of the Egyptian guard, Radames, who is in love with an Ethiopian slave, Aida. Aida is the slave of the Egyptian Princess Amneris, who is in love with Radames.

The Ethiopians are coming and Isis tells Radames to go  conquer them. Isis isn’t actually in this opera. She’s working flex time and telecommutes.

The Ethiopian army is lead by Amonasro, king of Ethiopia. Amonasro happens to be Aida’s father, which everyone in Egypt would know if they had read the synopsis in their programs. Aida does not know which team colors to wear.

Radames comes back victorious, trailing several captors including the man he would like to call his father in law. Amonasro is dressed as a captain and although Aida greets him as his father, they still don’t know he’s king. The people all say to have pity on the captors. The priests say that sounds like a good idea and they’ll get right on it after they’ve had them killed. The king of Egypt congratulates Radames and invites him to marry his daughter. Considering what kind of mood the priests are in, Radames doesn’t mention his preference for Aida.

Amonasro, who is kind of a jerk, reminds Aida that Radames just killed a bunch of her friends and conquered her homeland. She’s unphased by this logic.

Radames had figured that if he conquered the Ethiopians, he’d be able to come home and marry Aida. He’s just not that into Egyptian princesses (especially kind of bitchy ones). Aida suggests they run off together and Radames spills the beans that the Egyptian army will be going through a super secret pass the next day so it will be unguarded and they can go that way. The king of Ethiopia then blows it all by triumphantly announcing to anyone who will listen that Radames is a traitor and the Ethiopians will now sneakily attack them in the super secret pass, because no one had invented or cracked the Enigma yet. Or figured out how to read ahead in the programs, for that matter.

Radames is tried as a traitor and the priests, who are still in a mood, announce that he should be buried alive. Radames goes into his brandy spandy new tomb which they’ve prepared for just such an occasion and as they push the big stone closed over his head, he notices that Aida is in the tomb with him. She snuck in the night before and no one thought to stop her because who wants to be in a tomb that’s about to be sealed if you’re not actually dead yet?

The next bit requires some stage trickery because Aida and Radames are singing in the tomb while Amneris et al are above, wringing their hands (or toasting themselves, depending). Everyone sings and then - you know I spoil all the surprise endings, right? - they die. For good measure, Amneris comes around just in time to be equally miserable (but less dead).

Salome is perhaps the reason I like opera.

When I was in high school, a french horn player named Michael Gast played Salome for me. He explained what was happening in the music as well as the plot. It was like watching a hockey game with someone who not only knew about hockey, but knew rude stories about all the players. There are a lot of rude stories about the players in Salome.

Watching it now, there’s something familiar about this opera but I can’t quite put my finger on it. There’s lingerie and death and sex and more sex and death and cryptic innuendo and… sweet baby Elmo, I’m watching a Lady Gaga video.

As with many of the best sex and violence operas, Salome is a Bible story. It’s the story of King Herod, his prisoner John the Baptist/Jokanaan and his stepdaughter Salome. Herod recognizes that John/Jokanaan is in tight with God and doesn’t especially want to turn him over for execution because, you know, plagues of locusts, 40 days 40 nights, whale indigestion, blah blah blah. Herod is also a lecherous ass.

The whole opera takes place on one set, which probably pissed the union right off. In the middle of the set is a grill covering a pit which leads to the green room in which Jokanaan hangs out. He sings up through the grill just often enough to make everyone nervous.

Narraboth, the captain of the guard, starts the ball rolling with his wing man, the page. The page warns him about Salome, but Narraboth’s eyes go all twirly and he won’t shut up about her until Jokanaan starts bellowing biblical prophecy. Note: do not invite prophecy-spewing guests to parties and leave the opening to their prisons where people can hear them.

Salome comes away from the feast because she can’t stand how Herod looks at her. She hears Jokanaan and asks who he is. She quizes the guards about him, and then asks to see him. The guards are not down with that and, since they are probably eunics, don’t give in. Narabaath is not a eunic.

He brings out Jokanaan, who launches into a tirade about Herodias - Salome’s mother/current wife of Herod. Herodias richly deserves his wrath. Salome listens and thinks he’s a total dreamboat, or at least her kind of effed-up. Jokanaan asks who she is and when she identifies herself as the daughter of Herodias he tells her to go to the wilderness and eat nuts and berries until she’s redeemed of the Lord. She counter-offers with a suggestion to just do it right here, right now. Narraboth is all kinds of jealous and kills himself. No one notices. Salome keeps begging Jokanaan to kiss her.

“I’ll be in my dungeon if anyone needs me” Jokanaan mutters over his shoulder, descending back into the pit/green room and pulling the grate shut behind him.

Herod and Herodias appear and Herod asks for Salome in a manner inappropriate to their stepfather - stepdaughter relationship. Herodias may or may not junk kick him and tell him to stop being such an a-hole.

Jokanaan puts in his two cents. Herodias tells him to zip it and taunts Herod for being afraid of him. Herod waxes theological, Nazarenes talk of miracles, Herodias is annoyed and the choir dozes. On a roll, Herod asks Salome to dance for him, summoning her stripper pole. She says no. He says “please oh please I’ll give you a pony.” She says no. He says “anything you want! I’ll give you anything you want! Pleeeeeeeze…..?”

“Promise?”

He promises on a stack of lunch meat. Salome dances. There is nudity. And then she asks for the head of Jokanaan on a silver platter. Herod faints. Herodias cheers. She gives his ring to the soldiers and issues the command.

In the dungeon the soldiers are all drawing straws. Salome waits, tapping her watch. Finally the head appears.

Salome takes the head, reminds it of the refused kiss, and snogs the severed head of Jokanaan.

Herod screams like a little girl and tells the soldiers to kill her. They do.

The end.

What do you mean you don’t know this story?

There have been several Romeo and Juliet operas written, but the one you’re likely to see is by Gounod. You may know Gounod by such runaway hits as Faust and Mireille. Gounod wrote 14 operas, most of which were not especially successful and two of which he wrote after he died.

Or posthumously. Whatever.

The opera starts with Romeo and Mercutio crashing a Capulet party. They’re there because Romeo had a dream and since it’s a masked ball, they mostly get away with it. In the Ballad of Queen Mab, Mercutio blames the dream on Romeo eating spicy foods before bed.

Also at the party is Paris, who’s supposed to be marrying Juliet but is awfully ho hum about her. Either he’s gay or he has something against marrying teenage girls. We will never know.

Romeo chats up Juliet. They are smitten. Romeo realizes she’s a Capulet daughter. A Capulet senses a Montague disturbance in the force and Romeo and Mercutio run for their lives. The Capulets party on.

Act II is all “wherefore art thou, Romeo?” And those crazy kids decide to get married in Vegas.

Friar Laurence’s cell is closer than Vegas, so they get married there.

Everything’s going to be tickety boo and love will conquer all, until the Montagues and the Capulets decide to use each other as pin cushions. Romeo stands down and calls for a group hug. No one has any idea what he’s talking about. Tybalt (a Capulet) skewers Mercutio (Montague) and Romeo makes his first big mistake with the inlaws and kills Tybalt. Violence is never the answer - but Tybalt totally had it coming. The Duke doesn’t see it this way, and exhiles Romeo.

Romeo again sneaks into the Capulet garden and spends the night “singing” with Juliet.

Juliet asks Friar Laurence for help and he comes up with the poison that will make her seem dead but not really dead. Or it turns her into a zombie. Now that I think of it, this story could have ended much worse.

Wedding guests arrive and everyone is excited for cake. Capulet tells Juliet her moment of glory has come and she can marry Paris. Juliet says “I don’t think so” and falls at his feet in a dead-like pile. Awkward.

Romeo does not get the memo. He enters Juliet’s tomb, finds her dead, and drinks poison. Before the poison finishes him off, Juliet wakes up and they sing the “Dieu de bonté” aria, which is french for “are you effing kidding me?” Juliet finds herself inexpicably hungry for brains and stabs herself with Romeo’s dagger. They die in each other’s arms, singing for forgiveness.

The.

End.

If you are wondering what has gotten into us, we are posting fast and furiously because Trout Towers is hosting Opera Hell Week: Seven Days, Seven Operas and the Trouts’ friends need all the help they can get. The seven operas are: La Fille du Régiment, La Bohème, Tosca, Romeo and Juliet, Salome, The Barber of Seville and Magic Flute. Feel free to follow along.

They’re watching streaming HD from the Metropolitan Opera’s Met Player. It’s cheap and there are tons of operas to watch.* We at Opera Betty maintain that HD opera broadcasts are a gateway to hardcore live opera use. First one’s free.

And now, to Tosca!

I love Tosca because the first video I ever watched of it featured a not particularly attractive or svelte Tosca and when she threw herself from the ramparts she did so with the finesse and grace of a rhino on fire. It was truly hilarious and I rewound it mercilessly.

Tosca also has some of my favorite music - Scarpia’s “Va Tosca” (with the Te Deum in the background) and the scene in which Tosca is heard singing outside Scarpia’s window. Listen for it.

Act I takes place inside a church in Rome. Angelotti, an escaped political prisoner, rushes in, finds a hidden key and ducks  into one of the gated chapels. Mario Cavaradossi is painting a fresco of the Madonna in the church and returns to work soon after Angelotti’s arrival. Recognizing Mario as a fellow Bonapartist, Angelotti reveals himself. No, not like that.

Mario locks the door to the church and offers Angelotti help. The locked door rouses the suspicions of the already jealous Tosca, a famous opera singer. Opera singers are like that. He manages to shoo Tosca away, but not before she notices the Madonna looks like someone she knows. She leaves,  a ticking bomb of jealousy. The woman Mario is painting as the Madonna happens to be Angelotti’s sister but neither Tosca nor Mario know that. The only reason it’s important is the sister left clothes for Angelotti because he likes dressing in women’s clothing when he’s escaping from prison. Angelotti leaves his sister’s fan behind because it doesn’t match his eyes.

Angelotti and Mario hear the cannons signaling an escaped prisoner and dash off together. Angelotti will hide at Mario’s pad. Wearing his sister’s dress. Oh, the indignity.

Tosca comes back to find Mario gone.

Scarpia, the chief of police, wants Tosca in a not particularly healthy relationship kind of way. He finds the fan and uses it to get Tosca in a twist about Mario and Angelotti’s sister. She storms off to find Mario and Scarpia sends a spy after her. This is when he sings the “I love it when a plan comes together” aria, accompanied by a bunch of choirboys.

Act II is in Scarpia’s apartment. He’s having dinner by himself because everyone hates him. His window is open and this is when you hear Tosca singing below. He sends a message to her to come up when she’s quite finished.

The spy he sent to find Angelotti returns, without Angelotti. To appease Scarpia, he’s brought Mario instead. The two bicker about where Angelotti is long enough for Tosca to arrive. And then Scarpia sends Mario off to be tortured.

Eventually Tosca can’t stand the sound of Mario being tortured and she spills the beans. Mario is brought out and told that Tosca gave up Angelotti’s hiding place. He is displeased. They usher him off to prison.

Tosca asks Scarpia what his price is to release Mario, which is a big mistake. Scarpia cannot resist a woman who hates him and absolutely cannot wait to get his hands on Tosca. He tells her as much. She sings “Vissi d’arte” which is quite famous and is about how she’s dedicated her life to art and love and a hell of a lot of good it’s done her.

Scarpia says, “I’m having him executed, so, uh, what do you think? You? Me?”

Tosca says “you are one seriously creepy dude so make it quick and make sure Mario and I have travel papers to Bermuda.” Scarpia tells his henchman to make it a mock execution and gives him the signal about what kind of mock he means.

Alone with Tosca, Scarpia writes the requested letter and signs it just as Tosca, seriously grossed out at the thought of him, spots a knife on his table. And kills him. You go, girl.

Tosca then scampers to find Mario in prison, where he’s already singing about how much he loves her. They sing together and she tells him she killed Scarpia. He thinks that’s totally hot. She tells him not to worry and brings him up to speed on the mock execution and the trip to Bermuda.

The guards come get Mario. He’s very brave since they’re not really going to kill him. After the firing squad has mockly executed him and gone off to breakfast, Tosca tells Mario he can get up. He doesn’t get up because they left out the mock part when they executed him.

There’s a kerfluffle as Scarpia’s minions discover she’s killed him and they come for her. Since Mario’s already dead and there’s nothing to live for, she tosses herself over the wall - either to her death or into a gorse bush. It’s hard to tell how high up they are.

and…. curtain.

*this is, sadly, a neither paid nor requested endorsement.

La Fille du Régiment is the story of an abandoned child who narrowly escapes becoming the Duchess of Krakenthorp. No one wants to have to introduce herself as the Duchess of Krakenthorp. It’s a bitch to spell.

Marie, the non-Duchess of Krakenthorp, was found and adopted by the 21st regiment. I don’t even want to know what that entailed. I’m sure it was honorable.

The opera starts out with the Marquise of Berkenfield (who we do not know is Marie’s mother) and the butler (who did not do it). They are traveling to their castle and are concerned about the fighting nearby. Sulpice, the 21st regiment sergeant, arrives to escort them.

A prisoner, thought to be a spy since he’s been trailing the regiment, is brought to Sulpice. Marie identifies him as Tonio, a Tyrolean local who once saved her life. She is in love with him. He’s in love with her. They are doomed doomed doomed because she has to marry someone from the regiment. He joins the regiment and sings the tight underpants aria.*

Meanwhile, Sulpice is putting together the name Berkenfield with the name on a note left with the orphaned baby. The marquise claims that Marie is her niece and was left in her care until she was accidentally forgotten on the bus/eaten by dingos/abandoned in a cave. Her niece cannot possibly marry a soldier, so she takes Marie to her castle, scrubs her up, teaches her to play the harpsichord and prepares her to marry the Duke of Krakenthorp. It’s very much like My Fair Lady, except not.

Marie does not want to marry the Duke of Krakenthorp because she is an ungrateful little regiment hussy who doesn’t know where her cake is buttered. Poor Marie. But then! The 21st regiment arrives, bringing Tonio. They are reunited! Tonio demands the marquise allow them to marry.

The Marquise of Berkenfield says “not while you’re living under this roof, young lady!” and forbids Marie to marry Tonio. She then admits to Sulpice that Marie is not her niece. Marie is her own illegitimate daughter, who she abandoned for fear of dishonor. Abandoning your baby is way classier.

When Marie finds out the marquise is her mother, she has a sudden change of heart and stops refusing to marry Krakenthorp. Wedding guests arrive.

The marquise, in turn, has a change of heart (remember, she’s the one who got knocked up in the first place by some hot scoundrel) and gives Marie and Tonio her blessing. This is a comedy, so they all live happily ever after. Is there anything funnier than the concept of living happily ever after?

*La Fille du Régiment is famous for the tenor’s aria “Ah! mes amis, quel jour de fête!” which entails nine high Cs. Although it entails nine high Cs, it is not a drinking song because there is no everclear.** To sing it, the tenor in question would do well to wear my son’s Buzz Lightyear underpants, size 4T, although that might make him somewhat less desirable to Marie and cause all sorts of trouble within the regiment.

**Everclear does not sing this opera.***

***Can you even have an asterisk within an asterisk? And why do people say “asterix?”

I’m not going to tell you how to pronounce Il Barbiere di Siviglia because it’s kind of like ordering Mexican food. I mean, if you’re at La Scala, you should probably brush up on your Italian but otherwise it’s perfectly okay to just order the chicken burritos.

If that did not make sense to you, this opera is only going to make it worse.

Let’s start with the characters. Count Almaviva is in love with Rosina. Rosina is the ward of Dr. Bartolo. Dr. Bartolo wants to marry Rosina. Rosina wants to marry Count Almaviva. Figaro helps make it all happen. Figaro is the Barber of Seville.

Almaviva arrives with his servant Fiorello and a band of musicians. They stand beneath Rosina’s balcony and Almaviva serenades her at dawn. Late sleeping Rosina does not appear. The musicians, telling each other to be quiet, wake the whole town.

Almaviva pays them and sends them away. He sticks around, hoping to see Rosina and have a word with her. He hears Figaro approaching and ducks into a doorway. Figaro is a loudmouth.

Figaro arrives and sings the Bugs Bunny aria.

Did you know that if you search online for Rabbit of Seville, the only videos you find are in Spanish? It’s true.

The Barber words are slightly different from the Rabbit version. This one is about how resourceful he is and how everyone is always asking him for something and calling him.

“Figaro! Figaro! Feeeeeee-ga-row!”

He goes on and on about how great he is and how nothing gets done without him. It would be annoying if he weren’t so darn charming.

Figaro and Almaviva recognize each other and Figaro asks what brings the Count to town. Almaviva explains about stalking Rosina.

Rosina appears on her balcony holding a note. Just as she sees the Count Almaviva, Dr. Bartolo comes out and demands to see the note. Rosina convinces him she’s just written out the lyrics to an aria from a popular opera. Dr. Bartolo does not like opera, the people who watch it, or the people who perform it. She accidentally drops the note and asks Bartolo to get it, knowing he won’t bother. She signals to Almaviva that it’s for him.  Bartolo shoos her inside.

The note says that Rosina has noticed Almaviva and she thinks he’s kind of cute. Bartolo will be going out soon and she hopes Almaviva will introduce himself.

Bartolo does go out, and Rosina appears on the balcony. Almaviva sings to her, calling himself Lindoro so she doesn’t fall for his title and wealth. It’s like Coming to America except they don’t come to America. He tells her he can’t offer her anything but his devotion. She swoons. He swoons. She hears someone coming and goes inside.

Almaviva hires Figaro to help him marry Rosina.

Bartolo has conscripted Basilio to help him finagle a marriage to Rosina. Madness ensues. The Count arrives as a soldier and again as a substitute music teacher (Alonzo). Bartolo tricks Rosina into thinking that Lindoro is  tricking her into marrying Count Almaviva and he does not love  her at all. Rosina agrees to marry Bartolo and confides that Lindoro/Alonzo/Almaviva and Figaro are planning to sneak in that night. They plan to trick them when they arrive.

Except when they arrive, Lindoro/Alonzo/whoever-the-flip-he-is tells Rosina he’s actually Count Chocula. Wait, no, Count Almaviva. She is tickled pink. A notary arrives to draw up the marriage contract between Bartolo and Rosina. Figaro has the notary make the contract between Almaviva and Rosina. The Count asks Basilio to be a witness. Basilio obliges. (Ballistics and bribery may or may not have been involved. )

Bartolo arrives, but it’s too late. There’s much rejoicing. The Count lets Bartolo keep Rosina’s dowery, which makes everything right in Bartolo’s world. Chorus sings. Curtains close.

The end.

First of all, I don’t know how to tell you to pronounce “Turandot.” Opera critic people pronounce the “t” because it’s a Persian name, but in the opera they say Tour-an-dough because it’s in Italian. So good luck with that.

Turandot is a princess who is supposed to get married but would rather have her suitors executed. I think anyone who’s been on a blind date can appreciate that. She is mind numbingly beautiful, so suitors keep signing up for the challenge. If the suitor can answer three riddles, he gets to marry her. If not, he gets his head chopped off. Fair? Fair.

A Persian prince is about to be executed and a crowd has gathered to watch. It’s like Monday night football. In the frenzy, Timur, exiled Tartar king, is pushed to the ground and Liu, his slave girl, cries for help to protect him. Who should stumble upon them (not literally) but Calaf, the exiled Tartar prince. They are all disguised because of, you know, being exiled.

This happy little reunion is interrupted by the appearance of the doomed Persian prince. Turandot has the opportunity to save him, but doesn’t. He’s executed and his head goes on the curio shelf with all the others. Calaf thinks that’s kind of awesome and rings the gong announcing himself as the next suitor. Calaf is an idiot.

When Calaf’s turn comes, he miraculously answers all the riddles correctly. Turandot is pissed. Calaf is still an idiot so he says “if you discover my name by sunrise, you can go ahead and kill me.” Rumpelstiltskinesque hilarity ensues.

Things are looking good for Calaf until his father and Liu are dragged in. Liu insists that she alone knows the name, to protect Timur. Why is she so hot and bothered about protecting Timur? Because she is in love with Calaf, of course. So they torture her. When Turandot asks Liu what gives her such courage, Liu says “love.” Which Turandot finds irritating. She tells her minions to keep up the good work.

Afraid she will eventually be forced to tell, Liu grabs a dagger and kills herself. And then the sun rises.

Turandot and Calaf find themselves alone. Calaf tells her how cruel and heartless she is and then kisses her, despite her protests (about the kiss. She was probably in total agreement about the cruel and heartless part). Turandot then realizes that Calaf is not only an idiot, he is totally hot. He tells her his name, in case she still feels like killing him, and when the time comes to announce his name, she says his name is “love.”

Turandot was Puccini’s last opera and was unfinished when he died.  If he hadn’t finished the end, maybe he meant for Turandot to say “Calaf? Meh. Kill him.”