Opera for teenagers, perhaps The poster of Rufus Norris's production The scene was set. Advertisements on the South West trains with a Antonio Banderas look-alike staring out intensely. The tickets were cheap, for an Opera. They would have been cheaper in the former Soviet block countries. The opera was sung in English and even though we were up in the Gods and my son felt a touch of vertigo, there was a friendly atmosphere, more of the atmosphere of a people's variety show than an upper class hail-and-well-met meet. Two older gentlemen in cockney accents discussed the opera behind us and instead of screens on the back of plush leather armchairs, there was a small signboard above the stage, between Apollo's chariots, that could equally have been used to announce train arrivals. But it only scrolled the singers' words once. My son hadn't been warned so he didn't have any smart shoes. Luckily we were almost the same size, but my second pair ha
Left wing commentary from the heart and the head