Wouldst the Don desire my brassiere?

If we’re playing the word association game and I say “opera” you might come back to me with the following:

  • elderly
  • Depends
  • zzzzzzzzzzzz
  • toga
  • zzzzzzzzzzzz

But after seeing Don Giovanni at the Benedum, if you say “opera” to me, I’m coming back to you with the following:

  • Mmmmrowr.
  • Lust.
  • Passion.
  • Hell.
  • WTF?!
  • Angst.
  • LOL.
  • Grief.
  • MOAR PASSION.
  • MMMMMMROWR MMMMROWR MMMMROWR.

There aren’t enough mmmmrowrs on the planet to express the mmmrowr factor of the lead in Don Giovanni, Michael Todd Simpson.

Michael. Todd. Simpson.

Man.

He is so good. So fun to watch. So believable. So yessss.

Not only is this opera so much fun in so many ways because of the comic relief provided by both the Don and his long suffering servent Leporello, and not only is this opera full of raw emotions from every part of the emoting spectrum, and not only do the voices soar, but by the time you get to the end and the Don in caught in the throes of punishment for his sins, you have no idea what you want to happen to him.

Do you want him to repent of his rakish ways and be saved?

Do you want him to go to hell for the torment he has brought to so many women?

I was torn. And so was his shirt. And it was coming off. And I was all, “FORGET HELL. JUST LOSE THE SHIRT ALREADY, FOR THE LOVE OF NIPPLES!”

And that’s not an appropriate thing to scream out in the opera, I tell you. The little old ladies do not appreciate that, but deep down, they wanted the Don to rip his shirt off too, because we were getting a little glimpse of angsty heaven as he writhed on the floor singing his heart out in a shirt that was hanging onto one broad shoulder for dear life.

I don’t want to spoil too much of this opera for you.  If you go, I hope I can convince you not to read the synopsis in the program book. You don’t need it. If you don’t already know the story of Don Giovanni, just go in not knowing. And tell me how that feels to get to the end and wonder what will happen. Of course it’s in Italian, but the translation is projected above the stage, so you don’t miss one single thing.

You have until Sunday to see this show, and after that you can kiss Michael. Todd. Simpson. arriverderci.

That’s Italian for HAWT SEX.

True story.

P.S. Don’t throw your bra on the stage. That’s frowned upon at the opera.

6 comments on this post.
  1. Minister of Truth:

    I see the one who seeks the title of Pittsburgh’s only cooter is trying to lead her fat chick whores-to-culture. From the pictures, and the way you describe it, it reminds me of a porn I once watched with a pre-seinfeld(evan) tera patrick. She was hot back then, unlike honorary-imaginary Miss Pittsburgh’s only cooter 1958 and her roaming fat chick zombie mafia and facebook clique .

  2. Butcher's Dog:

    Is this guy Bojack off the meds? Can we please block him? Whether or not you know it, Minister of Idiocy, but this site often inspires thoughtful conversation among the people who frequent it. It also mixes a healthy dose of humor, which you obviously miss most of the time. Go away, hide under your bridge until the zombies win, and when you come back out please don’t come here.

  3. Minister of Truth:

    i only come here to eat people’s children. let’s be honest, what passes for thoughtful amongst these folks, isn’t.

  4. Butcher's Dog:

    So, like, what color is the sky on the planet you’re from that has such a higher level of thought than us mere mortals, Minister of Bullshit?

  5. Liz:

    A little secret about the opera patrons? The little old ladies are thinking the exact same thing. Opera patrons know how to party.

  6. Minister of Truth:

    I came out before the interested party above was out of pampers.