If we’re playing the word association game and I say “opera” you might come back to me with the following:
But after seeing Don Giovanni at the Benedum, if you say “opera” to me, I’m coming back to you with the following:
- 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.
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.
P.S. Don’t throw your bra on the stage. That’s frowned upon at the opera.