A Morning at the Opera

In a past life, I reviewed classical music—primarily opera—for a San Francisco alternative weekly.  My complaints were usually about the performers or direction—rarely would I mention the audience.  But all that’s changed since I’ve been attending live HD transmissions from the Metropolitan Opera at our local movie theater.

The Met recently reported that the average age of its audience is 57, but I’m sure they got those numbers reversed, based on what I see locally. Start with an art form that appeals to an older set. Then cut ticket prices by 85 percent and have the performances on a Saturday morning, in a nearby theater with plenty of free parking. Add the appeal of not having to dress up—and you can even munch on popcorn during the performance. The results are like something from “Night of the Living Dead.”

Old people everywhere! Seniors in varying states of decay, some in wheelchairs or hooked up to oxygen—the fortunate ones clinging to the arm of a slightly younger companion. A few are dressed in lavender or yellow track suits, grinning like superannuated Easter bunnies.

But they’re at the opera! They can enjoy a world-class performance for a mere $25 and visit with their friends at the same time. Fortunately, most are attentive to the music and restrict their socializing to intermissions. A few nod off, and with luck, wake up when it’s over.

I wish it were easier to ignore their clumsy maneuvering through the aisles, the mundane comments (“It takes so much dedication! They have to practice every day!”)  On my most recent visit, the older woman to my left immediately started peppering me with questions. Had I seen this opera before? What other Rossini operas have they done? I was almost happy when, behind us, someone swinging a large purse lost control as she was trying to sit down. The purse whacked the side of my head, giving me the chance to turn around and glare.

It could have been worse. One time, a doddering gentleman spilled part of his soft drink into my partner’s lap while trying to get past him—without realizing his faux pas. Another time, my audience-challenged partner looked daggers at the couple behind him who were talking during the performance; they took revenge at the final curtain, screaming “Bravo!” as loudly as they could, right in his ear.

Older people have always decried the loss of civility and morals in any given culture, freely blaming the young. In the United States, many elders feel ignored or mocked, and sense that they have been left behind, their contributions disregarded. And they resent being thought of as slow or out of touch, since after all, dammit, it’s the rest of the world that has sped up and become incomprehensible.  

Resistance to change may manifest as cranky or rude behavior. But the challenges of this new world don’t mean that older people shouldn’t try to keep up, to stay involved, to understand—even if that world doesn’t always seem to understand them. Nobody said life is fair.