the problem, fundamentally, with Ariadne Auf Naxos, is that Act I is a tight 45 minutes taking the absolute piss out of everyone and everything involved in making opera, and then Act II is just . . . An Opera, and not a very good one at that

like yes, Zerbinetta and co are there, but what they're doing is fundamentally . . . opera. it's not even in Italian? come on. theyaresupposedtobeburlesque

i think the thing to do is like, Noises Off or the opening scene of Dreamgirls. like, let us see the performance . . . mostly from backstage, so we can also see the absolute C H A O S unfolding behind the scene as the Composer frantically does Rewrites and the Diva is like...

..."i cannot WORK under these CONDITIONS" and the tenor is like "AT LEAST YOU GET TO GO ON STAGE???" and meanwhile Zerbinetta is doing Actual Burlesque and not just, like, vocal filigree. a whole lot of confusion in the pit; actors breaking the fourth wall l i b e r a l l y...

...to tell the conductor "hey, we're starting at rehearsal 17, you got the new sheet music, yeah?" and the conductor being like "TEN SECONDS AGO AND THE INK IS SMUDGED GIVE US A SEC JESUS CHRIST"

Zerbinetta shamelessly flirts with the Diva, who is like "this?? is supposed to be Art? there cannot be the Actual having of the sex here???? also i Cannot improvise i can only do stuff i've rehearsed for ten weeks minimum" and Zerbinetta is like "wowwwwwwww"

the opera is Over-The-Top bad, a parody of the worst, most indulgent tropes, with Ariadne being just The Most Mopey and the tenor being Too High For His Aging Vocal Chords — like we should *laugh* when we hear it in between the backstage drama

ultimately it all climaxes (in multiple senses of the word, but come on, this opera is already *extremely* horny, i'm not adding anything here) with a grand chaotic mess and the promised firework display at precisely 9:00 on the dot

and yet somehow it slips over the edge of absurdity and actually incandesces — think Thisbe's aria from Britten's Midsummer — it offers a glimpse of the genuine electrifying power that opera at its best can have. not as a smug "i told you this was the best art" gotcha...

...but as a genuine, loving reminder. "oh right. that's why we do this. that's why we put up with tasteless patrons, and precious composers, and primas donas, and cardboard plots, and all the rest. because at its best, it can do *that*, and what a profound thing that is"

and i *think* probably you can do that in another 45 minutes instead of (dear *g-d*) an hour and twenty, but this is not the sort of comedic writing that i'm good at, so i genuinely am not sure

someone please write this tho, Act I of this opera is so good and deserves so much better than the Act II that it actually has