Ode to the Wrapper Chorus

Today's performance of Tosca was lovely. The singers were all very gifted and, for the most part, sang and acted well. The sets were gorgeous - traditional and classic. The costumes were fitting. The lighting and staging and orchestra all complemented the production nicely. But I don't want to delve into any of these. Instead, I would like to highlight the performance of the most striking members of the ensemble: the Wrapper Chorus.

There were the artists who crinkled their candy wrappers loudly and quickly, piercing the air and then stopping after a brief flurry. These were the most easily forgotten, although they were noticeable during their moment of glory.

The seconda donna was the person in the row in front of me who opened several hard candies throughout the last act. As Tosca and Cavaradossi fell into each others' arms and exalted in their love and grief, this audience member really added to the experience with his masterful performance. What made it particularly special was the way he held onto the wrappers after the candies were in his mouth, crinkling them again and again, as if comfortingly assuring them that their moment in the sun was not yet done.

But as the piece de resistance, the grand prize has to go to the woman seated above me in the balcony. Throughout the entire second act, she gradually opened the saran-wrapped cookie she had bought during intermission. Her slow, painstaking unwrapping really gave a new and unusual undercurrent to all of Puccini's orchestration. When Cavaradossi cried out while being tortured, the saran wrap sang in sympathy. When Scarpia threatened to rape Tosca, the moments were punctuated by rustles. And when Tosca stabbed Scarpia, the swell in the orchestra was met by a swell in plastic. Truly masterful. This Wrapper Artist managed to evoke such emotion, adding such anger and tension to the already-tense scene. And she managed to find the acoustical sweet spot in the theatre, sitting in the precise location that would echo for the enjoyment of all of us in the orchestra seats beneath the balcony overhang. Truly delightful.

I can only hope that these talented individuals might decide to move up in the world, auditioning for a spot in the opera orchestra itself. They certainly have a hankering to perform.

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In all seriousness, folks, a bit of opera etiquette. The whole notion of a "proper way to dress" for the opera doesn't really hold anymore in most United States theatres, including the Met. What does hold, however, is common public performance etiquette. What you would do in a movie theatre (minus the popcorn, candy, and drinks) is what you should do in an opera performance. If you're going to need cough drops or hard candy, unwrap what you need before the performance begins. If you really need to crinkle something in the middle, get it over with quickly. Unwrapping the darn thing slowly doesn't save the rest of us anything; we can still hear the rustles. We'd rather there be a quick, loud burst and then silence than a protracted, agonizing Death Of a Wrapper. The only memorable performances should be the ones on the stage.

~Hope