“You’ve got to tell him.”
“You’re insane; no way am I going to tell him.”
“Tell him what?”
“Jim thinks I should tell the baritone about … well, you saw his performance.”
“I don’t understand.”
“It was obvious from where we were standing.”
“Stood out a mile!”
“Give over.”
“What am I missing?”
“He was enjoying himself a little too much. He was, well, proud of his performance. Oh for heaven’s sake, do I need to spell it out?”
“What Frank’s trying to say is that given Marco’s, er, persuasion, then having his character get stripped to his underpants in Act 2 and roughed up by some of the butcher members of the chorus wasn’t a bright move.”
“But this production has transferred from the Met: it’s how the story has been set, and that character has to be humiliated.”
“Well the only humiliation is going to be among the audience. This is the opera parents use to introduce their kids to the art, and they’re all going to end up trying to explain what that nice man has hidden in his pants.”
“Ah.”
“‘Ah’indeed.”
“I agree with Jim, Frank; you’ve gotta tell him.”
“Oh, thanks a bunch!”
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