In my line of work, I see a lot of shows. So quite often, down the pub, buoyed up by the sort of enthusiasm for the arts that only a couple of glasses of wine can bring, friends will start badgering me to recommend opera or dance or theatre.
I actually find this quite an onerous responsibility. It's too loaded. There's a serious risk, for instance, of sending people off to some wankfest that only you, with your horribly overexercised palate, could possibly enjoy. There they are, squirming their way through what they (probably rightly) regard as total rubbish, wondering, 'Why am I here? Oh, that fruitcake Charlotte told me to come! Now I know who to blame,' as they cleverly mould a voodoo figure out of a chewed-up programme.
In fact, I should probably stop recommending things at all - but some form of missionary zeal prevents me. You want people to love the things you love. You want to win converts. When my pal Matthew came back glowing with enthusiasm from his first ballet, I felt great. I hadn't saved a soul - but I'd done my bit for ballet.
Lately, I felt I'd got a real winner on my hands. Janacek's Jenufa at English National Opera was a very good production, and seemed to me to be the right opera to recommend to first-timers. It's short (well, for opera); it's dramatically pungent and concise; it's a hell of a story, beautifully told; and the music is amazing. So I sent a ringing email recommendation to four friends, only one of whom had been to the opera before. To my amazement, they all decided that they'd go, especially when I found a promotion that meant they could get tickets for £25. Perfect.
This is what happened.
Matthew, who'd been so happy with the ballet, only "quite" liked it. Sandra and her boyfriend walked out in the interval. Audrey and friends loved it - she was in floods of tears (this is the one who'd been to the opera before).
Paul, however, had an official bad opera experience. Weird as this may sound, his friend annoyed a man sitting in a neighbouring seat by scratching his beard. A bit of a fracas occurred, including this neighbour actually striking Paul's friend in the stomach, followed by an outraged chorus of hissing and shh-ing from everyone in the row in front. Paul and his friend complained in the interval, and to be fair they were given fresh seats. Paul's mate had never been to the opera before and was so put out by the experience he will probably never come back. Ironic, really, since, as a young Muslim man, he's the sort of person whom officially the ENO is desperate to get inside the theatre (though it looks like the view may not be shared by the company's patrons).
All in all, not quite the hit rate I was looking for ... and course, I feel like it's all my fault.
