Bosco Redmond takes his children to an Opera which is not for children.

The reviews are awful, '... tone not exactly festive...parents should think very carefully before they take their children along...for what we have here is a distinctly adult take on this fairytale opera...sung in German to an English audience how snobbish is that?’

At least now I know I am taking them to an Opera, ‘Hansel and Gretel... Sung in German, so it can’t be a Ballet. Well done, Bosco.

We set out early; it is a hack to get into London by car. As we drive through South London we witness the fast food outlets; the refuse; the crowding of these 'Saaaath' London banlieues we witness the drab, in your face ugliness of it all. Who would want to live here? This is truly third world. Is this the detritus of thirteen years of Socialist rule? Talk about a boot stamping on a face, Tony Blair's and Gordon Brown's footprints are writ large in the sqaulor of it all and the immiseration of its inhabitants.

In Central London there are notices up all over the place, ‘Parking Suspended’ because of New Year festivities.' Does this mean, you can or you can’t park?  I am one of those who, if in doubt, ask. And I do. I ask road sweepers, men in council vans, passersby, kids doing skateboarding under the wall to wall graffiti of the National Theatre; a bowler hatted man looking like something out of a Magritte painting - and no one knows. I have surveyed the London populace and I am none the wiser.
  “Come on, Dad.” Reluctantly I opt for underground parking with over the top prices.

“Like a sandwich, Dad?”

“What have you got? Bloody hell, is that the best you can do. A marmite sandwich on this ...cheap bread.”

“You bought the bread, Dad. You are always going on about the price of bread.” (The price of bread in UK supermarkets has gone up alarmingly in recent months).

Now it is over Waterloo Bridge and into Covent Garden to look at the 'street performers' before we go to the Opera House.

We spot a crowd. They seem appreciative. Of what? It is a rotund young man in his early twenties balancing precariously on a metal ladder of about 15 feet high. He has an armoury (is that the correct collective?) of swords in his hand of the Ali Baba pantomime variety. As he sways this way and that and threatens to juggle, he sells his performance.
“This is a West End performance, what would you pay for that £20, so why not give that to me." Ambitious. Can it be that saying it from on high, gives him  this authority?  Performers, don't you just love them.

‘Ok then a Fiver, People are drifting away.  Ok then, pound coins.'

The selling pitch fades as does the crowd. We live in austere times.
We are at the Royal Opera House

                

 and our seats are in the Slips. That is the 'Gods', it is the cheapest we can get. £9 per ticket, (the Boxes are £500).  We can take the lift but we decide to walk. Up, up, up. Am I being hysterical or have my ear popped? Well, the air must be considerably thinner up here.

There is an overture by the orchestra who although musically excellent go on and on. And then the Opera, you feel tense because the critics have forewarned that this is a bit gory and not really for children at all. But as the Opera proceeds, sung in German, with subtitles clearly viewed without any intrusion into the proceedings, you begin to appreciate that this is not a fairy tale which will crook its knee to sentimentality for the children. It does not cosy up to them and tells its tale, gory bits included, in a beautifully sung way. This is all done against rather ingeniously desgined backdrops.

Although the second half disappointed, the Witch entering aided by a Zimmer frame (who tried to curry favour with that populist idea?), overall  it was a coup de theatre
 I am no Opera buff but, nor am I artistically easily taken in, ‘we embrace art lest the bow snaps’, but I stood up at the end, with the raucous approval all around me, fairly elated by it all.

"Enjoy it, children?"  "Yeah. It was cool."  And you can't say fairer that that.

As to the critics, well, we are critics too, and it is well to remember that concensus is a horizon which is never reached.

"This way...we will walk over Waterloo Bridge. Look at the London skyline from here."

"Want a sandwich, Dad?"
"No thanks."