Operagasm: On Elitism

For the most part, I really enjoy the company of opera singers – which is good, considering that I spend eighty percent (or more) of my time in their company. If I were to have one complaint about opera singers, though – as well as classical musicians in general – it would be that many of them seem to be laboring under the misconception that music composed in the classical tradition is in some way inherently and measurably superior to other, “lower” forms of music.

This is, to be blunt, complete bullshit.

Now, I can sympathize with this mindset to a certain extent. If I had to choose between listening to the newest Ke$ha single and selections from Le Nozze di Figaro, I'd choose Mozart in a heartbeat. And then I'd give the person who offered me that choice a much-deserved punch in the face. To be fair, though, if the choice was between listening to Ke$ha and eating powdered glass while sawing off my own genitals with a rusty steak knife, I'd still choose the latter, but not because I consider club music to be an inferior art form. It's because I hate the sound of that creature's voice more than the Westboro Baptist Church hates homosexuals.

But I digress.

My main argument against musical elitism is that music is art, and there is no objective way to measure the quality of any artistic work – such a judgement is, of course, qualitative rather than quantitative, and is therefore subject to the whims of individual taste. This is true for individual works, but even more so for entire genres. You can't really say something like “opera is better than musical theater” without sounding like a self-important asshole because there are some really good musicals and really shitty operas out there.

Do you know how many operas Donizetti composed in his lifetime?

Seventy-fucking-five.

Out of those, the most commonly performed operas are Lucia di Lammermoor, Don Pasquale, L'Elisir d'Amore, and La Fille du Regiment. After that, there are operas like Anna Bolena, Maria Stuarda, and Lucrezia Borgia, which aren't performed quite as often but still often enough to deserve notice. And let's add a few more to the total, just in case I've missed any more important ones. That makes about ten operas out of seventy-five, which is a little over thirteen percent – and I'm being generous here.

Were the other sixty-five operas masterpieces?

Fucked if I know; I've never listened to them. But who's to say they're better than a playlist of Queen's greatest hits?

The beauty of music – regardless of its genre – is that it makes you feel things. Music has inspired me, angered me, made me laugh, and even reduced me to tears – sometimes all in the same performance. So I'm sorry, but anyone who tells me that Sunday in the Park with George is somehow less of a heart-rending masterpiece because it premiered on Broadway instead of at the Met can fuck right off.

Ahem. Calming down now.

Another obnoxious mindset I've encountered is the whole “I can sing opera, so that means I can sing anything I want and be awesome at it” thing.

Short answer: No, you really can't.

Long answer: No, you really can't, and I hope you get hit by a bus.

There are a number of famous opera singers (who shall remain nameless unless you follow the links) who have performed concerts and/or released albums of pop and/or musical theater when they had absolutely no business doing so. Branching out is all well and good, but only if you're actually versatile and not just a one-trick pony. Just because one is physically capable of singing “Mad World,” that doesn't mean one should perform it while utterly ignoring all matters of stylistic appropriateness. In short, if you've been studying classical music for years and you don't have a remotely convincing pop voice, stick to opera – there's no shame in playing to your strengths, but there's plenty of shame to go around when you sound trashy as fuck.

Speaking of which, it would be unfair of me not to mention that the reverse is also true. It doesn't matter whether you're a successful pop artist or a little girl on a televised talent show; stay the hell out of opera until you've received the proper training. You're not just mangling “Nessun dorma;” you're also mangling your vocal apparatus. If I had my way, operas would come with disclaimers and warnings like you sometimes see on television:

“These are professionals. Do not attempt.”

That might sound a little rude or exclusionary, but there's method to my douchebaggery. For example: if you've never gone skiing before in your life, you don't start out on a double-black-diamond slope unless you want to fucking die. Furthermore, if you do start off that way, you might make it to the bottom unharmed (possibly even more than once) but it's gonna be due more to dumb luck than any degree of skill, and every subsequent time you go down that slope is going to exponentially increase your chances of sustaining grievous bodily harm.

It's the same with singing opera. There are varying degrees of difficulty (and a lot depends on your skill level and voice type) and you might be able to get through that ball-buster of a Verdi aria a few times without giving yourself nodes, but each time you try to sing it just loads another bullet into that metaphorical revolver you're playing Russian roulette with.

In short, KNOW YOUR LIMITS.

Class dismissed.

Cinema Snark: Haiku Edition

It's been several months since my last movie review, which has presented me with a growing dilemma every time I see a new movie in the theaters: should I try to review them all, only review a select few, or just forget about the whole thing?

Finally, I just decided, “Fuck it. I'll review them in haiku format.”

So here they are, in the approximate order in which I saw them (some of them were Red Box rentals).

Friends With Benefits

It has some great lines

And sends up sappy rom-coms

But ends the same way.

The Three Musketeers

Enjoyably bad.

Why the fuck is there a blimp?

Dumas spins in grave.

Paranormal Activity 3

Dear Protagonist:

If you're in mortal danger,

Don't film it. Just run.

The Adjustment Bureau

Angels wear suits now

And God is kind of a dick.

Also: lots of hats.

Green Lantern

It's mediocre

But has so much potential

For a great sequel.

Attack the Block

In the London slums,

Street punks fight off aliens.

It's fucking awesome.

The Muppets

I feel nostalgia

For a show I never watched.

80's Robot rules.

Hugo

Martin Scorsese

Makes a film without gangsters.

Everyone's impressed.

Sherlock Holmes: A Game of Shadows

Explosions abound.

The new BBC series

Is so much better.

Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy

There's not much action

But Jesus the cast is great.

Complicated plot.

Fright Night

Chekov from Star Trek

And David fucking Tennant

Hunt vampires. Hell yes.

Contraband

What is there to say?

Mark Wahlberg punches some dudes

And smuggles some stuff.

The Adventures of Tintin

This is everything

The fourth Indiana Jones

Wishes it could be.

Whatever these might lack in depth and measured criticism, they make up for it by being easy as hell to write. I should really do this for every movie I watch.

Operagasm: The Magic Flute, Act II

When we last left our heroes (if you can really call them that), they had been captured by Sarastro and his followers and been brought into the temple to undergo some unspecified and possibly dangerous trials. Now, as the curtain rises, we find Sarastro, the Speaker (he's a head priest or something), and the priests discussing their plans in greater detail:

Sarastro: Yeah, the whole reason I kidnapped Pamina was so she could get married to Tamino, and then he can take over as high priest once I'm dead. This is all for the greater good.

First Priest: So basically you're marrying this girl, over whom you have no legal authority, to a guy you've just met.

Sarastro: Yuuup.

The Speaker: And you're also planning to make this guy, whom – to reiterate – you've never met before in your life, the head of our sacred order. Instead of, you know... someone who's actually a member already.

Sarastro: Well when you put it that way, it sounds irresponsible.

The Speaker: Little bit.

Sarastro: Relax, guys. Tamino has to undergo a bunch of trials and shit to make sure he's worthy.

First Priest: Well, I guess that makes a little more sense.

Second Priest: Okay. So where does the bird-man fit into your plan?

Sarastro: He doesn't.

Second Priest: So why are we making him go through the trials as well?

Sarastro: …. For the hell of it?

The Audience: Wow, this guy's kind of a dick.

Sarastro then goes on to explain that Tamino and Papageno might not actually survive their ordeals, but if they die then it's cool because they'll both get to experience the joys of the afterlife.

The Audience: Uh...

Needless to say, there's something that feels a little... not quite right about Sarastro and his happy-go-lucky sun-worshiping followers. I mean, this is a secretive mystical organization centered around a single all-important individual who: A) owns slaves, B) is clearly willing to torture said slaves at the drop of a hat, C) subjects new followers to dangerous trials, D) says it's no big deal if people die because they'll be granted eternal happiness, or E) all of the above.

If you picked E, congratulations – you can recognize a cult when you see one! This makes you smarter than both of the protagonists.

Now, I suppose that this is where I should mention that Sarastro and his order are meant to represent the Freemasons and that this entire opera is full of Masonic symbolism and whatnot. The problem is, most people nowadays don't know much about the Masons except that they're the people who hid a bunch of Templar treasure for Nicolas Cage to find. Let's face it: the Freemasons stopped being remotely relevant to anyone but conspiracy theorists a long time ago, so I'm going to go with a more current parallel.

Just for fun, let's say that “Sarastro” is just a nickname – and that his full name is actually L. Sarastron Hubbard.

Now replace Tamino and Pamina with Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes.

The Audience: Holy shit everything makes sense now.

Yeah. So, with that in mind, let's move on.

The Speaker and the Priests lead Tamino and Papageno into the chamber and ask them if they're willing to risk death to achieve wisdom.

Tamino: Totally! I'm all about seeking wisdom, despite the fact that I've been nothing but a useless jackass this entire time and I've been thinking with my penis hormones instead of with my brain.

Priests: Awesome. And you?

Papageno: Hell no. Fuck this noise; I'm outta here.

Priests: But wait, there's more! If you undergo our trials in the next twenty minutes, we'll throw in a hot piece of barely-legal ass for free!

Papageno: DID SOMEONE SAY KNOWLEDGE I LOVE KNOWLEDGE

And then it turns out that the entirety of their “ordeal” consists of being silent, which is really fucking stupid because this is an opera and no one ever shuts up. To be more precise, actually, they only have to be silent around women because women are treacherous bitches. Under normal circumstances this would hardly be an ordeal at all; Sarastro and the priests have made their views on women pretty clear already and the temple is a bit of a sausage-fest as a result – but today must be the temple's annual wet t-shirt contest or something because double-X chromosomes just keep crawling out of the woodwork. The Priests make sure to remind Papageno and Tamino that breaking their silence will result in “death and despair” – that's the literal translation, by the way – before leaving.

Then the Three Ladies show up and are all like “What the hell, guys, I thought we were friends” and of course Papageno starts talking to them because he's an idiot.

The Audience: So... is he gonna die now, or what?

The Schikanator: Nah.

The Audience: So what was the point of all those warnings?

The Schikanator: ….…

The Audience: [facepalm]

Tamino talks too, but I guess it's okay because he's just speaking aloud and not directly conversing with the Ladies.

Papageno: Hey, these chicks are really freaking me out with all their talk of damnation and stuff.

Tamino: Be strong, Papageno. Keep repeating what the Priests told you.

Papageno: [sighing] “Bitches ain't shit but hoes and tricks.”

Tamino: That's the spirit!

Men in the Audience: Man, this opera is hilarious.

Women in the Audience: Ahahahaha yeah it's great and also you're sleeping on the couch tonight.

Then there's some thunder and lightning and the Ladies are scared off and Papageno faints because he is – as previously established – a pretty big pussy. The Priests come in and congratulate the pair for their fortitude, which is kinda weird because they were talking pretty much the entire time. That being said, it's probably for the best that nobody takes the whole “silence” thing too seriously – 18^th century Viennese audiences probably wouldn't have reacted favorably to getting the John Cage treatment.

Anyway, there's a scene change: we're on Monostatos Standard Time now, and it's rape o'clock! (Not to be confused with “rape a clock” because that would be painful and OH GOD THE COGS and needless to say I'm not gonna be allowed back in that store any time soon.)

What was I saying?

Oh, right. Soooo Monostatos is climbin' in your windows and watchin' your princess sleep. He's a bit pissed off about being tortured, but maybe it'll all feel better if he gets to mack on Pamina while she's unconscious.

The Audience: That seems to be a recurring theme in this opera.

Monostatos: It's not my fault people don't want to get with me! It's 'cause I'm black!

The Audience: No, it's because you're CREEPY AS FUCK.

But just then, the Queen of the Night arrives with a dagger and demands that Pamina use it to murder Sarastro and steal the powerful sun-circle that he wears on his chest.

Pamina: Why don't you just do it yourself? You're the one who hates him, and you can clearly get in and out of the temple with no problem.

Queen of the Night: No, it has to be you. I'd explain, but it's all wibbly-wobbly and... magicky-wagicky.

Pamina: No.

Queen of the Night: Pretty please?

Pamina: NO.

Queen of the Night: PAMINA MARIE OF THE NIGHT IF YOU DO NOT USE THIS KNIFE TO KILL SARASTRO THEN YOU ARE NO LONGER MY DAUGHTER

Pamina: FINE. [pouting] I hate it when you use my full name.

So then Monostatos emerges from his hiding place and reveals that he was listening the entire time. He threatens to tell Sarastro about the murder plot if she doesn't sleep with him, but Pamina is understandably none too eager to do the dirty deed with this ugly-ass sumbitch.

Monostatos: Come on, baby. You know what they say: once you go black, you don't go –

The Audience: DON'T SAY IT

Monostatos: – to prison for conspiracy to commit murder.

The Audience: [breathes a sigh of relief]

Pamina refuses, and Monostatos attempts to stab her – only to have Sarastro show up at the last second and stop him.

Monostatos: Look, man... My bad. We're still bros, right?

Sarastro: Your soul is as black as your face. [Once again, this is the literal translation.]

The Audience: Um... Damn. Das ist upgefuckt.

Sarastro throws Monostatos the hell out and proceeds to sing about how there will be no violence in his holy temple – which is kinda messed up when you remember that he had the other slaves whip the dude's feet about twenty minutes ago, but whatever.

The scene changes and Papageno and Tamino are brought into the next portion of their trials. Apparently the Priests have completely ceased to give a shit about the stringent rules of their order, because the punishment for speaking is no longer death; it's just thunder and lightning instead. (The Schikanator probably realized that there was no way his precious bird-man would survive the opera otherwise.) Anyway, Papageno whines a lot about how he wants something to drink, and this wrinkled old cougar woman appears with some water and starts chatting him up.

Old Woman: Hey, baby. Come here often?

Papageno: Get away from me.

Old Woman: You know, you look an awful lot like my boyfriend. He wears lots of feathers –

Papageno: I don't like where this is going.

Old Woman: – and his name is Papageno –

Papageno: Starting to border on creepy.

Old Woman: – and he's sitting right next to me!

Papageno: Aaaaaand I just threw up in my mouth.

The Old Woman leaves and the Three Spirits show up again – ostensibly to bring Papageno and Tamino their magic instruments and some food, but mostly to remind the audience that they still exist.

The Audience: Whatever. Do you guys want a medal or something?

The Three Spirits: SHUT UP WE ARE TOTALLY IMPORTANT TO THE PLOT

Papageno immediately starts stuffing his face, but Tamino is being all emo and starts playing his flute. Pamina hears the flute from offstage and runs in for her joyous reunion with her dreamy prince, only to find out that both of our intrepid heroes have chosen this exact moment to start following the rules of their sacred trial.

Pamina: WHY WON'T YOU TALK TO ME

Tamino: …

Papageno: … (om nom nom nom)

The Audience: Oh, for the love of god. You'll talk when the penalty is death, but not now?

Pamina: WOE IS MEEEEE

Pamina runs offstage in tears, and Papageno resumes his incessant chatter as soon as he swallows his food. Three trumpets sound, informing everyone that it's time to move on to the next stage of the trials – the Priests are supposed to escort them personally, but the second act is kinda dragging and they stopped giving a shit a long time ago. Tamino, being dutiful and honorable and all that crap, leaves when he hears the trumpets. Papageno, being a fat bastard, keeps eating until some spectral lions appear and scare the shit out of him.

Papageno: oh man I gotta lay off those 'shrooms

Then there's a chorus –

Chorus: WE'RE EGYPTIAN OR SOMETHING

– and Tamino is brought before Sarastro to bid farewell to Pamina.

Tamino: Soooo you forbade me from speaking to her before, but now we can talk as long as we're only saying goodbye?

Sarastro: Pretty much.

Tamino: Dude... cockblock.

Pamina: TAMIIINOOOO HOLD ME

Tamino: On second thought, I'm cool with not seeing her again.

Sarastro: I know, right?

The scene changes to Papageno, who's lost (again) and crying for Tamino like a little bitch. The Speaker comes out and tells him that he's pathetic, but that the gods have taken pity on him and will grant him a wish. Surprising absolutely no one, Papageno totally misses the point.

Papageno: You know, I could really go for a glass of wine.

The Speaker: Really? That's your one desire in the world? Not that wife you've been wanting? Not even a map so your dumb ass can find a way out of here?

Papageno: I stand by my rash decision!

The Speaker: You're going to regret this later, you know.

Papageno: [shrugging] Meh.

And then he drinks the wine and sings an aria about how much he'd like a cute little wife.

The Audience: YOU'RE A MORON

The Old Woman returns, lecherous as ever, and tells Papageno that he has to marry her or else he'll be stuck there for eternity with only bread and water to eat.

Papageno: When they say that the way to a man's heart is through his stomach, I don't think they mean it like this.

Old Woman: Time's running out, sweetcheeks.

Papageno: If I marry you, you have to agree to never call me that again. Deal?

Old Woman: Deal.

And then the Old Woman turns into a hot, feathery eighteen-year-old named Papagena. Now, Papageno is a simple man – when introducing himself to Tamino in Act I, he specifically stated that he didn't know where he was from or who his parents were. So when he meets someone who looks just like him and has an almost identical name, his first thought is “soul-mate” and not “possibly my younger sister.” Everyone else, on the other hand...

The Audience: Oh god I think I hear banjos.

So Papageno tries to jump on this girl who may or may not be related to him, but he's stopped by the Speaker because he isn't yet worthy of those fine tailfeathers. Scene change to Pamina, who is about to take her own life. This fate could have been avoided if she'd had some Sassy Gay Spirits!

The Three Spirits: What, what, WHAT are you doing.

Pamina: Tamino doesn't love me and I'm never going to see him again!

The Three Spirits: And you thought suicide was your only option?

The Schikanator: That's how women work, right?

Everyone: SHUT UP, EMANUEL.

The Three Spirits: Look, Pamina: if you stop being a stupid bitch for two seconds, we'll take you to Tamino. It's kinda what we do.

The Spirits lead Pamina to Tamino, and the two of them go through the final trial together. Tamino plays his magic flute (once again, not a euphemism) and the lovers pass through fire and water unharmed and everyone is happy because now they can get married!

Pamina: And all the plot threads have been resolved!

Tamino: Yeah, about that. Have you seen Papageno anywhere?

Pamina: All the plot threads that matter have been resolved!

Scene change. Papageno is still lost.

Papageno: I'M REGRETTING MY RASH DECISION

The Speaker: [from offstage] Told you, bitch!

Papageno: I can't find Papagena anywhere, so I think I'm going to commit suicide because that seems perfectly rational. Unless someone in the audience wants me to live...?

The Audience: [crickets chirping]

Papageno: Nothing? Oh, you can all go to hell. I bet you sons of bitches would clap for Tinkerbell if she asked!

The Audience: Remember the time that Pamina actually needed you to talk to her? And that was the one time in the opera when you decided to shut up? Yeah, karma's a bitch.

Papageno: Fuck.

The Audience: Yuuuuup.

Papageno: FINE. I don't want to live in your stupid world anymore because you're all a bunch of stupidheads and I hate you. And now I'm going to hang myself on this tree.

The Three Spirits: WHAT IS IT WITH YOU PEOPLE AND SUICIDE

The Spirits remind Papageno of his magic glockenspiel, which has the power to do anything that the plot requires – so he plays it and Papagena appears!

Papageno: homina homina homina

Papagena: We make the sex now?

The Three Spirits: OH GOD WE'RE STILL HERE

There's another scene change, and we find the Queen of the Night, the Three Ladies, and Monostatos trying to sneak into the temple and murder everyone inside.

The Audience: Oh, right. I forgot this opera had villains.

Keep in mind that the Queen has already gotten in and out of the temple at least once without any problems, but instead of doing the same thing this time around, her plan is more or less “walk up to the front door.” Like I said in Act I, this bitch is just straight-up tired of being alive. Suddenly there's a bunch of thunder and lightning and everyone freaks out.

The Villains: OH NO WE'RE DYING FOR SOME REASON

The Audience: Wait, what the hell just happened?

And then the scene changes back to the interior of the temple and everyone's happy again!

Sarastro: The power of Light has triumphed over Darkness, blah blah Freemasons blah blah. The moral of the story is: it doesn't matter how painfully incompetent you are, as long as you have a magic trinket to save your sorry ass!

Everyone: WOOO WE'RE AWESOME

[End of the opera.]

Operagasm: The Magic Flute, Act I

As previously established, the Mozart / da Ponte operas are batshit insane – they're full of cross-dressing, illicit sexual activity, mistaken identities, and even the occasional murderous living statue. I want you to keep that in mind, because that will give you a sense of perspective when I say that The Magic Flute puts them all to shame in the crazy department. The opera is so thoroughly bizarre and makes so little dramatic sense that it's a wonder anyone still performs it – but despite that, it remains one of the most popular works in the standard operatic repertoire. Most of the blame for Flute's general weirdness can be placed on the librettist, Emanuel Schikaneder (who shall henceforth be referred to only as “The Schikanator”), but it's hard to hold anything against a guy whose last name sounds like a SyFy Channel knockoff of a Schwarzenegger movie.

The crazy starts right when the curtain goes up: Prince Tamino, our fearless hero, is being pursued by some sort of monstrous serpent... dragon... thing. That sounds pretty awesome, right? You see that shit and you're like, “Tamino is about to pull out an enchanted sword and go all He-Man on that dragon's ass,” because that's what fairy tale heroes do: they kill shit. The opera is getting off to a great start, and then Tamino has to go and open his mouth – and instead of shouting “BEI DER MACHT VON GRAYSKULL,” he starts crying for help. And then he faints.

The Audience: Wow. What a little bitch.

The Rest of the Cast: I know, right?

But wait; it gets better. The opera suddenly turns into a German dub of one of those god-awful harem animes: three foxy ladies (imaginatively named “the Three Ladies”) show up out of nowhere, curbstomp the dragon, and immediately start arguing about which one of them is going to rape the unconscious Prince Prettyboy Tamino because he is OMG SO KAWAIII. [Cue high-pitched fangirl squealing.]

Now, some of you might say, “But Charlie! If a fairy tale like Snow White can climax (as it were) with a prince making sexual advances toward an unconscious woman, why can't Mozart and The Schikanator promote female equality by reversing those gender roles?” And in response I would laugh wistfully, shake my head, and paraphrase my favorite show about games, thrones, and throne-related games: “Oh, my sweet summer child, what do you know of Mozart?”

Seriously, though. The Magic Flute has a misogynistic streak so wide that its full title should probably be “The Magic Flute, ossia I Got 99 Problems and a Bitch is ALL OF THEM.”

But I digress.

The Three Ladies decide not to rape Tamino after all; instead, they just leave him lying unconscious in the wilderness.

Second Lady: Didn't we kinda go out of our way to save his life? And now we're just gonna leave him here?

First Lady: What's the worst that could happen?

Second Lady: Um... he could get eaten by a fucking serpent, apparently.

Third Lady: I'm comfortable with that. Let's go get hammered.

[Exeunt the Three Ladies. Tamino wakes up, hears some strange music, and promptly hides.]

The Audience: Oh, for fuck's sake.

But the opera immediately takes a turn for the better, because this new music heralds the arrival of Papageno, whose name is German for “everyone's favorite character.” Papageno is an eccentric, heavily-feathered bird-catcher, and the audience is supposed to identify with him because his only interests in life are food, booze, and sex.

The Audience: Sounds about right.

In case you're wondering why Papageno is the funniest and most interesting character in the entire opera, it's because The Schikanator actually wrote the part for himself – which is kind of a douche-y thing to do but no one cares because he's hilarious. And let's face it: if Papageno isn't your favorite character, you probably have a thing for coloraturas.

So yeah. Harvey Birdman, Attorney at Law Papageno sings his introductory aria, meets Tamino, and almost immediately claims responsibility for slaying the dragon – because, much like the majestic honey badger, Papageno don't give a shit. The Three Ladies reappear and are understandably pissed that this feathered asshole has just taken credit for their handiwork, so they get out a golden padlock – apparently they always carry one in case of an emergency – and lock Papageno's mouth shut.

The Audience: Wait, what? How does that even work?

The Schikanator: I'm not gonna lie; I'm really fucking high right now and it just seemed like a cool idea. Hey, do you guys want a hit?

The Audience: Oh hell yes. Pass that shit over here, bro.

So then the Queen of the Night shows up and is all like, “Hey, bitches, check out my high F and my kickass coloratura shit,” and Tamino is all like, “Daaaaaaaaaaamn,” and the Queen is like, “But seriously, some dude just kidnapped my hot daughter and I need you to go rescue her and then possibly tap that fine ass. Think you can handle that, champ?” And then she gives Prince Wussypants Tamino a locket with a picture of Pamina (the aforementioned hot daughter) and he falls madly in lust love with her because this is a fairy tale and that's just how shit works. The Ladies remove the padlock from Papageno's mouth and tell him that he has to go with Tamino and help him rescue Pamina from the clutches of the sorcerer Sarastro.

And this is when things get really weird.

See, the Queen of the Night and her Three Ladies are actually evil (I would say “SPOILER ALERT,” but if you can't figure out that someone named the Queen of the Night is evil then you're a moron), but in the next scene the Ladies give Papageno and Tamino everything they need to win the day and give the opera its happy ending. Tamino gets the eponymous magic flute, which can control men's hearts and the elements and shit, and Papageno gets a magic glockenspiel (why a glockenspiel? WHY NOT) that can do anything the plot requires at any given moment. And to top it all off, the Ladies introduce the budding bromance two heroes to the Three Spirits, who make it pretty clear as the opera goes on that their loyalties lie with Sarastro (who is supposedly evil but then he turns out to be good and wise and holy crap I'm tripping balls).

In order to illustrate just how incredibly stupid that was, I will now provide you with an approximately equivalent situation:

Ringwraith: So, here's a map that shows you the secret way into Mordor and up into Mount Doom.

Another Ringwraith: Oh, and there's a giant spider-ish creature lurking in the pass of Cirith Ungol, but this phial of the Light of Eärendil should help ward her off.

Frodo: Oh. Wow. Um... thanks.

The Witch-King of Angmar: Also, we took the liberty of reforging Narsil for you. It's called Andúril now!

Aragorn: It's heavier than it looks.

The Witch-King of Angmar: That's 'cause it's so full of destiny! Just be careful with it; the blade is reeeally sharp.

Um... yeah. Long story short, it's a really dumb idea for a villain to give the heroes exactly what they need to complete their quest. The Three Ladies were clearly acting on the Queen's orders, so the only explanation that I can think of is that the Queen of the Night is attempting to commit the fairy-tale equivalent of suicide by cop. Either that, or she's just a complete moron – and neither option really inspires confidence in her ability to be a legitimate threat to the heroes.

Now, without a credible villain, you'd think that the rest of the opera would be a cakewalk for Papageno and Tamino – but thanks to a healthy mixture of gross incompetence, joining a cult, and some severe emotional issues, the story nearly ends in tragedy... TWICE.

The Audience: [facepalm]

And hey, speaking of gross incompetence: after the scene ends, it takes Papageno approximately two minutes to get separated from Tamino and the Spirits, get completely lost (keep in mind that while Tamino is a foreigner, Papageno has lived there his entire life), and stumble across Pamina in the middle of an escape attempt. Monostatos, Sarastro's Moorish slave (who is also evil because he's black for some unknown reason), recaptures the princess just as Papageno enters, and the two menfolk share the following exchange:

Monostatos: WHO THE FUCK IS THAT BIRD-MAN

Papageno: WHO THE FUCK IS THAT BLACK MAN

Both: OH SHIT IT MUST BE THE DEVIL

The Audience: oh wooowwww this is uncomfortable

And then Monostatos runs away because he's marginally more cowardly than Papageno is.

(At this point, you might want to take note of the following list:

THINGS MOZART APPARENTLY HATED

1. Women

2. Black people

3. That fucker Salieri

Hopefully that explains a thing or two.)

Papageno eventually figures out that the tied-up chick is Pamina and not some random bondage enthusiast (though who knows, the two might not be mutually exclusive). He talks about how he was sent to rescue her and casually works his massive blue-balls into the conversation, but Pamina puts him squarely in the friend zone because she wants to marry this Prince Tamino guy, who sounds totally awesome and is also totally nowhere to be found.

Papageno: But I want to get laaaaaaaaid

Mario: Hey, man, if I had a nickel for every time I rescued a princess and she didn't put out...

Link: Tell me about it.

Pamina and Papageno sing this beautiful duet about how awesome love is, and then the scene changes back to Tamino and the Three Spirits, who have arrived at Sarastro's temple. Tamino has an interminable extended recitative scene in which he is repeatedly denied entrance to the temple, and an old priest finally comes out to convince him that Sarastro isn't actually evil.

Priest: ...so he's really not such a bad guy after all.

Tamino: Servantofanevilsorcerersayswhat?

Priest: What?

Tamino: AHA!

Priest: You're a moron. Also, you might want to disregard anything that women tell you because they're all evil bitches.

And then Tamino plays his flute and a bunch of animals are entranced by the music and it's exactly as stupid as it sounds. Finally, he hears Papageno's flute and runs offstage just as Papageno and Pamina run on. The pair are captured by Monostatos and the other slaves, but then Papageno plays his glockenspiel (not a euphemism) and the slaves become enchanted and start dancing.

Papageno: That's right, bitches. Now twirl for me.

The slaves dance off into the wings but then OH SHIT there's a bunch of noise and Sarastro shows up with the chorus. Papageno hides; Pamina apologizes to Sarastro for some reason; Tamino shows up because apparently he was captured offstage like a little bitch; Pamina and Tamino make out; and Sarastro realizes that Monostatos is a skeevy fucker and orders the other slaves to take the bastard away and whip the soles of his feet seventy-seven times.

The Audience: Holy shit. That's... kinda fucked up.

The Chorus: LONG LIVE SARASTRO

[End of Act I.]