Queen: A Night at the Opera - An Auditory Theatrical Experience

The lights go down.

Act 1, Scene 1 – Death on Two Legs (Dedicated to…)

The pianist begins, fingers light but commanding on the keys; they do not brush or grace, they strike. Our protagonist is out for blood. He is joined by our other players, who too are angry and strange. Insistent guitar stokes and a thumping baseline, urged to advance by a steady drumbeat. The wronged army of four march on, sounding like so many more. Sirens sound as they prepare to stake the case for their rage. The audience holds its breath.

And the music proper begins. ‘You suck my blood like a leech, You break the law and you breach, Screw my brain till it hurts, You’ve taken all my money, and you want more…’

“Oh,” the audience says. “So it’s personal.”

The slander continues, beats of bitter, visceral insults. Our protagonist sips arsenic-laced champagne, voice rich and crisp and murderous. They cut and they maim and they strip our unnamed villain down to a husk of vengeance. It quivers at their feet, naked and defeated.

Does the catharsis work? Are our wronged heroes satisfied? ‘Make me feel good, I feel good…’

Act 1, Scene 2 – Lazing on a Sunday Afternoon

It appears so. A change. Our pianist returns, and this time he dances. It is a precise dance, light and jovial but controlled. He has freed himself from the clutches of his unnamed enemy.

With smugness and reverie, he goes about his week – choreographed thing, a performance, a balancing act between mundanity and absurdity. He takes equal delight in bicycling of an evening and painting in the Louvre.

He insists that he is just an ordinary guy, and perhaps that is something he has to affirm to himself. Perhaps he has to tell himself what he is now that he is free from his captor. Perhaps this tightrope-walk of a song between domesticity and excess is an act of creation.

But either way, our hero is on an upward trajectory, which only surges higher.

Act 1, Scene 3 – I’m in Love with my Car

A wall of noise blasts from the speakers, the audience is thrown back in their seats. The celebration of freedom continues, only this time it is fuelled by gasoline rather than champagne.

The precision remains but it is anarchic. Our harmonies are screams of elation, our hero doesn’t stop moving. He had a one-track mind, and the track is propelling him in one direction only: forwards.

The audience marvels at the unbridled energy, wonders if it’s ever going to slow down… slow down… slow –

Act 1, Scene 4 – You’re My Best Friend

The frenzy appears to have stopped.

Deep twangs ring out. The drumbeats are this time a prelude to a thanksgiving, sweet and lifting and earnest. There is none of the excess of the previous two scenes – indulgent and rebellious respectively.

It is a heartfelt serenade, mined from the purest of human experiences – the serenity of finding a home in a beloved someone

It is a heartfelt serenade, mined from the purest of human experiences – the serenity of finding a home in a beloved someone.

Our hero sings to the individual and every audience member imagines their own individual – their own best friend.

The room is uplifted, allowed for the first time this evening to breathe for a second; to allow the serenity to leech into their veins.

Act 1, Scene 5 – ‘39

They are calm as the folk-like strums of an acoustic guitar sound. A storyteller has arrived. He is from far away and he has seen many things. He is kind.

The story he tells is tragic and his voice softly melancholic, but the ebbing and flowing of the instrumentation invites a bittersweet smile.

This is a chapter of loss and of longing, an endorsement of the human spirit and its capacity for feeling. It speaks of desire for connection and, echoing the previous scene, desire for home.

Act 1, Scene 6 – Sweet Lady

All is not always, however, as the audience is soon to be reminded, as sweet as it may seem in the plight for love. The bitter strums of an electric guitar remind of this.

Our hero has been wronged again, but by a different party. Somebody he had faith in.

His vision of perfection is sullied. We are back at the beginning of the act, but our protagonist has grown. He is more assured in his self-defence and there is a humour to his jibes now. He is laughing at his wrongdoer and at himself – no longer on the constant attack.

He is pleased with his performance and there is a gleefulness to the jaunty guitars and light drums.

Act 1, Scene 7 – Seaside Rendezvous

It is time for our hero to reward himself. He has said his piece, and can now enjoy a stroll along the seafront – perhaps where he bicycled a few scenes previously. His acts of creation have continued since then and he has grown.

Our ordinary guy is self-assured in his affections – carefree in a way that makes his union with his sweetheart seem inevitable. He is undeterred by their assertion that they can’t – of course they will be his clementine, his valentine.

Other players arrive and they tap dance across the pier. The sounds are strange and spontaneous, born of beach-goers enthralled by boldness of our protagonist. It is a cacophony of sound and movement, our audience aren’t quite sure where to look, but it doesn’t matter. Anywhere they choose to focus their attention, they will find something, and it will be wonderful.

All that matters is that the stage is empty for the final line of our first Act.

Our hero stands alone, he smiles cheekily. ‘Give us a kiss.’ He winks.

The curtains go down.

Act 2, Scene 1 – The Prophet’s Song

The lights go down. And stay down. It begins almost imperceptibly, the wind. Then it becomes louder. It bounces from side to side, enveloping the auditorium in a tunnel of sound.

The audience holds its breath. A few gentle strums of an acoustic guitar. Perhaps it is the kind storyteller from Act 1.

No. This is different. There is foreboding in the lingering gaps between the strums. The audience wonders – is he here with a warning, or is it him we should be wary of? The higher notes are inquisitive, echoing the audience’s question.

The higher notes are inquisitive, echoing the audience’s question

And then our hero returns. Something has happened since his seaside rendezvous. He is changed, the weight of knowledge pulls on his vocal cords. He is melancholic. ‘Oh, people of the Earth, Listen to the warning, the seer he says, Beware the storm that gathers here, Listen to the wise man…’

So that’s it. There is a great storm coming. Is it our protagonist’s punishment for the pride and self-assurance that he had built in the previous act?

He is not concerned with the past. A marching sound begins – he has preparations to make, he and the grey-faced multitudes that have joined him. They are enraptured by him, the archaic words that spill from his lips, perfectly articulated and meticulously rehearsed.

‘The Earth will shake, In two will break, And death all around, Will be your dowry!’

The audience takes a breath. The rain begins.

Our hero is trapped in an echo chamber, himself and only himself to preach and to appeal to. The stage is dark. We can only imagine what he is seeing. The echoes dance around each other, weave like dancers.

Our hero begins to sing. Formless sounds. Appeals to follow.

The rain has stopped. Our hero emerges to a world changed. There is something cleaner about it. There are a million sounds but they are all in harmony, and blend to a place of cohesion. Is our hero safe?

Act 2, Scene 2 – Love of My Life

He is unsure. He isn’t quite able to let go of the trauma of the previous scene just yet. Its notes leak into the next.

But then the sun comes up, as the harpist begins.

He spots somebody on the horizon. He can’t quite believe they are there. But they are. And he has something to say. ‘Love of my life… You’ve hurt me.’

Born of the chaos of the flood is a clarity of thought. Our hero’s priorities are clear and crisp. ‘I still love you…’

A tear forms in the eye of an audience member, as a guitar solo rises in tandem with a swell of feeling. An emotional appeal to hurry back, as the harp surges forward.

Our hero is alone again.

Act 2, Scene 3 – Good Company

He is in need of some advice. It arrives in the form of a plodding beat and light, intricate orchestration. The advice is simple: keep good company.

He listens to a cautionary tale about letting one’s focus slip. He remembers the chaos of the flood and the clarity of what followed – raw and pleading.

He is thankful that the song is framed cheerfully, but the lyrics devastate him

He is thankful that the song is framed cheerfully, but the lyrics devastate him. Perhaps indifference is the way to go. It is time for some reflection, he thinks.

Act 2 Scene 4 – Bohemian Rhapsody

‘Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy?’

And his lament begins. He speaks of regret and loss, of leaving and longing. Of truth.

He wails and the guitar does too. He has reached acceptance. There is something he needs to face, free from the captors which started this saga. He had celebrated freedom but had not properly contemplated it – that was his crime, that was his loss.

It is time for him to go to trial. The courtroom is explosive and nightmarish. Our hero fights with tormentors and fights with himself, fights against assaults of sound and discord.

He fights, he fights, he fights. He still yearns for freedom. He understands it must come at a price. ‘Beelzebub,’ He accepts, ‘Has a devil put aside for me.’

But then he changes his mind. Something invigorates him. Heavy guitars strike up. He need not lay down and die. These two acts were not inconsequential.

‘So you think you can stomp on me and spit in my eye? So you think you can love me and leave me to die?’ These sentiments remain from the very first song. The rage, the coldness, the fervour.

But they are no longer all there is. There is a calm resignation, a letting go. Our hero has arrived at acceptance and is ready to move forwards. ‘Nothing really matters, Anyone can see, Nothing really matters, Nothing really matters, To me…’

Act 2 Scene 5 – God Save the Queen

It is time for our cast to take a bow. Their work has been a sublime balance between humour and tragedy, tongue-in-cheek and earnestness.

Our audience is changed. They have been confronted by the spectrum of human experience, come face to face with the ages of man and been hurled into a hall of mirrors. In our hero, they have seen themselves and everyone they knew.

Our hero and his players smile.

The lights go down.