Every now and then The Citizen publishes a letter from some disgruntled correspondent decrying an individually-suffered transgression whether it be a miscreant cyclist allegedly hogging the road (to which, of course, all P.G. car drivers have divine right), or a facetious missive "thanking" an unknown thief for pilfering the family's treasured lawn gnomes.
I never thought I would be writing such a letter, but after attending the Live from the Met Saturday morning performance of Wagner's Parsival, I must join this genre and "thank" the chap who chose to accompany this very lengthy production, first with ceaseless candy bag crumpling through the bucolic opening overture and then with an unbroken, resounding chorus of loud coughing and throat clearing, interjected at least once a minute throughout the whole five-and-a-half hour performance.
Now I have downed more than my share of popcorn at movies over the years and, like everyone, have also suffered the odd spell of inadvertent hacking now and then. But I recommend strongly against the former during quiet, contemplative moments whether in a musical or cinematic production; and as for all that expectoration: if you can't get it under control in five minutes or so, why not quietly retreat to the corridors until you can? There were a couple of dozen folks who laid out $25 to be magically transported live to Manhattan, and this was greatly diminished by one person's protracted inconsideration.
Norman Dale
Prince George
