Is Opera Dangerous For Humans!?

If you ask most people whether opera is dangerous, they’ll say something like, “No, of course not, unless you count the ticket prices.” These are the same people who believe that badgers are “cute” and that assembling flat‑pack furniture is “fun.” In other words, they are delusional!

Opera is absolutely dangerous. I know this because I once attended a performance of Aida and nearly died of several things simultaneously: confusion, dehydration, and exposure to prolonged tenor.

Let’s begin with the basic scientific fact that opera singers do not operate within the normal acoustic limits of human civilisation. A trained opera singer can produce a sound wave powerful enough to stun a medium‑sized woodland creature at fifty paces. This is why you never see squirrels at the opera. They tried it once. Never again.

Opera houses claim they have “acoustics.” This is a polite way of saying they have engineered the building so that when the soprano hits a high note, the sound ricochets around the room like a rogue missile, eventually lodging itself in your inner ear where it will live forever, rent‑free, like a student in a London flatshare.

Then there’s the plot. Opera plots are notoriously dangerous because they make absolutely no sense. You sit there, trying to follow what’s happening, and before you know it you’ve sprained your frontal lobe. For example, in many operas, a character will fall instantly in love with someone they have known for approximately four seconds. This is not romance. This is a medical emergency.

And don’t get me started on the length. Operas are so long that by the time you reach the interval, entire geological eras have passed. Continents have shifted. Species have evolved. The person sitting next to you has grown a beard, even if they are a six‑year‑old girl. By the end of Act III, you are no longer the same person who entered the building. You have aged. You have seen things. You have eaten an overpriced ice cream that cost more than your first car.

But the real danger the one nobody talks about is the audience. Opera audiences are a unique subspecies of human who believe that coughing is a crime punishable by death. If you so much as clear your throat, fifty monocles swivel toward you in synchronised judgment. These people have trained for decades to sit perfectly still for four hours while wearing clothing that restricts blood flow to all major organs. They are not to be trifled with.

And yet, despite all this, opera persists. Why? Because it is the only art form where you can watch a man sing passionately for twenty minutes about a woman he loves, while she stands three feet away pretending she cannot hear him. This is relatable content. This is marriage.

Also, opera is the only place where you can witness a character die from singing. Not from being stabbed or poisoned  from singing. They will clutch their chest, stagger dramatically, and then unleash a final, heroic high note that lasts longer than most diplomatic treaties. Then they collapse, dead, except for the part where they discreetly adjust their costume so it doesn’t wrinkle.

So yes, opera is dangerous. It is dangerous to your hearing, your sanity, your wallet, and your ability to understand why everyone on stage is so upset all the time. But it is also magnificent. It is the only art form that combines music, drama, fashion, and the constant risk of being accidentally deafened by a baritone.

If that isn’t worth celebrating, I don’t know what is.