At the Metropolitan Opera there was Edo de Waart's supple conducting of Mozart's The Magic Flute, on the marvelous David Hockney sets but with only a so-so cast, except for Kurt Moll's majestic Sarastro. I went mostly to check out the house's new translation device: a small screen set into each seatback, enabling you to watch both the opera and its translation without the neck isometrics needed at the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion. The system worked perfectly well: a fairly modest light level to ward off glare to adjoining seats, and an on-off switch. But when the Queen of the Night entered in her chariot suspended over the stage, the woman in front of me leaned back to see her and her hair completely covered my screen. My advice to future Met-goers: Wait until they do The Barber of Seville, or bring scissors.
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