My younger sister is in her high school’s production of Elton John and Tim Rice’s Aida. For someone who doesn’t like theater as a medium, plays as a literary work, and holds a special loathing for scholastic performances like this, I was very impressed.

The plot was obvious, the writing tedious and seriously, who likes the musical numbers? But the singing (save the male lead) was incredible - it was hard to believe these voices were coming from high schoolers. The choreography was spectacular and the production value was unlike any other school production I’ve ever seen. The set was very complete and the costumes weren’t the get-your-mom-to-stitch-scraps-together attire I was expecting, but rather, stylish, neat and even provocotive.

As the forbidden love crescendos with the romantic leads sharing a kiss to fading lights, I was filled more than ever with cynicism. When the lights came back on and the lovers were still lip-locked, I felt the entirely unexpected hope that the two actors were, themselves, in love. I am still frustrated at being so taken with this medium I loathe so much.

I always thought that choir teachers and conductors were always trying to trick their audience (mostly parents and siblings - at least half of whom don’t want to be there) into getting emotionally caught up in the performance. If you were sappy enough to, they had won.

All in all, I can’t deny that tonight I bought into the cheese. I longed to be Aida’s forbidden love, and wished the heros well. But at least this cynic can find a very small consolation in the fact [SPOILER] that the lovers die in the end - buried alive for traitorous transgresions. Ah, l’amour.