“I used to appear in the opera here,” he says disarmingly. “As an extra. It was a normal student job.” What roles had he played? “Slaves, soldiers, priests. Everything.” The plan with “Intimissimi on Ice” was to produce a spettacolo. He certainly achieved that, I say. But what about the critics? He brushes their objections aside. “Look, opera in the 19th century, six hours long, it started in the afternoon, people took picnics, they talked through it. It was like a cricket match!” He knows about cricket: a googly of a simile.
“Now we can’t concentrate for all that time. We used to be able to do it, now we can’t.” So he thinks the critics are snobs? “They are killing opera! It is getting smaller and smaller audiences. And then it is subsidised by the state! Why?”
Because it is considered very precious, I reply. “If it is so precious, then let the people who think that pay for it.” Because it is an important part of a national heritage? “Like giant pandas?” Well, a little bit like giant pandas. “It is not right — to ask the whole community to pay for something that only four people want to see.”