Otello

Despite a sprained ankle, I went to the Met HD production of Otello on Saturday. Maybe because of the throbbing pain in my foot, I found it difficult to engage with the performance. I had hoped that the passion and beauty of opera would distract me from pedestrian preoccupations, but it didn't do the trick.

I can't blame Renée Fleming - she was a beautiful Desdemona and it was worth staying through Act 4 just to see her Willow song and Ave Maria. I can't blame Falk Struckmann either, who played a convincing Iago, full of anger and resentment, finding every opportunity to manipulate Otello's feelings. The production, while traditional, was good, with well-designed sets, costumes and chorus. And Johan Botha's voice was good, despite a cold from which he was just recovering. But I found Mr Botha's Otello lacking in something. All I can think of now is his blue eyes wide open in love, anger, jealousy, horror - it seemed to be his only way of expressing the character's emotions.

Otello is only my second Verdi opera - I love Rigoletto, and I was expecting to be blown away by Otello. But it didn't quite work for me. Let's blame it on the ankle.