That was a fully decent production of Tosca, but I can’t write anything meaningful about it because my only real thought throughout the entire show was “The man singing Scarpia sucks my ass”.

His name: Alain Fondary.
His look: Humpty Dumpty in a black silk shirt and white ponytail wig.
His offense: singing so incoherently I couldn’t make out half the words, even though I’ve memorized most of the libretto for act II. And his lower range sounded like balls.
His punishment: to be mocked in my diary tonight, and hopefully, in every arts review section of every major paper in Canada tomorrow.

At least I remembered to turn my cell phone off this time.