L'opéra a craint!

I just got back from the opera. I was so incredibly excited, and so incredibly disappointed. The building, of course, was magnificent. But that's where the good things ended. We had seats in boxes, but most of us were seated behind other people, and in the boxes the seats are right behind each other. They are neither staggered or on different levels. Therefore, most the stage was instead in my vision the silhouettes of the old men in front of me. I have a crick in my neck from leaning my head on the (thankfully upholstered) wall next to me from first trying to see, and then trying to nap. Half the theater was wearing JEANS, for crying out pete, and I don't even find that acceptable in a regular theater to see a play at a matinée. It's rude and disrespectful to the performers, the rest of the audience, and the whole tradition of going to the theater. The man in front of me had his phone go off in the middle of the first act, and he had the gall to glare at us behind him and NOT TURN IT OFF and just pretend it wasn't his.
The set design was horrible, just an almost bare stage with another stage-type platform set up in the middle, and long modern "chandeliers" which murdered my retinas by being fluorescent (if you've ever worked in a cubicle in a windowless office with nothing but the flicker of fluorescent and the dim blue light of the computer screen, you feel my pain). Apparently the idea was to have it set somewhere between the 40s and 50s, which just doesn't work too well with a story about courtesans, as our French professor pointed out. The lead had an irritating voice; she could technically hit all the notes, but there was no pleasure in listening to her. She (and the chorus) stumbled around on the stage with all the grace of a drunken, coked-out old woman. One woman kept showing up and flashing the audience by opening her fur coat to reveal a lace unitard type thing. There was also a male dancer in the chorus using the opportunity of being on the stage in the Opéra Garnier of Paris to breakdance/do the robot (I know it has a term, but I'm blanking in my anger). Good job, man. Now go get a cup and hang out in front of a national monument with your boombox. By the time we finally reached the last act, I was praying for Violetta to just up and fricking DIE ALREADY! And stop putting your coat on and taking it off and wandering around the stage and behind set pieces with no purpose. Oh, and no, you weren't good enough for 5 curtain calls. Let us go home.