No talking at the ballet, thanks

Going to the ballet is a yearly highlight for me. The costumes, sets and, of course, the dancers themselves are sublime, and every time I attend a performance from the Royal New Zealand Ballet, I find myself caught up in the moment.

I’m always somewhat disgruntled when the music stops and the curtain goes down for half time, breaking the illusion of whatever wonderful world they’ve brought to the stage.

But for a quick sec, I’m going to interrupt this usual programming to mention the election.

Yes, I know you all know it’s today.

I’m not for getting political in these columns but indulge me.

Here’s your not-friendly PSA: go and vote. Do it. Just vote. I don’t care who you vote for but you should vote.

Every three years, every eligible person in this country gets to make a small, private political protest or demonstration of support by way of two big orange ticks.

Today is your opportunity to have your say. Are you the kind of person who yells at the TV news when certain politicians come on? You should definitely vote. You don’t care about politics and can’t be bothered? Well then the next time you, the ultimate keyboard warrior, post a comment on social media about how shameful/embarrassing/ stupid the next government is, whoever it might be, you can just take a damn seat.

You didn’t vote. You didn’t do anything to change the situation.

If you do not exercise your right to vote, then IMHO you don’t get to complain about something you did nothing about. So please, go out and vote. Like for real, stop reading this, go out and vote, and then come back to read about how I nearly slayed someone at the ballet.

Slayed them with my sharp eyeliner, that is.

As I was saying, I really love the ballet.

The RNZB’s production of Romeo and Juliet last Sunday was nothing short of spectacular.

What was not spectacular, however, was the woman behind me who would not stop gasbagging to her friend beside her about what was happening on stage.

Lady, the production is Romeo and Juliet. It is literally the most famous love story in the world - you don’t need to have read they play or fawned over a dreamy 90s Leonardo DiCaprio to know how the story goes.

Oh, it’s the balcony scene? Yes, thank you, I have eyes.

The costumes are beautiful? I agree but can you wait until half time to tell your friend that?

Do you know what the ballet is super well-known for? THERE’S NO TALKING.

I didn’t come here to listen to these beautifully lithe dancers puff out ‘‘But soft, what light through yonder breaks’’ as they pirouette around the stage.

The words ‘‘I’ll cut you’’ definitely sprung to mind at one particular moment of desperation but that kind of behaviour is never ok so I had to settle with the notion of ‘‘cutting’’ Mrs Chatterbox with my icy, make-up fuelled glare.

But seeing as I wasn’t sure on the exact seat she was in, I thought it better not to accidentally give my best death stare to some unassuming soul seated in the vicinity behind me.

So a note for theatre etiquette: oohs and ahhs are fine but I did not come to the ballet to get a running commentary of what’s happening.

The beauty of ballet is the dancers’ ability to tell a story through movement without the need for words. Please don’t fill in the blanks.

Thirteen-year-old me was mouthing the dialogue to the scenes being played out and I don’t need you to tell me that Tybalt’s just died. I can see that. He’s got a sword sticking out of him.