There are so many horrors that I've seen through the years, but I'll narrow it to one:
New York City Opera's outdoor Turnadot at the Saratoga Performing Arts Center.
The first act we hear of the loveliness of Turnadot and how men are willing to sacrifice themselves for her beauty. At the end of the act, we finally see her. She was sung by a much-past-her-prime and maybe 75 pounds overweight soprano whose voice was not suited for singing outdoors. Upper notes were as wobbly as her massive flesh. No lower notes; she just bottomed out.
She's was wearing a pagoda on her head that she managed to dwarf, so everything about her appearance was just ridiculous.
Her lover, who can only be heard when he sings facing the floor mikes, finally melts her heart and gets to give her a big kiss. His arms do not go halfway around her, and when he goes in for the kiss, he looks as if he is lifting his leg to somehow mount her in order to reach her face.
My friend and I are so horrified by all this nonsense that we move to the back of the theater for the last act where I lose it. I am laughing so hard I fall out of my seat.
It's Turandot's wedding and she has to mount an enormous staircase, but she's so large that it's not an easy feat for her. She's using her hands to steady herself, which also causes her to stick her rear end out to the audience. When she gets to the top, she's supposed to turn around in triumph. Instead, she's wobbling, as if she's going to fall through the set. Meanwhile, the chorus is wearing these long sleeves and doing some sort of faux Jack Cole choreography that looks as if they're sending semaphore messages of SOS to get them out of this production. Indeed, at this point, the orchestra sounds all jazzed up, as if Sid Ramin had mixed up charts from Gypsy. Confetti starts falling and somehow it all manages to end.
