It's the little fountain that could. The artifice continues as you step onto the red carpet floors in the first ring, and the red carpeted doors close softly behind you. The walls have red rugs, the floor has red rugs, the doors have red rugs. Yes, no, sometimes, maybe, I don't know. But when those scarlet carpet doors close behind you, no sound from inside or outside can pass through.
Reality is sealed out.
You are sealed in by big-shouldered usherettes in starched, starched white blouses. Aida got this treatment for sexual misconduct, and I paid eighty bucks for it. The overture begins right away. It is lively, witty. You would have to be carved of something Gorishly stolid not to sense intrigue and quick wit, a breathless statement that does not, unlike most overtures, quote any music from the opera which that is to follow.