Well of course the moment I go and get all gossipy about the jaw-dropping final tableau of John Doyle's Peter Grimes to a couple of bloggers at ACB's successful and enjoyable* birthday event, it seems they have edited it out. In comments and elsewhere I have had a few conversations to the effect of "what are you talking about" with an implied "and what are you smoking?" So in case you're seeing it now, I will ruin the surprise that isn't there anymore. As originally staged on opening night, the big wooden set that had been shifting around all night like a teenager in a tux finally, in the last moments of the opera, flung wide. And what did it reveal? This sort of...scaffolding, I guess, with people in modern dress striking various voguish poses, as if the whole thing had been some really long ad for herring-scented cologne. And on dit (though this is fourth-hand, one of those hands is that of La Cieca so I think we can assume it's as trustworthy as the World Almanac) that it had something, for real, to do with the LGBT youth of today, and (I'm using the word "and" a lot here, because the hilarity is just kind of endless) the little kid A.D. Griffey was all but mopping the floor with is up there too, because I guess Peter Grimes gayed him. I believe the word you're looking for is "WHAT?", or I hope it is. So anyway that's gone and now what is revealed when the Fish Palace swings away is just the radiant white light of heaven, and though there may still be some fags and dykes there, they're off watching Project Runway. I'm actually kind of sorry nobody else gets to see it.
*not to comment on a charity event, as that doesn't seem sporting, but did we remember from whatever year's auditions that John Michael Moore was quite that good (even in the dreadful soliloquy from Carousel) or that he was, well, quite that hot? We did not.