THEATER | “Dial M for Murder” at the Jungle Theater: Spoiler alert
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As any American who takes in an evening of opera can vouch, there’s something a bit out of place about the art form. I’m not talking about the need for English supertitles (although a little reading never hurt anyone). And obese strangers rambling about what they love or hate has become startlingly commonplace (thanks, YouTube). No, I’m talking about a long-standing practice that can make any Yankee wrinkle his or her nose before the orchestra even plays a note: the damn program.





