Molishan Boiled is a musical reconstruction of a particularly dramatic episode of one of the Trestean holy books. Everyone is completely familiar with the plot from childhood. So they made no particular effort to make it easy for extradimensional travellers to understand. (As far as I know I am the first extradimensional traveller who has seen it, and I am incognito, but that is no excuse.) The whole performance was tinted with overripe-fruit of fiction. If I were a proper adult, I would have put an veriception block on the performers, but I don’t know the spells, so I just put up with it.
Molishan was the one wearing the golden antler headdress … I think. Of course sometimes that was one actor and sometimes it was another. The first time it changed heads made sense to me. The first act was during Molishan’s childhood, if I am interpreting the live birth scene properly. I don’t think hovens are usually born as teenage boys though, for I have just today bought ice cream for a younger one than that, but we’ll count that as artistic license. Definite artistic licence and/or religious orthodoxy comes in the big scene in the first act, when the suns Verdinet and Floret swoop out of the sky and become the gods Drukah and Bmern, here presented as a three-headed eagle and a dancing flower, and proclaim Molishan to be the Prophet of the Age.
Then there’s an intermission, where small mammals with quick biologies can take care to be comfortable for the second act (Tarcuna). Or where they can get expensive cups of very good fermented watermelon juice if they want to be uncomfortable for the second act (the gentleman sitting on the other side of Tarcuna). Or, if they want to venture into the dubious streets outside of the theatre, they can find dubious gentlemen willing to sell them bosum or lurds. (The one makes one sleepy and peaceful, and the other makes music appear to have colors; they are both illegal, and Tarcuna had little good to say about either one.) I had watermelon juice, but I am forever denied discomfort.
The second act gets confusing beyond words. Molishan goes to work in the king’s kitchen. But that’s somehow Garchune, which is to say, Hell. The chief cook, who is secretly the Lady of Peppers, prepares soup for all the nobility, but it’s too spicy and they all die in very overdone convulsions (?) and become ingredients for the next feast (?) of the damned (?). Molishan rescues them in a grand theatrical style. One of them gets rescued from a gigantic tin can. Another gets cracked out of a giant egg, which I thought was a birth scene until Tarcuna reminded me that hovens are live-birth creatures like we saw in the first act. Another gets defrosted from the Freezer in the Kitchen of Hell. The king himself was in the back of the refrigerator, wrapped in plastic, covered with mold made of cloth and paint. Molishan made a big show of unwrapping him, nearly getting overwhelmed by the stench, plugging his nose with wax, and then unwrapping him the rest of the way and scrubbing the mold off. It was beautiful and funny at the same time, and the music was very cheerful.
Then, of course, the chief cook / Lady of Peppers comes back, and all the saved nobles run out the back door. Molishan has a terrible fight with her. By “terrible” I mean “utterly unimpressive”. I don’t think that even hovens fight that slowly and clumsily. Molishan loses, dies, and is tossed into the cauldron. The chief cook builds up the fire high, but then has to run off to nurse her baby. (I think the baby grows up to be a major adversary at other points in the myth cycle.) Molishan pops out of the cauldron, except he has become a girl. This evidently confounds the Lady of Peppers so much that she doesn’t realize it’s Molishan — perhaps she cannot see the golden antler headdress? — and he/she escapes.
Then there’s about five-twelfths of an hour of dancing and singing. Much of it is on horseback. They had twenty-two actors riding fifteen horses on stage at one point. I don’t think this had anything to do with the plot, though Molishan was extensively and acrobatically involved. All three versions of Molishan, I mean. They tossed the golden antler headdress from one to another.
That is a medium-important myth of most of the orthodox religions of Trest. I was not greatly enlightened. I trust you understand more than I.
After that, Tarcuna and I went for a very late dinner at a bar. The small spicy sandwiches were very small and very spicy, though I don’t think they were quite up to the Kitchen of Garchune level of heat. Nobody died anyways. Tarcuna tried to explain the opera to me, but my head was still a non-self-polarizing non-niobium slush. Also I don’t think she understood it very well either.
It was pretty and exciting anyways. This is a wonderful vacation!