Welcome to Night Vale - 70B - Review

Episode Date: June 15, 2015

A review of opening night at the new Old Night Vale Opera House. Weather: "Align" by Aby Wolf (abywolf.bandcamp.com). Music: Disparition, disparition.info. Logo: Rob Wilson, robwilsonwork.com. Produced by Night Vale Presents. Written by Joseph Fink & Jeffrey Cranor. Narrated by Cecil Baldwin. More Info: welcometonightvale.com, and follow @NightValeRadio on Twitter or Facebook. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Howdy y'all. It is Jeffrey Craneer. I'm not sure which episode of Welcome to Nightville you're listening to, but I am speaking to you from April of 2026. And I'm here to tell you we're going to be in Europe. If you want to see Nightville live and you're going to be in Europe, come check us out at the end of May. We're going to be in Edinburgh on May the 27th. We will be in Manchester on the 28th, London on the 29th, and Amsterdam on May the 30th. Just go to Welcome to Nightville.com slash live to see the show dates and to get your tickets. This is. our newest Nightville live show Murder Night in Blood Forest. It is so much fun. Please come check it out. Also, coming up this month here in April, it is the return of Alice Isn't Dead, brand new episodes of our other crazy hit podcast. This is written by Joseph Fink, produced and with music by Dysperition and starring Jacique and Nicole. So make sure you are still subscribed to Alice Isn't Dead and go get those on April the 13th as new episodes come out. Finally, speaking of other shows, do you want to hear us talk about other things? things. We have three other really great chat shows. First of all, there's Good Morning Nightvale for all of your Nightvale needs. You can hear Hal, Meg, and Symphony talk about every single

episode in order of Welcome to Nightvale. Also, we have Random Horror Number Nine. That is me and Nightville star Cecil Baldwin talking about horror movies one at a time in a random order. And then Joseph and Meg do best, worst, which is a really fun podcast where they look at hit TV shows and they review the best rated on IMDB, the worst rated on IMDB, and if you're a Patreon member, they will review the middest rated on IMDB. So check out all of those at nightfallpresents.com or just wherever you get your podcast. And hey, thanks. If you love something, set it free. If it doesn't come back, it probably died of sadness because it thought you loved it. Welcome to Nightbair.

It's difficult to say goodbye to your hometown. Difficult indeed. We'll get to all of that soon, but first we bring you the item of, I'm sure, most interest to all of you. A review of last night's opera. The inaugural performance of the new Old Night Vale Opera House. A tribute to the building which once stood proudly in this town for decades. Before succumbing 20 years ago to an unchecked. puppy infestation. The new old opera house is luxurious and stylish. I had no idea what opera was

until last night, so my expectations for the building were pretty low. I mean, I don't know what you think opera is. I was expecting something like fenced in yards full of filthy straw occupied by hundreds of heavily drugged wolves. But it turns out that opera houses look nothing like petting zoos. This place had a chandelier and velvet seats and lush red curtains and a snack bar and people wearing just the fanciest clothes you could imagine. Tuxedos and ball gowns and balaclavas and shin guards. Old woman Josie and all of her tall winged friends who go by the name Erica and who claim to be angels were there. They were the driving force behind the building of the new old opera house. It was only fitting then that before the performance, Josie gave a toast from the stage.

She toasted opera and night veil and all of the donors who made the opera house possible. Finally, she toasted old friends, and when she did, she looked at me, and grinned. I blushed and looked down at my shoes, which were tasteful sponge clogs that matched my tights perfectly. Okay, so I'm sure you're asking the same question I've been asking for years. What even is opera? I don't have any training in opera, but I'll do my best to describe it. Basically, opera is kind of like theater, but they don't raise the curtain all the way up. So you only can see feet shuffling about while you hear high-pitched wailing and combustion engines. This particular opera was called Amara.

It was composed and conducted and mostly performed by acting legend Lee Marvin. It was about a young girl who goes on some kind of adventure? It wasn't clear, because opera is super interactive and entirely non-Lay. linear. Sometimes people from the audience throw old fruit at the stage, and then the actors jump into the audience to wrestle these people. Audience members are encouraged to yell out things they think the performers should do, and performers often vocalize their distaste for the audience. At one point in the first act, I shouted, sing a song about old love and new horizons, about wanderlust and uncertainty. And then a member of a member of the first act, I shouted, sing a song about old love and new horizons,

And then a member of the chorus spat at me, and moments later I found someone handcuffed me to my armrest. It was super fun. They did raise the curtain all the way once, revealing a detailed set of a storm-tossed ocean, upon which a great ship lurched skyward atop a curling monstrous wave. The details of the painting and the carpentry were flawless. I have never been in such awe of a stage set as I was then. But I think the stage manager recognized the error in allowing the audience to see this and quickly lowered the curtain to just a couple of feet off the floor.

I didn't recognize most of the performers because they kept the curtain so low and the stage light so dim, but I did note that Frank Chen was in the cast looking every inch the normal human with I can only assume a normal number of heads. At the start of the second act, I sensed a blurry motion in my periphery. I felt a cold touch on my chained hand. Nice handcuffs, a whisper said. Looks like you won't be able to save your friend Dana tonight.

I was terrified, yes, but like everyone, I'm usually terrified. I also felt rage, rage at the faceless old woman whispering behind me. Had she handcuffed me so that I could not save my former intern, my former friend, my current mayor, Dana Cardinal, from whatever evil deeds were coming her way? I looked up at Mayor Cardinal in her loge box. She was staring straight at the stage, focused and stony. and despite all my anger at my old friend that she had presumably bought me at a sheriff's secret police auction last year and had been using me for the last several months against my will to protect herself against the five-headed dragon, Hiram McDaniels,

and the faceless old woman, despite all that. I looked at Dana's face, hoping she would see me pleading for her safety. I want to trust and love my friend, and for that moment, I did. And I was sorry that the faceless old woman had restrained me so that I could not help her, even if this time I had wanted to. I followed the mayor's gaze toward the stage. The houselights dimmed, and the curtains split open. I saw normal human Frank Chen, center stage, each of his heads huffing and snarling, preparing for his aria.

As an aside, I am told this was to be the opera's first ever quintet aria, but honestly, I don't know what either of those words even mean. Actually, only four of Frank's heads were snarling, the gold, green. gray and blue ones, but his purple head was looking right at me. And I felt something familiar, but at the same time something that I didn't understand. My hand strained against its chain, but there was nothing I could do. As the orchestra led by and comprised entirely of Lee Marvin and a slide whistle, swelled, and Frank Chen continued to belch fire and hiss. We all knew something was wrong. I mean, it's possible that an aria is just a bunch of roars and flames. I'm no expert, but it didn't seem likely. Frank Chen then

tore off his bow tie, and in doing so revealed he was not five-foot-eight-eight-inch middle-aged human Frank Chen at all. But Hiram McDaniels, and an 18-foot-tall, five-headed dragon. Hiram leapt into the air above the orchestra seats. I heard a muffled scream from above. I looked to the mezzanine and saw Trish Hidge, deputy-assisted to Mayor Cardinal, trying to quickly escort the Mayor away.

But it was too late. I caught a brief glimpse of someone I had never seen before, or had never seen in my waking life. She was standing just behind Trish and Mayor Cardinal. It was a woman I had once seen in a dream. In my dream she had been underwater among coral, young and whispering and faceless. And now, in this world, that is very likely not just a dream. I saw this same woman, and she was old and shouting,

and faceless. Irum flew up, past the chandelier, tore Dana in the mezzanine, all of his heads focused on their target, teeth bared and angry, except the purple head, which was twisted away, as though trying with just its neck

to deflect the course of its body. At that moment, I felt myself rising against my will. There I was. lot number 37 being called into use once more. I looked up at Dana, but she was not looking back at me at all. She was preparing to defend herself, alone. And then everything went black. I saw nothing, felt nothing.

I was nowhere. I heard a voice. It was whining. and panicked. It told me it was sorry to keep using me, that it had bought me at an auction two years back just in case. You never know what could happen. Nothing can be trusted. The voice told me it especially didn't trust the other heads it shares a body with, who were always scheming, always making new plans. Plus, it was tired of having to commit violent crimes and consistently living life on the run.

The voice just wanted to settle down. Maybe start a family. Nightvale's such a nice town, don't you think? The voice asked me. And I asked, Hiram? Is that you? And the voice said, not all of Hiram.

Most people call me purplehead, but I prefer Violet. Why me? I asked. Violet said, one head couldn't work against four. I've known that a long time. I needed another body.

Lot 37 was put up for sale and the other heads were distracted by Lot 38, a normal human disguise. So, I bought you. Now, I was furious, of course. course. I told Violet that I thought Dana had been doing this the whole time. I blamed her over and over. I have lost a friend because of you, Violet, I said. And do you have any idea what it's like to have you control me in this way? Yes, Violet said. I only have one-fifth control over my own body.

This is my life all of the time, carried along against my will by the foolish plans of those closest to me, betrayed by my own limbs, by the beating of my own heart. But I am sorry. I really am. You need to fight your own fights, I said. I will, Cecil, Violet said. I am giving you back, lot 37. I transfer ownership back to you.

You are yours once again. And whatever else happens tonight. I'm sorry. Well, you should be, I said. But, Violet said, don't blame me for losing your friendship with Dana. You were the one who didn't trust her. that was you and only you.

Then his voice was gone. I woke up on the floor of the opera house, which was dark and empty. I was still handcuffed to a scorched armrest that had been completely burned off of the chair itself. Most seats and wall sconces had been heavily scorched and destroyed. I wasn't sure if it was Hiram who did that, or maybe that's just the standard.

aftermath of opera. I walked outside to the curb watching the rain in the streetlights. I saw the drops flickering in a puddle below. I do not like reflections that flicker. I thought of my mother for the first time in a long time. I missed her. And same word, different meaning. I miss the opera and the after party

too. And same word, both meanings. I miss my friend Dana. I wish I could have saved her. She was gone and I failed her. No one was around to help with the weight of my guilt or to unchain me from the armrest. The huge storm was coming through. A rare weather event for the desert. Let's have a report on that night's weather. Now, the storm passed, and I began my walk home, my clothes soaked, my clogs now several sizes larger. The streets were quiet, and I took it all in, knowing these were my final days in Nightvale. Certain I had made the right decision. Then I smelled the sandy earth, wet from the storm, and saw the buildings of what would soon no longer be my town, washed clean by the driven rain, and I wavered in my certainty.

Lost in thought, I failed to hear the car tires on the slick concrete, or see the headlights swinging my shadow across the sidewalk. I heard Cecil get in, and like any citizen of Night Vale when ordered to get into an ominous unmarked car, I obeyed without thinking. Inside the black stretch limo, impossibly large inside, were dozens of opera supporters and local celebrities. Old woman Josie and her tall, wanged friends named Erica, were there. Waiters passed around hors d'oeuvres and champagne. I hadn't missed the after-party after all. My sister Abby and her husband, Steve, and my niece Janice, Janice, were there. Janice threw her arms around my waist and said,

Uncle Cecil, I love the opera so much. Thanks for the tickets. I love the part where the dragon flew out over the audience, like, whoosh! And then it started fighting itself, and the purple head started biting the other heads, and it was really funny. Then it flew away out of the theater and there was a lot of fire. And I thought I saw an old lady with no face ran out too and the mayor was saved.

And Mr. Lee Marvin sang a beautiful song about all the animals we can see using mirrors. And then it was over and everyone cheered. And opera is so cool. Mom said you were moving away. Why are you moving away, Uncle Cecil? Uncle Carlos says you don't have to move if you don't want to. Will you still come to my birthday party? Janice continued chattering, but I was dizzy at the name she had just said.

I interrupted her. Carlos? Janice. Did you say Carlos? Duh, he's right over there, Uncle Cecil, she said. I turned, and I saw him. And he was already looking at me. And I started to say,

and he started to say, and then we just hugged, so tightly. And in my ear, Carlos said, Sorry, I missed the opera. I had to let Kevin know I was returning home and staying there. And I jerked my head back and said, staying here? And Carlos said, this is your home. You belong here. Then he said,

This is also my home. I belong here. Carlos, anywhere where together is home, I said, and I repeated it, and repeated it. And I said, but Carlos, is Night Vale where we should live?

Is Night Vale even worth living in? Carlos held my shoulder and said, Night Vale is just a name, Cecil. Nightvale is just the name for an area where everyone you love lives, he said. Don't worry about the name. Worry about the everyone, he said. Over Carlos's shoulder, I saw Dana, my old intern and current mayor in the crowd. She looked at me.

but did not smile. I struggled to meet her eyes which were wary and gracious. Her deputy Trish Hidge circled behind me and removed the handcuff from my wrist with a small key she had pulled from her jacket pocket. Sorry we had to do that, Trish said, but we wanted you to be safe. To not have your body willed by some other force into a fight, you were very clear. You wanted no part in. We had to physically hold you out of the way so that we could fight this fight on our own. From across the impossibly large car, Dana winked and finally smiled. I mouthed, I'm sorry, and she did not respond, but still winking a slow, strange winked, she receded into the crowd like a distant walker into mist. At the end of the night, the car dropped Carlos and me back

home, and I don't think we slept the whole night, talking about our new old life together. All these memories and plans, we are back together in our home, and I am back with you in my studio. My final show as host of Night Vale Community Radio was be a review of an opera. And that's still true someday. But it won't be this opera. Carlos and I are staying in Nightvale for now. I will be back on the air with you again very soon,

with more news and more stories with more opera. I think Carlos is right. Nightvale isn't a single unified thing that can love or be loved. It's just the name, slapped onto a set of borders and rules that some old bureaucrats wearing soft meat crowns devised centuries ago. But they don't live here anymore. We do. I do.

And I can make it worth it. I can't just leave it. I have to live it, live it and make it better. For myself, for Carlos, for my friends. For Abby and Steve and Janice, for old woman Josie and all of the Erika's, for Dana. And for you, listeners, we will together celebrate another homecoming game. We will together survive another street cleaning. We will together... Well, we will see.

I can't promise I'll never leave you. No one can promise that. But until that moment, let's keep working on this town, this collective idea, this night-veillance. Whatever we want that name to mean, we can always start over if we have to. Rededicate ourselves.

Do it right. To start with, the secret police have once again jailed Hira McDaniels, or his numerous crimes against his fellow citizens. Although, in recognition of the violet heads, valiant struggle against the other heads and his own contested body, they've put a small hole in the wall that Violet can stick through and be outside of the jail walls,

since technically he is not under arrest. Stay tuned next, or happenstance, reconstructed into narrative, and falsely interpreted as having significance. And as always, Good night. Night Vale. Good night.

Welcome to Nightvale is a production of commonplace books. It is written by Joseph Fink and Jeffrey Criner and produced by Joseph Fink. The voice of Night Vale is Cecil Baldwin. Original music by Dysperition. All of it can be found at disparition.info or at dispirition.bancamp.com. This episode's weather was Align by Abbey Wolf. Find out more at abbey wolf.bamcamp.com. Comments, questions, email us at info at welcome to nightvail.com or follow us on Twitter at nightvail radio. Check out welcome to nightfail.com for more information on this show as well as all sorts of cool nightfail stuff you can own.

And while you're there, consider clicking that donate link. That'd be cool of you. Today's proverb, You say potato, I say potato. Potato. Potato. Potato. Potato. Potato. Potato.

Yes, this is very good. Let's keep going. Potato. Potato. Potato. Hey, Jeffrey Kraner here to tell you about another show from me and my Night Vale co-creator Joseph Fink. It's called Unlicensed.

And it's an L.A. noir-style mystery set in the outskirts of present-day Los Angeles. Unlicensed follows two unlicensed private investigators who small jobs looking into insurance claims and missing property are only the tip of a conspiracy iceberg. There are already two seasons of Unlicensed for you to listen to now with Season 3 dropping on May 15th. Unlicensed is available exclusively through Audible, free if you already have that subscription. And if you don't, Audible has a trial membership. And if I know you, and I do, you can binge all that mystery goodness. a short window. And if you like it, if you liked Unlicensed, please, please rate and review each season. Our ability to keep making this show is predicated on audience engagement. So go check out Unlicensed,

available now only at audible.com.