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San Francisco Opera, Rigoletto, 1997. This was the group that caused a ruckus in the letters section of the SF Chronicle for the run of the show. A woman of delicate sensibilities, and her daughter, were the first to be offended by the specter of topless women cavorting lasciviously with men, all in elaborate Elizabethan constume. The toplessness was all stage magic -- savage corsetry pushed our bosoms up to our chins (I said it would "put cleavage on a poodle") and either prosthetic or painted nipples were applied far north of the real thing, giving us a skewed, disturbing quality. The letters appeared daily, even after the Opera explained the artifice. This in San Francisco, of all places!