Satyagraha is Philip Glass's best opera, and the second act, in particular, is a compelling amalgam of simplicity, subtle gradations and powerful emotion.

But many attendees at the live cinema transmission of the opera complained that the opera was annoying and an insult to viewers. I understand those reactions and, in part, I agree.

The Metropolitan Opera's co-production (with English National Opera) has been greeted rapturously by most critics. People who paid up to $345 for tickets to see it at the Met agreed with the critical consensus that Satyagraha is a masterpiece. They gave it cheering ovations in the house.

In contrast, movie theater patrons sat in stunned near-silence. Their faces looked like Mel Brooks's "audience" seeing "Springtime for Hitler" in the movie The Producers, where one of them exclaimed: "Well, I never...!"

This seems to be an example of differences of opinion based on class. Erudite musicologists praised what commonfolk hated. Normally, my tastes are elite. But in this case I feel empathy with the unwashed.

First, though, let's discuss the good elements. The music is more expansive than Glass's norm, using a large cast and and an orchestra of strings and woodwinds. He creates a world where change happens slowly, with subtly changing harmonies, just as in Gandhi's world. In Act 2 Glass's music turns powerfully dramatic, then softly mesmerizing, sometimes insistent and sometimes soothing.

The title means "truth-force" and it was the watchword of his non-violent demonstrations to achieve change in South Africa from 1893 to 1914. There he organized immigrants from India, farmers and urban laborers in protests against head taxes and other forms of discrimination.

Now, to the negative. Gandhi tried to bond with the underprivileged by adopting the attire of the poorest people, saying "Only after they are fed and dressed should I consider my own clothing." Yet Glass and his colleagues showed disregard for the humble, average opera-lover in the way they presented this opera.

The libretto is in Sanskrit and twenty minutes of singing went by before the first of the Met's normal English captions appeared. During the next three hours there were hardly any other captions. Host Eric Owens told us during the first intermission that this was intentional, because Glass wanted the opera to make its impression through picture and sound rather than text. This seems to be a repudiation of Gandhi, who used words as his principal weapon - he wrote extensively and published a newspaper for the purpose of promulgating his words.

Audiences sat there hearing beautiful, hypnotic music and seeing unusual visual elements without knowing the meaning - the antithesis of the real Gandhi's communicative skills. The libretto, actually, was the Sanskrit Bhaghavad Gita that Gandhi recited each day and which inspired his activities. So the words related obliquely to the action that was shown on stage. When workers are passing on copies of Gandhi's newspaper the words sung are: "Therefore, perform unceasingly the works that must be done."

One defender of Satyagraha is Daniel Mendelsohn in the New York Review of Books who decried people who object to the Sanskrit but "happily sit through a Te Deum or bar mitzvah while understanding little of the text." He's not fair. People attend those for social and/or religious reasons, and most of them do know what they're hearing although maybe not word-for-word. But people pay big bucks to attend the performance (italics intentional) of operas, expecting a theatrical, communicative experience.

The stage imagery included lots of symbolism - some of it relatable and some not. Effective communication occurs in Act 2 where finely-dressed people, presumably the white elite of South Africa, are laughing and crumpling up pieces of paper, probably Gandhi's publications, then throwing them at Gandhi in rejection. In Act 3 we see a rear view of Martin Luther King, arms raised, making a speech. Clearly, this is to show the influence Gandhi had with future civil rights leaders. And Indian people unspool yards of sticky tape presumably to symbolize their oppression until an aerialist twists the tape into a giant ball and flies away with it.

Many other stage effects could not be understood. Puppets were eye-catching, and characters floating in air were spellbinding, but who knew what they signified? Lovers of Satyagraha say that you should just go with the mood, and let the message transport you. This sounds like the 1960s when some people took consciousness-altering drugs before attending screenings of Fantasia.

Problems arise in the long third act. As Gandhi sings an ascending minor-key scale of eight notes over and over, it seemed like a hundred times, the scale never varies (although the accompaniment behind it does). Perhaps this indicates Gandhi's determined persistence, but it is annoying.

In the East, mantric repetitions of music are a meditative medium for achieving spiritual heightening. Therefore Glass's style is appropriate. But you can't blame some audience members for resenting that they were subjected to someone else's religious ritual.

Richard Croft was perfect as the humble Gandhi, using colorful mid-range timbres to create a mood of devotion. Rachelle Durkin spectacularly projected high-flying soprano lines as his secretary. The chorus under Donald Palumbo sang with passion. Dante Anzolini conducted with dedication. Barbara Willis Sweete directed effectively for the big screen.

Perhaps Glass's music would better be served with a clear and simple staging of Gandhi's career. But I feel that would create cognitive dissonance; the ethereal music needs otherworldly staging. Although that leaves many audience members behind, so be it. Let this opera draw a special smaller following. I still would prefer using full captioning with an option for home viewers to turn it off, as they now do on DVDs and Blu-Rays, not to mention at the Met itself for all other operas. Gandhi was inspired by those words, so we should have the right to see them.

As for me, I was captivated enough so that I want to attend the encore screening. However, I might be ready to leave at the end of Act 2.