The Secret to Comedy

There are, of course, many ways to make people laugh. An unexpected pie to the face. A small dog riding a motorcycle. An errant softball to the crotch. But since the days of Aristophanes, nothing has been a surer source of madcap japery than an extremely tall man wielding a gymnastics ribbon. Truly.

That's our very own Pooh-Bah, Matt Boehler, showing us his inner Comaneci. I think most operas could be improved by a judicious use of gymnastics ribbons. Or barring that small dogs on motorcycles.

So an excellent day today. What can be bad about a day that starts with a test fire of a confetti cannon? It's really much more of a confetti bazooka or shotgun, actually. Still, when that CO2 cartridge pops and that confetti shoots into the air and comes fluttering to the ground, it's hard not to smile.

We spent the morning working on the Act 1 Finale, and the afternoon reviewing all of the act. I was glad to see that while some of the specific blocking got a bit squidgy after a few days working on other things, the spirit, feel, style and flow of the piece are gelling nicely. That's the men's coro below listening to Ko-Ko introduce himself.

Tomorrow brings us deeper into Act 2. We're jumping around a bit due to some scheduling oddities, so we're actually staging the Act 2 Finale before we finish staging the rest of the act. Always sort of odd. The whole act is a bit odd, actually. The first act is jam-packed with chorus numbers, and the second act has only 4. I'm sure there is a rationale behind that architecture, but I'm still looking for it, I admit. Makes it hard to feel the build you want for a second act. The act 2 finale in particular feels very quick.

We're also delving into the overture. I'm generally not a stage the overture sort of director, but ever since I was asked to direct this show, I've had a very clear vision of an overture ballet. It is coming about in a slightly different way, but I'm still pretty excited about it. I won't explain it here (need to leave some secrets) but hopefully it will introduce the style and point of view of the show in a very efficient and funny way.

In closing, allow me to once again say how much I love gymnastic ribbons. Man, they're awesome.

Good Night.

Once More, With Feeling

So Paul Kilmer, the Artistic Administrator of OTSL told me a story about Colin Grahm, the late and much beloved Artistic Director of same. Apparently a singer in some opera once performed an impromptu encore to a number he had just sung. Colin turned to Paul and said "Only in Gilbert and Sullivan, and then only rarely."

I've taken this as my mantra in terms of approaching the delicate and arcane art of the encore. I've always found the idea of the encore extremely artificial, and the thought of the days when pieces in operas like Madama Butterfly were encored gives me the screaming heebie-jeebies. But the whole G&S style is based in some way on artificiality. Call it theatricality if you prefer, but tomato, tomahto. The show thrives on direct address, on self-referentiality, on a slightly crackly hard candy coating of delight and detachment. And many if not most of the productions I've seen of Mikado have encored one or more numbers. So here is my big question:

At what point did encores become planned?

I can guarantee that all of these productions I've seen planned out the encores. It used to be that the audience would demand encores of certain numbers, sometimes more than one, but these days we plan ahead. Is that good or bad, I wonder?

We do have at least one planned encore, possibly two. The planning process involves making a distinction between the first and second iterations of the number--usually in terms of tempo, but sometimes in terms of blocking as well. When you plan ahead, you need to make sure you justify the encore. Of course leaving the decision whether to encore up to the audience would never work, because no one would ever yell encore. We've trained that sort of behaviour out of them. And some numbers, perhaps most notably "Here's a Howdy-Do" seem virtually written for encoring. In that case especially the number is so short on its own that a single go at it seems almost stingy. So what to do? Plan out an encore presuming (with hubris?) that the audience likes it enough to earn an encore, or let the whole tradition die out, knowing that an audience would no more call out "encore" if they like it than they would throw cabbages if they didn't. Is a puzzlement. Me, I lean on the side of doing an encore or two.

But only rarely.

A Day of Rest

Day off today, so no news on the rehearsal front (though I did drop by the costume shop to see a fitting for our sumo wrestler--another fantastic creation.)
I thought I would post this, though--an example of 19th century Branded Entertainment. Today it is hard to imagine a movie that doesn't have a tie in with McDonald's or Coca-Cola. Television shows are paid millions to feature products on screen. Of course there is nothing new under the sun. When The Mikado opened in 1885 it caused a sensation around the English world. Within two years over 300 million products were trademarked using Mikado as a part of their name. Okay, that is a slight exageration but I left the book with the actual statistic back at the theatre, so trust me when I say it was lot. Hundreds. Mikado Pencils, Mikado Tomatoes, Mikado Flour, etc, etc. Other companies simply used the characters and lyrics to sell their products, as with Coat's Spool Cotton, which had a whole set of trading cards with all of the Mikado characters featured.

Back to rehearsal tomorrow, and a toe dipped ever so briefly into the pool of Act II.

Nothing New Under the Sun (thankfully)

Ladies and gentlemen, the incomparable, the irresistible, the incredible Myrna Paris, our Katisha. We finally got her in rehearsal today, to begin staging the act I finale. That is the chorus and our Pitti-Sing below. A fantastic and productive day, but that is not what I am going to blog about at the moment. (Though it really was a fabulous day.)

Tomorrow is our day off, so I decided to take in a movie. Rehearsing is a fairly intense process, and I find that movies are a great way to decompress and recharge. I saw "Hot Fuzz", a British movie by the creators of "Shaun of the Dead". Dear Reader, it was perfection. Now I am not saying it is to everyone's taste, but it was a flawless execution of its style. It is a spot-on satire of Hollywood Police action movies. From the script to the acting to the cinematography it aped the style so effortlessly that there were times it almost became the type of movie it parodies. The characters in the movie watch police movies, and emulate them in ways knowing and unknowing. At one point one character chides another for not having a pithy enough catch phrase. And that got me thinking of good old G&S. After all, that last example is only a degree or two removed from the Mikado's line "Virtue is triumphant only in theatrical performances." Direct Address--that is, breaking the 4th wall, or good old talking to the audience--has been around for centuries. Drama that is NOT self-referential in some way is a much more modern invention. "Hot Fuzz" parodies the conventions of the police action movie in PRECISELY the same way that G&S parodied the conventions of opera and melodrama. Both allow the audience to laugh at those conventions while simultaneously indulging in them. Pretty sneaky.

Shutting down now to go to bed, watching a few last scenes of "The Legend of Drunken Master", the classic Jackie Chan film. Talk about an artist who can seamlessly blend genres--tweaking conventions to the point of reinvention.

Good night for now.

Three Little Maids From School Are We...

Today, in many ways is the day I have been waiting for for three years, ever since I was offered this show. The entrance of the Three Little Maids. It is a sort of tipping point for the whole piece, setting the tone for the show in a way that the other songs cannot. I suppose this is because it is the "To Be Or Not To Be", the "Un Bel Di", the "Stellaaaaaa!" of this piece. On opening night of the first production it was encored three times. Three. No pressure there, though. And the tune lives in on a million unexpected ways. Chariots of Fire? Yep. Curb Your Enthusiasm on HBO? Yep--it's that catchy music they play between scenes. And a grillion other places. Thank the gods that we have three little maids who any director would envy--Alison Tupay, Kristen Forrest Leich and Katherine Jolly. Not to mention the incomparable Sean Curran as choreographer. OTSL folks know him as the choreographer of Nixon in China--my folks might remember him as the choreographer of the Martinu double bill I directed for Gotham Chamber Opera a few years back. That's him in black showing the ladies how to stand. (By the way, check out that natural light in the rehearsal room. That is NOT something you get every day. This rehearsal space is better than a spa, I swear.)

That's the Ladies Chorus working with Sean on "So Please You Sir We Much Regret".

We also staged the Nanki-Poo/Yum-Yum duet--"Were You Not to Ko-Ko Plighted". That's Patrick Miller, our Nanki-Poo, serenading Ms. Jolly. Interesting staging that scene. I had always thought the main point was the comedy of them saying "This is what we'll never do" and kissing. In working on it, we sort of stumbled on a slightly more melancholy take. Not sure where it will take us, but there is definitely something appropriate in it. The best comedy comes with a nice dose of pathos, and the music certainly has a melancholy string to be plucked. Just goes to show that you never really know a scene till you get it on its feet and start playing.

Tomorrow we begin working on the At 1 Finale. Can't believe we've made it this far so soon. Still lots of polish and futzing to be done, certainly, but we've got a strong base for a big chunk of the act.

Comes a Train of Little Ladies

Today began with a continuation of our work with the gentlemen of the chorus. I thought I should post a picture of what they will look like to help you envision them better. That's them with the umbrellas and briefcases. Lots of inspirations for that look, from childhood memories of photos of the Tokyo Subway, to a picture in a book called The Big Bento Box of Unuseless Japanese Inventions. Seriously.


Here's a Mikado Fun Fact--many Japanese businessmen will have their jackets tailored with a bright and expensive lining completely hidden beneath a gray or black exterior--glimpses of individuality beneath the anonymity. (Sort of an interesting metaphor for the role of the chorus in opera, in a way.) If you look carefully you might see a few of those in our production.

We also introduced Pooh-Bah and Ko-Ko into the mix. Things are really cooking. Our choreographer Sean Curran is keeping everyone on their toes, quite literally at times.
In the afternoon we began working with the ladies of the chorus. That is a sketch of them in their first look as Japanese schoolgirls. They will be showing up in kimonos later in the show.


So I was asked today what the significance of the title of this blog is--"Modified Rapture." Well, in the first act of the show, when Yum-Yum tells Nanki-Poo that she does not love Ko-Ko, Mr. Gilbert wrote the line "Rapture!" In the early rehearsals the actor playing Nanki-Poo was too happy when he said it. Mr Gilbert made the point that Nanki-Poo still could not marry Yum-Yum and called out "modified rapture" to instruct Nanki-Poo to tone it down. The actor misunderstood, thought he had said the line wrong, and cried out "Modified rapture!" Mr. Gilbert preferred this line to the one he had written and promptly changed the script. It is one of my favorite lines in the piece, capturing the delightful absurdity of the way Titipudlians communicate amongst themselves.

Tomorrow we finally meet the infamous Three Little Girls From School...Stay Tuned...

On Many a Screen and Fan

I love these work in progress photos. The painting of these shoji screens is incredibly precise--and it is all made by hand. Unreal. I know there are wonderful artisans who work in TV and film, but nothing, NOTHING will ever replace for me the wonder of seeing actors or singers standing in front of something hand made, hand painted. It's the same distinction opera has as being a work of art created entirely by people--no microphones, no post-production sweetening. The sheer feat of creating that glorious, huge, irrational sound (not to mention all that pitch and diction jazz) is so rare in our digital world. Analog art of any kind will only become more special, I think, as it becomes more rare.







These are the signs that will decorate downtown Titipu--in our production a suburb of Tokyo.



It was a big day overall, though. First Day of Staging! We blocked and choreographed the first three numbers of the show--from "Gentlemen of Japan" through Pish-Tush's song. The men's chorus has set a very high standard for the rest of the piece. It is a real marathon, this stretch and the lads tackled it with verve and good will. Lots of pressure as well to set up the world and style of the piece.

One thing that struck me today was how often the chorus corrects the audience in their first number--"You're wrong if you think it ain't" and "If that's your idea you're wrong." A very haughty and aggressive way to start an opera, indeed!

Tomorrow we continue staging the first several numbers,and we finally get to meet the ladies of the chorus! Very exciting.

A Thing of Shreds and Patches

Day 2 of rehearsal .

The morning brought us our Pish-Tush and Peep-Bo, so we were able to finally sing through Three Little Maids with a full contingent. Wonderful to hear the cast laughing as well. Good comedy can be made by people who don't like each other, but it is oh so much harder and much less pleasant. This bunch is bonding quickly.

In the afternoon it was time to give a concept presentation to the cast and staff. 40 minutes of background, history, artistic tidbits and airy persiflage.

After that a brief production meeting to clarify some outstanding issues. How will the men's fans work? Where will the tassels on Katisha's wagon go? Can we get some extra sunglasses for two of the choristers?

The rest of the afternoon was the best part, though. Now I may not know everything about opera. I may leave my socks on the floor. I may be unduly concerned with the outcome of America's Next Top Model. In short, I am deeply flawed. But I know an awesome costume shop when I see one.

I got to sit in on two costume fittings. First was Katisha. That is Linda Cho, our costume designer holding the costume sketch. Katisha is my favorite character, and the dragon lady concept I brought up in our initial meetings was brilliantly expanded upon by her to the Kabuki Fire Demon/Drag Queen you can probably make out in the sketch. (I'll leave the costume itself to be a bit of a surprise...) Suffice it to say that when a playwright or librettist gives a character a literally show stopping entrance in the Act I Finale, it makes the artistic team sit up and take notice. I think this costume earns its place in the architecture of the show.





After that was Nanki-Poo's first fitting. That is the brilliant Bob kneeling at Mr. Poo's feet and adjusting his hem. Bob is what we call a draper, and drapers are the most powerful people in the entire field of theatre. If they all called in sick one day, the entire artistic world would grind to a halt with a sickening, grinding, scraping noise.

Inspired by the Break-Dancing Elvises of Harajuku Square in Tokyo (officially named the Rocka-Billy Club, I believe) Nanki-Poo is certainly doing a fine job of hiding his noble roots. I suppose shreds and patches are in the eye of the beholder...
















PS Bob also made that Dragon-riding-a-motorcycle embroidered piece on the back of Mr. Poo's leather jacket. Have I mentioned his geniusness and geniusosity?

Songs and snatches

So yesterday I wrote about how wonderful it was seeing set pieces for the first time.
The only thing better is meeting the cast for the first time.
Today was our first sing through (minus a chorus and a few late arrivals.)
Dear Reader, it...was...fabulous. There is always a delicious frission going into the first music rehearsal. After all, as the director, I have been thinking about the show for months, or in this case years. The sets, the costumes, the props, all of these decisions are MADE, and all before I ever meet the cast. But the most important element is still waiting. Hearing new voices, new personalities singing those lines, speaking those words, a thousand other paths and possibilities open up. Terrifying, really, but exhilirating. Now the work really begins.

Finally to scale...

There is a fantastic scene in Topsy Turvy where we see Mr. Gilbert sitting in his study moving little blocks around a model of the Mikado set. For the past month I have been doing precisely that--moving little people around the set model provided me by the grotesquely talented Mikiko Suzuki. Yesterday I arrived in St Louis and got to see the real ones, in all their full size glory. This is a photo of them in a corner of the rehearsal room. Tuesday I get to start rolling them around. (I'm realizing now I should have taken this picture with myself next to one of these monsters.)

The amount of work that has already gone into this show, before a singer even opens their mouth is astounding. The folks in the production department have outdone themselves. Everything from centuries old makeup chests to 30 tiny origami houses (that take 4 hours each to make).

Today I sat down with the stage management team and my intrepid assistant director and we went through the show scene by scene, breaking down scene changes and some of the major choral migrations. Tomorrow is the first music rehearsal. The suspense builds...

Okay, how cool is this? It is one of the photos sent by the production dept. to keep me up to date about there they are in the build. That is what I call a fish.

If you want to know who we are...

All right more of an I than a we, really. If you want to know who I am, my name is Ned Canty, and I am the stage director of the Opera Theatre of St. Louis 2007 production of Gilbert and Sullivan's The Mikado. This blog will be tracking the rehearsal process from final prep through to opening night. Pictures, musings, trivia, the usual bloggy bloggishness of the blogosphere. Light on catty gossip, high on anecdote and backstage antics.

Truth be told, I'm not entirely sure how interesting it will be. Creating comedy can be extremely enjoyable, on those rare days when you seem to be catching lightning in a bottle. Did I mention those are rare? But there are many, MANY hours of rehearsal that are extremely technical and quite dull. Making it look improvised, effortless and inevitable is the goal, but watching it happen--or even worse, reading about it happening--seems like it might be the equivalent of listening to a singer's voice lesson, rather than their recital. Still, enough of my friends seem to think it might be interesting that here goes. If I get too dull, maybe I'll be able to talk a few of the singers or designers into guesting...

In the next post I will explain some of the genesis of the production, and post a few photos of the designs. For now, here is one of the photos that inspired the whole production. It's a cover of a Life magazine I found at a bookshop in the Upper Penninsula of Michigan back in 2003. The Bowling Geisha. Oh, yes.