I missed an important anniversary a few days ago--the 50th of the classic Bugs Bunny cartoon, "What's Opera, Doc". It is still the introduction of most people to our art form. Here is a link to a wonderful article about it:
http://www.thestar.com/entertainment/article/233518
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
Sunday, July 8, 2007
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Colin Graham
Last Tuesday I flew back to St. Louis to attend the memorial service for Colin Grahm, the former Artistic Director of Opera Theatre. Those of you reading this from St. Louis know him well, and I'm sure many if not most of you know him by reputation. I've been mulling what I could possibly say--in a way mulling about my right to say it--since then. I didn't know Colin well, though in a business as small as ours, we crossed paths a number of times. That being said, by the end of the evening I felt that I knew him better than I ever thought, not from the details of his life, but by seeing the effect he has had on the singers, musicians and audience members he has worked with and for over the past half century.
At the memorial friends and colleagues who had known Colin for years shared memories of their collaborations, each funnier and more inspiring than the next. All in all it reinforced what I have believed for years--that Colin is the model that every director should aspire to follow. I don' t have quite the depth or breadth of interaction that many folks have with him, but I thought I would mention a few important moments.
The first time I met Colin was in the late 1990's in Santa Fe. I had flown out for a round of "get to know you" interviews, and during a free afternoon I sat in the audience while Colin staged some scenes from the operatic version of "A Dream Play." My initial interest was as much in the piece as in Colin, having performed in the source play many years ago, but I was soon mesmerized by watching him work. What I remember most is him getting up up onstage with the singers and helping them feel the essence of what he was asking them to do--not demonstrating in the crude sense, but embodying something deeper, something which he felt in the music. He showed not what they should do, but how it felt channeled through him, and then gave them the room to make it their own. I was also impressed by his physical grace, and his sheer fitness. He looked like he could break me in half. This was during his competitive body-building years, I would guess.
A few years after that we started a rhythm of just missing each other at Yale. He would direct the Fall show and I would direct the Spring show, so I heard lots of stories from the singers. I remember them telling me about a doorknob falling off a door during a performance of Figaro (a show about doors) and their description of him trying to fix it from behind, during the show. Mainly I was a bit nervous about having to live up to the standard he set, but hopefully I came close.
Three years ago when I was in Hartford working on a Barber, I received an email from Colin asking me to come to St. Louis and direct Mikado. It was completely surreal. I called him up and we chatted about designers, the piece, working at Yale and other schools. I felt like a young baseball player casually chatting to Babe Ruth about my swing. He was such a gentleman on the phone, that really struck me. He suggested a few designers, including Cameron Anderson, with whom I have now worked twice and who designed last season's Barber at OTSL. He also asked me to lean towards a non-traditional production, as OTSL's last version had been very traditional.
The following year I hired designers and started thinking about the show, having meetings, etc. Two summers ago was the moment of truth. Having found a direction I thought was fun and funny and true to the piece, my set designer Mikiko Suzuki and I travelled to St. Louis to present the ideas and research. I would be lying if I didn't admit to having a back-up plan if he had hated our ideas, but fortunately he seemed interested, and off we went. I saw him on and off over the next two years, but short of a lovely conversation over dinner last Christmas, I never got the chance to pick his brain, or ask his opinion about the work. It makes me very sad that he never got to see the finished show. His legacy is clear and secure at OTSL, and I think his challenge is equally clear. He gave his entire life to his art form. It is all too easy to do less than that, to skate, to coast, to take the easy way, to accept mediocrity. No one sets out to be merely a good artist, the only goal is to be a great one. Few of us succeed, though, and the temptation to put less thought and effort into your fifth Boheme than you put into your first is always there. So I am thankful to have examples like his to follow. I may never direct as many world premieres (I'm at 2 and counting--a long way to go to his 57), I may never run a company as successful or ground breaking as his. When I am gone, who knows if the singers and students I've worked with will look back with the sort of fondness and gratitude in evidence last Tuesday.
What is clear is that the path is not to set a goal and then say "done", but to approach each day of rehearsal, each project with a full commitment to the piece, to your colleagues, to your audience and art. And on the many days where it seems easier to just let something go, to let it slide, my new goal is to ask myself would Colin let that go? Would he accept it? Or would he keep working at it, pondering, posing questions, trying to make the work the best it can possibly be. As Bernstein said in Candide, and as sung at Colin's tribute, "we're neither pure nor wise nor good, we'll do the best we know." I won't get into my personal metaphysics, but I don't think it would be a bad thing to imagine him sitting a few rows behind me, as I did during Mikado rehearsals. At any moment, I should be able to turn around, look him in the eye, and say I'm doing the best I know.
At the memorial friends and colleagues who had known Colin for years shared memories of their collaborations, each funnier and more inspiring than the next. All in all it reinforced what I have believed for years--that Colin is the model that every director should aspire to follow. I don' t have quite the depth or breadth of interaction that many folks have with him, but I thought I would mention a few important moments.
The first time I met Colin was in the late 1990's in Santa Fe. I had flown out for a round of "get to know you" interviews, and during a free afternoon I sat in the audience while Colin staged some scenes from the operatic version of "A Dream Play." My initial interest was as much in the piece as in Colin, having performed in the source play many years ago, but I was soon mesmerized by watching him work. What I remember most is him getting up up onstage with the singers and helping them feel the essence of what he was asking them to do--not demonstrating in the crude sense, but embodying something deeper, something which he felt in the music. He showed not what they should do, but how it felt channeled through him, and then gave them the room to make it their own. I was also impressed by his physical grace, and his sheer fitness. He looked like he could break me in half. This was during his competitive body-building years, I would guess.
A few years after that we started a rhythm of just missing each other at Yale. He would direct the Fall show and I would direct the Spring show, so I heard lots of stories from the singers. I remember them telling me about a doorknob falling off a door during a performance of Figaro (a show about doors) and their description of him trying to fix it from behind, during the show. Mainly I was a bit nervous about having to live up to the standard he set, but hopefully I came close.
Three years ago when I was in Hartford working on a Barber, I received an email from Colin asking me to come to St. Louis and direct Mikado. It was completely surreal. I called him up and we chatted about designers, the piece, working at Yale and other schools. I felt like a young baseball player casually chatting to Babe Ruth about my swing. He was such a gentleman on the phone, that really struck me. He suggested a few designers, including Cameron Anderson, with whom I have now worked twice and who designed last season's Barber at OTSL. He also asked me to lean towards a non-traditional production, as OTSL's last version had been very traditional.
The following year I hired designers and started thinking about the show, having meetings, etc. Two summers ago was the moment of truth. Having found a direction I thought was fun and funny and true to the piece, my set designer Mikiko Suzuki and I travelled to St. Louis to present the ideas and research. I would be lying if I didn't admit to having a back-up plan if he had hated our ideas, but fortunately he seemed interested, and off we went. I saw him on and off over the next two years, but short of a lovely conversation over dinner last Christmas, I never got the chance to pick his brain, or ask his opinion about the work. It makes me very sad that he never got to see the finished show. His legacy is clear and secure at OTSL, and I think his challenge is equally clear. He gave his entire life to his art form. It is all too easy to do less than that, to skate, to coast, to take the easy way, to accept mediocrity. No one sets out to be merely a good artist, the only goal is to be a great one. Few of us succeed, though, and the temptation to put less thought and effort into your fifth Boheme than you put into your first is always there. So I am thankful to have examples like his to follow. I may never direct as many world premieres (I'm at 2 and counting--a long way to go to his 57), I may never run a company as successful or ground breaking as his. When I am gone, who knows if the singers and students I've worked with will look back with the sort of fondness and gratitude in evidence last Tuesday.
What is clear is that the path is not to set a goal and then say "done", but to approach each day of rehearsal, each project with a full commitment to the piece, to your colleagues, to your audience and art. And on the many days where it seems easier to just let something go, to let it slide, my new goal is to ask myself would Colin let that go? Would he accept it? Or would he keep working at it, pondering, posing questions, trying to make the work the best it can possibly be. As Bernstein said in Candide, and as sung at Colin's tribute, "we're neither pure nor wise nor good, we'll do the best we know." I won't get into my personal metaphysics, but I don't think it would be a bad thing to imagine him sitting a few rows behind me, as I did during Mikado rehearsals. At any moment, I should be able to turn around, look him in the eye, and say I'm doing the best I know.
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
A Belated Post
So my current project (www.nytvf.com) has become all-consuming much more quickly than I had hoped it would, which has made it hard to gather my thoughts for the sort of final entry I would like. I am going to drop back and punt, therefore, and say that my final post will come after June 20th, when I am in St. Louis to see a matinee of the show. It will be nice to see how the show has grown in a month. In the meantime, I wanted to post an email I received from Alison Felter, the Education Director at OTSL:
With all the bustle of the season I thought you might enjoy a nice story of a very happy 12 year old from Jackson Park Elementary in University City who attended the student matinee of The Mikado last Friday. She was so enthralled with the production that she announced to her mother that she would like to take her to the opera using birthday money she received this month. Her mom says she can't stop talking about the production and that she (the mom) is now excited having seen tv commercials and reading about the show in the St. Louis American. So June 12 if you notice a 12 year old and her mom dining on the picnic grounds together, say hello and welcome new opera fan Deja and her mom Kym.
I must say that made me feel pretty good. I remember the shows I saw as a child and young adult so vividly (The Wiz, Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat, As You Like It, many others) that feeling like a show I directed had a similar effect on someone her age really makes my day. In fact, I remember asking for tickets for Joseph on Broadway for Christmas the year I turned 11. And after all, if the Dejas of the world don't find a taste for opera, I'll need to find a new profession in a few decades, and quite frankly I like what I do.
So forgive my evasions, and I promise to summarize in June.
With all the bustle of the season I thought you might enjoy a nice story of a very happy 12 year old from Jackson Park Elementary in University City who attended the student matinee of The Mikado last Friday. She was so enthralled with the production that she announced to her mother that she would like to take her to the opera using birthday money she received this month. Her mom says she can't stop talking about the production and that she (the mom) is now excited having seen tv commercials and reading about the show in the St. Louis American. So June 12 if you notice a 12 year old and her mom dining on the picnic grounds together, say hello and welcome new opera fan Deja and her mom Kym.
I must say that made me feel pretty good. I remember the shows I saw as a child and young adult so vividly (The Wiz, Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat, As You Like It, many others) that feeling like a show I directed had a similar effect on someone her age really makes my day. In fact, I remember asking for tickets for Joseph on Broadway for Christmas the year I turned 11. And after all, if the Dejas of the world don't find a taste for opera, I'll need to find a new profession in a few decades, and quite frankly I like what I do.
So forgive my evasions, and I promise to summarize in June.
Saturday, May 19, 2007
The Big Night
Tonight is the big night. I have a feeling that I might be a bit late getting home to blog tonight, and tomorrow I travel back to Philly to start my next gig in New York on Monday. I promise I will give a "final thoughts" entry some time next week, as well as an update or two over the next month, but after today my daily entries will be no more. It has been a wonderful experience, and I want to thank my readers (all 662 of you, according to google). I hope this has been as fun for you to read as it has been for me to write.The pictures here are another sort of Easter egg. I have gone on and on earlier about the excellence of all the shops here at OTSL, but I want to point out something that you might miss during the show. All of the women's kimonos in Act 2 are hand made and hand painted. What is unique about them, though, is that when they are lined up in the correct order, they form a single unbroken picture. You can see the sun above Yum-Yum's head below. I still am amazed by this, and seeing it never fails to amaze me.
Hopefully this is the sort of detail that makes the show special. What is best about it is that the singers themselves feel the sort of love that has gone into creating all the costumes, sets and props, and it adds to their performances in ways that are impossible to quantify. So many hundreds (literally hundreds) or people have worked so hard to make this show what it is, and I owe them all a deep debt of gratitude. And what is more, Monday morning they all turn their focus to the next show to open. Everyone here is not just a consummate professional, not just a superb craftsperson, but also a unique and wonderful artist, and I wish them all a fantastic season.
Yes, I gush but that is just me. This has been a wonderful month in St. Louis, one of the most enjoyable of my career, and I must admit that my joy in seeing the show tonight will be slightly tempered by my sadness in needing to leave. For those of you who will be there tonight, enjoy the show. As The Rude Mechanicals said, it is all for your delight...
Friday, May 18, 2007
Easter Eggs
Today is the calm before the storm. I generally spend the day before opening either happily writing opening night cards, or wallowing in a sea of blind panic. Mainly opening night cards today. Speaking of cards, at right are the cards that Pooh Bah hands out to the audience when he describes all his various entrepreneurial activities. He dines with middle class people, dances at cheap suburban parties, accepts refreshment at any hands and retails state secrets. His address has a few Easter eggs--the postal code is Gilbert's initials and the year the piece was written. The phone number has several references, most notably "42" which as any fan of Douglas Adams can tell you is the ultimate answer to life, the universe and everything. The occupations listed are all included for their humorous value except the last. OBE (Order of the British Empire) is my nod to Colin Grahm, the late and much missed Artistic Director of OTSL, who shared that title. Hopefully he would find it a fitting tribute.There are several other Easter eggs hidden throughout the show. For instance, one of the stickers on the back of Nanki-Poo's guitar case is the symbol the singer Prince used for many years. As Nanki-Poo is a prince himself, it seemed fitting. Most apparent, perhaps, are the references to the three other operas in the OTSL season (La Traviata, I Puritani and Anna Karenina). There are others as well, for the quick of eye and ear.
I am not posting any pictures of the show today, because most of my new photos are pictures of the show, and I want to maintain some surprises for those of you who will be there tomorrow. Looking forward to seeing you there!
Thursday, May 17, 2007
To Placate The Fates...
Today was our final dress, our last chance to try out the show before we go live on Friday. We had a lovely audience of several hundred people, which is vital for a comedy. Ideally we would have a week of previews before we open to test out what is funny, but sans that luxury I was thrilled to have at least one shot at it. Comedy is such a tricky business--half fate, half science and half blind luck. We learned a lot today, though.
I am sure you all know the superstition that a bad dress means a good opening. As I am very superstitious, I must point out that many, MANY things went wrong, if you catch my drift.
Dropped umbrellas, mistaken cues, etc. Plenty to improve on for the opening. Which is good--nothing makes me more nervous than a perfectly smooth dress.
So another of the many groups of people who made all of this craziness come to life are my ninjas--the props and stage crew who move around buildings, tote rocks, hand off katanas and basically make the whole affair run smoothly. Like all ninjas, they are silent, swift, and deadly. I have yet to see any of them scale a sheer wall, but I have no doubt they could, if a prop needed to be delivered there. Those are their costumes, complete with flaming fists (most of them are in service to Katisha.)
That is our own Paul Kilmer. I thought he should be on the blog.
Ko-Ko, reading his little list, with the wonderful GYA Men's Coro behind him.
I am sure you all know the superstition that a bad dress means a good opening. As I am very superstitious, I must point out that many, MANY things went wrong, if you catch my drift.
Dropped umbrellas, mistaken cues, etc. Plenty to improve on for the opening. Which is good--nothing makes me more nervous than a perfectly smooth dress.So another of the many groups of people who made all of this craziness come to life are my ninjas--the props and stage crew who move around buildings, tote rocks, hand off katanas and basically make the whole affair run smoothly. Like all ninjas, they are silent, swift, and deadly. I have yet to see any of them scale a sheer wall, but I have no doubt they could, if a prop needed to be delivered there. Those are their costumes, complete with flaming fists (most of them are in service to Katisha.)
That is our own Paul Kilmer. I thought he should be on the blog. 
Ko-Ko, reading his little list, with the wonderful GYA Men's Coro behind him.
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