Notes from the Wings

Brødrene Løvehjerte - the World Premiere is now behind us. With reference to my blog of the 29th February, we now know where we were going, where we have come to - and I can divulge suspense was kept right up until the last moment on that score. It has been a little like walking in a thick fog for 8 weeks, patiently plodding on behind the person designated as leader who, like the leader of a tourist group, holds an umberella or a little flag above his or her head which we faithful followers try to keep sight of so we are in the right position when the fog lifts. It can consequently be a frustrating hike. And it is at moments like this when I am glad to witness a show like this from the wings as a reminder of why I like working in what can be a most frustrating but also a highly satisfying environment.

Once when the frustration overcame the satisfaction I accepted a job to work with the French Radio Choir. No stage rehearsals, no directors, no moving around, just the chorus, the score and the music. In Paris, however, a lot of the concerts we did, due to the dire concert hall situation there, took place on the stage of two of the major Parisian theatres, the Théâtre des Champs Elysées and the Théatre du Châtelet. And it was not long before I realised I acutally missed the buzz of getting ready for a show, watching from the wings to see how the audience received it, just being a part of a huge machine that has to run smoothly for about 3 hours to bring the spectacle before the public's eyes.

I was reminded of this at the premiere of Løvehjerte. Most of the rehearsals I had spent sitting in the auditorium, listening to and watching the chorus. At the premiere I had backstage conducting so I could not keep returning to the auditorium to catch up. I had to stay put backstage. The people I know that have seen it thought it was great but I would wager the show backstage is almost as good as that on stage.

People rushing off stage, to quickly change costume in one of the costume change booths hastily set up, to run round the set and await their next entrance; the technicians in place on stage, primed with radio receiver, to watch or listen for their signal to roll the elevated house set of the Løvehjerte brothers off to a side stage, whilst another set line up with cherry trees that must roll on in a matter of seconds before the curtain rises to reveal Kirsebæredalen; the stage manager calling remaining choristers down from their dressing rooms to sing off stage, statister coming off stage laughing with relief of a their first entrance well done, the conductor places the headphones on his head, for now he must conduct along to a tracker tape, so the orchestra, the recorded music and the three huge Taiko drums placed around the auditorium all manage to play together, the dry ice maching gets stuck as it is pulled back away from the stage and hinders the arrival of the Kirsebærdal fence, I realise my television from which I follow the conductor's beat offstage decides to turn itself off, one character hastily returns to a dressing cubicle - he has to wear the mask in this scene - another major character lines up to go on stage for the first time this night, having hastily exchanged good luck embraces with her colleagues, the new lighting state is cued, the front cloth rises, the show carries on.

Frankly, not all operas are like this. A closed set - a set with three walls, the fourth open to the public - is boring off stage. You can't see in. Consequently there is very little activity in the wings, apart from singers strolling around to find their next entrance. Standing in the wings on this show though, remind me of the excitement conjured up by all those old Hollywoods films about putting on "the show" where everybody is rushing down in a sort of organised frenzy, yet in a state of sudden sobriety able to perform marvels on stage. It's great - it's like being in the theatre.


Philip White