La Monnaie Parsifal | Blow by Blow

Roméo Castellucci

Parsifal is officially airborne.

The day started with the particular burning sensation that my left eye always gets when I don't sleep enough. (Born cross-eyed, I've had 4 eye surgeries on that eye, and the scar tissue can easily get irritated when I get tired.) After a life-time of eye nuisances I gave up worrying about that. So on to the next waking worry…

After doing this for a few years now, I know what feelings in your throat are surmountable, and which are not. If you aren't a singer you probably can hardly imagine those first few moments of waking up on a premiere day. Snoring, reflux, mouth breathing even, everything unknowingly done while sleeping will have affected how your voice feels in those first moments. The sleeping pills I had taken to coax myself to sleep always makes my voice a bit heavy in the morning and I've learned not to freak out about that, but beyond those feelings you search for the slightest tickle, the mildest tension, the smallest lack of HMMMMMMM (the feel of the vocal chords approximating cleanly and clearly).

I touched sound to my voice and all felt fine. To any singer, this moment is nervana. It determines whether my time spent waiting for the curtain to go up will be relaxing or fretful. I relaxed.

Day spent blogging, thinking, reading and of course, watching TV. No denying that. The oppiate of the masses is my drug of choice to cope with the quiet. And the waiting.

I had been asked to attend a press conference at 16h30 and obliged them. De Caluwe was pleased I had shown up. I had to be in the make up chair by 5 so had very little time to field questions and really only made a statement, which went something like this: "It's good to be back at La Monnaie. This house has proven time and time again that many of the most interesting productions in Europe are being done here. It is my artistic home. I won't try to gloss over the fact there has been some acrimony to this production, which I've spoken about on my blog. But the antagonism has been honest, heartfelt and I believe it honors the spirit of the piece. All of us wish to serve Wagner's work, no matter where we come from. This production is demanding for me personally because it is in many ways neutral. And that neutrality is challenging of the audience and performers. We've sought to invite the audience to invest themselves. I hope that the pains we have gone through will yield something that touches people."

Or something like that. Ya get the point. The subtext was: Good place to work. Tough times putting it on. Opera Rocks. Please like it.

photo Bernd Uhlig

Five o'clock: Make up. I hardly know who I'm looking at in the make up chair these days. Hair cut short. Lost a good 10 years in age cuz of it. The curse of the baby-faced Richards genes. Yvonne does her best to make me look neutered neutral. My costumes are as non-descript as the make up is by design. Every attention has been given to not make performers hang out of balance with the entire scope of the piece. Jan-Hendrik suffers the most in that. Such an important role and he is asked to nearly disappear in Act One.  Hardly ever seen, and when seen, never in an exalted way. I have fared better in this regard in my assigned costume and make up. I don't have to wear camouflage makeup through all of the first act. So I don't blame him in the slightest when, toward the end of Act One he slops camouflage makeup all over my face onstage ("Ich schreite kaum…"), doing so with particular zeal. No, no. I'm okay looking like I have poo on my face. It's ok. Really. I'm fine.

The show starts in complete darkness, and opens to a giant picture of Frederich Nietzhe. For many minutes there is only this huge picture spanning the stage. Slowly then, a snake suspended in mid-air is raised to his ear and hangs there for the rest of the prelude. Those at the General weren't treated to this touch because I think the snake was "indisposed." Singers get sore throats. Snakes? Bad gas from mice?

Opening into a forest, Act One is the most challenging for the audience. Like a Seinfeld episode. "Nothing happens." However, in the party afterward I pressed a few people about this, asking if they didn't think the first act was a bit too static and dark. All said the same thing "It makes you absorb. It's real and alive. It invites you to just rest and we begin to listen more."

I wonder if they were absorbing the huge musical mistake I made. I decided at the musical moment when I'm saying horsemen had come and laughed at me when I tried to join them as a young boy (Und einst am Waldessaume vorbei…), to accomodate the music staff and stay facing out rather than crossing left (which sounds like I'm blaming them and I'm not. It was my call and I just wanted to do something slightly new…read: be heard better). So in staying facing out, changing blocking and dealing with the nerves of doing so, proceeded to screw up the line so much it became unsalvageable. Me talking about horsemen and laughing and wilderness turned into vocal poo. "Great!" I'm thinking: "You just blew about 6 bars of music. I think that's about half of all the singing in Act 1. Fantastic Richards."

I proceeded to kick my own ass mentally for the next hour, both onstage and off. Because the rest is spent silent, I could do that and it not show. Too much.

I realized that I wasn't nervous enough. In the press conference Peter De Caluwe had said to the press how thankful he was that I had attended, knowing I would be nervous as the title character and carrying a certain amount of weight on my shoulders. I had responded that I wasn't actually nervous. I was surrounded by fantastic artists, the crew had worked themselves into the ground dealing with the technical demands and the orchestra led by Hartmut was superb. Truly I didn't feel any weight. And after my huge gaffe in Act 1 realized I needed to feel the import of the moment. Embracing the experience, letting the nerves flow through me is all well and good, but without the vitality of nerves, I was in danger. It provides sharpness of thought and the huge goof in Act 1 was because of this.

Some deep breathing and occasional swearing in front of a mirror later…went out for Act 2 and had fun. Sure there were some boneheaded musical moments. But seriously, who can blame me for messing up lines when I'm untying a half naked, white painted woman. Most of what I'm thinking is "Don't brush up against the boobs with your hand. Aw nuts. I just did. Oh crap, I just missed the cue. Where am I? Oh yeah. 'Erlösung.' Wait, how do I untie THIS knot? Dang it Dasniya. How much rope IS there? Shoot, I just touched the knockers again. Sorry! 'Mit diesen Zeichen bann ich deinen Zauber…'"

Like I said: My job is full of challenges.

Act Three is easily the hardest for me mentally. Singing Parsifal in this production is doing a long meditation. Not being a regular meditator don't have the mental discipline to keep my mind quiet and in a restful state. I can do it for a few minutes but the quiet is a bit disconcerting. In it's place rushes in doubt, worry and self-consciousness, all three the bane of any singer onstage. And so finally after 3.5 hours of it begin to be tempted to come unglued in Act 3. The music is sublime and so the worry increases. You don't want to mess up even more. Haenchen has his hands full in the pit sculpting away and the vocal lines are akin to an intermittent oboe solo, coming and going, all exquisite. It's knowing that that's the problem. So sublime. Perhaps I shouldn't care so much about it, but this music moves me as do the words. Finally by opening, much of the action (flying over hands, working on wires) is stripped of the scene due to technical problems. More inaction and thus, more worry. Takes all my mental discipline to keep myself focussed.

And hydrated.

Once I enter the stage before "Heil mir" I never leave. I had been taught new blocking for half of it only the day before too, so a TON to think about. Lots of long statuesque moments. I also know the figurants are depending on me to get my new blocking right, that they are taking cues off of me. And the moment we all get on the treadmill goes without a hitch, though a faster speed than I was used to. It had been very slow previously, which allowed me to manage the breath better. Now at a near-normal walking speed couldn't hold my body in such good alignment. I was a bit disappointed by that and finally saw why Thomas had complained so loudly about it during his aria in rehearsal. The next show they have agreed to slow it down until I'm done singing this soft stuff where every bump is apparent.

We stand there, walking on this treadmill for (what seems like) a half hour. Walking, walking. Thomas (Amfortas) sings his amazing aria, nearly knocking over Ana when he steps onto the moving treadmill. He gets caught up in the moment and it's very impressive, giving me all the impetus to give the final aria my best.

After having walked all this time, on the first line of the aria "Nur eine Waffe taugt" I step out on to the proscenium and continue. As if stepping out of a painting. The proscenium has never once been used in the evening (much to the consternation of the maestro because it places us always more than 10meters upstage at our very closest, which is 20m from him. Usually it's more.) The house lights come up and for the first time we see the audience. A very strange and wonderful moment for me. Surreal. In my dressing room before the show, Walter Althammer (assistant to Haenchen), had stopped by and said: "One final thing must be added to the aria. YOU must bring out every bit of joy you can and share it with us." And so that was my intent. Sharing joy. Not a tired back. Not weak legs or a dry throat. Not regrets over mistakes made. Not vocal technique. Not perfect diction.

Curtain calls. Fade to black. Lots of hugs onstage. Such a relief.

Got to sleep around 5am.

Day done.