How I spent 20 hours last week

copyright Wilfried Hösl

I'm writing this from Bayreuth, aka Wagnerville, which seems like the right place to tell you all about my Adventures in Wagner last week. CameraMan and I saw our very first Ring cycle! We saw the new production in Munich, which you can read more about (and see pictures!) here.

I have to admit, while I was excited to see the Ring, I was definitely excited AND scared. Whenever anyone heard we were going, most of their advice centered around things like taking enough naps and drinking plenty of coffee. I was worried about being tired and fidgety, about getting sleepy, and most of all about whether I would need to pee (Rheingold is 2 1/2 hours without intermission, and the first act of Götterdämmerung is almost as long). I was also worried I wouldn't know what was going on (no English surtitles in Germany, unfortunately). CM, of course, was studious and dutifully prepared by watching videos and reading the librettos. I, on the other hand, got to the end of Walküre and realized I had absolutely no idea what happened next. I was cramming synopses before every act.


I needn't have worried. I had the best time! The production, while not always to my taste, was never boring, and the music is just sublime. The casts were top-notch (hearing Nina Stemme as Brünnhilde would surely turn anyone into a Wagner fan), and the energy in the audience was unlike any I've experienced. CM had to cough at one point, and he realized that NOBODY in the house had been coughing. I don't know if you've been to the opera lately, but it often sounds like you're in a tuberculosis ward. Everyone was paying rapt attention, and the reactions were strong and immediate (maybe one of my favorite moments was when a particular bit of staging was booed by some audience members, and then others tried to drown them out with bravos—I thought there might be a rumble).


We saw friends who were in town for the Ring (including one onstage), threw in a Cenerentola and a recital for good measure, snuck across the street to Zum Franziskaner for beer and pretzels during second intermissions, and even made it to a couple museums (go here if you're ever in Munich, it's amazing). All in all, a great week.

copyright Wilfried Hösl

56. See the whole Ring cycle.


Can't wait for the next one!

Magic Monday

At CameraMan's new job, they put shows on seemingly by magic, sometimes with a total of THREE rehearsals, none of which take place on the stage or include the orchestra. Somehow, it works. Here in the world of mere mortals, I'm used to three weeks in the room, followed by a generous serving of onstage technical and orchestra rehearsals. Of course even with bags of time, a successful opening night often feels like a miracle, but that's another story.

I'm in the midst of a magic miracle of my own at the moment. Tomorrow morning at 10am, the second cast of Butterfly takes the stage for the first student matinee, joining the orchestra for the first time. Their one onstage rehearsal was today, and it has to be said… they kicked some serious a**. Despite a complicated stage deck with lots of steps and a big ramp, despite being responsible for moving a wall at the right time and bringing multiple props on and offstage, despite a lighting plot without followspots (so they HAVE to be in the right place onstage all the time, no fudging), they pulled it off with ease like the pros they are.

And tomorrow morning, in front of a couple thousand children, they'll do it again (knock on wood). We dabble in a little magic over here, too, you see.

Suck it, Europe.

Oh, what a week

As usual, just when lots of blog-worthy things were happening, I had no time to blog. The past week has been one of the most jam-packed on record: we put on a show, we packed up all our belongings, we moved said belongings into storage, and we drove from Houston to Vienna... Virginia.

There's at least a week's worth of material in there. I could tell you about how a week that I dreaded for months turned out to be incredibly rewarding, exciting, and generally great (surely there's a lesson in there somewhere). About how, despite all my questions and quandaries about what I want to do with my life (or even the next few years), I was reminded that this job is something I love and something I do very well. Or about sitting on the lawn during Saturday night's Tosca performance listening to the whole audience erupt in cheers when Tosca killed Scarpia, and the woman behind me who yelled, "You GO, girl!" I could fill you in on all the details of our highly organized move, but I don't have the words to tell you about the most important detail of all: our amazing friends, who turned out (in shifts, no less) to help us pack and unpack the moving truck, bringing with them laughter, support, and (of course) muscles of steel. I could tell you about the tears that came as I stood with CM in our empty apartment, the first home we shared. Or about inadvertently dropping off our apartment keys early in our hurry to get out of town, and almost being stuck outside with the Bossy Cat stuck inside.

The road trip could provide plenty of blog fodder as well. There was the carefully researched town an hour outside of Houston where we spent our first night, only to discover it was a pizza no man's land, when pizza was all we wanted. There was the Bossy Cat, who roamed all over the car looking for a good spot and wound up on a pillow between us in the front seat. There was some quality time spent with Papa Melear, who just moved to Tennessee a week ago and is already more settled in than we ever were in a year and a half of living in our apartment, and the incredibly Southern pancake house he took us to for breakfast, which had a waitress whose accent and voice have to be heard to be believed. There was the novelty of being in the same car with CM after 2 years of making the same drive in separate cars, and the relief on arriving at our fantastic apartment in Tysons Corners.

It's too much. I'll never get through everything. How about I just show you some pictures instead?

Scarpia, Tosca, Maestro CameraMan, and me

Empty apartment

The whole family in the car



CM's Tennessee biscuits and gravy



The Melear men

Words fail me

At the moment I am having trouble stringing words together to form thoughts, let alone coherent written sentences. We packed all day and then rehearsed all evening and now I want nothing more than to sleep all night. After I have Oreos and milk, obvs.

This whole blogging 5 times a week thing has been going very well, have you noticed? But I don't know if I can maintain that schedule with all the craziness going on here.

So, in a nutshell...

Moving is hard. Tosca is awesome. You should come see it.

And... good night.

Who's the boss?

I love being an assistant director, however nebulous my job might seem at times. I love feeling necessary to the process, and helping rehearsals and performances to run smoothly, and problem-solving, and multi-tasking. The most important part of my job is to be a good communicator and disseminater of information—I'm basically a liaison between the production and the company. I also often act as another pair of eyes, and I'll happily give my 2 or 4 cents when asked, but my primary responsibility is facilitating other people's creativity, not indulging my own. The directors who are the most fun to assist use me as a collaborator; more often than not, though, my mind is consumed with schedules and blocking. And any AD will attest to the fact that we spend a lot of hours of every day consciously NOT giving our opinions. I don't mind that, not really. I use a different part of my brain as an AD—the organized, attentive to detail part—and I'm okay with turning off the creative side in order to be happy and good at my job.

Here's the thing, and it's so important that it's amazing how easily I forget it. The thing is: directing is better. In the past few days working on Tosca, I have made more decisions at work than I usually make over an entire rehearsal period (a normal one, with several weeks). And they weren't decisions about what time to call people to rehearsal, or about how to approach the soprano with a note, or about who needs to know the piece of information I've just learned. I made quite literally DOZENS of decisions about what the set and props and lighting should look like (the show is a remount, but since we're in a different space a lot of things had to change). I saw ways that the singers could more easily accomplish their staging, and rather than diplomatically leaning over to the director with a "Do you like what she's doing?" or a "I wonder if it would work if he..." or a "I liked it better when she used to...," I just walked up on the stage and changed it. It felt good. Assisting is comfortable and well-paying, and I've become very good at it, but it really just isn't the same. My idea of heaven has always been a rehearsal that I'm in charge of, and it's good to be reminded that that's still true.

They don't call me Little Ms. Bossy for nothing, you know.

It's Miller time

And...we're off! Miller Week has started in earnest. It's a strange feeling to revisit a show several months after it closes. Some of it is so familiar I might never forget it (even if I want to), and some of it has to be explained to me 5 times before I have any idea what it is. I think everyone was pleasantly surprised by how much the singers remember, especially those who never did a mainstage performance (our Tosca and Scarpia are new to the production, and only rehearsed for a week last winter). It bodes well for a good week.

It's been a long day already, and it's not even close to done yet. An hour with the chorus, children's chorus, and supers, and then to the stage to look at the set under light.

I was feeling sort of nervous and stressed and complainy about this week, even apart from the packing and moving bit, but I appear to be snapping out of it, to my great relief. This is going to be a hard, tiring week, but I think I'm going to enjoy it.

And exactly 1 week from today, it will be all over. The performances will be done, our apartment will be empty, and we'll be on our way to Virginia, breathing deeply for the first time in months.

The beginning of the end

Oh, the past few weeks have been delicious. Couch time and Lucy time and CameraMan time and friend time, with no pressing obligations except for the Great Purge of 2010. I've gotten a little spoiled, honestly. It's been such a luxury to be able to try new recipes, and read magazines, and watch so much Gilmore Girls it's embarrassing. Never before have I been so happy to NOT have a job.

Of course, the main reason I can enjoy my time off so shamelessly is that I know when my next job (and my next paycheck) is coming. And it's coming soon! The mainstage season is almost over, and following directly on the heels of the last performances is the beginning of Tosca. Yes, we're back to Tosca, this time with me directing and CM conducting. We're doing 2 free performances at the Miller Outdoor Theater in Hermann Park here in Houston. I actually had a meeting about it yesterday with BrandNewMiniCooperGirl (the Stage Manager) and Little Ms. Hardcore (the Assistant Director), in which I threw about 80 million questions at them and did my best impression of calm.

Miller week is always a bit crazy. Two years ago is the last time I was directly involved. Last year I got to experience it one step removed, as the Maestro's girlfriend, but this year I'm diving right in again. One day of rehearsals in a room with no props, 2 nights onstage with the piano, 1 orchestra dress rehearsal, and then we're in performances! When I look at it written down that way, I kind of want to throw up, but the lawn is always packed, and the singers always rise to the challenge, and the shows always turn out great, so I'm crossing my fingers that will happen this year, too.

And in the meantime, I'll be taking a vacation, heading to Southern California on Thursday for a nice long weekend with family. CM leaves tomorrow for a quick visit to see his own family (Papa Bossy's calling it our "Farewell Tour"). Then he comes home for a day (while I'm still in Cali) before flying to Canada for another gig. When he gets back we'll have just a couple days before we start rehearsals.

Suddenly this all just got very real.

LMB's treatise on booing

Last weekend I saw an incredible opening night performance of Pique Dame (Queen of Spades) in Houston. The singing was glorious, and the production was innovative and stylized, with several moments that took my breath away. It's not a production that will please everyone—it pushes boundaries and challenges the performers and the audience, but it certainly pleased me. It was the kind of performance that made me want to go back several times, because I was sure I would get more out of it with each repeat viewing. And even though I wouldn't have necessarily made the same choices this director made, it was such a joy to see someone making strong, bold choices and following them through in unexpected ways.

When the curtain fell on the end of the opera, the applause was tumultuous, as it inevitably is on an opening night. The singers got their customary "Bravo" and "Brava" shout-outs, and by the time the tenor bowed, most of the audience were on their feet. Then the director and designer (both of whom, I should mention, were remounting someone else's original work) came out on stage, and a smattering of boos could be heard through the applause. Not unanimous by any means, but nonetheless audible. I immediately countered with my own "Bravo," but I've been feeling unsettled about those boos ever since. In the 5 years I've been sitting in this particular opera house, I have never heard a single boo, and this is hardly the only nontraditional production I've seen.

Booing in the opera house has a long (I'm talking centuries-long) history; at La Scala it's practically a sport (very much in the present tense—for the most sensational recent(ish) booing incident, see here). Here in the States, however, it's much less common, but it seems to be making a resurgence. Last year, standing backstage for my Big House debut, a stagehand told me that in his 25 years of working there he had never heard such strong booing. True as that may be, less than a year later it had already been topped. Booing seems to be primarily reserved for directors and designers; you don't hear many stories of singers or conductors being booed in the US. Maybe booing someone you've just watched onstage for 3 hours, even if they biffed their high C or schmacted their way through it, seems too personal. Much easier to focus on the production team, whom you've never seen before and can blame for any aspect of the show you didn't like.

I, for one (and I'm fully cognizant of my bias here), am against booing in just about any situation I can think of. At the most fundamental level, I find it disrespectful. Just as the singers have offered up part of themselves to the audience, so has the director, and regardless of whether it's to your liking or not, it is an act of bravery to put your work on the stage and then bow to claim it as your own. Some productions make you think or make you uncomfortable or upset you, and some productions are truly terrible, I'll be the first to admit. But every time you go to a cultural event, be it a movie, a play, an opera, or even an art exhibition, you are taking a risk. Maybe you will love it, maybe you will hate it, maybe you will forget it the second it's over—there is absolutely no guarantee that you will enjoy yourself. And isn't that one of the joys of seeing something new? Isn't that what makes the times you love what you see really mean something?

Of course people should be allowed to express their feelings, positive or negative, and certainly booing is the easiest, most immediate way to do that. Terry Teachout, in a fascinating article he wrote after the Sonnambula opening (I particularly like what he says about standing ovations), proposes that opera houses instate a "Silent Boo" system, in which people drop their programs after the show into a "Cheers" bin or a "Jeers" bin in order to communicate what they thought of the performance. I say we can go even simpler than that. For me, nothing speaks louder than a dip in the applause, the palpable lack of cheers and "Bravos." Because let's face it, the most egregious directors are crossing their fingers they'll get booed, so they can talk about how controversial and important they are. Rather than being inspired to put something different on the stage, the booing is only going to push them to create even stranger and less traditional experiments. Simply not clapping is so much more powerful. Or, if you really hate what you're seeing, just leave at intermission. Trust me, companies take notice when that happens.

And if that fails, there's always that old standby: the sternly worded complaint letter.

Back to the grind

My days of lazing in bed until noon, puttering around the apartment, reading for hours, watching movies, and generally being a SLUG are over for the moment. This morning I had to set an alarm, get up, shower, and actually go to work. I know, I know: it's a terribly rough life I'm leading.

We're back in Ophelia rehearsals, of course. This one has 4 days of rehearsal before her first performance, which seems like an incredible luxury of time after the last one. We started off with a musical work-through of her scenes and then a quick and dirty staging of everything she does in Act I. Her first couple rehearsals are mostly going to be about blocking: where she goes, when, and why. The rest of the cast (who have all been doing this for weeks) won't join her until later in the week, so for now it's up to me and the other AD to walk all the parts, with assorted music staff singing (sometimes 3 or 4 in unison).

This is a part of my job I just cannot do gracefully. It's awkward—do I mouth the words or not, how much "acting" should I attempt, is eye contact a help or a hindrance? I never know. You would think, after so many years of performing, that I would be a total pro at this, but I'm a mess. Also, after weeks of watching the staging from the audience's perspective, it's shockingly easy to get turned around when you're actually up there doing it yourself. I find myself mixing up stage left and right, concepts I'm pretty sure I nailed at age 7. Go figure.

Thankfully, I've had a good bit of practice on all the Ophelia scenes by now. My Hamlet/Ophelia love duet will bring tears to your eyes, and my Queen Gertrude is truly hair-raising.

It's too bad the role I'd really like to play isn't even in the opera. And no, I'm not referring to Fortinbras. I'm talking about Ophelia's sassy gay friend, of course:



P.S. This is the best your hair has ever looked.

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The inside of the opera house is absolutely gorgeous, and as I often do in my job, there are days where I have to pinch myself that I get to do what I love in these beautiful spaces. This picture didn't turn out quite how I wanted it to—good thing I'm here for a couple more months to try again.





Opening night of Animal Crackers at the Goodman was like a palate cleanser after lots of intense French opera. Tap dancing, silly gags, and THE MARX BROTHERS! I might have smiled for the entire show. Also, there was a cast party with yummy Italian food. So basically, heaven.





Sometimes there is nothing better than crawling into a bed of clean, sweet-smelling sheets. This is the best-smelling fabric softener I have found yet.

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I had such a great couple days in Chicago. I have always loved the city and thought I would enjoy living there (see #72 on my list), and working at this company has always been on my career wishlist. I'll be there for 3 1/2 months this fall, and I could not be more excited.





My flight out of Chicago was at 6am, so to save myself some hassle and buy myself some extra sleep, I got a hotel room by the airport. I have lately become very enamored of the Holiday Inn Express as my hotel of choice. They're reasonably priced, they always have free wi-fi, and they have the BEST beds. With a choice of pillow firmness, no less. The bed was so comfortable I had a very difficult time getting out of it. Of course, they might have been because it was 4:30 in the morning.





It was cold and rainy here all summer, until suddenly, in the middle of August, it wasn't. It got hot. It's been a long time since I lived somewhere without air conditioning in the summer, and when it's hot there's really only one solution: ice cream. I've been eating it every day. It's a good thing I'm returning to the land of central a/c—I think I might be getting fat.

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My ladylike kitten likes to cross her paws at the wrist. How cute is that?





Another great Cenerentola performance, another shot of the bows from backstage.




There have been countless times here that I have been so overwhelmed by the beautiful scenery that I've had to pull off the road and break out my camera. Hazard lights are a very good thing.

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Cenerentola performance #2. Pictured here are the fabulous chorus boys during the bows.




This is one of my favorite Bossy Cat expressions: What? Why are you staring at me like that?





Cenerentola #3. Pictured here is my favorite prop, a globe made from scratch by our amazing artist carpenter. If I drove a bigger car I might try to smuggle it home with me at the end of the summer.

136/365

A brief reprieve from baby pictures (insert obligatory joke here).

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I spent the evening sitting on the hill at Miller Outdoor Theatre, watching a dress rehearsal of Rigoletto with Maestro CameraMan conducting. The weather was perfect, the sangria was flowing, and the sunset was unbelievable.

If you're in town, come see a performance of Rigoletto, tonight and Saturday at 8:30!

Get thee to the movies

Remember when my show at the Met opened? If you're a good little opera aficionado (or even an especially dedicated Little Ms. Bossy aficionado), you probably read the reviews, trolled the opera blogs, and watched that infamous YouTube clip at least twice.

And maybe you thought, Those darn purists can't handle anything nontraditional! or What a travesty! How could someone do that to the great Bellini? or Who cares? It's just opera. Whatever went through your mind, you have a chance to form your own opinion. Today!!

The HD Broadcast of La Sonnambula is in movie theaters today LIVE at 1pm eastern. You can find a list of movie theaters here. As an added bonus, if you stay 'til the end you can see my name scroll by in the credits.

Enjoy!

Another op'nin'

Yesterday seemed like an opening night like many others. I picked up my dress from the dry cleaner, did my nails, and curled my hair. I went through my score and finished up making it pretty. I chatted on the phone with CameraMan and Mama and Papa Bossy, who all called to wish me a happy opening. I got to work extra early to finish up paperwork, distribute notes to the chorus, and make sure everything was ready and everyone was healthy.

Except it wasn't just like any other—it was my Met debut. A night I've been dreaming about in some form or another for almost my entire life had finally arrived. I've been attempting to downplay my awe and excitement at working there since I got the job, actually since before that when I went in for the interview. I've been trying to convince myself that it's just a job, just a company, just another line on the résumé, and in many ways that's true. But yesterday it hit me, really hit me: this is kind of a big deal.

The process of working on this production has been fascinating, exciting, and exasperating. Overall, I would characterize my experience as good, but I have been challenged in ways that I never pictured. Conversely, the aspects of the job that I expected to be difficult weren't. Isn't that always the way? If you want to hear more about it, I guess you'll just have to wait for my tell-all memoir. Suffice it say, I will not soon forget my first opening night at the Met.

Too cryptic for you? You can read more about it here and here and here and here, and see for yourself here.

I will share one story with you, however, of a run-in I had with a patron. At the tail end of intermission, I went out into the lobby to take pictures of the chandeliers, not realizing that it's against the rules to take pictures in the opera house (something you would never know if you did a search on flickr). When an usher politely told me to put my camera away, I immediately complied. As I was doing so, a crazy woman who was late getting back to her seat started yelling at me for taking pictures, telling me to "get out of the way," and repeatedly calling me a "stupid b*tch." She shoved past me (although, since we were the only 2 people besides ushers in the entire lobby, I was certainly not in her way), and yelled over her shoulder at me, "F**king out-of-towner!" The ushers and I all looked at each other in shock before I slipped back through the secret door leading to the Directors' booth.

I love you, New York, I really do, but I think it's just about time for this f**king out-of-towner to get out of town. I'll see you next year.

High School Night

Teenagers today bear little resemblance to anyone I knew when I was one. They all carry cell phones, they wear low-low-rise jeans and belly shirts, and they get way more action than I ever did in high school (although that's not a difficult record to beat). High schoolers now are inundated with media: movies, TV shows, YouTube clips, blogs, and huge numbers of advertisements. Sex, violence, and bad language are de rigueur to keep a teenager's interest, and nothing will stop them from text messaging each other, butchering the English language in the process.

Tonight was High School Night at the opera. The house was packed with high school students, many of whom were wearing suits and recycled prom dresses. And all these teenagers, the ones who have become inured to anything the world can throw at them, who are rarely shocked and even less frequently awed…they loved the show, loved every minute of it. Their reactions were vocal and immediate. They laughed at every joke, both the convoluted Shakespearean ones ("I think this is your daughter?" "Her mother hath many times told me so.") and the improvised contemporary ones (predictably, mentions of the Jonas Brothers and High School Musical were big hits). They paid attention in a way that our regular audiences often don't; not a single nuance went unnoticed. And never has anyone wanted Beatrice and Benedict to end up together as much as tonight's audience did. In their last dialogue, Beatrice says, "You're like my shadow, I can't get away from you!" When Benedict responded with, "If only I could be your shadow, and never leave your side" their was a collective chorus of "Awwws" from the female contingent in the house, followed by roaring laughter from the rest of the audience. When the two lovers finally kissed for the first time, the cheering and applause were deafening.

I think maybe I've got some intense emotions left over from last night, because as I sat in the balcony (I managed to get out of sitting in the booth for this performance), I was overcome by the energy in the house, radiating from these kids. This is a tumultuous time to be in the arts. Companies are making big sacrifices, canceling productions, and in one case closing their doors all together. Donor bases and endowments are shrinking, and people are less likely to buy opera tickets when they're worried about money. But as I sat in the dark, still buoyed by last night's incredible results, watching opera surrounded by rapt teenagers, I couldn't help but think…

We're going to be okay.

Yadda yadda yadda

I spent a little time this weekend with my other boyfriend (aka the Bossy Camera, which is slowly but surely revealing all the wonders it can perform) and CameraMan's other girlfriend (aka Alcina). Yes, I'm back at Wolf Trap for a nice long visit.

As I've mentioned all too often, I am currently a homeless nomad (although maybe not for long—more on that soon). Faced with an entire summer with no employment and/or housing, the question was, where to go? The obvious choice was to the Trap, which this summer has the greatest concentration of people I adore (although Central City comes in at a close second). Add to that a lovely place to stay for me and the Bossy Cat, the proximity of DC (and MuseumGirl, a good friend from college), and my familiarity with the area from the last two summers, and I was sold. In the back of my mind, though, I was concerned about what it would be like to be here without working here. I don't have a great track record of being content during stints of unemployment, and I worried that watching all my friends working where I had been so happy in the past might just send me over the edge.

But as it turns out, I'm having the best time. I keep forgetting that so many people here now know me as a girlfriend rather than as a director, but I'm getting used to it. And I'm so thankful to be able to just sit in the balcony during a rehearsal, taking pictures when I feel like it, reveling in the beautiful music being made by CameraMan, The Wise Soprano (pictured above), and everyone else in Alcina, not to mention everyone who sang the hell out of Candide last night (I'm looking at you, ACB). And it turns out that being an Opera Girlfriend comes with many of the same perks as actually working here: comp tickets, party invitations, etc. So while I don't expect to make a lifestyle change anytime soon (I still have more fun when I get to run the rehearsal, of course), it's been good for me to realize how much of what makes me happy has absolutely nothing to do with work.

Plus, if I hadn't come here I probably never would have been at a party with George Costanza like I was last night. True story.

A purely hypothetical exercise

So, say you’re a stage director (work with me here), and you’re hired to direct a new production of an opera we’ll call…um…Carigodelio for the purposes of this exercise. Your interpretation of the opera is that none of the characters know how to communicate with each other. They never listen, they’re all in their own worlds, and they don’t really see each other. Wouldn’t it be cool, you think, if you somehow manifested that theatrically? You could have the singers never look at each other, delivering all their lines straight out to the audience instead. Perfect. So now you have a concept, but what about the setting? There’s no chance that you’ll leave it in the time and place indicated in the libretto; how boring would that be? No, instead you decide to place it in a non-specific post-apocalyptic world, ensuring that you can a) use modern clothing in as many shades of gray as possible; b) leave the stage completely bare, save a few random pieces of large machinery; and c) instruct the principals, chorus, and supers to keep a deadpan look of shock on their faces at all times. Awesome.

Sure, the singers may argue with you for a moment about your concept, but not for long. This is Germany, after all. Opening night rolls around, and you’re feeling pretty good about yourself. That moment of silence at the end of Act I? That must have been because the audience was stunned by your creativity. Your eyes pan through the house. Wait a minute. A familiar face jumps out at you. Oh, it’s Little Ms. Bossy! She doesn’t seem to be enjoying herself. She’s checked her watch three times in the past four minutes, she has apparently developed a raging case of Restless Leg Syndrome, and if you listen closely you might hear her sigh under her breath. She’s disappointed. She’s feeling as if her time is being wasted, and thanking God that at least she didn’t pay for the ticket.

It’s not that I’m a purist. Far from it. I strongly believe that the only way to keep our art form alive and vital is to re-imagine the classics while developing a new canon of repertoire. Honestly, I don’t even really care if updating a piece makes sense all the way through. When I start directing my own productions, I imagine I’ll be a stickler for those details, but as an audience member, I’m not too precious about them. I’ll forgive a lot if the singing is exciting and the characters and relationships are alive.

What I’m not interested in seeing is cold opera. I consider myself a rational, somewhat intellectual person, but when I go to the opera I don’t want to see some academic exercise. I want to be drawn in, not held at arm’s length. I want to feel joy in the comedies and heartbreak in the tragedies, and most of all I want to leave the theater somehow different than I was before the lights went down. I’m always a critic—I think that’s inherent in any director—but it’s rare that I see a production that doesn’t delight me in some way, even if it’s not particularly my aesthetic.

So when you get that contract, please let the singers relate to each other in a real way. Go ahead and put a wrecking ball on the stage, knock yourself out, but don’t leave it at that. Don’t expect us to care about the characters when you clearly don’t.

And please, please, don’t stop the music in the middle of your (Italian) opera, pipe in street noise through the speakers, and have the mezzo read passages from the Bible out loud in German while the set is being changed behind her.

In your purely hypothetical production of Carigodelio, I mean. Ahem.