The Curse of Monterone

And so I was not meant to be involved in any "easy" projects in Miami. This "Rigoletto" started out so well. The rehearsals were a breeze, everyone was getting along, we were finishing up in due time. The only probable issue was the humongous set with a massive slipstage that took the whole crew five hours to install (five hours to undue and then five hours to install again in Broward County). Otherwise, this show seemed like it would be a snap.

But Noooooooo....

At the very beginning of the opera, Monterone, a man who's daughter has been wronged by the Duke, crashes a party and puts a curse on the Duke and Rigoletto, thus starting off a chain of events that ultimately leads to Rigoletto's daughter's untimely death. Our Duke, a very young, strapping, David Crawford, dressed (per usual) as a very old, dying man, marched down to the edge of the stage, made the curse sign with his hand, raised his arm to Rigoletto and sang out his curse with enough verve to send the poor jester to his knees. What we were all, apparently, unaware of at the time, was that the curse was quite effective for all of us in real time.

As soon as the show opened, sickness became the norm. People were falling ill, having vocal issues, calling us to explain that they weren't sure if they could go on. In the midst of this, normally languid, time in the run, when I would be showing up, making sure no one fell off the stage or walked in front of light trees, going out for a drink and going home to bed, I was suddenly called into action to prepare umpteen people to possibly go on in lieu of the scheduled performer.

If a principal singer falls ill during a standard rep show (such as "Rigoletto), there are generally quite a few people out there who also know the part, so someone is found who has an open schedule, flown in for a determinite amount of time, and quickly put into the role by having last-minute rehearsals and sometimes (as was the case with Mr. Youngblood) staged into the opera as it's happening, with quick work during intermissions.

Now, I've spoken of all of this before. We had two women standing by at different times for our Gilda, who was dealing with illness but managed to go on for all of her shows. We had two men come in for Rigoletto, who DID cancel twice, putting all of us on our toes each time and making for an adrenalin-filled, sometimes frustrating, always exciting experience. By the time we moved to Ft. Lauderdale for our final three shows, however, we were all beginning to rest back on our heels a bit, feeling like the end was in sight, feeling like things would calm down and we'd have a normal three shows.

Not so fast, says the curse...

Our Duke had a family emergency after the final show at Dade County Auditorium, and flew immediately back to Italy. With three shows left, it would usually stand to reason that we would fly in one person to do the final three. This would still mean a lot of work, but by the second, and especially the third show, they'd be well integrated and the show would (or could) run relatively smoothly. The difficult thing about what we were up against, was that this was three shows in a row. An opera company is hard pressed to find a singer who is prepared that would come in to do three in a row, let alone someone who is flying by the seat of their pants. 'Twas impossible, and so we had two Dukes to throw in at the last minute.

Both men, I must say, were delightful, hard workers, sweet to be around, and generally thankful for the aid they got. This definitely made all of our jobs easier, but it was a whirlwind none the less. John had flown in for my last few days so he could drive back with me. He got to see my harried work first hand as I flew from the wings to the tenor's dressing room to the production office, to the chorus dressing room to talk about changes, and back again. Oftentimes, I was sitting in a chair next to the tenor as he got his makeup adjusted and madly flipped through his score, while I talked him through the next couple of numbers. This kind of madness was becoming old hat. I've never experienced anything like this before - nor have many of my colleagues.

David stopped doing the curse sign with his hand. A little too late methinks.

I finally got to sit in the audience for the last show. With my fiance. Without having to take notes. What a complete luxury. We had great seats in the front of the mezzanine. It was a lovely evening.

I'll miss everyone I worked with this season. For all of its frustrations and lip-biting moments, times I wanted to kick something hard and moments I felt like I was yelling into the (hurricane force) wind, I had a lot of fun too. I made friends, I learned a whole helluva lot, and I'll be back next year to do "Samson et Dalila" with them. It will be a welcome reunion.

Oh, the pic? Me running fight call with Leah Partridge and the two "abductor" supers. The one constant with every show.