pallas_athena (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
pallas_athena) wrote2008-11-17 02:56 pm
pallas_athena) wrote2008-11-17 02:56 pm
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Komm, tretet in den Tempel ein
OK, this is the last of these resting-on-my-laurels Zauberflöte photo posts.
One of the most interesting things about working with young singers is that the artist is often at the same point in their life's journey as the character. Exhibit A: our Prince Tamino.
This is a very demanding tenor role for a very young singer. At times, his confidence was the lantern that lit my way. The morning of the tech, when I was worried we wouldn't even have a show, when I'd stayed up stupidly late sewing and rolled into Magdalen shaky and grey-faced, Mike met me and said "I woke up this morning and I realised we were going to be good." As Tamino, he never failed to get the right feeling.
Our Pamina, too, had just the right quality for the role. Onstage, she was luminous. I loved hearing her voice open its wings. She brought out the best in our talented Sarastro. Instead of giving him detailed notes on interpretation, I'd just say "Look her in the eye, and tell her what you have to say." Worked every time.
Here's Sarastro, flanked by his two Priests. The tall fellow on the left sang the crucial scene where Tamino first comes to the Temple. It was his first opera ever, but he sang it with quiet authority as though he'd been doing it for years.
Since I'd made the Queen of the Night's side of the world monochromatic and harsh, I made the Temple costumes both "softer" and more colourful. (My inspiration here was Neal Stephenson's novel Anathem. For Sarastro's aria, they did have little golden LED spheres.)
Of course, the Temple does harbour the odd creature of darkness. Yes that's right... TENORS.
Our brilliantly evil Monostatos, above, and a slave of his, below:
When Sarastro finally ejects Monostatos from the Temple, he shouts "Go!" --or, in German, "Geh!" My cast seemed unduly amused by this. I probably should have changed it to "Heraus!" but by then everyone was having way too much fun yelling "Geh!" at poor Monostatos...
Before the last performance, I gave the cast one note: "Bring the awesome." If you say this to a bunch of Oxford students, they get very confused about where the subject is. There is, however, no doubt that they brought it.
Sigh... Thank you guys. Thank you for the awesome. How I'll live without it, I have no idea.
One of the most interesting things about working with young singers is that the artist is often at the same point in their life's journey as the character. Exhibit A: our Prince Tamino.
This is a very demanding tenor role for a very young singer. At times, his confidence was the lantern that lit my way. The morning of the tech, when I was worried we wouldn't even have a show, when I'd stayed up stupidly late sewing and rolled into Magdalen shaky and grey-faced, Mike met me and said "I woke up this morning and I realised we were going to be good." As Tamino, he never failed to get the right feeling.
Our Pamina, too, had just the right quality for the role. Onstage, she was luminous. I loved hearing her voice open its wings. She brought out the best in our talented Sarastro. Instead of giving him detailed notes on interpretation, I'd just say "Look her in the eye, and tell her what you have to say." Worked every time.
Here's Sarastro, flanked by his two Priests. The tall fellow on the left sang the crucial scene where Tamino first comes to the Temple. It was his first opera ever, but he sang it with quiet authority as though he'd been doing it for years.
Since I'd made the Queen of the Night's side of the world monochromatic and harsh, I made the Temple costumes both "softer" and more colourful. (My inspiration here was Neal Stephenson's novel Anathem. For Sarastro's aria, they did have little golden LED spheres.)
Of course, the Temple does harbour the odd creature of darkness. Yes that's right... TENORS.
Our brilliantly evil Monostatos, above, and a slave of his, below:
When Sarastro finally ejects Monostatos from the Temple, he shouts "Go!" --or, in German, "Geh!" My cast seemed unduly amused by this. I probably should have changed it to "Heraus!" but by then everyone was having way too much fun yelling "Geh!" at poor Monostatos...
Before the last performance, I gave the cast one note: "Bring the awesome." If you say this to a bunch of Oxford students, they get very confused about where the subject is. There is, however, no doubt that they brought it.
Sigh... Thank you guys. Thank you for the awesome. How I'll live without it, I have no idea.