I may as well say it right off the bat. The Metropolitan Opera House just isn’t big enough! Certainly something that’s not said very often, or ever. Granted, it’s one of the world’s largest opera houses with a vast backstage area and above and below ground levels where all sorts of opera-related activity takes place 24 hours per day. But this production of War and Peace really pushes the limits as far as physical space is concerned for the massive set and cast.

The one and only dress rehearsal before the final dress on Friday, December 7, took place on Wednesday, December 5. The C-level orchestra rehearsal room is a hive of activity and has been taken over by all of the marching soldiers as our communal dressing room. Rows of chairs are set up in the middle of the large room that are surrounded by racks of clothes and boxes of hats and shoes. Out in the hallway are more racks of clothes for our costume change for Scene 13.

One of the many tables filled with hats (photo:Jonathan Tichler)

 Tim Landers (c) with Mike Melkovic (l) and me (photo: Jonathan Tichler)

 German Baruffi gives his costume a final check in the mirror (photo: Jonathan Tichler)

Grenadiers dressed and ready to hit the stage (photo: Jonathan Tichler)

This morning there really is a sense of “lots to do, not much time.” I think we all feel confident of what we need to do on stage, it’s the getting there and having the right equipment and costume that makes us feel sort of anxious.

Joe Barnes, Director of the Met’s Supernumeraries Department, gives some final instructions (photo: Jonathan Tichler)

There is still some switching around of costumes being worked out and lots of missing shoes. For this rehearsal there will be quite a few soldiers in tennis shoes. Not quite regulation, but comfortable. Many of us sort of make a mental note to wear black shoes on Friday, just in case.

Tim Landers removes his hat with style (photo:Jonathan Tichler)

There is a moment in the opera for the soldiers where we must kneel, and remove our hats. Doesn’t really sound tricky, but with a rifle slung over your left shoulder, a sword and what a lot of us have taken to calling our “manpurse” on your right hip, and a hat that feels glued to your head and secured by a tight elastic strap—I find that I need an extra hand to pop my hat off my head. Takes me about three attempts before I get the hang of it. I don’t seem to be able to get the chinstrap back on, so secretly decide to tuck it up into the hat and not worry about it.

The Met forbids eyeglasses and jewelry on the stage that is not part of the opera. So some of us had to forgo our glasses and remove watches and rings. And of course, those with pierced ears, noses, tongues, or eyebrows had to check their faces to make sure that their jewelry was removed as well.

When we arrive on the stage there is some final work being done to ready the set for the rehearsal. So we grab guns and backpacks and wait in the wings for our cues to move into position. You can’t really just stand around and get too involved in what’s happening on stage. If you do, you run the risk of being run down by a swiftly moving piece of scenery or, god forbid, blocking someone’s exit or entrance. While the former error is potentially painful, the latter is unforgivable. We find that when a cannon or cart rolls quickly off stage it’s usually headed right at us and we scatter like bowling pins. Then there’s that careening frozen dead horse to watch out for—most certainly not something you want to see sliding directly at you in the half-darkness!

“Shagum marche!” And off we go (photos: Ken Howard)

There is a big wow moment when we march onto the stage, the chorus singing full voice, the Met orchestra, led by Valery Gergiev, playing this amazing heroic music, flags fluttering in the air. Good for a tingle at the back of your scalp.

The final scene of the opera requires that we transform into defeated French soldiers. We quickly tie on bloody bandages, grab tattered hats and heavy winter coats. From triumph to despair in five minutes. (The Met goes for total realism in the coat department, my wool coat drags the floor and must weigh 20 pounds.) The program says that our retreat takes place in November 1812 in the middle of a blinding snowstorm. So with snow coming from above, a large fan blowing from stage right, and loud cannon blasts all over the place it’s an exciting scene.

The day ends with the stage managers placing the solo artists for the final bows. With so many soloists this takes a while and people are rushed onto the stage in groups of 10 or 15. Meanwhile we surround the stage like, er, toy soldiers.

This entry was posted by Charles Sheek on Friday, December 7th, 2007 at 7:18 am and is filed under 2007–08 Season. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can skip to the end and leave a response. Pinging is currently not allowed.