You would think that since the Met has an opening night almost every week during the opera season that opening night jitters wouldn’t exist. Not so. From the moment you walk into the opera house you can sense the excitement. Singers quietly pace back and forth in the hallways, sounds of “moi, moi, moi” drift from the dressing rooms, and the stage door reception area is literally knee deep in flowers and gifts for the artists. Even for the stagehands, props guys, dressers, stage managers, and security guards going about their usual business, there is the feeling that something special is about to happen.

The marching units are required to sign in one hour after the curtain goes up, so for opening night it means that we are to be in the supers room by 8:30 P.M. By 8:00 it looked like everyone was already there, stretching, chatting, and in some cases, clearly going through their usual pre-performance “lucky” routine. Before we are to dress each group is called into the ballet studio (shoeless, to protect the floor) for a warm-up drill and final notes from assistant director, Greg Keller. There is also a quick double-check to fill spots of anyone who might be missing.

Once we are in costume there is what seems like an interminable wait before the long walk to the stage. During that wait I realize I am nervous. It took me by surprise since I wasn’t expecting it. Granted, I’m just one of nearly 200 soldiers, but I really don’t want to be the soldier that screws up! Something that I think a lot of the soldiers are thinking too. Suddenly, I realize that I am going through my own personal “lucky” routine to calm my jitters. (Deep breaths, center your energy, calmly think through your scenes, and most importantly, look for that lucky bent nail.)

Backstage there is the usual bustle of activity in the wings as we are waiting for our first entrance. Hats get adjusted, rifles and backpacks picked up, and solo singers and choristers stream on and off the stage. In the distance I hear something like “moi, moi” and see a singer facing the corner with his hands over his ears, eyes closed. Again, “moi, moi,” but just a bit higher, and once again “moi, moi.” Apparently the last one was just right since he rights his hat and confidently strides through the gathering crowd headed for the stage.

There is some chatter in the wings, but it is subdued. I take the quiet moment to do something I haven’t really done yet, look around the stage. Above me are the flies that seem to go off into infinity. Across the stage are tier after tier of catwalks that connect to the light bridges with electricians moving back and forth adjusting lights. In front of me, and just behind the main proscenium, is one of two tormentor towers filled with lighting equipment and television monitors that are focused on the conductor (a very serious looking Valery Gergiev). Upstage, to my right I see in the murky darkness some set pieces that don’t seem to belong to this opera, and probably belong to Un Ballo in Maschera, which is scheduled to hit the stage the next morning. Then, with a clap on the back and a “Have a great show!” from somebody in the chorus, I march on stage. Time flies by as we move through the opera, eager soldiers in the bright light of day ready to fight and die, then defeated French soldiers fleeing a burning Moscow amid dense smoke and blowing snow. Suddenly we are in the bright lights of the final scene and I realize that I haven’t even thought about being nervous.

This entry was posted by Charles Sheek on Tuesday, December 11th, 2007 at 1:05 pm 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.