Because my debut is still more than a week away, I feel I should use the time to learn more about La Bohème and the people involved in the production. I have decided to do my best to immerse myself in its magic.

Monday, March 31. Eleven days to go.
The Metropolitan Opera Guild is honoring Franco Zeffirelli at their annual luncheon at the Waldorf Astoria, and I am in attendance. The ballroom is packed, and it looks beautiful with its gilt interior and shining chandeliers. There is a stage at one end that serves as a dais for important guests. It also holds a huge screen on which the speakers and entertainers are projected, allowing the audience a good look at everyone taking part in the tribute.

After a greeting by Guild President Susan Braddock, we are introduced to an array of distinguished artists from theater, film and opera, all of whom have worked in a Zeffirelli production, and many of whom are his personal friends. The parade of stars includes Lucine Amara, Justino Díaz, Rosalind Elias, Marcello Giordani, Sherrill Milnes, Patricia Racette, Regina Resnik, Jeremy Irons, and Michael York.

We dine on Tosca Napoleon, Chicken Turandot and Tiramisù Franco. What? You don’t know what that is? Well, I actually ate it and I still don’t know. But it tasted fine. We pause between courses to listen to accolades delivered by these awesome people. We are treated to two Romanian folksongs sung by Angela Gheorghiu, and her rendering of Puccini’s “O mio babbino caro,” during which Mr. Zeffirelli rises from his table and takes the role of her “beloved Daddy,” overacting shamelessly as he reacts to her pleas to allow her to marry, weeping copiously at the end. They receive a rousing ovation.

Jeremy Irons delivers the keynote speech, recalling his long association with the honoree and offering amusing incites to his personal life. I learn, among other things, that Zeffirelli’s real name is Gianfranco Corsi, that he was dubbed “zefiretti” by his mother (zefiretto means “little breeze” in Italian) and this somehow morphed into Zeffirelli, that he can be bad tempered, that he is a former member of the Italian Senate, and that he sleeps with six dogs. (I am not making this up!) When he is formally introduced, a huge shower of confetti and streamers are released to the strains of “Nessun dorma” from Turandot.

Mr. Zeffirelli seems to be deeply moved by all this. Speaking in what he calls his “Anglo Fiorentino,” he tells us he has never experienced anything in his life like the waves of love that have surrounded him in the past five days. He speaks with charm and humor, and from the heart. He assures us he’s not finished yet, he is 85, he has another half century to live. The audience screams with encouragement. And I am so proud to be appearing in a Zeffirelli production.

Tuesday, April 1. Ten days to go.
I attend a performance of La Bohème. From the moment the curtain opens on the garret shared by Rodolfo, Schaunard, Colline and Marcello, I am lost. The music washes over me and I relax in my seat. It is all familiar, but I can never get enough of it. Angela Gheorghiu as Mimì is heartbreakingly beautiful. The applause at the end of the act echoes my feelings.

There is a short pause before Act ll. The lights go up and latecomers rush to their seats. I am throbbing with anticipation. The next act is the Latin Quarter. Although I am not on stage, my spirit is right up there with the Christmas Eve revelers, the dancing bear, the white horse and the donkey with the red hat. But my eyes are in the auditorium, and I scrutinize the scene, mulling over my chances of being recognized by my friends. Although it is twilight, it is not as dark as I thought. And some areas are brighter than others. I make a mental note to ask Roger to lead me to those places when the time comes. And I study the women’s costumes. The dress styles are similar, but the colors differ. Most of them seem to be dark red, brown or gray. My costume is dark blue. I’m feeling optimistic now. I am going to be seen!

I watch the freeze when Musetta does her star turn. It is quite effective—people who are moving purposefully around the stage suddenly and unanimously turn into department store mannequins. The old-fashioned costumes and the sepia color projected by the lanterns and streetlights make it look like an old Life magazine cover. And, of course, it means I will be standing still for a minute or two, hopefully a little apart from the crowd. Thank you, Mr. Zeffirelli, for giving this opera that lovely unique moment.

The rest of the opera is, of course, glorious, particularly Act III, when a soft snowfall covers the stage. The audience claps and screams “bravo” when it finally ends and the singers take their curtain calls. As I depart, I am walking on air. To think I am going to be a part of all this! Lost in the crowd or not, I must do my very best to live up to the Met’s professional standards. And I realize there is some important preparation I must do between now and my big night.

I must play my recording of La Bohème once or twice a day and practice the freeze every time Musetta sings her waltz.

This entry was posted by Cherokee La Scala on Sunday, April 6th, 2008 at 8:38 am and is filed under Guest Super Blog, 2007–08 Season. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.