…a colleague became ill onstage?
We had a chorister die on stage, of a stroke; she just collapsed in the middle of the big opening scene in Otello, was helped offstage, and died all alone in the wings.
—Name Withheld
At a performance of Die Frau Ohne Schatten at the Met a few years ago, a singer broke out of character suddenly, waved frantically at the conductor and left the stage. Several stagehands ran onstage, and the curtain fell. We found out later that the collapse of another singer had not been part of the staging but had been real.
—Name Withheld
…the opera starts to look like an epidose of the Keystone Cops?
At a Met Trovatore with Leontyne Price, Domingo made his entrance leaping off a parapet and, as he did so, pulled off a huge chunk of scenery with a big bang. At the end of the scene an interior curtain descended and got caught on part of the set such that the curtain was half-up, half-down. The audience thus observed the cast backstage frozen in confusion until Stage Manager Stanley Levine came running out, distinctly not in costume, and, with earphones on his head, yanked the curtain down. In the big scene for Domingo, Price sat in a chair, wearing a heavy wig and a long streaming veil. She stood and without realizing it, caught her veil in the chair. As she began to move she dragged the chair with her and then realized what was happening as her wig slid eight inches up her head.
—Rabbi Mark Loeb, Baltimore
…she’s fallen and she can’t get up?
I well recall a Met performance of Ballo when Caballe sank to her knees before Merrill as she sang “Morro ma prima in grazia” with heartfelt sorrow and regret for her innocent relationship. Before Merrill could launch into “Eri tu,” however, Caballe was supposed to get up and meander offstage. In those days her large size made it difficult for her just to walk with facility—she had also just had knee surgery. Whatever the problem, she could not get up from the floor as she finished the aria! Merrill, ever the gallant gentleman, tried to help her get up, but, though the spirit was willing, the flesh was simply too much. Then the “Tom” came over and tried to help, but he, too, was incapable. It got worse, because Caballe, lovely and self-assured lady that she is, began to giggle at the situation. Merrill tried again to lift her, and totally broke up in laughter also. Then he and “Tom” pulled on the great diva and she rose slowly from the stage to great applause from the audience. —Rabbi Mark Loeb, Baltimore
…you asked a silly question?
The story is also told of Verdi’s Macbeth in Miami. Sherrill Milnes, sang his line, “Ove son io?” In response to his question, a piece of scenery fell down, revealing the very large letters painted on the structure for the entire audience to see: “MACBETH ACT III”.
—Name Withheld
…you’re supposed to be dead, but?
During a performance of Tosca, rumor has it that the soprano’s wig caught on fire in Act II and dead Scarpia had to come back to life to help her get rid of it. In a documentary about Callas, Tito Gobbi also tells how he helped her, embracing her and grabbing the fire that was starting in her wig. She whispered in relief: “Grazie, Tito!” And then stabbed him. Soprano Ljuba Welitch told Robert Merrill, in another documentary, about the great Tosca’s, how she jumped from Castel Sant’Angelo, hit the mattress and appeared back up the stage, since the setting was too short for a jump. Of course, the story is told with many different sopranos claiming credit.
—Name Withheld
…it’s a comedy anyway?
What would you do if you were busy performing Fiorello during the Met’s Barbiere, when crashing noises come from behind you? If you are Chris Schaldenbrand, you pause but a moment and then say in Italian, “The sky is falling, the sky is falling.” After determining there is no danger, you then keep going until the curtain can come down and the crew can make repairs.
What do you do to calm an audience down after they’ve watched part of the set almost fall down on you? If you are Ruth Ann Swenson playing Rosina, you move quickly downstage, look upward, and then cross yourself. The audience laughter relieves the tension, and the show continues in fine style.
—Name Withheld
…you can’t say no?
George London gave an interview years ago and mentioned his first season, 1951, singing Escamillo opposite Rise Stevens. Act IV came around and Stevens was supposed to kiss London before he marched into the bullring. This was not a stage kiss, apparently: as London put it, “When Rise kissed, she KISSED.” In any case, the combination of makeup and hot lights and sweat did their work: they couldn’t get their mouths apart except by a bit of brute-force pulling. When they did, there was this obscenely loud POP like someone pulled a bathroom plunger off a clogged drain. No worse than Barry Morrell getting his foot caught in the fishnet in La Gioconda, I guess. Or Nilsson jumping off the parapet of Castel Sant’Angelo at the end of Tosca, hitting one too many mattresses, and bouncing back up into view. —Kenneth Wolman
