Bravo! - Arts Centre Melbourne

The tenor and his bootsEverything was going too well. It was December 1989 and we were rehearsing Tristanund Isolde to open in the Sydney Opera House in January and then on to the AdelaideFestival with Stuart Challender conducting the S.S.O. and Marilyn Richardson and HorstHoffman as the great pair of Wagnerian lovers when disaster struck. A problem withHorst's throat meant that he must stop singing immediately for 6 months. MoffattOxenbould set up a global search for a tenor who knew Tristan and was available for thenext 3 months starting now.About 5 days later, and with a little over a week before we had our first audience, theAmerican tenor flew into Sydney. None could deny his muscular and ringing voice; theproblem lay in the fact that at 5' 2" he was a good 11'' shorter than Horst and came upto around Marilyn's chin. Perhaps sensing my misgivings the tenor held up the bag he'dbrought with him..."These", he said proudly, "are my Tristan boots." He then produceda pair of gold lamé wedgies that were clearly designed to cunningly provide the wearerwith an additional 6 inches of masculine height.Acts 1 and 2 weren't the problem. He looked a little like Buzz Aldrin taking his firsttentative steps on the moon and in any case Marilyn managed to stay mostly down stageof him or on her knees. No, the problem came in Act 3. "What do you mean you wantme in bare feet?" he said to me, incredulous. "Well", I said, "he has been in a coma forsome months and in this production Kurwenal, your loyal servant, who has been nursingyou all this time, begins the act by washing your feet. I just don't think it will feel thesame if you've got your boots on. "And don't forget that you barely get to stand up inthis act as you are so near death!" "But Neil! You don't understand! I can't sing withoutmy boots on!!!"There were several more exchanges that didn't really alter the stalemate of ourpositions, so the day before the first performance I called on that last resort of adirector's power: I wrote the tenor a letter, it was some 5 pages long and used all meansof persuasive reasoning available to me. I had no idea what the outcome would be. Afriend who was in the audience that next day and who was aware of the struggle I hadbeen through sent me a card. On it he had written just 5 words: "How beautiful were thefeet."Neil Armfield