The madness of King Nekro
Well, we got the pictures back from the photo run of Le Grand Macabre…the one I had to do in full costume and makeup for a sick singer.
And there I saw it, your own sweet narrator, molested and debased in full technicolor. That’s the new photo. Enjoy. There are more. Perhaps when I’m feeling braver…
One of the very first questions I heard asked here in Graz, both publically and in hushed, furtive tones in the context of private conversations is this: How is the public going to take this show?
Well, nobody knows. The operas I’ve seen here have been packed with people in their fifties, I’d say, on average. A dirndl (St. Pauli girl dress) is somehow recognized as appropriate eveningwear in this part of Austria, so there are always a few of those, too.
They seem to dig on traditional staging, as well. The Traviata and moldy Csardasfürstin (they love operetta) always sell really well. The unspeakably shitty concept productions of both Zauberflöte and Idomeneo go over with that strange mixture of confused exasperation and polite stoicism.
They are also as I said, just not good.
Le Grand Macabre is an extremely well-made production of a wildly strange modern opera. You could call it a modern production, but I mean, this version of the opera is only about ten years old, so there really isn’t much room for Biedermeier furniture or muttonchops on stage here.
And it’s controversial. Just two hours of shit-dripping, semen-spitting, cock-sucking (on it’s own or paired with simultaneous butt-fucking), corpse-raping, puke-spewing, testes-shocking (yup), dildo-waving, amputee-baiting fun.
Still, none of it is randomly used. As I said, it is a very well-made production, and the world that’s been created on stage lends itself to this degree of perversion.
Last night, I brought my laptop to the bar in the Guesthouse where I’m staying. Some members of our chorus came through, and I showed them some photos.
I’ve discovered a chorus to be a strange beast. If you win them over, they can be a joy like no other. If you don’t end up on their good side (a decision made in seconds at the first rehearsal), your life for the remainder of the production will be a living hell.
With this bunch, I got lucky. They devoured not only the pictures of themselves and their colleagues dressed as whores and trannies, but also those of the soloists. As I watched them happily scroll through photos from non-choral acts, I realized: They fucking love it. Love. It.
Then came the question, when the photo reel was spent. How will they take it?
Well, the dirndl-mamas will hate it.
Yes.
I’ve met a cool guy here in Graz, named Sasha. He works at the internet cafe where I work and the brunch place I go on Sundays (as I found out today). He is very cool, with dyed dark hair and piercings throughout his face. He’ll be one of my guests for the premiere.
I just wish I could crank out some copies of him and fill the house that way. An entire young professional-artistic class exists, that nobody’s even tried to engage as an opera public. Even here in little Graz. Even back in big Berlin.
For shame.
May 12th, 2006 at 9:33 am
Is it still going to be going on in July? I’ll be there, and I’d love to see it, even if the 50 somethings aren’t into it.