Our Man in Los Alamos

Like the Soviet spy ring at Los Alamos that made Joseph Stalin more knowledgeable about the atomic bomb than President Truman, the stealthy Ulrica and her web of Secret Agents miss nothing...

Now that Opening Night is over, the creative process of staging the opera is finished for now, and the reviews are in (showing, predictably, that the greater the newspaper the better the review – bouquets for the New York Times, rotten vegetables to the Sacramento Bee) here are a few declassified documents of our own; vignettes from the production of Dr. Atomic with its many ups and just a few downs.

• The goofy exercises AD Kathleen Belcher put us through at the Atomic audition in July: “introduce yourself, round-robin style, with an adjective starting with the same letter of the alphabet as your first name and with an appropriate action.”

• The thrill at being accepted for the production and the daunting task of rearranging one's schedule for 30 rehearsals over the following eight weeks and bidding a fond adieu to any social life.

• The first Super Rehearsal when we all showed up and spent an hour and a half completely engrossed by Peter Sellars’ intimate descriptions of the creation of the opera and of the forces at play in Los Alamos in 1945.

• Rehearsal interchange. Peter Sellars: “I didn’t want to end the opera with a mushroom cloud.” Super: “They have one in Forza.” Peter Sellars: “I’m glad you told me. I was just about to say there’s one in every cheesy rock video”.

• The library of books on J. Robert Oppenheimer and Trinity in the orchestra pit at Zellerbach A, and the DVD handout by filmmaker Jon Else of his documentary The Day After Trinity. All of these became very important in helping us immerse ourselves in the background and complexities of the subject; we are all suddenly authorities on nuclear fission.

• Peter Sellars’ many, many hugs and his repeated, rhetorical “Is that cool?”

• Certified Circus Clown Jeremy Vik’s handstands.

• Rehearsing one evening upstairs in the chorus room, with the chorus, dancers and directorial team going through the incredible Vishnu Chorus.

• Catty chorine to no one in particular (but well within earshot of many of us) "I thought the Supers were supposed to be all the way upstage..."

• The incredible energy, precision and consistency of the well utilized Atomic Dancers, who are always an inspiration to watch (and to hear when they slide to the ground at the end of their final dance).

• The cheerful and welcome presence of Jon Else and his documentary film crew throughout the rehearsal period. The documentary will end where the performances begin, meaning that the last shot filmed would be Peter Sellars going onstage for his curtain call at the end of final dress and seeing John Adams leaving through a back door of the auditorium.

• Hawaiian Shirt Day, when all the Supers showed up in colorful, floral-printed shirts in homage to director Peter Sellars.

Peter Sellars: "That shirt makes me want to say 'Yes!' to Life."

• Superstar Patricia Racette, visiting her partner Beth Clayton at a rehearsal and offering to give up her seat to PSC Nancy Huie.

• Beth Clayton taking the time to apologize to a Super for not recognizing him outside on the way to a ZA rehearsal.

• Trying to memorize the words to Vishnu while running on the treadmill at "24 Hour Fitness."

• Chatting with one of the principals and discussing Peter’s reluctance and superstitions about staging the final scene until the last possible moment, and the awe at watching it unfold from first Zellerbach rehearsal until Opening Night.

• The graciousness of tenor Tom Randle when Peter Sellars made the announcement that they were looking for a different vocal texture for the role of Robert Wilson and that he was being replaced.

• New Wilson tenorTom Glenn’s endearing nervousness at every rehearsal.

• The first hearing of the orchestral percussion that propels the Vishnu Chorus.

• The tension following veiled threats to remove Supers from Vishnu if we didn’t “get it” (we did get it, thanks to the intervention of the indefatigable Larry Pech).

• The sadness and dismay we felt at the replacement of Al Heiben as Lt. Bush the day before final dress; wondering if, despite all the talk of being an integral part of the project, we weren’t somewhat disposable after all.

• Al’s continued presence as “official cover.”

• Giving bass-baritone Richard Paul Fink a ride home after a rehearsal and hearing how he always tries to sympathize with the characters he’s playing (Iago, Rigoletto, Edward Teller) while onstage, but perhaps feels differently about them when not.

• John F. Martin’s wonderful Super group shot that, miraculously, made every one of us look good.

• Laurel Winzler’s amazing floral arrangement, commissioned by the Supers for Peter Sellars’ birthday on September 27th, made up of wonderfully exotic blooms in hues of atomic explosion (orange, purple and green).

• The two colorful birthday cakes for Peter Sellars and chorister Phil Pickens. Downstairs in the lounge, our spies caught one lady from Wigs and Makeup surreptitiously opening the box to one of the cakes and, when she thought no one was looking, cutting herself a corner piece before the intermission cake-cutting ceremony (shame!).

• The orchestra playing, and the chorus singing “Happy Birthday” at the beginning of the orchestra tech run-through.

• Finally getting the Scene 13 lightning moves down only to have them cut…

• MTT checking things out at another orchestral run-through.

• The pile of the caterers’ smelly garbage and cardboard boxes that hung around outside the lounge all day directly underneath signs emphatically stating “No Garbage No Recycling.” Clean it up, Patina!

• Bruce McNaughton flying in from Dayton, OH for final dress.

• Maestro Runnicles congratulating the performers at the end of final dress and urging them to give 10 to 15% more on opening night (everyone did).

• Four consecutive winnings (albeit of a modest scale) in the Dr Atomic Super Lotto drawings organized by Jenny Jirousek.

• The sweet card from star Gerald Finley on opening night.

• The sweet opening night cookies from “Super Peter Oppenheimer,” young Seth Durrant.

Mmmm, mmmm, mmmm!

• The last-minute irritation of knowing that one of the Super corps had not received her credit in the program, despite the "proof" we were emailed weeks before. Inexcusable!

• Waiting for the (overwhelming) opening night applause after Gerry Finley’s profoundly moving performance of “Batter my Heart” at the end of Act One; having known from the first piano-accompanied, marked performance that it was going to be an incredible piece of theater)

• Pamela Rosenberg being egged onto the stage, declining to take a curtain call with the composer, but eventually being dragged onstage by Maestro Runnicles and propelled downstage to receive her well-deserved applause.

• The fire alarm going off as we were changing for the cast party, a few minutes after the final curtain, milling around in the horseshoe and seeing new Lt. Bush, Johnathan Rider, greeting his colleagues from the SFFD as they arrived to check things out.

• Pamela’s eloquent cast party tributes to the people who had made the production possible, including one to “the many people you saw onstage, not singing and not dancing, the Supers – actors - who have worked so hard.”

• October 2nd; Keith King and Andrew Korniej walking to their cars at 1 am and seeing John Adams, the focus of the operatic world at that particular moment, alone on Franklin Street, pacing up and down the half-block at the back of the patch, lost in thought. They bid him goodnight and he quietly responds, hardly looking up.

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