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The curtain is already up when the audience enters the auditorium of the Grosses Festspielhaus, and Sach's workshop is spread out in loving detail across the wide stage. Even before the first notes of the prelude strike up, Sachs (or is it Wagner?) rushes in from his bedroom, dressed in his nightclothes, hurries to his desk at stage right and begins furiously writing, perhaps completing the opera we are about to hear. Then, as the prelude melts into the first act, Herheim and his production team engineer a feat of stage magic: Through a gauzy curtain, we see the desk become bigger and bigger until it takes over the entire stage and turns into the interior of St. Katherine's Church. A similar transformation occurs at the beginning of Act 2, when two cabinets and a doorway leading into Sachs's storeroom swell into a Nuernberg street scene. There's puppetry here, too, in the form of a miniature theater that Sachs keeps among the old toys his children once played with. And there are even fairy-tale characters: Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs and other figures come tumbling out of a giant volume of the Brothers Grimm's collected tales and help trigger the street brawl that closes Act 2. Herheim said a particular challenge was the "problem" of Beckmesser, the fussy town clerk who competes for Eva's hand and ends up humiliated in front of the whole town. "Wagner totally betrayed him from the very beginning," Herheim said, "gave him no chance, made a fool out of him and hunts him down as the idiot who has to be sacrificed so that Hans Sachs can bloom in his enlightenment." Noting that Sachs "has his manipulative side," Herheim portrays the two men as alter egos. "Beckmesser is the other side of Hans Sachs, everything he suppresses," he said. To underscore this, in their Act 3 scene together, Herheim has Sachs silently mouth Beckmesser's lines before the latter sings them. And just before the final curtain, that figure in the nightclothes reappears
-- but this time it's Beckmesser, not Sachs.
For the future, Herheim said he is eager to tackle the operas of Czech composer Leos Janacek and also would like to direct new works, which he feels get too little attention these days. "In our time we play the same repertoire over and over and over again," he said. "People don't seem interested in getting their own time reflected by living artists, and this of course changes totally the role of the director. "We become the renewers," he said, "we have to take the standard repertoire and put it in a frame where it makes sense to see ourselves mirrored and questioned." Despite this sense of mission, Herheim insists he doesn't see himself "as a teacher, coming and giving a lesson." Instead, he said, his goal is to communicate what opera has meant in his life. "I have myself had experiences with music in the opera house, which is my temple, which gives me the joy of life and moves me so strongly, it feels like a gift from heaven," he said. "And I feel so in debt toward the medium that I'm eager to give people the same experience."
[Associated
Press;
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