How to ruin beauty? Soon (so to speak…) said… In summer in Italy, there are many festivals and events that are usually worth the price of admission. The Arena Opera Festival in Verona, the Puccini Festival in Torre del Lago, the Rossini Opera Festival in Pesaro, the Festival della Valle D’Itria, Taormina Arte, Roma Summer Fest, Lucca, Pisa, Trapani, Ravenna… almost every city has its own festival.
Among these is the Macerata Opera Festival at the Sferisterio.
For those who have never been there, the Sferisterio is a must-see. A traditional theater, it stands out from all the others for being a semi-circular open-air arena, created in the 19th century at the behest of local nobles. Originally, it hosted the game of bracciale, as well as various types of public performances: celebrations, jousts, equestrian parades, and much more.
Its uniqueness lies in its boxes, separated by 56 unmistakably neoclassical Doric columns. In the beginning, they were reserved for consorts and their heirs. An 88-meter-long and 18-meter-high wall was built against the medieval city walls—still visible today behind one of the doors—to meet the scenic needs that arose in later periods.
In this beautiful and evocative setting, I was asked to create the choreography for one of the best-known and most loved classical operettas, The Merry Widow.
It was a wonderful experience to work in a place so steeped in history and magic. The rehearsals, the dancers, the technicians, the entire artistic staff. A director who was always present, attentive to detail. Colleagues from other productions who came to watch the rehearsals. Friends rediscovered after years, or new ones, with whom I immediately exchanged emotions, ideas, concerns, and a great deal of love for art.
It is an intense, engaging period, as often happens in these festivals, where even the city participates, welcoming you with a smile that goes beyond any economic logic. They welcome you almost as if you were family, for those weeks in which you share sweat, fatigue, conviviality, and laughter with them.
And then the audience arrives. Fifteen hundred people, ready to appreciate—or not—your work. At first, you feel anxious. You wait for them like an unknown guest at the most important dinner party. You don’t know if your ideas will be well received, if they will like the set design, the costumes, the lighting. You know you’ve taken them out of their comfort zone, and you know that their reaction won’t be long in coming. But then, the applause. The laughter. The warm greetings at the end of the performance. And suddenly all your doubts disappear, and your smile is filled with gratitude for everyone who made this possible.
For everyone. From the first to the last. And you go home with a new experience, which seems to have ended in the best possible way.
But then you close the door. And you realize, once again, that you are in the hands of people who do not do this job with respect for people or for the rules. We are in Italy (you tell yourself) again. What did you expect?
Anger grows as you realize that the financial commitments made by an external company—which the Sferisterio entrusted to help us with financial management—have not been honored. Artists who spent a month away from home, at their own expense, who worked with commitment, dedication, and passion. Who contributed to a great success in terms of audience and image… those same artists are not being paid.
People who have worked for months, traveled, spent hours and hours in preparation. Who, like everyone else, have bills to pay, rent to pay, responsibilities. And they are not receiving what they are owed. It is not an oxymoron: you work, you get paid. Period.
But no. We are in Italy. And a wonderful experience ends up in the hands of lawyers, simply to get what we are owed.
