■ The leader: Marina Vecci, diva wrangler
■ The challenge: Keeping a diva, and the male equivalent,
il divo, feeling sufficiently
confident to take the stage and dazzle Lyric Opera audiences.
■ The techniques: Cater to them without going overboard. Listen to their problems.
arina Vecci, production administrator for the Lyric Opera of Chicago, has a name
for the chair in her office where world-class opera stars sit and vent. "We call
it la sedia dei lamenti," she says. Translation: the chair of complaints. It gets
used two or three times a week.
"They will sit down and tell me all that is wrong with
everything," says Vecci, 64, without the slightest hint of irritation. "The rehearsal
didn’t go well, the hotel was horrible, the food last night at the restaurant where
I sent them was impossible."
She listens with all the sympathy of a doting grandmother.
"It’s all in the venting. For the most part, these are people who need a lot of
attention," she says.
Indeed, dive, as they are collectively known, have earned
the stereotype of being high-maintenance. They don’t deny it. "If there is any minute
aspect we can micromanage to ensure a good performance or blame a bad performance
on, we will find it," says David Cangelosi, a veteran Lyric tenor.
In his travels around the world, Cangelosi has seen
the spectrum of diva behavior, from stars so obsequious they wouldn’t trouble anyone
to ask for a pen to those who demand that opera houses send them flowers backstage
to make them appear popular.
"We do things from the ridiculous to the sublime," Vecci
admits.
A Lyric employee for 32 years, Vecci doesn’t begrudge
them their demands. "I have a certain admiration and a liking for a diva who behaves
like a diva," she says. "They need to vent their nervousness and anxiety."
The sympathy has to be genuine or it wouldn’t work to
calm frayed nerves. "It’s not like someone in the store saying, ‘Can I help you?’
When we say, ‘What can I do?’ we mean it," she says.
Besides, Vecci is prepared for most of their requests.
She keeps a notebook with a running list of the city’s best masseuses, tax experts
and ear, nose and throat specialists. She has no trouble finding them schools for
their children and keeping them apprised of last-minute scheduling changes. During
performances, she’ll even walk the small dogs that some bring to their dressing
rooms.
The title on her business card may say production administrator,
but, in reality, she’s more like the guider, the coaxer and the coddler. "She has
to do them all," Cangelosi says.
What’s her secret to leadership?
"It’s something in the woman’s eyes," Cangelosi says.
"They radiate sympathy and love, even when she has to be her toughest. It’s a very
special quality." Because of it, "I’ve never seen anyone argue with her."
Not even the dog she stopped from running on stage during
a performance to find its master.
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