Sacristan / Lunobor / Domšík

Janáček hands me one body and three names. As the Sacristan I am earthbound Prague; as Lunobor, the affronted father of Etherea on the Moon; as Domšík, the knight of the bell who falls for the Hussite cause. The thread between them is gravity — each scene weighs Brouček's small evasions against something larger.

The score speaks in Janáček's clipped Czech, every phrase shaped to the rise and fall of the spoken word. There is no aria to hide behind. I work in declamation — short, exact, motivic — and let the orchestra carry the satire while my line stays plain and human.

The challenge is to keep three men distinct without caricature. Lunobor's wounded grandeur, the Sacristan's wary respectability, Domšík's plain conviction — all from the same throat, all in service of a comedy that turns, by the end, into something close to a hymn.