The Bohemian

A pre-performance briefing with the cast (Photo: Paul Jeffers)

I made no mention of it earlier, but I appeared recently in Melbourne Opera's production of La Boheme. No, I didn't sing. I was a supernumerary-- essentially an extra, or mute actor-- playing the maitre d' of the Café Momus in Act II. About four years ago, before I moved to Melbourne, I'd been recruited as a "super" for Seattle Opera's staging of Aida and had a terrific time of it. Among the cast of an opera, supers are the lowest ranking and, in larger companies, often kept totally separate from the chorus members, dancers, musicians and principles. We're usually unpaid and seldom talked to, or even acknowledged, by the singers. Basically, a super has little to contribute other than their physical presence. So why is it fun? Because I get to be onstage (which I love) and I get see everything that happens behind the scenes. 

Applying makeup in the green room (Photo: Paul Jeffers)

But Melbourne Opera is a much smaller company than Seattle Opera, and so I mingled with everyone. Though I had a larger role in La Boheme, I was given little direction compared to what I received for Aida; in that production, in which I was only one of almost two dozen supernumerary soldiers, we nonetheless had handlers and several stage assistants to herd us into place offstage, cue our entries, distribute and collect props and apply our make-up. By contrast, in this production I was pretty much on my own. Two weeks of rehearsal. That's was it. I applied my own make-up, watching others to learn the technique. To complete my costume I had to supplement it with items from my own wardrobe-- the trousers came from the tuxedo I wear to Freemason lodge meetings.

Waiting for Act II (Photo: Paul Jeffers)

For those unfamiliar with the story, Act II of La Boheme takes place in the Latin Quarter of Paris, in the street outside the café. As the maitre d', I'm very busy greeting customers and fretting about what to do with the principles, who can't pay for what they order. There's a nifty sight gag at the very end of the act, when I present an enormous check to a wealthy chump who's been stuck with the bill while the others have run off to play elsewhere.

Altogether, we gave six performances-- five at the Athenaeum Theatre on Collins Street, and one at Monash University. Not a single one of them was executed without some sort of minor disaster-- missing props, curtains going up before the cast was ready, plates that bounced off the floor instead of smashing, etc. Supering for Melbourne Opera was fun, though a very different experience from my first in Seattle. I'd like to do it again, but those opportunities seem harder to come by Down Under.