WORK BACKSTAGE AT OPERA MEANS HASTE WITHOUT CONFUSION

Otago Daily Times, Issue 27081, 16 May 1949, Page 4

WORK BACKSTAGE AT OPERA MEANS HASTE WITHOUT CONFUSION

Behind the main road to Orleans, hidden by the tall houses and the mists and log of February, there was constant activity on Saturday afternoon. To be precise, the activity was behind the setting for the third act of “La Boheme” and as a Daily Times reporter came in through the scene dock of His Majesty’s, local assistants were busily engaged in filling battered top hats with paper and packing them away in the costume baskets. The tumult and shouting of the opera’s lively second act were over, the soldiers and citizens had departed to the dressing rooms, and from the orchestra’s strings was coming the opening phrase of “ Mr chiamano Mimi . . .” the signal for the opera’s heroine to re-enter from the Rue d’Enfer.

There has long been a theory that the erection of a gallery from which proceedings in the wings and backstage could be watched at major theatrical performances would produce an audience as enthusiastic as the one on the other side of the footlights. For the layman—and, for that matter, for most professionals—backstage has a magic all its own. It is an enchanting half-world between the mental Shaniri-La of the orchestral stalls and the mundane reality of the post-per-formance city streets. But the people behind the scenes at a theatrical performance do not have time to stand and stare. There was a constant coming and going on Sat? urday. Dressers carried armfuls of costumes to the waiting trunks in the scene dock, members of the company who had completed their assignments sought the’crisp sunshine of the late autumn afternoon, stagehands moved The lofty sets for the final act into place in preparation for a quick change in the interval. ’ And over all this activity presided the stage manager, Mr Charles Hawthorne, strolling quietly about with the detacnment of a department store Hoorwalker. By the time a tour has gone as far as this present one, the show was virtually running itself, he told the’ Daily Times. There was always something to watch for. but an experienced backstage staff soon worked out its routine and there was little chance of a mishap. As if to refute his remark, a lofty wood and canvas wing started to fall away from the stack, but it was caught by alert stagehands and heaved back into position. At each vantage point, there were interested spectators. of the company’s chorus who were following the singing on the stage with obvious interest prompted another question. After all these performances were they always so eager to spend an hour or two listening from the wings to something which must have become more than familiar to them? “ They are studying all the time,” said Mr Hawthorne. “ They watch and they learn. They seldom get a chance to see the shows from out front, so we allow them to stay in the wings and see what they can.” One girl was "combining study with more prosaic duties. As she followed the action on the stage, she clicked away industriously with a pair of knitting needles. “Addio, dolce svegliare alia mattina . . sang Mimi. “ Click, click, click ” went the needles, and a jersey took shape along with the opera. Another girl was crouched on hands and knees, one eye glued to a tiny hole in the canvas of the setting. An electrician twirled a burnt out floodlight bulb in his hand.

six men were dragging the edges of the extra floor cloth together to collect the “ snow,” and others were waiting with brooms to dispose of the hakes which remained. The “ roof ’•’ of the Bohemians’ garret swung down and the walls were brought in to meet it, while in rapid succession properties were carried out from the scene dock—a table with several objects on it, a bed. an easel and paintings, a bookcase, chairs. The principals reappeared from the dressing rooms, strolled on stage and looked about to see that all was in order. Signor Li Donni joked with somebody in the wings. A ruffle of clapping from the other side of the curtain greeted the arrival of the orchestra leader. The house lights were down, and the electricians snapped the switches for the stage lighting. The first chords came from the orchestra and the curtain soared into its niche behind the proscenium arch. As might be expected, haste but not confusion was the main factor behind the scenes. And as each act got under way and the sets and properties were made ready for its successor, there came a brief lull in which some frag-

ment of the stage drama could be enjoyed. As Mr Hawthorne stated, “we get to know the scores as well as the performers and when we hear some tune or some phrase, we kpow it is time to make some preparation or alteration to the lighting. Our work is cued to the score as much as the singers.” And so the opera came to its final curtain, with Rudolph falling griefstricken beside Mimi’s bed .as the orchestra (“ con tutta forza ”) recalled Mimi's earlier theme, “ Sono andati? . . .” There may have been stifled sobs in the house at the tragic ending, but backstage it was different. “There goes Mimi," said a stagehand, preparing to break down the set. “ She’s' had it! ” “ Povera Mimi,” said someone sympathetically. “ Dead as a mackerel twice a week.”

The scene was nearjng its-end. and a small, thoughtful-looking stagehand unhitched a rope from a bracket on a large spotlight and let it run slowly slowly through his hand for an inch or two. From high up among the drop scenes a gentle drift of “ snowflakes ” commenced. “That will be difficult to clean up. won't it? ” asked the reporter. “ Not so bad,” said the weather controller. “It sweeps up well enough.” The curtain fell and the principals hurriedly took their places for their first curtain call. The maestro appeared from the orchestra well and waited to take his place in the line on the stage, joking with the little group in the wings before straightening his face into professional gravity and walking on stage. Within seconds the set" was broken up and folded away against the walls.

Puccini might not have approved.