I’m standing on a theatre balcony in 1930s Berlin and I feel as though I’m about to pass out.
Beside me is a group of party goers: men in stiff tweed formal suits and women twirling around in fishnet stockings, crystals and not much else.
I grab a hold of the balcony railing to steady myself. “Would you like a drink?” asks an elusive figure who emerges from behind a thick velvet curtain.
In the light, I can see that the figure is a young woman holding out a wine glass, inviting me to join her. I grab the glass and take a hesitant sip.
As the sugary notes hit my tongue, I become instantly aware that this is not red wine.
“It’s watered-down Ribena,” chuckles a man on my right who has been watching me take a swig. He calls me over to him, but I stay where I am, still gripping onto the railing.
I look over the balcony below me, where a dramatic scene is unfolding: two lovers are quarrelling inside a lively cafe. In a moment of passion, one woman grabs a plate and smashes it on the floor.
For a brief moment, the room falls silent, and I wonder if now, while everyone is distracted, it’s a good time to slip away. I let go of the railing and start inching towards the door.
“No, I must see this through to the end,” I remind myself, turning on my heel and walking back towards the front of the balcony. As I do, the mood changes. A marching band enters the restaurant below us, and everyone begins to cheer.
A man hands me a party streamer, which I instinctively throw from the balcony. I spin around in celebration, dancing with my new acquaintances. We knock our heads back in laughter and raise our glasses higher. I feel free.
But just as I find my groove, the curtain falls and I’m ushered off the stage. My moment in the spotlight has come to an end.
A Star Is Born
When I was first invited to do a walk-on role for Opera Australia’s glittering production of La Bohème, I jumped at the opportunity.
I was familiar with Giacomo Puccini’s classic 1893 story about a group of young, struggling artists—poets, painters, and musicians—trying to make a life for themselves despite poverty.
For those unfamiliar with La Bohème, it’s a big deal. Considered one of the most famous operas of all time. The bohemian love story has inspired the likes of Baz Luhrmann for his 2001 film Moulin Rouge! as well as the iconic musical Rent.
In Opera Australia’s 2025 production, director Danielle Maas remagines the infamous tale by setting the story in the fairy light-filled cabarets of 1930s Berlin.
Expect striking costumes, atmospheric sets that transport you to another era and a love story that both soars with ecstasy before stabbing you in the heart.
The Making Of A Show Girl
A week before the production opens, I head to Opera Australia’s headquarters for a fitting.
I am told that my starring role is (thankfully) a non-speaking, non-singing sex worker in Act Two of the show.
Here, I am guided through the company’s extensive archive: rooms filled with wigs, large-scale sets and more black boots than the David Jones shoe department.
The research, preparation and detail that goes into each production is meticulous, with lead times for a new show ranging up to a year. Each character – from the principals to the walk-on roles – are considered and thought out to ensure they feel authentic to the production.
At the end of my tour, I am guided into a fitting room where one of the talented seamstresses transforms me from a fashion magazine writer into a fabulously dressed 1930s sex worker. I turn towards the mirror to admire my new look: a striking red and black sequined flapper-style dress with matching gloves and a feather boa.
It’s true what they say about clothes possessing energy. Draped in my costume, I find myself embodying my new persona as I slink about the room and swish my feather boa.
After my fitting, I shimmy out of my frock and head upstairs to the wig department. Here, the talented team explain that each wig is crafted with human hair and is custom-made for each actor. My character’s hair is a blonde bob with perfect finger waves—a stark contrast to my long, jet-black tendrils.
With my outfit complete, I feel ready to make my theatrical debut. I wave goodbye to the team, armed with the reassurance that even if I fumble, I will at least look the part.
Curtain Call
The week leading up to my staring moment rolls around fast. Each morning on my way to work (yes, I haven’t quit my day job just yet), I blast the La Bohème soundtrack to familiarise myself with the score. With the sound of Puccini’s sweeping strings and romantic melodies reverberating in my ear, I feel ready to ascend the stage.
In a final preparation, I stop by The Sydney Opera House for a quick dress rehearsal, where I am introduced to some of the cast and walk through the end of Act II.
My scene unfolds in a bustling café, filled with noisy, colourful street vendors and townspeople. It’s the lightest moment in the opera, before the tone darkens into heartbreak and loss in Act III.
My job, the Revival Director tells me, is to act seductive and flirty. Fortunately, that’s a skill that doesn’t require much acting. Joking! I climb the ladder onto the balcony where I will be performing and am immediately struck by how high up it is.
I look out at the crowd, which is currently rows of empty chairs, and the realisation suddenly hits me that tomorrow there will be a live audience watching from those very seats. I return home with a healthy dose of pre-show jitters and excitement.
Show Time
The morning of the performance is a blur of feathers, lights and dulcet tones pouring out of rehearsal rooms. In the makeup chair, the artist carefully strips my naturally thick eyebrows back to thin arches before applying a heavy blush and a deep red lipstick to my face.
I am unrecognisable but fabulous. After my wig is secured, I make a quick stop by my dressing room to change into my costume before heading to the stage door. I spot a few of my fellow performers from the dress rehearsal and we take our places together at the side of the stage.
Standing on the stage balcony in front of a packed crowd I can only liken to as the feeling you get on your wedding day. It was both the most terrifying yet magical experience of my life.
When the lights dim and my scene eventually comes to an end, the adrenaline-evoking sensation is so intense that I now understand how performers continue to show up night after night with the same level of energy for each audience.
La Bohème might be a tale about love, friendship and the fragility of life, but so too is the story of the people who work tirelessly behind the scenes to make these productions happen. Like the group of young creatives who arrive in Berlin, the creation of this opera wouldn’t have happened without the artists and dreamers.
And while I only had a small part in the show, what I left with was a newfound appreciation for an art-form I love so dearly. Going behind the scenes didn’t ruin the magic; it ignited it.
Although I might need a few more productions under my belt before I eventually get my flowers, for now, I am comfortable sitting in the stalls, letting the experts take the lead and watching the possibilities unfold.
La Bohème is open now at The Sydney Opera House. Visit opera.org.au.
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