From Beggar to Boyar in Two Minutes

Boris Godunov by Chorister Tom Reed

San Francisco Opera's current production of Boris Godunov is actually many operas within an opera, some of which are never actually seen by the audience. One such unseen opera lasts just two minutes; it is the quick costume change for the chorus in Act 2. 

Outside the Cathedral of St. Basil in Moscow a crowd of starving chorus peasants [above] has gathered to beg the Czar for bread. As they plead with him their desperation is obvious, though it's not clear if they are more desperate to eat or just to catch a glimpse of the conductor over the hats of their colleagues. But times are bad and the Czar has no bread to give. Weak and despairing, the forlorn populace drifts away toward the wings as the scene continues behind them. But with their exit their real troubles are only just beginning. The men now have just two minutes to change from ragged peasants to regal Boyars for the Council scene in the Kremlin's Granovitaya Hall [below].

The costume department has carefully set-up and choreographed the quick costume change, making the best of a daunting situation by providing each male chorister with a sheet of detailed step-by-step instructions titled "How To Become A Boyar." Time and backstage space are severely limited, so the instructions must be followed to the letter. As the beggars leave the stage the scene continues to play out behind them with the principals, and the set change will then be made in full view of the audience without pause, so the men must be ready to reenter on time. There is no room for error!

The instant they are out of sight of the audience each drooping peasant must immediately spring back to life. Stumbling blindly down dark steps into the wings with spotlights shining directly in their faces, the men must rip off their peasant hats, wigs, and straggly strap-on peasant beards, leaving in place only their glue-on handlebar moustaches. Fumbling with sleeve ties and jacket hooks, some of which they were surreptitiously able to pre-loosen on stage before exiting, they toss their hats and hair to members of the makeup and wig departments as they dash past them to their assigned changing spot in the tightly packed rows of folding chairs located on both sides of the stage near their exit points. As a voice announces that twenty-five seconds have already elapsed, they begin tugging at sweaty costume parts and dodging the elbows of colleagues as they send boots, jackets, shirts, and trousers flying toward collection baskets. Next they must search under their chairs for their Boyar boots, which hopefully haven't been mixed up with their neighbor's or swept away in the swirl of discarded costume parts. 

Now wearing only Boyar boots, black tights, and a tee shirt, they locate their assigned dresser, who awaits at the nearby costume rack, ready to envelop each panting chorister in a long robe that fastens down the front with velcro. Hopefully in the backstage darkness no chorister has inadvertently grabbed the wrong robe, as happened at the first dress rehearsal. (That little mishap forced the unfortunate Boyar in question to have to practically crawl back up onto the set — Sorcerer's Apprentice style — in a robe that was much too large for him, leaving me — innocent and completely untouched by any stain of culpability — to have to squeeze into the only remaining robe and reenter with my arms and shoulders scrunched tightly in front of my chest in order to keep the Velcro fasteners from bursting open with a resounding rip.)

Once securely fastened in, each Boyar-to-be must fight his way downstage toward the hat table, trying not to step on the trailing train of the robe in front while squeezing past the stagehands and Supernumerary guards who are preparing to carry the long Boyar benches onstage for the live scene change that is about to commence. The voice announces that thirty seconds remain. The voice has acquired a discernable edge of foreboding, not unlike the automated voice on a phone tree when you get to the final option to remain on the line if you need to speak to a representative. The news is not good. Time is rapidly running out. 

At the hat table you are handed your Boyar hat, a pair of gloves, and your strap-on Boyar beard.  (Boyar beards are bushy rather than stringy.) From there you must fight your way back upstream to the props rack nearest your reentry point, strapping on your new beard as you go. It is imperative that you properly anchor your beard under your pre-glued handlebar moustache by pulling the handlebars out from under the itchy beard-netting as you strap it on; otherwise the tight strap that loops across the top of your head under your hat will likely cause the beard to ride up over your mouth later as you sing, making it all the harder to spit out all that ticklish Russian diction. Strapping on a beard in the midst of a raging torrent of would-be Boyars while juggling gloves and a two-foot-tall hat leaves no hand free to lift one's trailing costume train safely above the feet of those behind, so the torturous progress toward the prop rack may be full of unexpected stops and starts. In such a hectic situation the normal rules of courtesy are quickly trampled underfoot. Furthermore, the smaller Boyars generally are able to cut through the herd and arrive ahead of everyone else at the props rack, where they tend to grab the tallest Boyar staves for themselves. So unless you want to be left with a short staff that doesn't suit your lofty status, it pays to be a tad pushy.

Finally arriving at your reentry point just seconds before the production assistant gives the "go" to reenter, it's time to stumble back up the three or four steps onto the Council Chamber set,  endeavoring on the way not to climb up the inside of your robe, while simultaneously balancing the Boyar staff and pulling on the gloves with the help of your teeth. At this point you may or may not want to turn to the colleague behind and ask if you look OK. (I tried it, and he nearly lost his hat laughing.) As you at last come back in view of the audience — a breathtaking rags-to-riches success story — all that remains is to lower your shoulders, and try to look bored. Et voila! Two-minute Boyars!  No trouble at all.