I was an extra in the Boston Ballet’s ‘The Nutcracker’

Steve Safran December 3rd, 2006

BY STEVE SAFRAN
MANAGING EDITOR/BALLET DIVA
LOST REMOTE

There are many things a career in journalism prepares you for. It is good practice for thinking on your feet. It makes you a better writer every day. It teaches you how to see the world with a critical eye. But if I had to tell you the single thing for which journalism least prepares you, it is unquestionably this: ballet. So as I found myself, center stage, in the Boston Ballet’s 2006 production of “The Nutcracker,” I wondered a great many things, chief among them was “Isn’t there someone more qualified?”

Saturday night, December 2, 2006. I am in the green room at The Opera House in Boston. The previous week, the public relations staff had asked me and my NECN colleague, Allison Sonfist, if we would do a cameo in “The Nutcracker.” They save a role at the beginning for local celebrities as a way of drumming up some PR. Apparently, the local celebrities were busy, because they approached Allison and me, based upon our qualifications as being the hosts of the only lunch-themed, web-only, sorta-newscast, NECN.com’s “The Lunchbox.”

When good things happen to absurd people.

Upon being asked if I would participate, I made it clear how wrong a choice I would be. I can’t dance. I haven’t been on a stage since a college play in 1990. And I look awful in tights. For her part, Allison couldn’t wait. That is, until she saw her outfit.

To my relief and Allison’s horror, neither of us would be wearing anything that showed skin or even so much as an angle of our bodies. Playing the role of “chestnut sellers” in an outdoor scene required us to wear Victorian winter garb. For me, this meant a heavy woolen coat, scarf and top hat. There were two sizes of top hat. I have a large head, even by television standards, but the first one was a little big. (See right.)

Allison’s outfit was, well, warmer. A sort of teal and purple and maybe-that’s-green outer coat could have kept her warm for most of the filming of “March of the Penguins.” But the star of Allison’s outfit was her hat. A Victorian bonnet the size (and weight) of a satellite dish, it had the effect of making poor Al look like a pet that just underwent an operation.

And yes, she slugged me for suggesting that.

Backstage at the Boston Ballet, the actual talented people seemed to be taking their time getting ready. With 15 minutes to go, there were still a great many people not in costume. This I found odd, until I remembered that news people don’t go on set until about 18 seconds before the animation rolls. Why would you wear a dancing rat costume one minute longer than necessary anyway?

The happy, sweaty, happy couple

As the Chestnut Sellers, it was explained to us, we had a bit of business to do on stage. Mercifully – no dancing. At the start of the ballet, we were to walk to center stage and – yep, sell a couple of families some bags of chestnuts. Now, if I had not been given further instruction, I could have accomplished this task largely through improvisation. Television news, after all, prepares us for a life of fraud; we pretend to be experts on a different topic every day, right? Why should pretending to be a ballet star be any different? Unfortunately for me, actual talented people started to give me actual advice and actual blocking. Anyone who has performed will sympathize when I say that this totally messed with my head.

Allison and I were escorted on stage by the dancer who plays the Chestnut Seller on nights when there are no poseurs pretending to do his job. I’m not sure what that meant his new role was supposed to be – Associate Chestnut Seller, I suppose. Anyway, the PR person told us just to follow his lead. I had a cart to push along – a two-wheeled wooden affair with a glowing-red basket filled with bags of chestnuts. Here, the detailed period authenticity ended: the chestnut bags were clearly labeled “ACE Hardware.”

On cue, I was to push the cart to the center, whereupon Allison and our Executive Chestnut Leader would encounter the families, eager to purchase our wares. (Oddly, they gave us no money, leaving me briefly to wonder if Tchaikovsky had envisioned some sort of socialist, tree-nut-related paradise. But the time for such fancies was brief.)

The lights dim. The voice comes over the PA, making the usual cast announcements. And then, Disembodied Theatre Voice adds: “Playing the part of “The Chestnut Sellers” will be Allison Sonfist and Steve Safran.” Did I mention that, in the long list of things I have fantisized about in my life, having the Boston Ballet announce my name as an understudy had never came up?

There are nearly 300 children in the company of “The Nutcracker,” who take turns in three different casts. I must tell you I nearly hit every one of those children with the chestnut cart. The moment I started toward the middle of the stage, I was surprised by how narrow our floor was. A scrim behind us was hogging a good 90 percent of the stage for the main scene, so this was all taking place with about eight feet of width. That may sound like a lot – but try pushing a chestnut cart through a crowd of eager and hungry Victorian children flinging themselves around as though they weighed about 12 pounds each. 50 feet of clearance wouldn’t have been too much.

Executive Chestnut Escort and Allison (who I have taken to calling “Chestnutcase”) reach center stage long before I do, as I am stuck in Boston Child Traffic. We pass out our ACE Hardware-enveloped wares, and it’s time to exit, from whence we came, stage left. But again, I’m faced with a problem.

We arrive, from stage left, to hawk our wares. Note enormity of Allison’s hat.

Remember that bit about getting too many instructions? Chief among them was “don’t turn your back to the audience.” Now, every acting student knows this. It’s a stupid piece of advice. Of course you don’t turn your back to the audience. Lesson number one, day one of acting school: do not turn your back to the audience.

Here we are, turning our backs to the audience.

But I had to do a U-turn with a chestnut cart, and had a serious dilemma going. If I were to turn left to avoid turning my back to the audience, there was every chance I was going to push the chestnut cart right into the orchestra pit.

On the other hand, making the U-turn right led to every possibility I was going to take out more children and, quite possibly, the scrim as well.

I made the left. Upon watching the video, it turns out it was the only time I didn’t have my back to the audience. The orchesta escaped a close one.

Again, Allison and Chestnut King were miles ahead of me, strolling confidently. In addition, Allison’s bonnet briefly picked up ESPN, which was entertaining for everyone.

The children dance happily, no longer in danger of being hit by a chestnut cart.

And that was it. We were led downstairs, where we mercifully disrobed from the clothing, which now weighed an additional 175 pounds from the sweat. (I did, however, resolve to wear more top hats. It was comfy and, at only 5’7”, I need the height.) We were quickly escorted to our seats, where we enjoyed the rest of the performance as we should: as members of the audience watching unbelievably gifted dancers perform one of the most famous works of art.

Sadly, I couldn’t munch on any chestnuts though. I really started to crave the damn things. Anyone know where I can find an ACE Hardware?