Backstage tour of Royal Opera House reveals wonders

I was very fortunate this week, thanks to our Northwestern alumni network in London, to join a small group (47) at a dress rehearsal for the ballet, La Bayadere, to open Saturday night at the Royal Opera House, followed by a backstage tour. It was the highlight of my week and completely fascinating. (Though, sadly, I was so exhausted that I still nodded off a few times during the performance. It's been a tough week.)

I am far better than the average person when it comes to consuming classic culture, but I had never been inside the Royal Opera House and I've never seen a ballet. I THOUGHT I'd seen one; a Baryshnikov solo show and the touring Kirov in the '80s, but in both cases those were a collection of famous dances rather than the full ballet.

Thus, when seeing the real thing, I was struck by several major differences. First was the acting. The full ballet was, of course, a proper story, thus the dancing was interspersed between plot. And, because they don't speak, that plot was carried forward through exaggerated movements similar to mime, but much more graceful. I was amazed at how easy it was to follow what was going on. Although we're not talking about great depth here: Indian temple dancer and hero are in love; Rajah wants hero to marry his daughter; fickle hero falls for sophisticated charms of princess; temple dancer has to dance for them at their wedding; hero realises his mistake; princess arranges for poisonous snake to kill temple dancer during dance to protect her new marriage. And that's only Act 1, which is all we saw in the rehearsal.

Next were the sets. Wow. Towering, dreamlike evocations of India, using all sorts of painter's tricks to draw the eye back and make you think you were looking into the vastness of a palace or the depths of the jungle. And matched to those were the costumes. Lush and sparkling, dominated by glittering jewels and vivid colours.

After watching the first half we went on our backstage tour. In the late '90s the ROH did a significant renovation and expansion, going from a cramped and probably sub-par facility to a large complex that's one of the best in the world. We went upstairs to see the dance studios, which are on the top floor with expansive views over Covent Garden and the city beyond. Evidently most ballet companies spend their working lives in basements, so the ROH is very proud of its ability to offer humanising natural light to its team. Past the costume department, where thousands of luscious outfits hung in long rows. (All for tiny people, of course)

And then backstage. Imagine three aircraft hangars arranged at angles to form an "S" and you have an idea. The stage fits into the top curve of the "S", but is separated from the backstage area by heavy steel doors that raise or lower. (The place burned down twice in its early history and they use a lot of pyrotechnics on stage; the steel fire walls can keep a fire contained within the stage area for hours, protecting the rest of the facility.)

It was a magnificent jumble of sets. The Indian temple we'd just seen now sat on one part of the floor, a giant dragon, presumably Wagnerian, loomed in another area. Despite the size of this space, there's nowhere near enough room to store all the stuff for all the opera and ballet productions. So they have warehouses in Wales and drive the sets and costumes back and forth. There's a lift mechanism that raises the big trucks from ground level up into the centre of the backstage area.

While we stood there talking, many of the cast walked right by us. I was struck by how differently they move from the rest of us. Every movement imbued with grace, feet pointing with every step, but every step hitting the ground with great force. These little ballerinas, frankly, sounded like stomping horses as they moved by us. The mesmerising principal dancer Carlos Acosta walked within inches, his princely looks thrown off a bit by the preposterous striped overalls he was wearing over his costume to keep his legs warm. On the way out, we ran into the bad guy (temple priest, covets dancer and schemes with princess to keep dancer from hero) getting a coke and a twixt bar from the vending machine. We had a little chat after I told him how magnificently sinister he was. It was amusing, though, to see how utterly the magic fades when you lose the distance and lighting of the stage. Standing two feet from him, he was cheerful, my height, the bald head was obviously a rubber cap, the makeup preposterous and the jewelled breastplate obviously fake. Yet 40 minutes before he'd been a towering, menacing, dramatic figure dripping in the jewels of the Orient.

It was a lovely view into why theatre people get so excited about their art. Turning illusion into reality to give joy to thousands must be great fun. I'm glad I had the chance to see a little of the way it's done. I think I appreciate it all a bit more now.