On Becoming a “Super” Star

When I attended my first Cincinnati Opera production 25 years ago, I assumed everyone on stage was a professional singer, even the people who hit no notes. It wasn’t until 2015 that I first heard the term “supernumerary.” “Supers” for short, they’re to the opera world what background actors are to TV shows and movies. None of them sing, and most don’t dance or have large roles in a production, but they fill in the holes where needed.

The various domestic servants in The Marriage of Figaro? Supers. Several members of Baron Scarpia’s entourage in Tosca? Yup, supers. Supernumeraries are essential for the crowd scenes that require hundreds of people on stage, like during the triumphal march in Aida or representing a Parisian street and café’s hustle and bustle in La bohème.

“Supers are part of the world of the storytelling,” says Kimille Howard, who serves as director on the Afrofuturistic opera Lalovavi, which makes its world premiere at Music Hall next week (July 9 and 11). “They tend to be able to do more physical things than the singers. [Singers] might have to go do a quick change or might have to hit a really high note, so supers and dancers help give more movement and physicality to a scene.”

With nearly 30 years in the business, bass singer Morris Robinson has worked with tons of supers. “A lot of them are professional actors who get a contract, come in, and do a gig,” he says. “A lot of them are donors who donate money so they can stand on stage and hold a spear. And a lot of them are just people who love the art form.”

When a Facebook friend posted that he and his children were attending rehearsals for Cincinnati Opera’s production of Turandot, I followed along as he posted about fittings, more rehearsals, and the big night of appearing on stage during the production. My interest was piqued. Could I be a super, too? I wondered.

“To me, it’s the ultimate team sport, opera,” says Robinson. “You have a full orchestra with 60, 70 people in it, a conductor, assistant conductor, and all the instrumentalists. You have the makeup department, the costume department, the music staff, all the soloists, chorusers, and then supernumeraries. And we’re all part of the team.”

A few years went by, and I’d put the possibility of applying to be a super in the back of my mind. At the time, I didn’t have enough job flexibility to attend multiple rehearsals for the various times required. (Supers must commit to between 10 and 15 rehearsals for a production.) In the meantime, I got a taste of standing on the Music Hall stage by volunteering as a lightwalker for the 2019 production of Porgy and Bess.

PROVIDED BY AIESHA D. LITTLE

Unlike supers, lightwalkers simply stand in place for a few hours at a time to allow the lighting team to do set work. Bathed in rotating blue, yellow, and purple lights while squinting out into the vastness of the empty concert hall, I wondered what it would be like to be a part of an actual opera production. Would I be scared? Would I mess up? Would I break out into a flop sweat? Or would the rush of adrenaline simply carry me through? I love the costumes of an opera production almost as much as I love its music, and wearing a costume produced by a world-class opera company would be a dream come true.

That was the year I added “be a supernumerary in a Cincinnati Opera production” to my bucket list. Still, it would be another four years before I took a step toward that goal.

The first time I sat through a super session at Music Hall was in spring 2023. As a magazine editor, I finally had enough flexibility in my schedule to chase my supernumerary dream. I listened to Evans Mirageas, Harry T. Wilks Artistic Director of Cincinnati Opera, echo Robinson’s sentiments about teamwork and the importance of supers before I hopped in line to have my measurements and picture taken. And that was it. Then I waited.

Behind the scenes, the dozens of “resumes” collected during the super sessions were distributed to that season’s production directors, who made their selections and let the super wrangler know that she could start reaching out to offer roles. I wasn’t selected for the older aunt, “floozie #1,” or “floozie #2” roles in The Barber of Seville, but I was offered the role of an Army wife in The Knock. Set against the backdrop of the war in Iraq in the early aughts, the contemporary opera follows the lives of a group of military wives waiting for potentially life-changing news about their deployed husbands.

Unfortunately, the subject material was far too intense for me, so I ended up turning down the role. As someone who enjoys steampunk, cosplay, and costuming, I was looking for a production with a little less heft to it. My goal is to live as whimsically as possible, and finding an opera production with super roles reflecting that attitude felt like it was too much to ask for. That is, until The Black Opera Project (TBOP) was announced in early 2024.

The initiative’s first production, Lalovavi, spoke to everything I’m interested in (Afrofuturism, science fiction, Black art), and I spent months telling anyone who would listen about this exciting new opera set 400 years in the future in what used to be Atlanta. I’m a huge fan of speculative fiction, especially narratives that push Black characters to the forefront. I’ve read works by literary powerhouses like Toni Morrison and Octavia Butler, listened to music by artists like John Coltrane and Janelle Monae, and read comic books and graphic novels that tackle genres that fall under speculative fiction. But to see a Black speculative narrative created in the form of an opera? My mind was absolutely blown that I would get the chance to see something so original produced right here by my hometown opera company.

When it was decided that I would write a preview piece about TBOP and Lalovavi for Cincinnati Magazine’s July issue, I just knew I had to try for a supernumerary role in the production. This spring, I once again sat through a super session, with Mirageas waxing poetic about the upcoming festival season and the significance of supernumeraries. I had my measurements and photo taken, and then I waited. And waited. And waited some more.

I was adamant about not wanting to be shown any favoritism in the selection process simply because I was writing a story about Cincinnati Opera for the magazine. I wanted to be selected on my own merit. The production called for just eight supers, which meant that competition would be pretty stiff. In the end, I didn’t get a spot. Maybe my merit wasn’t good enough? I thought. Is this what actors feel like when they get rejected for a role?

The show must go on, as they say. During the weeks of waiting to hear back, I got less excited about being on stage and more excited about simply being in the room when the opera happens. Lalovavi could be the start of more opera companies seeing the benefit in telling similar out-of-the-box stories. I’m hoping other companies will decide to produce it in the future, and the far-reaching effects of that could be industry changing. For me, bearing witness to that possibility is enough.