Audience turn actors in Sophia Brous’ Invisible Opera, with seagulls & surfers at Scarborough

Audience become actors, hunters become the prey in Sophia Brous’ Invisible Opera at Scarborough Beach Amphitheatre for Perth Festival. Scarborough Fair serenades the crowd, warm strings embracing the lush folk theme over regulation-issue head phones as we take up station on raked seats. NO PHOTOGRAPHY, the “welcome” says. (How do you photograph an invisible opera? Your rogue reviewer found a way). There’s a typical Festival roll-up, albeit in sundresses, shorts, shirts and sneakers; with a fair few accompanied kids and elderly, perhaps drawn to the gentle seaside ambience. Only the rumble-pop of the odd Harley-Davidson penetrates the headset as seagulls look on, chip-curious, wondering how so many offer so little food. Ambient sounds fill the earpiece and the bounce of a ball gives way to isolated notes then a chord, ushering in narration from Brous: “A clear sky, threads of cloud, a late-afternoon glow . . .” It’s the soundtrack of our lives, with weather observations and soft harmony. Brous describes Obs City hotel, even the program for the in-house movie, interrupted by police sirens as randoms wander off the beach across the front of the crowd. Gentle jazz strains fill the pause between phrases, evoking the snake pit of yore. Given soft sand and a beach towel this could be hypno-therapy or a warm-down from yoga — though less so on hard bleachers. Passers-by attract personal comments — just as well it’s a closed loop — traffic jam at the roundabout, cops in attendance. Local youths scamper across the foreshore as gulls cluster around a woman eating takeaway — definitely a set-up. Skippers, joggers . . . then a siren, and distant obscenities. Halfway through, two people hand in their headsets and leave; opera not only invisible but inaudible (hold that thought). Brous now calls the scene like a TV controller on live broadcast, with heavy vibes and disruptive patterns. Two more leave and the spell seems broken . . . Cue music: surging classical measures announce the Hebrew Slaves’ Chorus, from Verdi’s Nabucco, its ethereal lilt lightening the dusky scene as a dance troupe form up, actors pitch paddle-ball posts and trampolines, and a drone hovers overhead. Opera at last! And a giant gorilla lies half-inflated on the greensward. “Get up!” Brous orders and we stumble towards the beach, summoned by our AI “overlord” — a security camera on a light pole. We’re a strange, silent phalanx wearing glow-in-the-dark audio cans, paying homage to Big Brother by the sea. Brous sings, echoing Verdi, and a brisk breeze starts to bite. The crowd drifts away; the music dies. Only the gulls remain. Invisible Opera is repeated on Saturday at 6.30pm and 8.30pm, and Sunday at 6.30pm.