Spectres in the Wings: Haunted Theatres

Many theatre hauntings centre around a final performance that will never end. Frederick Baker, best known by his stage name Federici, is perhaps Australia’s most famous theatrical ghost. Playing Mephistopheles in the opening night performance of Faust at Princess Theatre Melbourne in 1888, Federici suffered a fatal heart attack as his character descended below the stage into the flames of hell. He never made it back onto the stage, despite his fellow performers swearing afterwards that he was there alongside them for the curtain call. Ever since, there have been reports from performers, stagehands, and patrons at the Princess of being brushed against by an invisible figure, of lights flashing on and off unexpectedly, and even ghostly visions of a tall man in full evening dress walking through the aisles of the dress circle at the end of a show, as though enjoying the applause that followed his final performance. 

The Princess Theatre embraces the memory of Federici with affection. A restaurant located in their ground foyer is named in his honour, and a seat in the third row is held for him on opening night performances. Tending to the story of a ghostly performer in this way is as much about the spectre as it is about the legacy of the theatre itself: to perform at the Princess is to tread the boards not only with your current castmates, but with the memory of thousands before you, some of whom it seems have never made it out of stage door. 

A similar spectre haunts St James Theatre in Wellington New Zealand where a dancer named Yuri fell to his death onstage. Yuri makes himself known through flickering electrical lights and faint breezes, and is credited for two separate occasions where a projectionist was mysteriously pushed out of the way of danger, saving their life and allowing the show to go on. Like Federici, Yuri died mid-performance, his story caught between character and self, unable to leave. Perhaps it was not enough to dedicate their lives to the stage – they have also pledged their afterlives. 

Another helpful ghost is found in Australia’s oldest continually operating theatre, the Theatre Royal in Hobart. This ghost, also an actor and also called Fred, was said to have died on site in the 1800s, possibly during a brawl in the basement. He is known for making his presence felt after hours, with crew reporting mysterious footsteps, whispers, and even the feeling of being poked in the back if they stay too late. Theatre technicians know to respect Fred’s space by being sure to greet him in the morning if they are the first to arrive, and say goodnight before they lock up. And it seems this respect is reciprocal. In 1984, fire threatened to engulf the heritage building when it broke out overnight.  Disaster was only avoided when a fire curtain inexplicably fell across the stage, containing the flames. Many of those familiar with the theatre believe it was the work of Fred, unwilling to let his beloved theatre burn.

Backstage performers and crew navigate dimly lit areas charged with energy and emotion, fertile ground for superstition and storytelling where even the slightest flicker of lights can be evidence of the supernatural. The New Amsterdam Theatre in New York is rumoured to be haunted by Olive Thomas, a Ziegfeld Follies chorus dancer who once performed there. Olive appears to be a friendly albeit cheeky ghost, often appearing to startle those passing through backstage corridors. Other stories include a new conductor who knew about Olive’s legend who, in a fit of nerves, asked out loud for some good luck from the ghost and was rewarded with an encouraging display of flickering lights in her change room. One story even suggests Olive helped out the ushers by delivering a booster cushion to a small child during a matinee performance of Aladdin.