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Bohemia, a “macabre and mystical dream cabaret“ by Opal Peachey and Mark Siano, is a glamorous look back at the Belle Epoque, the Age of Absinthe, when artists and their followers sought aesthetic exaltation—and occasionally found death—in a glass of “the Green Fairy.”

It opens Friday and runs through Jan. 27 (each night but Monday) at the Triple Door. Art Nouveau poster artist Alphonse Mucha inspired the look of the show, Dvorak and Chopin provide background music, Brandon Ivey directs, and a cast of 10 handles the aerial numbers, dance, burlesque, piano playing, comedy, and original songs.

Siano himself plays Czech composer Antonin Dvorak (1841–1904), who’s drying up creatively and, in despair, seeks his Muse in the decadent drink (Showgoers who spring for VIP seating get a sample.)

I recently asked Siano whence came the ideas behind this bejeweled stage fantasia.

Hisam Goueli as Malabron and Isobella bloom curled up. Photos by John Cornicello.

How extensive is the burlesque aspect of Bohemia? Is it something like a Lily Verlaine/Jasper McCann show, where the dance numbers are the focus within a fanciful setting? How would you characterize it?

I love [their] stuff, but this is very different. Burlesque is just a small part of the entire show—two numbers total: one original song that’s a duet, and the other is a boudoir-style derobing to Debussy’s “Clair de Lune.” It’s more of a cabaret in the classical sense of the word; many different artistic disciplines grace the stage, but the narrative makes it feel similar to musical theater. Chopin is played live onstage; fairies dance; there are original compositions by myself and [music director] Dayton Allemann; lots of singing; there’s a saucy host named Wormwood; sketch comedy and dramatic scene work are almost half the show; and there’s aerial and circus pieces too that you wouldn’t usually see in musical theater.

I won’t lie, I have trouble categorizing it, but that’s also what makes it unique is that there really is no single genre. Hell, we do a ritualized absinthe service with the dancers at intermission—this is very uncommon, to say the least. Opal Peachey and I call it a cabaret musical, but that only encapsulates a smidgen of it.

Why Dvorak? He’s a very interesting choice, since conventional wisdom sees him as a particularly untroubled composer, Mr. Nice Guy among the romantics—nowhere near as messed up as, say, Wagner, Tchaikovsky, or Mahler. And he certainly isn’t regarded as any kind of avant-garde or “progressive” composer. Thoughts?

The original inspiration for this show came during an absinthe-fueled adventure stumbling around Prague. On the river we encountered a giant Dvorak statue and I began humming his Ninth Symphony ad nauseam for the rest of the night. Dvorak worked for this story because he was stable, relatively conservative, and prudish. He’s the one that needs to loosen up, live a little, chase the Green Fairy. A friend [Mucha, played by Hisam Goueli] suggests that he should leave Prague since his work was starting to be taken for granted: “We’re sick of you, Dvorak!” He needed something fresh to capture the world’s attention.

“How do you get people to give a damn about classical music?” is the opening line of your press release. So, how do you?

My solution is present it unconventionally—cabaret is an excellent way to bring classical to people who would avoid it otherwise. I think the symphony-hall format is just too stuffy. Let’s go to a place where you can drink, socialize, see a sexy show, and listen to some Chopin and Dvorak. That’s my kind of evening.