Salome, Royal Opera, Covent Garden, May 2012

With superb vocal power and control from Angela Denoke as Salome, and thrilling sound from the orchestra under the direction of Andris Nelsons, it doesn’t get any better than this.

The executioner with the head, all images ROH/ Clive Barda

This was the second revival of David McVicar’s production, first seen in 2008, and Angela Denoke’s second turn at the title role, since her earlier appearance in 2010. As the opera progressed she only got better, and after Herod has offered her everything … ending in desperation with the veil of the Tabernacle, the final repeat of her demand, “Gib mir den Kopf des Jokanaan” (Give me the head of Jokanaan) was hugely powerful. After she gets the head, her voice blended most beautifully with the orchestra. Beauty and horror combine, and following her final words that the mystery of love is greater than the mystery of death she lies down with the head. Duncan Meadows as Naaman the executioner sits with his back to the horror being played out, but finally he turns … slowly … in disgust, and when Herod gives the command he breaks her neck.

Herod, Herodias and others

There are some fine aspects to this production, and the blood is cleverly done. She first gets it on her dress by putting her arms round the executioner, but as she nurses the head there is more and more of it. And the moment when the prophet first comes out of the cistern, and is knocked over by one of the soldiers, is very well judged. But it is absurd the way one of the soldiers keeps aiming a rifle at him. He does this particularly when Jokanaan is trying to get away from Salome, yet no-one draws seems to care when she puts her head in his lap. Surely that is the moment of danger for the princess, if there is one. And should the gun go off when there is no immediate danger to Salome, the soldier is a dead man. Herod has given strict instructions the prophet is not to be harmed.

Salome and Herod, end of the dance

But the singing is glorious. Stig Andersen gave a wonderful portrayal of Herod, and he and Rosalind Plowright as Herodias were both excellent. Egils Silinš was a fine Jokanaan, his voice coming across very clearly when he’s in the cistern, though it seems to come from elsewhere. Will Hartman sang beautifully as Narraboth, but in this revival his death occurred quietly in the background, unlike the first revival, which was a pity. Scott Wilde and Alan Ewing both sang well as first and second soldier, Peter Bronder was superb as the first Jew, and Andrew Greenan came over well as the first Nazarene, describing the miracles of Jesus. It was a strong cast, working well as a team, and held together beautifully by Andris Nelsons, who drew enormous power and lyricism from the huge orchestra.

Diners upstairs invisible from the Amphi

The lighting was brighter in this revival, which was good, but from the front of the Amphitheatre only the legs of the upstairs diners can be seen, and the backdrops to the dance are barely visible. But go for the music and the singing — they’re terrific.

Performances continue until June 16 — for details click here.

Der Rosenkavalier, English National Opera, ENO, London Coliseum, January 2012

For those who love this Strauss/Hofmannsthal collaboration, the programme booklet contains an interesting essay by Mike Reynolds, describing the vital contributions by Hofmannsthal’s collaborator, Count Harry Kessler. This well-connected and talented man, who was brought up in France, England and Germany, chose the plot and had a huge influence on its structure and realisation. The result inspired Strauss to create one of the most glorious operas ever written, and in Ronald Harwoood’s play Collaboration when the 80-year old Strauss is faced by allied soldiers at his house in 1945, he says, “I am Richard Strauss, the composer of Rosenkavalier“.

The silver rose in Act II, all images by Clive Barda

Tomlinson and Connolly in Act I

Such a fabulous opera deserves performances of the highest calibre, and we had some here at the ENO. John Tomlinson is perhaps the finest Baron Ochs I have ever seen, giving this dreadful character a boorish aplomb that never goes over the top, and his diction, as ever, renders surtitles superfluous. He finds his match in the Octavian of Sarah Connolly, who invests this travesti role with youthful rambunctiousness, and sings with glorious power.  And then there is the Sophie of Sophie Bevan, who after a nervous start in Act II sang with quiet charm, floating her high notes above the confusion created by Ochs. Her meek responses to the Marschallin in Act III were enunciated with a tension that will remain with me as a template for all future performances of this opera. The Marschallin herself was Amanda Roocroft, a singer I have admired greatly as E.M. in Makropulos,  as Ellen Orford in Peter Grimes, and more recently as Eva in Meistersinger, but she has yet to inhabit the present role. I liked the wistfulness she showed in Act I after Octavian has left and she suddenly realises her little joke may kill their amours, and again in Act III her acceptance that the affair with Octavian is now over, but her portrayal needed more gravitas, and her appearance to quieten the confusion in Act III, which can be a high point of the opera, fell rather flat.

Amanda Roocroft in Act I

Musically the performance flowed with great charm under the baton of Edward Gardner, who gave fine support to the singers and produced magnificent climaxes from the orchestra at suitable moments, such as after Octavian leaves in Act I, and in the final Act.

The supporting roles were performed with great panache, the scheming Valzacchi and Annina well portrayed by Adrian Thompson and Madeleine Shaw, who whirled elegantly to the waltz time of the music as she handed the letter to Ochs towards the end of Act II. Marianne Leitmetzerin had great stage presence as Sophie’s duenna, prodding her charge with a fan to keep her on track in the conversation with Octavian, and Gwyn Hughes Jones was super as the Italian singer at the Marschallin’s levée in Act I. As Sophie’s father Faninal, Andrew Shore bristled with restrained emotion, and as he walked over to embrace his daughter towards the end of Act III he invested the moment with heartfelt reality.

Tomlinson and Connolly in Act III

This is a revival of David McVicar’s 2008 production, which comes from Scottish Opera, and I’m afraid I have reservations. Could someone please tell the supers not to run round pointing rifles at Ochs in Act III — this is the Austro-Hungarian empire, not the wild west — and Faninal offers Ochs a very old tokai, not a brandy. Tokai is a lovely sweet wine from Hungary, low in alcohol, just right for that time of day. Why can’t Alfred Kalisch, the translator keep with the original? And while on the topic why does he introduce claret when Ochs lies wounded on the couch? The text says nothing of claret, and in any case it was not served in a claret bottle.

These irritations aside, the scene for the presentation of the silver rose with Octavian in silver armour had a fairy-tale charm, and the musical quality of the performance makes this a must-see, particularly with the glorious representations of Ochs and Octavian by Tomlinson and Connolly.

Wonderful stuff, but be aware that performances, which continue until February 27, start at 6:30, or 5:30 on Saturdays — for details click here.

Salome, Royal Opera, Covent Garden, July 2010

The evening belonged to Angela Denoke in the title role, and Hartmut Haenchen in the pit, who drew a mixture of gentle lyricism and immense power from the orchestra. When Salome sings of kissing the lips on the severed head of the Baptist, the orchestra roars forth, and Ms. Denoke shows a sense of triumphalism rather than necrophilia in her tone and body language. I think this works, though I do prefer more of the mystery of Salome’s intense yearnings, expressed so well in the words Wilde puts in her mouth, that the mystery of love is greater than the mystery of death.

A far cry from the first London performance, photo by Clive Barda

For those unfamiliar with the original 1891 play — very recently performed at several theatres in England — a reduced version of its text provides the libretto for the opera. Oscar Wilde wrote the play in French for Sarah Bernhardt, but during rehearsals in London the next year, the Lord Chamberlain’s office banned it, and it did not appear in Britain at a public performance until 1931. In the meantime the opera was performed, conducted by Thomas Beecham.  This was to be in a Bowdlerized version, with the action taking place in Greece rather than Judaea. Among various changes the silver platter containing the Baptist’s head was empty and covered in a cloth, and Salome’s claim of kissing his lips was converted to a desire to be his follower. Unfortunately for Beecham, the soprano forgot the changes and let rip with the original. I won’t repeat this well-known story, but refer to Beecham’s entertaining book A Mingled Chime.

photo by Clive Barda

In this 2008 production by David McVicar the action is set in twentieth century Germany between the wars, with the soldiers in Wehrmacht uniforms and Herod’s party in evening dress. The dance takes place through a series of moving doorways, and at one point when Salome puts on a long tutu, Herod dances with her. From the Amphitheatre the changing backdrops for the dance are only partly visible, which is unfortunate. One of these is a huge projection of a doll in a chair, matching the rag doll Salome plays with, and this is important because the doll imagery is recaptured at the end of the opera as the executioner breaks her body like a rag doll. He is there throughout the opera, but dressed in a cloak that he throws off when climbing down into the cistern to behead the Baptist, and once again Duncan Meadows performed this role to perfection, turning away in disgust during Salome’s performance with the head, while most of the cast simply stand and look on rather stupidly.

This revival was directed by Justin Way, and I particularly liked the way he made Narraboth, the captain of the guard, make desperate physical contact with Salome. His early suicide thus becomes more understandable than in other productions where he simply hangs in the background and kills himself. Here Andrew Staples plays him as a Shlemiel — I use the Yiddish term deliberately as the Jews are all dressed in kippahs and prayer shawls. There seems to me something rather unnatural about all this, and I dislike the gratuitous female nudity in a coldly lit basement. It does nothing to assist the warmth and obsessiveness of the music that speaks of a sultry night in the Middle East. Herod sings of the moon, yet the white light from above was very intense.

The Baptist grapples with Salome, photo by Clive Barda

The performance however was excellent. Johan Reuter sang the Baptist with emotional sincerity, grappling physically with Salome, and in this revival staying upright more than Michael Volle was permitted to do in the 2008 original. Gerhard Siegel was a fine Herod, showing impotence in the face of Salome, the same characteristic he showed as Mime in the face of Siegfried during his performances in the Ring three years ago. Irina Mishura looked gorgeous and sounded suitably imperious as Herodias, and I was particularly impressed by the bass power of Michael Courjal as the First Soldier. But it was Angela Denoke whose singing I found so strikingly good, and though I prefer a little more sexiness in the portrayal of Salome, particularly in the dance, this was a powerfully convincing performance. And then of course there was the huge orchestra, so brilliantly conducted by Hartmut Haenchen.

Performances continue until 16^th July.

Capriccio, Grange Park Opera, June 2010

When Richard Strauss’s collaborator and librettist Hugo von Hofmannsthal died, Strauss turned to Stefan Zweig, who provided him with the text for his next opera Die Schweigsame Frau. He also provided him with the idea for Capriccio, drafting an early version based on Prima la musica e poi le parole (First the music and then the words), an opera by Salieri with a libretto by Giambattista Casti.

Strauss’s collaboration with Zweig was cut short by the Nazis, who came to power a year before Die Schweigsame Frau reached the stage, and Strauss was badly discomforted by losing Zweig. He reluctantly turned to a Viennese professor of literature named Josef Gregor, who was unequal to the task of writing great librettos, and after three somewhat ineffective texts, using earlier ideas from Hofmannstahl, and contributions from Zweig, he tried his hand at Prima la musica. He failed, and the opera was eventually produced in 1942 to a text by Strauss himself along with the conductor Clemens Krauss. This production by Stephen Medcalf brilliantly captures the dichotomy between a story set in a French villa prior to the 1789 revolution, and the war that the Nazis fought and lost. At the start we see a rehearsal room in early 1940s Germany, with Rauchen Verboten painted on stage right, and Bühne Links on stage left. The decor is grim, and the actors and singers enter in street clothes, providing a dumb show while the orchestra plays the overture, a string sextet supposedly composed by Flamand, the composer in this witty conversation piece.

Olivier, La Roche, Flamand

The story turns on the competition between Flamand and the poet Olivier for the hand of the Countess. She is a woman who wants to select one man, while her brother the Count has a roving eye, and is attracted to the actress Clairon. Olivier’s poem is set to music by Flamand and then spoken by the count, who suddenly says it all in English, an unusual feature in this production, which is otherwise in the original language. There are some nice touches, such as when the theatre director La Roche talks of his grand new production “The Birth of Pallas Athene”. As he enthusiastically describes Zeus devouring Athene’s mother, the Italian singers, ostentatiously kitted out in dramatic costumes and make-up, devour food, swallowing it with gusto.

The Italian singers eat with gusto

Strauss’s music was played by the English Chamber Orchestra, very well conducted by Stephen Barlow, and the singing was delightful, with suitable energy from Roderick Williams as Olivier and Andrew Kennedy as Flamand, a sparkling performance by Quirijn de Lang as the Count, a gentle portrayal of La Roche by Matthew Best, and a forceful representation of Clairon by Sara Fulgoni. But what really made the evening was the superb singing of Susan Gritton as the Countess. Her soliloquy towards the end was mesmerising. I was bowled over.

Susan Gritton in her final solo

The performers’ interactions were very finely directed, and the appearance of Stuart Kale as the prompter was beautifully done, though I found the Star of David on his back to be unnecessary. The designs by Francis O’Connor provided ample indication of Germany in the Second World War, showing the ruins of Dresden as the Countess delivers her final monologue on love and the choice between the two lovers. As she says, in choosing the one you will lose the other. But as Flamand courteously says to Olivier towards the end, ‘First the words, then the music. The words take precedence’, while Olivier courteously responds ‘No, the music — but born out of the words’. This was oddly translated in the surtitles as ‘the music brings out the words’. But of course Strauss in his later life needed the words in order to compose his sublime music, and in this work he combines the two most brilliantly. As he himself said after the first performance, “I can do no better”.

This was my first time at Grange Park, and I cannot think of a better opera for a first visit. The setting is delightful, perfect for taking a picnic, and the opera house is engagingly small. I shall go again!

Elektra, in concert with Valery Gergiev and the LSO, Barbican, January 2010

This powerful Richard Strauss opera, scored for an orchestra of over 110 instruments, has a huge dynamic range and needs singers who can rise above the orchestra. This is where Angela Denoke as Chrysothemis did wonderfully well, and I very much look forward to her singing Salome at the Royal Opera in July. Felicity Palmer as Klytemnestra showed just the right mix of uncertainty and determination in her portrayal, and the voices of the three main protagonists — Elektra, Chrysothemis, and Klytemnestra — were very well contrasted. Jeanne-Michèle Charbonnet as Elektra showed herself fierce and anguished, but was clearly out-sung by Angela Denoke. For example, towards the end, after Klytemnestra has been murdered and her lover Aegisthus cries out for help, Elektra sings, “Agamemnon hört dich!” (Agamemnon hears you!), but it was weak, and as he is dragged away, Chrysothemis comes in with “Elektra! Schwester! .. .” The contrast could not have been greater — Ms. Charbonnet was no match for the orchestra, but Ms. Denoke rose effortlessly above it. Matthias Goerne sang Orestes, keeping up well with Ms. Charbonnet in their duet, and Ian Storey sang Aegisthus.

But what really made this a terrific evening was the conducting by Gergiev. He gave us wonderfully melodious quiet passages, yet turned on the power when it was needed. The London Symphony Orchestra respond well to his enigmatic hand gestures, and the orchestral playing was beautifully lyrical. The name Elektra means ‘shining’ — as in the alloy electrum — and Gergiev with the LSO gave us a shining performance.

Der Rosenkavalier, Metropolitan Opera live relay, January 2010

Der Rosenkavalier, Metropolitan Opera live relay, January 2010. At the end of Ronald Harwood’s recent play Collaboration, on Richard Strauss’s ill-fated collaboration with Stefan Zweig, we find Strauss holed up in his villa awaiting the arrival of allied troops. When they enter he quickly tells them, “I am the composer of Rosenkavalier“. Indeed it is probably Strauss’s best-loved opera among all the wonderful gems that he produced, and this performance did it full justice.

I saw this opera less than three weeks ago at Covent Garden, so comparisons are inevitable, and I hope you will forgive me for making them. The Metropolitan Opera comes out ahead of Covent Garden, mainly because of Renée Fleming as the Marschallin, and Susan Graham as Octavian. In the Royal Opera’s recent revival we had Soile Isokoski and Sophie Koch in these two roles, with Lucy Crowe as Sophie, and Peter Rose as Ochs. Thomas Allen was Faninal, just as he was here, though he came over better in this production at the Met. I want to write that Renée Fleming is a diva, but that word is debased by its association with attention-seeking sopranos of unpredictable disposition, so I prefer to call Ms. Fleming a goddess. She may be the best Marschallin currently available, giving the role great depth of feeling and emotion. She also looks terrific, and her glorious costume in Act III matched the drama of her entrance to resolve the mess in the tavern. This is a high point of the opera, and the only comparison in the last four Rosenkavalier productions I’ve seen was Anne Schwanewilms a few years ago in Chicago, again in a stunning dress, worn with superb poise. But Renée Fleming is far more than just an elegant lady, and her soliloquy on the passing of time in Act I was done with immense sensitivity and feeling. What a performer! She was well-matched by Susan Graham as Octavian, who transmuted so well from a feisty young man to a pretty young chamber maid that one could understand Ochs’s desire and confusion. His role was very charmingly portrayed by Icelandic baritone Kristinn Sigmundsson, a huge man who showed himself a cultivated boor, but never a clown, and his lyrical singing was a joy to witness. Sophie was performed by the attractive Christine Schäfer, who looked a little too mature for the part of this ingénue, though her voice contrasted well with Fleming and Graham. I must say I preferred Lucy Crowe at Covent Garden, arguably the best Sophie I’ve ever seen, and when it comes to comparisons, Graham Clark at Covent Garden was a superb Valzacchi. The Met hired Thomas Allen, so why not Clark too? Their Valzacchi here, whose name was not in the cinema cast list, was miscast. He was too young to sing of Annina as his niece, and too small to restrain Octavian in Act II, making that little scene appear too contrived.

Overall, however, this was a great cast, and the conducting by Edo de Waart was sensitive to the singers, well-paced and never over the top. In this respect it was quite different from the recent performances at Covent Garden, where Kirill Petrenko used the musical dissonances in the score to create a marked shrillness in some scenes, such as the levée in Act I. This performance was noticeably smoother, but both interpretations are valid. The stage sets by Robert O’Hearn were excellent, and his costumes were very good, but I did prefer the Covent Garden ones for Sophie, and for the Rosenkavalier in Act II. Altogether this production by Nathaniel Merrill is very effective, but as Domingo said in his interval address, and as they say every time in these wonderful Met broadcasts, a cinema screening is no substitute for the real thing on stage, and that is particularly true for this opera with its multitude of stage action. You really have to see it in the opera house, even if you don’t get Renée Fleming — it’s a stage drama, and a glorious one too.

Der Rosenkavalier, Royal Opera, a second view, December 2009.

This was my second view, on the last night of the run, and although Soile Isokoski was clearly better in Act I than she was on the first night, I found the whole performance underwhelming. Once again it was Lucy Crowe as Sophie who was the star of the evening, along with Peter Rose as a refreshingly young looking Baron Ochs, behaving like an ill-mannered frat-boy. I’m afraid I just wasn’t wowed by Ms. Isokoski as the Marschallin, nor by Sophie Koch as Octavian. In Act III it was Lucy Crowe who really pulled at the heart strings, showing how devastated her character Sophie felt by the evening’s charade. Yet it should be Octavian and the Marschallin’s moment. Octavian nearly tripped when stepping backwards, and his/her complete lack of reaction to this emphasised just how much the movements were unnatural and choreographed. However the trio at the end was gloriously sung, and well worth waiting for.

As for the conducting, there was plenty of variety from Kirill Petrenko in the orchestra pit, and I liked the colouring of Act I, with the disharmonious noise in the levée scene contrasted with other parts of that act. But I felt that some of the high points in the opera went missing, particularly the entrance of the Marschallin in Act III. Admittedly, Soile Isokoski lacked the required stage presence, but this is where the orchestra should really raise our emotions, and it failed to do so.

This production of Rosenkavalier is a good one, and I look forward to seeing it again at Covent Garden. As Octavian they might consider hiring Daniela Sindram who was outstanding in February 2009 in the production I saw at the Deutsche Oper in Berlin. I would also love to see Kate Lindsey do the role if she adds Strauss to her repertoire, having just seen her as a very fine Nicklausse in the Met’s Hoffmann.

Review — Der Rosenkavalier, Royal Opera, December 2009

Wonderful period sets and costumes for this 1984 production by John Schlesinger, revived by Andrew Sinclair, are the background for an enchanting evening. With Russian conductor Kirill Petrenko giving Strauss’s music more colour than I ever remember hearing, this was a musical feast. The star of the show for me was Lucy Crowe as Sophie, the girl whose wealthy father wants to marry her off to the nobility in the form of the boorish Baron Ochs. He was very well sung by Peter Rose, who gave him just the right nuances, without going over the top. As the knight who rescues Sophie from this appalling mismatch we had Sophie Koch as a strong-voiced Octavian, but I would have preferred more masculinity in her portrayal. She compared unfavourably in this respect to Daniela Sindram, whom I saw doing the same part in Berlin earlier this year, but the presentation of the silver rose and the duet with Sophie in Act II was beautifully done. The Italian intriguers, Annina and Valzacchi, fed up with getting no payment from Ochs, turn to assist Octavian in taking him down a peg or two, and were very well played by Leah-Marian Jones and Graham Clark. In this production we see Octavian actually writing the letter to Ochs at the rear of the stage. This was all very well done, and I thought Act II came over brilliantly, helped of course by the simply wonderful set.

The audience seemed enthusiastic about Finnish soprano Soile Isokoski as the Marschallin, but the friends I know who liked her were seeing this opera for the first time. Having seen far better Marschallins, such as Anne Schwanewilms in Chicago in February 2006, I’m afraid I was underwhelmed. I found her voice too harsh in Act I and she lacked finesse and flirtatiousness with Octavian, though she certainly sang well in the trio at the end of Act III. Unfortunately, Lucy Crowe who had sung so well in the last two acts, seemed to tire right at the very end and lost her pitch, but this was the first night. The other disappointment was Thomas Allen as Faninal, Sophie’s wealthy father, who was surprisingly lacking in stage presence and vocal gravitas. But Wookyung Kim as the tenor in Act I  sang like a god.

Altogether this was a success, and it may be that some of the weaker points will be corrected in later performances. Watch this space two weeks hence.

Der Rosenkavalier, Deutsche Oper Berlin, Feb 2009

This production by Götz Friedrich sets the opera in the early twentieth century, and it works very convincingly. Daniela Sindram was the best Octavian I’ve ever seen, singing and acting the part of a young man to perfection. Her body movement was entirely masculine, and when she pretended to be the little maid Mariandel, she managed to do the young man being a young woman brilliantly. Kurt Rydl’s portrayal of Baron Ochs was superbly natural, without over-acting or stepping over the line into farce, as sometimes happens with this part, and his singing was thoroughly engaging. Michaela Kaune as the Marschallin also sang well, and while she did not portray the knowing sexiness and air of quiet command that some of the great Marschallins have, she evinced a lovely vulnerability, and her voice in the solo passages at the end was sublime. These three cast members carried the opera, and were very well supported by Burkhard Ulrich and Ulrike Helzel as the scheming Valzacchi and Anina, and by Ofelia Sala as a rather frumpy young Sophie, who had a little more vibrato than I would like. The orchestra played in a restrained and lyrical way under the baton of Peter Schneider, and this was a fitting finale to a great week of Richard Strauss.

Die Ägyptische Helena, Deutsche Oper Berlin, Feb 2009

This little-performed opera by Richard Strauss received a wonderful staging by Marco Arturo Marelli and his team. Marelli had read Strauss’s performance notes in the archives of the Vienna Staatsoper, where the composer alters and withdraws some of the music, and in following these notes he made welcome cuts in von Hofmannsthal’s over-complicated libretto. The upshot of the story, written shortly after the First World War, is the reuniting of husband and wife after years of separation due to war. A man’s difficulty in dealing with life after conflict is brought into focus here by Menelas’s desire to kill his wife, Helen as he brings her home from Troy. However, in this story Helen has allegedly been in Egypt throughout the ten years of war, and the Helen that Paris took to Troy was a fake conjured up by the gods. The existence of two Helens confuses Menelas after he arrives in Egypt — he cannot distinguish the real from the fake, and nor indeed can the audience. The entire scheme is presided over by an Egyptian sorceress Aithra, who in this production keeps a high-class brothel in Cairo. She gets intelligence on the coming of Menelas and his wife, and of her own lover Altair, from a clever and all seeing mussel, represented here as a colourful fortune teller. Altair’s son Da-ud is in love with Helen, and is killed by Menelas, who then reunites with his wife, partly with the help of a drink potion, and later through the magical appearance of their daughter Hermione.

In this performance, Ricarda Merbeth sang strongly in the very difficult part of Helena, as did Robert Chafin as Menelas, despite suffering from a cold. Laura Aikin was terrific as Aithra, and the other women all sang well. Morten Frank Larsen as Altair had no voice beyond a very limited range of pitch — how astonishing that he was cast as Jochanaan in Salome — but Burkhard Ulrich sang well as Da-ud. The sets were glorious, with a rotating stage that provided two separate rooms, for two separate Helens, and the costumes for Aithra and her ladies were elegant and sexy. What a shame that Helena herself appeared at the start, and at the end, in a frumpy long skirt and matching jacket, looking like a member of the local rotary club, rather than a mistress of the universe. Menelas was clothed in a greatcoat, presumably to emphasize the First World War imagery.

Andrew Litton conducted this difficult music with restraint and understanding that gave particular coherence to the second act. Altogether worth seeing again, but this is an opera where one needs to understand the story before reading the surtitles.