Tales of Hoffmann — a second view, ENO, London Coliseum, February 2012

This was a second visit to the English National Opera’s new production of Hoffmann, a joint venture with the Bavarian State Opera.

Olympia and her creator Spalanzani, all images Chris Christodolou

The cast was identical — see my previous review for more details — and once again, Georgia Jarman gave a remarkable performance as all three lovers: Olympia, Antonia, and Giulietta, along with the silent role of Stella in the Prologue and Epilogue. Her performance of Olympia the doll is hugely realistic, particularly in those moments where she apparently loses energy in her movements and the pitch of her voice declines. Clive Bayley reprised his sinister performance in the four roles of Hoffmann’s nemesis: Lindorf as a rival for Stella, Coppelius whose collection of stolen eyes provide a pair for Olympia, Dr. Miracle whose anti-hippocratic antics cause the death of Antonia, and Departutto whose employment of Giulietta to steal men’s souls nearly causes the end of Hoffmann’s artistic life. It is Nicklausse, his companion, doubling as his muse, who saves him, and in this role Christine Rice gave a stunning vocal performance. Her final soliloquy, containing the phrase “but our tears make us great” was sung with a warmth that gave a final focus to the entire evening.

Hoffmann with Antonia

The forcefully sung Hoffmann of Barry Banks is having a crisis in the Prologue, banging his head against the wall and tearing up his written notes. Somehow his love for wine, women and song has disconnected him from his muse, and this opera represents his regeneration as a creative artist.

Christine Rice as Nicklausse

The production by Richard Jones has very interesting aspects, but there are no programme notes and as Mr. Jones is a man of few words, here is a brief, albeit inadequate summary.

The very stylised actions in the Prologue and the first act, well-portrayed in the painting-by-numbers front drop that descends part way through that act, give way in the mysterious Act II to the angst of Antonia and her father. As Dr. Miracle’s ‘patient’ she is finally seen merely as an eerie spotlight, rather than in the flesh, and then as the third act comes into play it is not Hoffmann’s lovers who are in danger of being lost, but the man himself.

Metaphorically the stylised nature of Act I represents some kind of safety for Hoffmann, as if he were clinging to the edge of the pool, but this changes in Act II with Antonia’s strangely ill-defined malady. Now Hoffmann lacks an anchor, and in Act III is in danger of drowning. His survival depends partly on himself, as he defeats Schlemil in a knife fight, and partly on the ineptitude of the forces ranged against him. One of my favourite lines in the French original is where Giulietta drinks the poison reserved for Nicklausse, and Departutto calls out,  “Ah, Giulietta, maladroite!”

Departutto teases Giulietta

On the opening night I was puzzled by the workmen appearing to fix the stage in between Acts I and II, but both these acts are portrayed as slightly unreal, as if they are contrivances devised by Nicklausse, and the workmen fit into this scheme. The gorilla appearing in the interval between Acts II and III, and again throughout Act III seems to have puzzled everyone. I have no explanation except to note that Departutto’s destructions are wrought through non-intellectual, animal desires, catalysed by Giulietta, and … well, it’s a long shot … but E.T.A. Hoffmann was so enamoured of Mozart that he changed his third name to Amadeus, and in Mozart’s Magic Flute strange animals appear from the forest. That, like Hoffmann, is an opera in which the hero endures various trials before reaching a state from which he can move forward.

Finally, Antony Walker in the orchestra pit conducted with fine sensitivity, and the musical aspects came over beautifully. I look forward to seeing a revival of this production in years to come, but in the meantime performances at the ENO continue until March 10 — for details click here.

The Tales of Hoffmann, English National Opera, ENO, London Coliseum, February 2012

E.T.A. Hoffmann was a jurist, composer, critic, cartoonist, and author of fantastic tales that form the basis for Nutcracker and Coppelia. His stories about a composer named Kreisler inspired Schumann to his Kreisleriana, and after his death this polymath became a character in a play by Jules Barbier and Michel Carré, which Offenbach adopted, with a libretto by Barbier, for what is surely his greatest composition.

Barry Banks and Georgia Jarman, all images Chris Christodolou

Certainly he intended it to be his greatest work, but died before its completion, and as a result it has appeared in various versions. The story begins and ends in a drinking parlour where Hoffmann tells the tales of his three loves, Olympia, Antonia and Giulietta, and the sub-plot is that they are all representations of the opera singer Stella whom he loses at the end to Counsellor Lindorf. Such are the essentials, but among performance variations the lovers sometimes appear in a different order, and the courtesan Giulietta sails off in a gondola. So I was delighted that this production by Richard Jones places them in Hoffmann’s original order, with Giulietta dying as she drinks a poison intended for Hoffmann’s muse Nicklausse, who then rescues Hoffmann from the spell.

Georgia Jarman as Antonia the singer

The roles of Olympia, Antonia and Giulietta are frequently sung by three different sopranos, but here Georgia Jarman gave a superb performance of them all, suiting her body language to these very different women, as well as Stella who is seen but not heard. Having one singer do all these parts is how it should be, because Hoffmann’s lovers can be seen as manifestations of a single fantasy, and I’m delighted that the ENO found someone who can cope with all three. Similar considerations apply to some of the other roles, and Clive Bayley gave a great performance as Hoffmann’s nemesis in the bass roles of Lindorf/ Coppelius/ Dr. Miracle/ Departutto, with Simon Butteriss extremely good in the four baritone servant roles. Christine Rice sang gloriously as Hoffmann’s muse, and Graeme Danby gave a strong performance as Antonia’s father and the innkeeper. Barry Banks was a forceful Hoffmann, and from the orchestra pit Antony Walker gave the music a fine lightness of touch.

Banks, Jarman as Olympia the doll, and Christine Rice

This new production by Richard Jones has some interesting aspects, notably the fusing of Hoffmann’s young companion Nicklausse and his Muse. Dressed as a schoolboy he appears almost to be Hoffmann’s doppelgänger, restraining him from demons that would otherwise destroy him. Hoffmann is portrayed as a man with a serious alcohol problem, and before the music begins he is seen banging his head against the wall of his room. That room is a single set that serves all five acts, the advantage being that this whole thing can be seen as going on in Hoffmann’s mind, but the disadvantage being that the Giulietta act is not given the sumptuous staging it deserves. Like the beginning before the orchestra strikes up, each of the two intervals contains silent activity on stage. In the first one three men worked on the floor of the stage, and in the second a gorilla loped around. I understood neither — but see my review after a second visit.

The production is a joint one with the Bayerische Staatsoper in Munich, where it was performed (in French) last November, and will reappear this summer. Performances at the ENO continue until March 10 — for details click here.

Don Pasquale, Royal Opera, Covent Garden, September 2010

A wealthy older bachelor decides to marry a young wife. What a bad idea — as Chaucer tells us in the Merchant’s Tale, where the young wife gets up to some monkey business in a pear tree. Add to the plot a nephew who wants to marry a woman not of the older man’s choosing, and you have the basis for Ben Johnson’s Silent Woman, a play in which the wealthy fellow will cut his nephew off if he marries his intended. The idea is to trick him into accepting his nephew’s marriage while giving up his own intentions, and that’s the basis for this glorious opera by Donizetti.

Norina and Dr. Malatesta

Its libretto — by Donizetti and Giovanni Ruffini — is based on an earlier text by Angelo Anelli for Stefano Pavesi’s opera Ser Mercantonio, and that in turn was based on Ben Johnson’s play. Don Pasquale is the name of the older man, Ernesto is his nephew, and the trick is that Ernesto’s fiancée — a pretty widow named Norina — is ready to play the part of the demure wife in a fake wedding with Pasquale, and then torment him beyond endurance. All this is cleverly contrived by Pasquale’s ‘friend’ Doctor Malatesta.

Johnson’s play The Silent Woman is also the basis for Richard Strauss’s little-performed opera Die schweigsame Frau, but the Donizetti is much easier to appreciate. It’s wonderful fun, and this Jonathan Miller production is a delight, with charming designs by Isabella Bywater showing us three floors of Don Pasquale’s house, along with tired servants who do his bidding simply because it pays their wages. When Norina moves in as the new, ostensibly demure wife, all sorts of people are hired and pandemonium reigns. Miller has put in some very clever dumb shows, which were brilliantly acted, and Jacques Imbrailo as Pasquale’s friend Doctor Malatesta was particularly good here, as was Bryan Secombe in the small part of the notary — I loved his pointed nose.

Don Pasquale with his 'wife' Norina

Imbrailo’s singing had great strength and charm, and Paolo Gavanelli gave us a boldly acted and well-nuanced portrait of the pig-headed Pasquale, a comic character, but one for whom we could still feel sympathy. Iride Martinez gave us a strongly sung Norina, and Barry Banks was an effete Ernesto with a lovely Rossini tenor voice.

Conducting by Evelino Pido, an excellent replacement for the late Charles Mackerras, gave a thrill to the overture before launching into some lyrical moments, and pacing things very well.

Performances continue until September 21.

Armida, Metropolitan Opera live relay, April 2010

Rossini composed Armida shortly after returning to Naples from great success at La Scala in Milan. That was where, following his new opera La Cenerentola in Rome, he created La Gazza Ladra (The Thieving Magpie) for the more sophisticated Milanese audience, and they loved it. Rossini could do no wrong, and arriving in Naples in August he found a new libretto waiting for him. Chosen by the reigning impresario Domenico Barbaia, who ran the newly rebuilt Teatro San Carlo, it was a rather fantastical work, not ideally suited to the composer’s tastes. Nevertheless he set to work with unusual conscientiousness, preparing a great soprano role for the company’s prima donna, Isabella Colbran, darling of the Neapolitan public, favourite of the king of Naples, and mistress of Barbaia. He experimented with new harmonies and modulations, but as Francis Toye has written, “he might have spared himself the trouble, for the Neapolitan critics judged the result to be ‘too German’, too learned altogether, disappointingly devoid of spontaneity. Nobody seems to have traced the responsibility to . . . its real cause — the incompetence of the librettist, a certain Schmitt”. This was Giovanni Schmitt, who based his work on the epic poem, La Gerusalemme liberata published in 1581 by Torquato Tasso, telling a fictionalised account of the first Crusade.

Renée Fleming as Armida with the knights in Act I, photo Ken Howard/Metropolitan Opera

Armida herself is a sorceress whose seductiveness creates confusion and divisiveness between the knights when she enters their encampment. She persuades a group of knights to leave with her to recover her lost kingdom, and in the original story turns them into animals, like Circe in Homer’s Odyssey. She intends to kill the leading knight, Rinaldo, but falls in love with him, and in the opera he alone escapes with her, after killing one of the other knights. They enter her magic realm and sing of their love for one another, but this comes to an end in Act III when two knights, Carlo and Ubaldo find their way into Armida’s magical garden to bring Rinaldo back to his military role. When they show him his new effeminacy reflected in a shield, he feels ashamed and is persuaded to regain his mettle and flee with them. Armida tries to restrain him, but loses. She is then faced with a choice between two figures, Love and Revenge. She chooses the latter, destroys her pleasure palace, and flies off in a rage.

Renée Fleming and Lawrence Brownlee in Act II, photo Ken Howard/Metropolitan Opera

This bel-canto opera needs a really first-rate soprano, and Maria Callas sang the title role in a 1952 revival. Renée Fleming performed it in 1993 at the Rossini festival in Pesaro, and again in this new production for the Met. She sings here with consummate skill and brilliant characterisation, very ably supported by Lawrence Brownlee as Rinaldo. The knights Carlo and Ubaldo who rescue Rinaldo from Armida’s clutches were well sung by Barry Banks and Kobie van Rensburg, and the former also sang strongly as a knight named Gernando whom Rinaldo killed in a duel in Act I. John Osborn sang the role of Goffredo, a knight who persuades the company to support Armida, and Keith Miller gave an admirable portrayal of Astarotte, the prince of darkness in Armida’s realm.

Act III, photo: Ken Howard/Metropolitan Opera

The production by Mary Zimmerman, with set and costume designs by Richard Hudson, shows Rossini’s original three act version, complete with a ballet in Act II. There is plenty of choreography in one form and another, along with frequent reappearances of the two characters Revenge and Love, the former portrayed by a tattooed man with a fine physique, and the latter as a girl in red dress. As often the case in relatively early operas these days, the sets showed clean lines and bright colours. I’m delighted the Met has broadcast this fine production of a little-known opera, conducted here by Riccardo Frizza, and I only wish their information sheets contained a more complete cast list. For example in this opera, Keith Miller who sang the bass role of Astarotte, and was interviewed by Deborah Voigt in the second intermission, was not listed.

Lucia di Lammermoor, English National Opera, ENO, London Coliseum, February 2010

This David Alden production for the ENO, originally staged in 2008, has a clarity that allows a striking distinction between Lucia’s beloved Edgardo, and her brother Enrico. He is shown as a very nasty piece of work — a child still playing with his toys, putting his hand up his sister’s skirt, and showing himself to be an immature bully who eventually twists the neck of the mortally self-wounded Edgardo. This is hardly the Walter Scott story on which the opera is based, but the libretto by Salvadore Cammarano cut some of the main characters, namely Lucia’s mother and father, in order to fit the story into a three act opera. The result is usually considered a great success, and it makes Enrico the force behind Lucia’s fatal wedding, against her will, after he has shown her some forged letters demonstrating that Edgardo no longer cares about her. Enrico’s retainer, Normanno who is fully complicit in these forgeries is shown to be a callous rogue when he laughs loudly after hearing the chaplain’s condemnation. Altogether, David Alden has created a particularly malicious take on the story, and it works.

As Lucia, Anna Christy sang beautifully, and looked about sixteen. This was partly helped by her excellent costume, courtesy of Brigitte Reiffenstuel whose costumes gave a strong impression of religious Protestantism, and I liked the bowler hats on some cast members — in particular Normanno — reminding me of the Orangemen in Northern Ireland. Indeed Scott’s original story had this feature, as Lucia’s family were Protestant supporters of William of Orange, while Edgardo’s family were supporters of the Jacobites. But to return to the singing, Barry Banks was a very fine Edgardo, and Brian Mulligan a strong Enrico. Clive Bayley sang very clearly and powerfully as the chaplain, holding the stage with his erect posture, which reminds me that the staging involved people on their knees at many points, making them look small and powerless in this ill-fated drama of love and hatred. This was helped by the set designs of Charles Edwards, which were simple, yet surprisingly effective. With Adam Silverman’s lighting they gave an appropriate air of darkness and decay to the dwelling places of both Edgardo and Enrico.

Of course the singers can only give their best with suitable direction from the orchestra pit, and here we have to thank conductor Antony Walker for excellent work. The orchestra, including a glass harmonica that is used during Lucia’s mad scene, played beautifully. These are performances of Lucia that should not be missed!