The Minotaur, Royal Opera, Covent Garden, January 2013

The opening night of this revival ended with a tribute to John Tomlinson for 35 years of wonderful service to the ROH — highly appropriate since composer Harrison Birtwistle has said Tomlinson was the key to writing this opera, which had been brewing in his mind for many years.

The Innocents arrive, all images ROH/ Bill Cooper

The first scene shows Christine Rice as Ariadne on the beach with a heaving sea projected on the backdrop, and the opera ends with Elisabeth Meister’s bloodcurdling scream as the Ker, seeing the Minotaur dead and her share of future victims vanish. In the meantime Ariadne has revealed that as the daughter of Minos and his wife Pasiphae, whom Theseus calls “whore to the bull of the sea”, she is half-sister to the Minotaur, whom Theseus has come to kill him so as to save future Athenian innocents from further death. She tricks him into letting the present twelve go first, and Act I ends with their massacre. Susana Gaspar as the first innocent was particularly good here, lying in wounded agony before the winged Keres come to pluck out her heart.

In the second act Johan Reuter as Theseus reveals that he may be the son of Poseidon, and if Poseidon was indeed the bull of the sea then he is half-brother to the Minotaur. The important dichotomy between Theseus and Ariadne however, is that while he wants to get into the labyrinth, she wants to get out of Crete. Needing to bring him back from the centre she consults the oracle at Psychro, who gives her the ball of twine despite her lying about her true intentions, and after making Theseus promise to accompany her away from the island the stage is now set for the final denouément.

The Minotaur

Birtwistle’s opera, with this clever production by Stephen Langridge, designs by Alison Chitty and lighting by Paul Pyant, works wonders with the story and with the Minotaur himself, shown to be both man and beast. Presaging his first appearance a wall of sound is followed by two tubas in unison, along with contrabass clarinet and contrabass bassoon. The music is fascinating, its permanent state of melody a metaphor for the labyrinth. And David Harsent’s libretto is a masterpiece of concision and clarity drawing us through the story.

The duality between man and beast is cleverly expressed through lines such as, “When I go to sleep does the man sleep first, when I awake does the beast wake first?” The Minotaur speaks only in his dreams, and when he dreams he sees himself, he sees Ariadne, he even sees Theseus, appearing through a mirror with him. He thinks of his life, his failings, his sorrows, in each case calling them “all too human”. When Theseus arrives he recognises him from the dream, and reflects on his predicament of being both man and beast. “The beast is vile, so the man must go unloved. The beast can’t weep, so the man must go dry-eyed. The beast is wounded, so the man must die”. We begin to understand the man-beast, hidden away in the labyrinth as a child. It’s a great opera, the only surprise being that it has yet to be produced anywhere else since first appearing at the ROH in April 2008.

Tomlinson, Johan Reuter, and Christine Rice repeated their wonderful performances from five years ago, and Elisabeth Meister sang an excellent Ker, with Andrew Watts and Alan Oke taking over the roles of snake priestess and her medium Hiereus. The priestess herself rises to a great height, looking like those famous chthonic deities from Knossos, a nice touch.

The lyrical wonder of Birtwistle’s music, combined with lines of sheer terror, was brilliantly conducted by Ryan Wigglesworth on this occasion, and if you went in 2008, go again, particularly with tickets at such low prices for this thrillingly deep opera.

Performances continue until January 28 — for details click here.

Rigoletto, Royal Opera, Covent Garden, March 2012

In Act III of this opera, Rigoletto takes his daughter Gilda to Sparafucile’s tavern to show her the Duke’s real nature. She hears him singing La donna è mobile, sees him having fun with Maddalena, and is shocked and heartbroken. Her father takes her home, sends her off to Verona, but … being too busy arranging the murder of the Duke, he fails to accompany her. Revenge is his fatal flaw, and the result is tragedy.

Observing from outside the tavern, all images Johan Persson

As Rigoletto’s satisfaction turns to grief at finding his daughter’s body in the sack where the Duke’s should be, John Eliot Gardiner’s conducting had a lightness of touch that made the final thump from the orchestra so much stronger. Gilda’s head falls back as she finally expires, and her father cries out Ah, la maledizione!, recalling the curse laid on him by Monterone. It’s such a strong ending by Verdi, compared to Victor Hugo’s original play Le roi s’amuse, where the jester laments J’ai tué mon enfant, and falls to the ground. But of course in opera they can sing, and Ekaterina Siurina sang beautifully as Gilda, with Dimitri Platanias an outstanding Rigoletto. His lovely tone in Act I elicited my sympathy, and in Act II his heartfelt la mia figlia, followed by his condemnation of the courtiers came over with huge power. Revival director Leah Hausman staged it beautifully, and as the sneering courtier Marullo gives Rigoletto his stick back, it clatters uselessly to the ground.

But of course it is more than just Rigoletto and his daughter. Vittorio Grigolo as the Duke sang gloriously, showing just the right air of casual hedonism. Matthew Rose was a strong Sparafucile, and Christine Rice as his sister Maddalena was superb — seductive and charming in her interactions with the Duke.

Among the smaller roles, Zhengzhong Zhou showed fine vocal and stage presence as Marullo, Gianfranco Montresor came over very well as Monterone, and Elizabeth Sikora gave a fine portrayal of Gilda’s nurse. This was a team effort held together beautifully by John Eliot Gardiner, and my only complaint in this David McVicar production is the first scene of Act I.

Father and daughter at home

Gilda has only been in town for three months, she wants to have some fun, and the Duke, disguised as a student, has been following her to church. Yes, he’s a serial philanderer, but is he really a person to preside over dissolute orgies, which if you look closely — at the homosexual and heterosexual engagements going on — no-one is really doing anything. Yes, it’s impressionistic, but it’s not the right impression. The main point is that Gilda believes the Duke (albeit disguised as a student) to be in love with her, and the court should be a rather glamorous place. This is why her father needs to show her what the Duke is really like, by taking her to Sparafucile’s tavern.

The first scene makes it look as if the director is out to shock us, but the rest of the production is excellent, and the singing and conducting at the dress rehearsal was absolutely terrific. This is a cast very well worth seeing and performances continue until April 21 — for details click here.

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.

The Damnation of Faust, English National Opera, ENO, London Coliseum, May 2011

This is ostensibly a French opera sung in English, though it’s not really an opera but a légende dramatique by Hector Berlioz — a musical and vocal canvas on which a clever director can paint his own picture. And this is exactly what Terry Gilliam does by turning the whole thing into a history about the rise of Nazism in Germany from World War I to its expression in the violent anti-Semitism of 1930s and eventually the death camps of World War II.

Faust and Mephistopheles in the cube, all images Tristram Kenton

It all starts with a spoken prologue by Mephistopheles in which he talks about the desire to unlock the secrets of life saying, “there will always be a Faust”. Referring to a struggle, he then intones “My struggle translates in German as Mein Kampf“. This obvious reference to Hitler out of the way, he then seats himself stage left as Faust with his spiky orange hair hikes in the mountains carrying a massive cubical burden from which he opens out a large chalk-board replete with mathematical mumbo jumbo. He then meets Teutonic figures from German myth, but this is all just prologue, and as we watch Gilliam’s story unfold we are presented with one clever stage idea after another. For example towards the end, when Faust and Mephistopheles ride off on black horses to save Marguerite — who in this production has been transported to one of the death camps — they ride a World War II motorbike and sidecar, appearing to race across the front of the stage as the night-time scenery flashes past behind them. In the meantime we have been presented with high and low points from German history in the 1930s: the callous brutality of the brown shirts, the 1936 Olympic Games in Berlin with Leni Reifenstahl’s wonderful moving images of divers, the yellow stars for Jews, the horror of Kristallnacht in November 1938, and the transportation of Jews to concentration camps.

The journey to save Marguerite

In case this all seems too much, Gilliam dilutes it with comedy and choreographic invention worthy of a musical, as the blond athletes move in formation and sing in Latin, and the brown shirts perform at one point as if in an operetta. Peter Hoare’s Faust, with his high tenor voice, is costumed as one of them, but always with that frightful orange hair, looking rather like the dog-man he portrayed so well in the ENO’s Dog’s Heart late last year. Christopher Purves by contrast was a commanding Mephistopheles with his sonorous baritone and superb stage presence, and Christine Rice was a beautifully voiced Marguerite. The relatively small part of the student Brander, another brown shirt, was well sung by Nicholas Folwell. Musically this was wonderful, with inspired playing by the orchestra under the direction of Edward Gardner.

The sets by Hildgard Bechtler ranged from open air romanticism of a style to suit Der Freischütz, to utilitarian buildings and their interiors, all superbly lit by Peter Mumford. Good costumes by Katrina Lindsay and clever video designs by Finn Ross helped make this a remarkable staging, yet I feel discomforted by the huge range of production ideas, and wonder if it isn’t all a bit self-indulgent.

Faust and Marguerite fearing crowds outside

Of course, as a musical creation by Berlioz this is not exactly an opera, but more like a cantata, and it failed at the Opéra-Comique in Paris in 1846 during its first performances. Only in 1893 was it successfully staged in Monte Carlo, and now Terry Gilliam has created it anew, using Berlioz’s wonderful music to tell the story of where German Romanticism and idealism took a badly wrong turn, leading to one of the great tragedies of the twentieth century.

Performances continue until June 7 — for more details click here.

Radamisto, English National Opera, ENO at the London Coliseum, October 2010

On 27^th April 1720, a month before his sixtieth birthday, King George I attended the opera with his son the Prince of Wales. They’d only recently reunited after not speaking to one another for three years, so this was just the right opera to see. The king, Farasmane and his son Radamisto are in dire danger of losing their lives to the crazily emotional actions of a tyrant, Tiridate, king of Armenia, whose wife is Radamisto’s sister — the names are those of historical figures, but the personalities are not. Moreover Handel wrote this opera for the newly created Royal Academy of Music, whose directors favoured stories of love defeating the naked ambition of a ruthless conqueror.

Zenobia begs Radamisto to kill her

The young queens, Zenobia wife of Radamisto, and Polissena wife of Tiridate, are vital characters in the plot, both beautifully sung by Christine Rice and Sophie Bevan. Radamisto was sung by a woman in the original production, but here we had American counter-tenor Lawrence Zazzo who was excellent, and I do prefer such roles to be sung by a man rather than a woman. The other two male singers were superb too. Ryan McKinny sang very strongly as Tiridate, with fine stage presence and excellent diction, and Henry Waddington gave an equally wonderful performance in the much smaller bass role of King Farasmane. The one other character, Tigrane — an ally of Tiridate — was also very well sung by Ailish Tynan. A further role for Tiridate’s brother was cut from Handel’s revised version, which was performed here. Tigrane is infatuated with Tiridate’s wife Polissena, and acts as something of a unifying force, while Tiridate, who’s insanely in love with Radamisto’s wife Zenobia, is purely destructive, “From the hands of those I slaughter I will snatch a victor’s crown”.

Tiridate and Radamisto, all images ENO/ Clive Barda

The trouble with this opera is the weak ending. It builds up to an impossible situation, when suddenly Tiridate’s wife enters to say that his troops are abandoning him, so he admits having behaved very badly and thanks his erstwhile enemies for their kind understanding. Not a brilliant ending, but the music is wonderful and Laurence Cummings conducted with huge enthusiasm and excellent control of the proceedings. Musically this was a real treat.

Radamisto is not often performed, and the first twentieth century revival in Britain was not until 1960. The performance attracted strong applause, as did the new production by David Alden — a joint production with the Santa Fe Opera — apart from objections from a few audience members at the end. I didn’t understand the objections, so I asked one man what he didn’t like about it, to which I got the response that he didn’t like anything about the production. Did he not like the lighting by Rick Fisher? I thought it was wonderful. Did he not like the designs by Gideon Davy? I thought the Eastern style costumes were lovely, particularly Tiridate’s, and as for the late Ottoman white suit for Tigrane, that was obviously meant to be deliberately anachronistic. And the sets? I thought they were super. It’s a colourful production, easy on the eye, and the occasional body pierced by arrows is a reminder that while this family feud goes on, a lot of people die. Not a bad lesson, and remember that this opera’s opening night was witnessed by the future King George II with his music loving father George I, at the conclusion of one of their feuds. Handel had been Kapellmeister to George when he was Elector of Hanover, but then moved to London, so it must have felt like a family reunited when George became King of Britain.

Performances continue until November 4 — click here for more details.

Les Contes d’Hoffmann, Royal Opera, November 2008

This was opening night, so Rolando Villazon can be forgiven for starting out rather weakly as Hoffmann, particularly as he strengthened during the performance and did a fine job of the final scene at the tavern. This opera is an intriguing work, where Hoffmann describes three earlier loves, Olympia, Giulietta, and Antonia, all of whom portray aspects of his current lover, the opera singer Stella. The well-dressed Count Lindorf appears in the tavern and is determined to detach her from Hoffmann. He then appears first as Coppelius, creator of Hoffmann’s first lover, the mechanical doll Olympia; second as Dappertutto the confidante of Hoffmann’s next lover, the courtesan Giulietta; and third as Dr. Miracle, overseeing the death of Hoffmann’s other lover Antonia. She has a beautiful voice, inherited from her late mother, but her father blames Miracle for the death, forbids Antonia to sing, and bans Miracle from the house. But Miracle enters, persuades her to sing, and she dies in Hoffman’s arms. The three thaumaturges and Count Lindorf are one and the same, and these four incarnations were well sung by Gidon Saks, though I would have preferred a darker voice and presence.

As to the ladies, Olympia was sung and acted to perfection by Ekaterina Lekhina. It is difficult to imagine a better performance, and I shall always remember this as the highlight of the evening. Giulietta was Christine Rice, Antonia was Katie van Kooten, and Stella was Olga Sabadoch. None could compare to the first one, a feature that would have been avoided by having one soprano for all four roles, as Offenbach intended, though I realise a suitable singer is hard to come by. The strange house servant for all three of the young ladies destroyed by Hoffmann’s attentions was extremely well sung and portrayed by Graham Clark, and Kristine Jepson was good as Hoffmann’s companion. Antonio Pappano conducted with superb lyricism, and this was a fine performance.

The original production was by John Schlesinger, and I suppose it was his idea to eliminate the end of Act II, so Giulietta simply sails off in a gondola instead of drinking the poison that Dapertutto has prepared for Hoffmann. She should die in Hoffmann’s arms, like the other two. He holds the doll as it disintegrates, and holds Antonia as she dies. I was very disappointed that they missed the final music for this act, and Dapertutto’s, “Ah, Giulietta, maladroite!”, which for me is one of the high points of the opera.

Highly recommended, but losing the end of Act II partly loses the plot, because Hoffmann, allied by the magus, destroys his lovers, and in recalling these destructions he is ready to let Stella go. By forcing Hoffmann metaphorically to see himself in a mirror, the magus, alias Count Lindorf, wins the woman who combines all three lovers. And that is a good reason for going back to Offenbach’s original order for the three acts: Olympia, Antonia, Giulietta, where the final one of these uses a mirror to capture Hoffmann’s image. It is a great shame that Offenbach died before the first performance, as this has given other people the excuse to monkey around with his intentions. Can we please get back to the original!! Yes, it’s long, but if we use the original spoken dialogue instead of recitative, we won’t need the cuts. Sets designs by William Dudley were excellent, as were the costumes by Maria Bjoernson, and the lighting by David Hersey was superb.

This opening night was dedicated to Richard Hickox, who conducted the previous performances in 2004, and had died suddenly a few days earlier.