The Valkyrie

by Richard Wagner

seen at the London Coliseum on 4 December 2021

English National Opera is embarking on a new Ring cycle in a co-production with the Metropolitan Opera in New York, and this is the first offering though it is the second work in the cycle. Richard Jones directs a production designed by Stewart Laing, with Nicky Spence as Siegmund, Emma Bell as Sieglinde, Brindley Sherratt as Hunding, Matthew Rose as Wotan, Rachel Nicholls as Brünnhilde and Susan Bickley as Fricka, and Martyn Brabbins conducting.

Wagner's music is intense, demanding, sometimes overwhelming, somethimes surprisingly intimate, and the overall complexity of the Ring narrative can be daunting; The Valkyrie is often seen as the most approachable opera since its narrative development is so compelling. Nevertheless there are practical difficulties, once hilariously lampooned by Anna Russell in an attempt to explain it all to a novice audience. There is, for example, a dwelling with a tree growing through it; later something has to be done to deal with not only nine valkyrie sisters in full cry, but also by implication the dead warriors they are bringing to Valhalla, and possibly the horses they ride, and finally Brünnhilde is put to sleep while Wotan calls up walls of impenetrable flame to protect her from all but the most valiant hero.

Musically the standard was good if not totally electrifying as it should be: the opening storm music was rather muted. The singing was clear (particularly important when delivering an English translation) and the often tense dynamics between the various characters were well conveyed. Visually however this production was surprisingly austere. In the first act there was indeed a house with a tree in it, surrounded by a few other leafless and wind-blasted trees sketching in the idea of a wild forest, but there was no pretence of realism overall as the limits of the stage were bounded by featureless grey curtains. The whole edifice of Hunding's house was at one point wheeled around by black-clad stagehands presumably representing Hunding's vassals, to provide a different space for Siegmund and Sieglinde's rapturous welcoming of spring. Of course the house need to resume its original space in order for the sword to be retrieved from the tree.

In the opening scenes of the second act the human plane is left behind for Valhalla, where Wotan instructs his daughter Brünnhilde, argues ineffectively with his wife Fricka, then changes his instructions to Brünnhilde with a lengthy explananation of his quandary. It was disconcerting to see Brünnhilde in a strangely patterned outfit that might have suited a beach holiday, and Wotan in a scarlet shellsuit with a plaid shirt, but this rather suited the evocation of Valhalla itself as an overblown log cabin stretched across the whole width of the (large) Coliseum stage. Fricka, in immaculate white, was a far more classy dresser, emphasising her imperious moral authority in contrast to the wily but inadequate self-deceptions of her husband. In the concluding scenes of the act, back in the human realm, the bleakness of the situation was again emphasised by the wind-blasted trees, and the disturbing presence of raven-like figures, perhaps Wotan's messengers, or perhaps the Norns witnessing the ineluctible fate unwinding before them. Again the austerity of the design was emphasised by the ever present grey curtains at the edges of the stage.

In the third act there was really nothing on the stage to distract from the final confrontation between Wotan and Brünnhilde. The valkyries (in vivid green shellsuits clearly linking them to Wotan) had attached their fallen warriors to ropes which raised them off the ground and finally out of sight above the stage; the horses were strange prancing figures, dancers with large horse heads (and on this occasion one was missing), their momvements occasionally distracting. The awkward disappointment was the matter of the protective fire, since Westminster Council and the safety officers of the theatre had forbidden the extensive use of naked flame (although there were small domesticated fires in the previous acts). An announcer at the beginning of the performance begged our indulgence for this omission of stage spectacle, but it was remarkable that neither the director nor the designer had seen fit to offer or imagine any sort of substitute. Instead, while Brünnhilde herself was raised above the stage in slumber, there were no lighting effects at all, and the massive expanse of grey curtains was all we could contemplate as the magic fire music dwindled to its conclusion.

Considering that the Met in New York currently has a visually sophisticated Ring cycle making full use of elaborate stage machinery and dazzling video projections, it is hard to see that they will be enthused with this far more subdued vision, even supposing that it proves to be coherent when the entire cycle is ready in 2025.

Jenůfa

by Leoš Janáček

seen at Covent Garden on 2 October 2021

The Royal Opera's first new production of Jenůfa in twenty years is conducted by Henrik Nánási and directed by Claus Guth (his first Janáček production). It features the Lithuanian soprano Asmik Grigorian in the title role (her Covent Garden debut), Karita Mattila from Finland as her stepmother the Kostelnička (village Sacristan), Nicky Spence as Laca and the Albanian Saimir Pirgu as Števa, the two half-brothers who vie for Jenůfa's affections - Covent Garden keeps its tradition of drawing international singers to its stage despite the complications of pandemic restrictions and an increased visa bureaucracy.

The opera, based on a play by Gabriela Preissová from which Janáček devised his own libretto, is a grim tale of late nineteenth century village life in which the moral strictures of society all too easily crush its individual members should they step out of line. Jenůfa has the misfortune of having fallen pregnant by the feckless Števa, while the ostensibly more patient Laca is driven to distraction and 'accidentally' inflicts a wound on her face. In the meantime her stepmother, mindful of her own standing in village life, which reqires the utmost personal rectitude, and remembering the catastrophes of her own married life when she was young and being determined to protect Jenůfa from a similar fate, takes matters into her own hand with disastrous results.

The situations are thus potentially too melodramatic, but the opera transcends the danger, largely due to the extraordinary dramatic force of Janáček's music and the stark way it exposes the inner torments of the two women. Ravishing melodic scraps flit through the score, often gone almost before they can be appreciated, while the climactic confrontations which conclude the first two acts have a shattering impact. In the final act Jenůfa rises above all the provocations with an act of forgiveness that seems almost impossible to contemplate, but the music convinces utterly in its radiant hopefulness.

Claus Guth has decided to abstract the opera from a realistic setting, preferring a huge white box with slatted walls - indeed when the curtain goes up on each act there is a second curtain of slats which must also be raised to reveal the stage. In the first act villagers are spaced against each of the three walls performing menial tasks at the mill owned by the two brothers, their almost uniform actions a silent but potent reminder of the narowness of their lives. In the second act there are fewer villagers, but they are all women dressed in black, their faces completely hidden by formidable bonnets not dissimlar to the profile of the huge raven which also prowls the scene intimating disaster. Instead of seeing the interior of the Kostelnička's house, where Jenůfa has been hidden until giving birth to her child, we see only a series of bedframes upended to indicate the cottage's walls in a way that is uncomfortably reminiscent of a prison. Only in the third act, in which Jenůfa and Laca are about to be married, does some colour enter, with bright yellow flowers scattered across the floor and the village women arriving in colourful skirts (wondering why Jenůfa has chosen to be married in black).

The cast was superb, and the orchestral playing beautifully managed, even if at times the climaxes overwhelmed the singing. In particular Asmik Grigorian brought a poignant mix of fragility and growing self awareness to her role, while Karita Mattila showed us the desperation of a woman driven to betray fundamental decency through a twisted notion of social acceptability. She is not just a nasty piece of work like the fearsome mother in Kaťá Kabanová, but rather another victim of village morality.

In a gracious touch at the curtain call, Asmik Grigorin curtsied deeply before Karita Mattila, who had sung the role of Jenůfa at Covent Garden in its last outing in 2000. This new production is a worthy addition to the current repertoire of the house, visually compelling and musically wonderful.

Tristan und Isolde

by Richard Wagner

seen at Glyndebourne on 21 August 2021

Robin Ticciati conducts a semi-staged semi-concert series of performances of Wagner's Tristan und Isolde with Simon O'Neill and Miina-Liisa Varela in the title roles, Karen Cargill as Brangäne, Shenyang as Kurwenal and (on this occasion) Brindley Sherratt standing in for John Relyea as King Marke.

With restrictions relating to the pandemic still in place when this year's Glyndebourne Festival was planned, and uncertainty about what conditions would prevail during the summer, the organisers wisely concluded that crowding the number of players required to do justice to Wagnerian opera into the orchestra pit was completely impractical. Instead the orchestra dominated the stage while the singers performed in front of them, where the pit had been covered over. Their entrances and exits were unobtrusive and their physical ineractions reduced to a minimum, but a comparison with Nikolaus Lehnhoff's full production mounted as Glyndebourne's first attempt at a Wagner opera shows that the original approach was almost equally minimalist.

The semi-staged version allowed the whole experience to stand or fall on the quality of the music, and with the orchestra and soloists in fine form there was no disappointment. Simon O'Neill in particular showed an apparently effortless control of tone and volume throughout, while Miina-Liisa Varela's performance grew in stature until she delivered a poignant liebestod at the conclusion of Act Three. If the thrill of a fully staged production was missing (especially Lehnhoff's intriguing version), we were at least spared intrusive directorial flourishes and were left to enjoy the sumptuous beauty of the music without distraction. The rapt silence as the concluding chords died away proved that the audience was more than satisfied, and for my part I thought my first visit to Glyndebourne was a success.

Don Giovanni

by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, libretto by Lorenzo da ponte

seen at Covent Garden on 10 July 2021

Jack Furness directs a revival of Kasper Holten's imaginative 2014 production of Don Giovanni using a set designed by Es Devlin with video projections by Luke Halls, featuring Erwin Schrott in the title role, Gerald Finley as Leporello, Adela Zaharia as Donna Anna, Nicole Chevalier as Donna Elvira, Frédéric Antoun as Don Ottavio, Zuzanna Marková as Zerlina, Michael Mofidian as Masetto and Adam Palka as the Commendatore.

It's an exiting production to watch, with a two-storey town house on a revolve alternately presenting a street frontage and access to many rooms and stairways which reflect visually the tortuous machinations by which Don Giovanni plans his seductions and conceals his identity where necessary. What could have been an oppressive or bland set is enlivened by a spectacular use of video projections onto the walls, windows and doors of the building, giving added perspective to rooms and corridors, and stunningly keeping pace with the revolving stage. There is further fun with these projections during Leporello's famous catalogue aria, when more and more names are 'written' onto the walls and doors; at other times we see the psychological stress of the principal characters matched by blooming swirls reminiscent of an almost demented animation. The Commendatore, once killed, lurked around the set, but so also did several anonymous women, presumably previous victims of the Don's attentions; they were swathed in white and so were at times almost invisible.

More important, operatically, is the cast and orchestra, conducted by Constantin Trinks. The two baritones, Erwin Schrott and Gerald Finely, are a dream combination, master and sevant playing off one another with easy confidence - the Don remained enigmatically detached while Leporello fretted and criticised but ultimately obeyed his master's whims. The three sopranos also delivered fine performances, though their varously ambivalent reactions to the Don remain problematic even with the finest singing. Donna Anna was hardly resisting seduction in the opening scene but described a different scenario to her fiancé Don Ottavio once her thoughts had turned to vengeance. Donna Elvira vainly hoped for the Don's fidelity to the last, despite crushing evidence that fidelity is of no interest to him. Zerlina, from the lower classes, was dazzled; would she ever be satisfied with Masetto?

Some concessons were presumably made to the current restrictions, in that distances were (fairly unobtrusively) kept and the final moralising chorus was sung off stage, but the production and the opera itself do not demand large forces, so the impact was not great. The brilliance of the music and the enrgy of the cast made for a most enjoyable evening.

La clemenza di Tito

 by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, libretto by Pietro Metastasio adapted by Caterino Mazzolà

seen at Covent Garden on 23 May 2021

Mark Wigglesworth conducted Edgaras Montvidas as Titus, Emily D'Angelo as Sextus, Nicole Chevalier as Vitellia, Angela Brower as Annius, and Christina Gansch as Servilia in Richard Jones's new Covent Garden production (the first since 2002) of Mozart's 1791 opera, with set and costume designs by Ultz.

The Roman emperor Titus reigned for only two years from CE 79 to 81, but in that short time earned a reputation for generosity and fairness. The opera, though it opens with the historical dismissal of his mistress, the foreign queen Berenice, due to popular pressure, exemplifies his much-lauded 'clemency' through a series of fictitious marriage and vengeance plots. In choosig his first bride, Servilia, he inadvertently comes between her and his friend Annius, and on being told about this, he nobly gives way.

Another close friend, Sextus, is in a more complicated position, having fallen in love with Vitellia, who incites him to plot the emperor's death since she is furious at being passed over as his bride. When Titus's next choice for a bride falls on her after all it is too late to forestall the insurrection, and it appears that Sextus has succeeded in murdering Titus. It is not so, of course, and the perplexed Titus must wrestle with the dilemma of condemning his closest friend who will not reveal why he has acted so violently, or flouting the law of treason. On the verge of the young man's execution Vitellia confesses to her part in the plot, touched that Sextus had kept silent to preserve her honour, and Titus forgives all to general approbation.

Clearly it is a bit of a farrago, built on the reputation ascribed to Titus by the classical sources (not by the Jewish sources, of course, in which he is denigrated for having destroyed the Temple in Jerusalem). The situations and conflicts are an opportunity for the eighteenth century librettists and composer to highlight extremes of passion, loyalty, betrayal and judicial clemency in a series of confrontations and resolutions, somewhat at the expense of individual character. For example, in proposing a series of marriages with no consultation Titus does not appear anything other than arbitrary, while Vitellia, by turns vengeful, manipulative and remorseful, hardly seems a suitable object of affection for anyone, let alone an emperor.

The setting of this production is modern, the stage quite open with some moveable rooms: a pair of offices for Titus, a town house for Vitellia, and what looked like a grocery store for Servilia. The stage wings were totally exposed to any audience member sitting to one side or another of the auditorium, presumably to maximise the ventilation deemed essential for protecting the health of performers and audience alike in this first week of the opening of theatres in the UK.

During the overture some lads played football (even while by and large observing the strictures of social distancing); one of them turned out to be Sextus, given a friendly pat on the back by Titus as he and his entourage (at this point still including Berenice) visit the playing field. The excellent Emily D'Angelo as Sextus performed almost her entire role in football teeshirt, shorts and boots, clearly marked out as by far the youngest of the protagonists. Surely he would have changed before going to visit Vitellia or anyone else - but he was only in blue fatigues when marched in for his execution. It was a clever solution to the problem of explaining the extreme volatility of his emotions and actions: when questioned by the baffled Titus he scuffed his boots and bashed his head against a wall, the very picture of gawky, truculent and inarticulate youth. The downside to this interpretation was that the prior friendship of Titus and Sextus could not be seen as flourishing between grown men: one was still just a boy.

This was perhaps symptomatic of the awkwardness of this production: modern psychologising solutions to local problems of plot or motivation compromised the overall high-mindedness of the piece. The orchestral playing was fine and the singing often excellent (especially from Emily D'Angelo), but there was a good deal of visual distraction even in such a pared down set - characters paced up and down or prowled around the large expanses of the stage far too often and to far too little effect. The attempt to manage a chamber piece in a large auditorium, with the constraints of the current medical emergency to contend with as well, was intriguing but problematic.