English National Opera

‘The Gospel According to the Other Mary’ by John Adams (seen November 29)

Subtitled ‘A passion Oratorio in Two Acts’, this piece can be performed on the concert platform or, as here, on an operatic stage. It juxtaposes a passion narrative constructed from the viewpoint of Mary Magdalene and her sister Martha with a contemporary series of vignettes inspired by the career of Dorothy Day who founded the Catholic Worker Movement.

The idea is a bold one, yet entirely grounded in the tradition exemplified in the great Passions of J. S. Bach, which interrupt their Gospel narratives with interpretative and meditative arias and chorales. Adams has mainly used the narrative from St John’s Gospel, but beginning earlier with the Lazarus story and finishing later with Mary Magdalene in the garden, and not using the entire text, while the commentary has become a resonant parallel story rather than a personal meditation. This also allows the opera to portray Mary Magdalene as a far stronger character than the traditional stereotyping of the 'fallen woman' passively showing new devotion to the messiah. Here she is engaged, conflicted, passionate in rage as well as love; and this allows more scope for the dynamic between her and her sister Martha as well..

The staging by Peter Sellars, who also prepared the libretto, allows both the parallel stories space to unfold. It is set inside a series of diaphanous and glowing cloths acting as ceiling and walls, but with two large metal mesh fences surmounted by rolls of barbed wire on either side of the stage erupting through the cloth, and a pole with surveillance cameras at the back. Ons stage there is a series of what look like cardboard boxes (but which are evidently made of sterner stuff) used as platforms, tables, or tombs. Shifts in the spectrum from warm pale oranges (almost skin-toned) to cooler bluish greens illuminate or shine through the cloths, and there are never quite fully defined projections at the back, which at times seem to be parts of a crucified body, and at others to be much less clear. These effects both match and enhance the narrative mood.

The principal solo parts are for Mary, Martha and Lazarus, here excellently sung by Patricia Bardon, Meredith Arwody and Russell Thomas respectively. The voices of the Evangelist and of Jesus from the older Passion tradition are replaced by a trio of counter-tenors named as ‘Seraphim’ in the program (though some of Jesus’ words are sung by the other soloists or else by the chorus). The absence of Jesus as a physical character on stage is extraordinarily effective in focussing attention on the reactions of the people around him, while the chorus acts as supporting crowd or group commentator, as one might expect. Their interventions are often powerful, whether silhouetted behind the backcloth or filling the stage with images of age-old violence and oppression.

There are several dancers on stage, representing Mary and Lazarus, the Angel Gabriel, and the mother of Jesus; indeed until Lazarus is called forth from the grave his presence (sickness, death and burial) is entirely shown to us by the dancer Parinay Mehra, and his resurrection is preceded by a compelling episode of the body writhing under the cloth stretched across the stage floor, which until then had seemed solid. Gabriel is danced by Banks in a distinctive and compelling style quite unlike anything else on the stage, and thus unworldly – Banks uses at times an extreme jerkiness that makes it seem we must be viewing him through strobe lighting, even though there is no such lighting anywhere on stage.

The three Seraphim move in a formal and stately manner, most often in unison, and frequently with their faces turned in an unexpected direction, as if perceiving something vital just beyond the line of sight or out of earshot. This leads to some intensely poignant tableaux, in particular the feast after Lazarus’s restoration to life which closes the first act, and the entombment and garden scenes that close the opera. In the crucifixion scene, the Lazarus dancer becomes the victim while the Angel binds him and hammers in the nails, all mimed dramatically and horrifically on the floor. The contorted body is then laid on one of the boxes, but still prone on the ground, so that the looking down to perceive his mother becomes an agonising rearing up to make eye contact. The complete avoidance of familiar crucifix imagery is subtly powerful in that it forces a new contemplation of the savagery of the execution without any recourse to naturalistic effect. The fact that Parinay Mehra must be at times helped and supported in order to make the contortions required of this staging reminds one of the paintings in which angels – or merely the faces of angels – are clustered around the cross; here it is the Seraphim and the dancer for Mary who are placed around the body, kneeling so that the audience can only take in their faces and the classic postures of grief and agony.

One of the consequences of the omissions from the Gospel text is that the disciples are not strongly present - no Last Supper, and no denials by Peter, for example. This leads to an intriguing shift of emphasis in the encounter between Jesus on the cross and his mother. The 'word from the cross' is broken off at 'Woman behold your son', so that his mother must look at him; there is no hint of the idea that Jesus is giving a familial responsibility to someone else.  

The music is marvellously varied, at times ethereal and at times emotionally intense and dramatic. The staging is arresting and never at odds with the score, which means that it successfully serves to enhance both the Passion narrative and its contemporary parallels. Soloists and chorus sang to powerful effect, fully justifying the staging of an oratorio.

  

‘The Marriage of Figaro’ by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart (seen October 25)

This is a revival of the 2011 production directed by Fiona Shaw, which I saw from the Upper Balcony in its first incarnation. It was an immense pleasure to see it again, this time in the third row of the Stalls (though actually I would have preferred the Dress Circle which I think provides the best overall views in the Coliseum; I have seen the three previous operas discussed from the Dress Circle).

 

The set is on a revolve whose turns appear to be initiated by the servants of the Almaviva household. It is made of white plastic walls of varying heights with any number of passageways, doors and alcoves to allow for the differing scenes and for the background bustle of a large household preparing for an important wedding celebration. It serves the somewhat farce-like aspects of the plot extremely well, while underscoring the notion that the principal characters are in a maze of moral confusion. The largest walls occasionally are used for dimly perceived projections, mainly of a series of figures with the silhouette of a Minotaur, to which the predatory Count is subliminally compared.

The atmosphere of comic entertainment is established from the outset when a servant traps a buzzing insect in the body of a harpsichord to the side of the stage. The frantic buzz is momentarily subdued and then transforms itself into the opening trills of Mozart’s scintillating overture, played while the set revolves and the household is seen in all its busy hustle and bustle. Throughout the piece, the set is deployed unobtrusively and yet effectively to reveal more and more of the work behind a functioning household, and of the ramifications of the complex intrigues in the plot.

The translation of the libretto is enjoyably skilful, allowing the sheer wit and exuberance of the piece to shine through, and the singers managed to convey the high spirits and breakneck speed of events with real panache. The principals were all relatively young, which lent an added frisson of youthful exhilaration to the proceedings. The sexual excitement of the young Cherubino (depicted here as a randy teenager) was perhaps over-emphasised with too many clutchings at ‘his’ groin; I suspect even randy teenagers do not so obviously indicate the physical manifestations of their feelings. The portrayal of Barbarina, whom he eventually marries, made one regret that such a naively enthusiastic teenager should be hitched to a tipsy, not to say drunken, village trollop; but in the end only Figaro and Susanna look set to have a relationship with any chance of being really happy; the Countess was left completely isolated in her household maze after her generous forgiveness of her errant husband.

‘The Girl of the Golden West’ by Giacomo Puccini (seen October 22)

The opera takes place on the Californian goldfields, where Minnie is the only (white) female for miles around. She runs a bar where dozens of miners congregate for drinks and card games and the occasional quarrel, and where she conducts Bible classes for their edification. She is idolised and respected; the sheriff wants to marry her (or at least be with her), but she is not interested. Much of the first act of the opera consists of small vignettes of these situations with no indication of who among the miners will be the real focus of interest – it is in fact none of them. Minnie is not even present for quite some time.

Into this unbalanced environment comes Dick Johnson, who evidently knows Minnie but perhaps not closely (perhaps from his childhood?). When the miners go off on a wild goose chase after a local notorious bandit they are alone together and a touching intimacy appears to be in the offing. But it is clear that Johnson is in fact the bandit, and the chase a ruse to allow him to rob the safe at the bar (all the miners entrust their savings to Minnie). But Johnson decides he cannot rob Minnie.

In Minnie’s remote cabin a pregnant Native American servant woman bids farewell to her partner as Minnie arrives, soon followed by Johnson. Their attraction to one another intensifies, especially after the servant leaves, and it transpires that Minnie is still waiting in a somewhat romantic haze for a first kiss from a man she loves. Johnson duly provides this before the sheriff arrives with proof that Johnson and the bandit are one and the same. When they are alone again, Minnie castigates Johnson for his deceit and betrayal, and he leaves, but soon returns wounded. While he is hiding from the sheriff upstairs, his blood drips through the ceiling betraying his presence. Minnie ensures his safety by offering to play three rounds of poker; if she wins Johnson can go free, but if she loses the sheriff can have him for trial (and execution) and her as well. She cheats in the third game to secure his release.

At the sheriff’s office the miners prepare to lynch Johnson when he is caught trying to escape; he only pleads that Minnie not be told of this ignominious end. However she arrives before he is hanged, and begs the miner’s to be merciful, reminding them all of the debts of gratitude they owe her for her help freely offered in the past. By force of character and this rather dubious argument, she gains their forgiveness and she and Johnson ride off into the sunset together.

I’ve summarised the plot because this is an unfamiliar opera and because, unlike ‘Xerxes’, the plot is actually significant. It is based on an American play of the same name, which must have been melodramatic to say the least. Puccini and his librettists were aiming to create something unusual in opera – a tale of hard-living men on the goldfields, and the redemption of a criminal by a woman of pure heart. The digressive opening sets the scene, highlighting the homesickness of one miner, the outpouring of male sentimentality when the hat goes round to fund his return home, the easy flare of tempers when one of the card players is found to be cheating, and the immense respect in which Minnie is held (no-one complains about the Bible classes).

Minnie’s naivety is easily missed when the part is taken by a mature singer; the idea of her not having had a kiss seems far more plausible if one imagines her as in her early twenties – but then how has she established her position in the miners’ community? So then if she is older – how has she maintained this innocence in the rough and tumble of the goldfields? Perhaps after all it is best not to press for a convincing scenario.

The capacity of the strong and pure woman to inspire a man to nobler endeavour is at the centre of this story. Not only does Dick Johnson wish to reform after his encounter with her, but Minnie can inspire a lynch mob to forget their righteous anger and their contempt for the criminal and allow her and her man to ride out of their lives and into the future. This is of course both sentimental and melodramatic in the extreme.

Does it work?

First of all, it must be taken on its own terms. It is no good complaining that behaviour on the goldfields was far more rough and unpleasant than the opera indicates. And after all a lynching almost occurs, and Johnson is roughly manhandled by the crowd prior to Minnie’s arrival (or at least he was in this production, kicked and shoved and still suffering from the gunshot wound sustained in the second act). The picture of mid nineteenth-century frontier life may well be romanticised in comparison with (for example) Eleanor Cotton’s recent novel ‘The Luminaries’; but so be it.

Second, the music is powerful in the Puccini style. The first act vignettes, which would be irrelevant distractions in a tightly plotted piece, are handled with the mastery typical of the crowd scenes in ‘La Boheme’, to give only the most famous example. The lyrical music for Johnson and Minnie is affecting, overriding the nagging doubt about the plausibility of their situation. (Here it might as well be pointed out that it provides the inspiration for one of Andrew Lloyd Webber’s great tunes in ‘Phantom of the Opera’ – one of those leading to the numerous accusations of plagiarism on his part.)

Finally, in the ENO production, the attention to detail, whereby Minnie’s personal appeals to the good nature of specific miners whom she has helped or succoured in the past are clearly made to specific individuals who respond each in his own way, goes a long way to showing how Minnie might succeed in her aim of saving Johnson’s life.

The production was set in an indeterminate but relatively modern time – the bar was lit by neon strips and there were light switches; but of course no telephones or other electronic equipment, and no motor cars. In the course of the opera these discrepancies hardly signified; and the setting further allowed the final scene before the sheriff’s office to look like an Edward Hopper painting – a long plain window giving a view of an austere interior.

The cast were excellent, with the crowd scenes well managed to make good use of the large Coliseum stage without appearing cluttered or chaotic. At the end, the departure into the sunset was managed by a clever reversal, in which the sheriff’s office, with all the miners standing on its steps, was moved towards the back of the stage, leaving Minnie and Johnson waving to them from centre stage before the final blackout.

‘Otello’ by Giuseppe Verdi (seen October 11)

The opera, set entirely on the island of Cyprus (omitting the opening Venetian scenes of Shakespeare’s play), took place in this production in an ingenious architectural space that could serve as the courtyard of a castle, one of its great halls, or any number of smaller rooms and passageways suitable for the unfolding of the drama – though it made for a rather large bedroom at the end. Changes of scene were indicated by altered lighting and by adjustments to some doorways and windows, which also served to ‘justify’ some of the angles at which the light struck the stage. This was all extremely effective, and gave a suitable sense of claustrophobia and oppression.

Stuart Skelton sang the part of Otello, gradually disintegrating into an insanely jealous wreck. He conveyed this development convincingly, once again taking the central part in an opera who is finally so totally at odds with his world that death is the only possible option. (He had sung Peter Grimes for ENO at the beginning of this year with extraordinary emotional power.)

The other singers were also excellent, making this a powerful production highlighting Verdi’s dramatic conception of the piece. But the intensity of ‘Othello’ – as for example in the National Theatre’s recent production with Adrian Lester and Rory Kinnear – is more satisfying and involving to me than this operatic version. I think that I appreciate Verdi but am not overwhelmed by him.

‘Xerxes’ by George Frederic Handel (seen October 3)

This production was first mounted in 1985, and so it one that I have seen twice before, though I had forgotten a number of features in it.

The guiding principle is that the action is set in a stylised version of Handel’s time, in which the characters are dressed as refined aristocrats, and they are supported by lackeys dressed entirely in black and with totally white heads, who move with stately deliberation to set up and dismantle deckchairs, provide refreshments, rope off areas of the stage, and so forth.

This highlights the mannered absurdity of some of the action and interaction, and obviates any need to pretend that the piece has anything serious to say about the historical Xerxes and his career. Just as well, since the events for which he is most famously known from the accounts of Herodotus are hardly touched on, except for the building and destruction of the bridge of boats across the Hellespont. This episode is inserted into the opera gratuitously in order to provide some spectacle, and because Xerxes without the boats would be like Cleopatra without the asp. In this production the device is also rendered absurd, and of a piece with the general setting, by having the bridge be nothing more than a model wheeled onstage by the lackeys, and then destroyed by the carelessness of the messenger reporting the devastations of the storm.

The opera contains – indeed almost begins with – the famous address by Xerxes to a tree, which remains one of the noblest arias Handel wrote (the so-called ‘Largo’). There are many other attractive arias, but a contrived plot and an extremely perfunctory ending in which Xerxes is forced to eat humble pie with respect to the princess that he ought to have been marrying all along.

The piece was well sung, but I wonder now why Xerxes is still sung by a woman, when counter tenors and even male sopranos exist who could doubtless sing the role. (Indeed there was an accomplished counter tenor singing the part of Arsamenes (Xerxes’ brother).

The scene in which the baritone servant Elviro is disguised as a female flower seller offering ‘her’ wares in an analogue of Vauxhall Gardens is comic in a pantomime way, but I thought it also rather vulgar amidst the general refinement of the production (granted that the refinement is itself being satirised). I have no recollection of this broad brush approach from previous viewings of this production, but as they were many years ago I could easily have forgotten the details.

I am also sure I have seen a Handel production in which many eighteenth century figures paraded in front of the half-raised curtain during the overture, together with some business of one of them being trapped on the ‘outside’ when the curtain descended – but it did not happen tonight, and so perhaps it was the production of either ‘Ariodante’ or ‘Alcina’.