ARTS
Opera
Swings and roundabouts
Rodney Milnes
Doa Giovanni (Glyndebourne) Fidelio (Covent Garden)
Even though nine years old and much played both in Sussex and on tour, the Peter Hall/John Bury Giovanni remains a model production of a notoriously unstage- able opera. Others, notably Jonathan Mil- ler and Steven Pirnlott (twice already), have had a number of very interesting things to say about its unstageability, but HalltBury simply make it work.
The use of quasi-abstract costume de- signs to define character is quite brilliantly contrived (in which context perhaps the angle at which Anna wears her black hat in the first act this year needs reconsidering -- it should surely be about 20 degrees further forward) and the darksome sets both complement the action and are so cunningly designed as to ensure seamless forward motion (though the closing of the flats over the last bars of `Vedrai carino' was marginally mistimed on the first night). The state of Zerlina's stockings in the first finale (new this year?), Anna's neckline in 'Non mi dir' — all are design contributions of the most positive kind. And no other director, surely, has made such sense of the Anna/Ottavio relation- ship, made the opening scene quite so horrifying (having Anna lock the gate and thus guarantee her father's death is the most pitiless of glosses), or judged the Anna/Giovanni recognition scene so sug- gestively — in neat counterpoint, this, to the analogous Amelia/Boccanegra duet earlier in the season.
All this, mind you, in the context of a performance that could not be said to rank with the most memorable of the 75 given over the last nine years; as suggested above, there were one or two untidinesses. As there were musically, too, with Andrew Davis in the pit giving us bull-at-a-gate Mozart, fast, furious, unashamedly roman- tic from the sustained, scrunched Ds on the basses in the second bar of the overture onwards — these, scholars now tell us, are deeply unauthentic. This approach brought swings and roundabouts: ensemble was at times so rocky as to suggest that one or two of the tempos might have been slightly different at rehearsals (singers with eyes like saucers trying desperately hard not to look surprised is a phenomenon one comes to recognise over the years) but the full- toned, warmly articulated playing of the LPO gave consistent pleasure. As Sir George Christie has so wisely remarked, they have played a wide variety of music this season, from Monteverdi to Gershwin, with unfailing expertise, and remain one of the Festival's most bankable assets.
But it was all rather loud, which meant that the singers were too. It took a little time for Keith Lewis (Ottavio) to find his most honeyed voice, and Stephen Dupont (new as Masetto) sounded as if he were auditioning for Hagen. In general, the insinuation behind the vocal phrases failed to make its full effect in a full-frontal, bash-it-out vocal reading. Nothing but praise, though, for Carol Vaness's shatter- ing Anna and Felicity Lott's hugely sym- pathetic Elvira, the latter looking very striking in a dark wig: both threw off daunting coloratura with nonchalant ease. As at the Coliseum last year, Lesley Garrett made a minxish Zerlina (one who probably deserved to have her stockings interfered with) and sang very prettily indeed. Richard Van Allan's Leporello and Dimitri Kavrakos's Commendatore are known quantities, and wholly admir- able none the less.
Richard Stilwell, who sang the title-role whatever the Sunday Telegraph would have you believe (having capriciously dis- posed of one of the best music critics in Europe, they are going to be teased reg- ularly), has given many a dashing heroic performance at Glyndebourne and Covent Garden; here he was turned into a rather elderly roué, like one of those no-hopers in an Ayckbourn play as often as not played by Michael Gambon. Apart from one terrifying flash of temper with Masetto, there was little of the cold-blooded psycho- path originally envisaged by Hall. Don Giovanni's last stand, you felt. This, together with one or two other changes of emphasis, may be laid at the door of the revival director, Stephen Lawless, who, I am happy to be able to confirm, did not sing the title-role, though I am sure he could. The only thing I would change would be Giovanni's disgusting table man- ners; it is surely possible to be a rapist and a murderer yet still behave properly at the dinner table. But there is still no other Giovanni production I would rather see.
The last night of Fidelio, at which the promenaders gave Colin Davis a rousing send-off, was altogether a happier occasion than the first. Sir Colin's measured tempos and the magnificent orchestral playing gelled in a way that they failed to original- ly, and Elizabeth Connell found weight at the bottom of the voice to match her glorious top: she should be much in de- mand as Leonore. Andrei Serban's pro- duction is very nearly a signal success. Marzelline and Jacquino, opera-comique characters both, have to be funny, and they were in brilliant performances by Marie McLaughlin and Laurence Dale. The Gold aria (Gwynne Howell) was both funny and chilling. The essence of Fidelio is that it is about ordinary people in an extraordinary situation, and Mr Serban's orchestration of the gradual swamping of the former by the latter is very thoughtfully achieved.
It is only in the Leonore No. 3 overture, which shouldn't be there anyway, that things go wildly awry. I don't believe that some divine conflation of Stanislavsky, Reinhardt and Felsenstein could devise stage action worthy of that particular piece of music, and what was provided here was positively cringe-making. And even with- out first-night accidents, the stilt-walking, fairground finale is treading the knife edge of bathos. But at least Serban, a highly intelligent man of the theatre, has strived and so may be saved. I suspect that after a revival or two we shall all be looking back and wondering what the fuss was about.
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