Friday 14 June, 2013

Deborah Warner’s production of Britten’s Death in Venice was in many ways an obvious choice for the Britten centenary. Not only is it a remarkably fine and moving performance in its own right but the work encapsulates so many of the concerns which troubled Britten throughout his composing career.

The misty, dissolving settings by Tom Pye and the charged atmospheric lighting of Jean Kalman are an essential part of the production, the black screens and voids reminding us constantly of the presence of death even when the distant vista is stunningly luminous.

Within this dark world, John Graham-Hall’s Aschenbach is ever present, his tortured body gradually decaying as the opera unfolds. From the very first moments we know there is no hope for him, but we follow him to his inevitable end. That we do so easily and sympathetically is a tribute not only to the exceptional quality of his characterisation but also to Britten’s writing which never sentimentalises. Andrew Shore brings the stream of baritone vignettes to life without exaggeration, and there is a fine Apollo from Tim Mead.

The young male dancers are superb throughout, with Kim Brandstrup’s choreography flowing effortlessly out of the stage movement. If Sam Zaldivar’s Tadzio seems rather older than the score implies this in no way undermines the emotional turmoil for Aschenbach.

Edward Gardner handles the score with limpid charm, and it was a tribute to the balance of voices and orchestra that the performance was given without sur-titles and without any lack of impact for the text. While welcoming sur-titles in most cases it was a pleasure here to concentrate fully on the stage action rather than the necessary distancing effect which glancing at sur-titles involves.

John Graham Hall has come a long way since Albert Herring, and is surely now one of the finest interpreters of Britten alive today. BH

Birmingham Hippodrome, 12 June 2013

Jonathan Harvey’s death at the end of last year robbed us of a very distinctive voice among modern composers. While Wagner Dream was never intended as a valedictory piece, it encapsulates so much of the composer’s technical exploration as well as his remarkable ability to engage the listener on a first hearing that it is certainly a fitting tribute to his memory. It is only a pity that the WNO production has received so few performances given its potential appeal and intellectual strength.

The work centres on the death of Wagner in Venice, obsessed by the thought of his unfinished project of thirty years based on the story of Pakati and Ananda, his Buddhist Opera. The structure which Harvey creates is remarkable in itself. The Wagner family in Venice are played by actors who only speak. The characters in the Pakati opera only sing. Wagner himself and Vairochana are the only ones who are able to move between the two worlds. Where singspiel has never really worked in the theatre, and compositions like Fidelio or Die Zauberflote always cause problems in production, Harvey’s solution is unique and remarkably effective. The orchestra is frequently playing beneath the actors’ lines, moving in dramatic intensity without ever swamping them. It is one of the great strengths of the work that everything is remarkably clear, both in texture and musical line. Added to this is Harvey’s use of electronic and recorded sound which allows him to move sound around the building and to bring complete control to the impact upon the audience. There is a wonderful moment early on in the evening when Wagner is speaking and we can hear a singer and piano, somewhere, ghostly, in the background. Similarly the choral music often floats around and behind us. Where Wagner in Parsifal could only place singers off-stage or above the stage, Harvey can place sound anywhere in the auditorium and allow it to move at will. The effect, towards the end of the evening is both beautiful and spiritually uplifting. Where musical theatre has a poor reputation for over-amplification, this was a text book example of how subtle electronic support can be and how effective in production.

The score itself never seeks to beat the audience into submission, as so many modern scores, creating many moments of real beauty and intimacy. The scenes between Pakati and Ananda (Claire Booth and Robin Tritschler) are moving in their gentleness and sensitivity towards each other. However, when he needs to impress, Harvey is able to summon real power and nobility from his small on-stage orchestra. Much of the success lies at the feet of Nicholas Collon whose conducting goes from strength to strength, bringing out nuances in the score which could easily be missed on a first hearing.

There was, of course, no real prospect of Wagner ever finishing his Buddhist Opera, but what we have here is an understanding of the way the composer’s philosophy was moving towards the end of his life, and a fascinating insight into alternative views of Parsifal. Seen in the light of Pakati, Kundry becomes much clearer in her evolving relationship with Parsifal, and the mixing of Buddhist and Christian mythology makes more sense. If only for this, we should be grateful that Jonathan Harvey’s opera helps us emotionally and spiritually to enter into that complex world of religious myth at a time when psychology is just beginning to establish itself.

The work has already been recorded on CD. It would be good to think that it might also be captured on DVD. It certainly deserves a much wider audience. BH