Theatre Royal Brighton, 9 May 2013

We are used to site specific presentations but it is not often that a conception is so closely linked to a particular building and set of performers. In approaching Britten’s Canticles Neil Bartlett wanted to ensure that those developing the individual sections worked within the parameters of the bare stage at the Theatre Royal and only rehearsed on that stage, coming together with the musicians a few days before the first performance.This gives a frisson not only to the sense of immediacy but also to the high level of trust between the various components and their presenters.

At the heart of the creation is Ian Bostridge, singing as beautifully as ever but lending an astringency to the music which acts as a link throughout the five sections. He rarely leaves the centre of the stage and in many ways the world revolves around him.

Though the Canticles were written over a period of 27 years, their spirituality, more than anything else, is what unites them, and it is this heightened awareness which made the evening so satisfying.

The emotional out-pouring of love in My beloved is Mine is mirrored by dancers who combine the most banal of acts – sharing breakfast, getting dressed – with the pain of parting, and this flows easily into Abraham and Isaac where lovers become father and son, with the threat of imminent death coming between them. Ian Bostridge was joined by Iestyn Davies in a touching scene, the text carrying the weight of the action without any need for extraneous movement.

John Keane’s film for Still falls the rain was possibly the least successful idea as the extended video worked at a different rhythm to the music, setting up unexpected and often contradictory responses. Richard Watkins’ solo horn was sensitive and moving, drawing us back to the intensity of the music rather than the visual images.

Paule Constable approached The Journey of the Magi through the most subtle of lighting, suggesting constant transitions while the singers remained static. Given the unsettling nature of T S Eliot’s verse this was remarkably effective, and made an apt prelude to Wendy Houston’s direction of The Death of Saint Narcissus. Where Julius Drake had been ever-present at the central, and very dominant, piano so far, now he was gone with only the delicacy of Sally Pryce’s harp playing to compensate. The sense of a slow drift towards death was implied in every note and every step from Dan Watson’s shadow, twirling against the black vastness of the Theatre Royal’s stage. The falling curtain seemed like the final act in a crematorium, cutting us off from another world.

A festival performance in every sense of the word, and one which can be caught when it moves to Aldeburgh on 11 May and the Linbury Studio, Royal Opera House 10-12 July. BH