Tuesday 9 October 2012

One crazy day



Referring, of course, to the action packed world of Mozart’s Le nozze di Figaro, currently running at Glyndebourne in a very classy touring version of Michael Grandage’s production, rather than the Study Day before it, masterminded by Sarah Lenton with a pair of excellent actors (Anna Brecon and Marcus Hutton) to take on multiple roles and in which I played my part as the morning's musical guide. In the afternoon's session, singers who will take over the roles of Susanna and Figaro later in the tour, Ellie Laugharne and Derek Welton, were joined by Marcellina Jean Rigby for a guided tour around some of the treasures.

Preparing to condense the joys of Figaro into one hour (!) only made me fall head over heels in love again with this most flawless of all musical comedies – though I wasn’t expecting so much from the Grandage show as revived by Ian Rutherford; production photos suggested a facile disjunction between the late 60s costumes and the crumbling elegance of a Moorish palace (fabulously designed by Christopher Oram and often evocatively lit by Paule Constable).

While I’m not convinced that the chosen era and its fashions went much beyond the decorative, I did suspend my disbelief at the whole shifting of the class boundaries from social to financial – ‘l’argent fait tout’, as Marcellina sings, in this bohemian world – and thought the evocation of the time added mostly a sense of fun. Jiving and twisting lent a groovy weirdness to the behaviour of Bartolo (Andrew Slater, most amusing) as well as a delightful exuberance to the wedding fandango. Floppy hats made the ladies’ disguises in Act Four more plausible than usual, despite the difference in their heights. And a terrific wig + Zapata moustache + funky flares + flowery shirts + a nice array of waistcoats dolled up the Count to make him a mixture of sexiness and absurdity.


American John Moore, who plays Almaviva until the tour shifts base, couldn’t have been better: an assured actor, reining in any caricatural aspect by striking a fine balance between preening and insecurity, and as a singer of impressive control never overdoing or forcing the big vengeance aria in Act Three. Which was where, in this musically brilliant and up until then pacy Figaro, we finally took a breather and allowed the aristocratic characters their display.


Layla Claire’s Countess, drifting around in floaty dresses and platform shoes, was more than equal to hers, drawing on luscious resources of colour and ornamental prowess so that you felt she could do anything in ‘Dove sono’: likewise, a finer Rosina I’ve not seen on stage (though Dorothea Röschmann at the Royal Opera was wonderful on a bigger scale; but Glyndebourne's is really the ideal for this work - no need to test the singers' projection any further).


Joélle Harvey, a petite Susanna with excellent eyes for comedy, followed the distinction of Claire's set piece with a heavenly Act Four serenade. Taking the Study Day folk through it, I’d mixed and matched Reri Grist (regal for very slow Klemperer), Barbara Bonney and Lucia Popp, but Harvey had her own subtle charms to rival them all, including a last-minute gem of gorgeous ornamentation. Only the Figaro pictured with her above, Guido Loconsolo, fell behind the other three principals – and behind conductor Jonathan Cohen’s vigilant beat; the only times in the whole evening where energy levels dropped were in his ‘Non piu andrai’ and ‘Aprite un po’ quegli occhi’. I must say I didn’t mind the Marcellina and Basilio arias being cut from Act Four; to have heard them would have marred what felt like structural perfection. And, as we'd discussed earlier, it makes you realise all the more how Mozart and Da Ponte raise the servants to the level of their masters when their arias stand in similar relief.

Cohen did a superlative job of making the numbers flow so that the first two acts dazzled with their action: fast tempi, very often, but with plenty of breathing expression from strings and wind. And the deftness of the Overture was well worth keeping down the curtain for (in the main season, the Count and Countess drove up to Aguas Frescas in a sports car - not a touring option, if you see what I mean, and the revolve which revealed the different rooms of the palace had to go, too. Optional-opulent extras both, I'm guessing).

So much depends, in comic terms, on the right pace from the conductor: I got goosebumps of sheer pleasure when the music slowed to reveal Cherubino hiding, or Susanna stepping mock-innocently out of the closet. The recits were delivered with gilding style from fortepiano continuo player Ashok Gupta, and such quick-witted meaning from the singers that you’d have thought all the members of the cast were native Italian speakers (whom to credit most? Grandage? Rutherford? The conductor? The language coach?)


Kathryn Rudge may not have been quite the most quicksilver of Cherubinos, but Cohen got such a spring from the furtive ecstasy of pizzicato strings lining ‘Voi che sapete’ that the spirit of delight steered us happily through. The superhuman happiness of the great Sextet and the Countess’s pardon rose to the heights, too. Not much more to ask, then (except a stronger Figaro); and if the production found no novel ways of expressing the ensemble oppositions and the comic twists, then we were fairly comfortable with that since the singers all seemed happy in their characters’ skins.


Glyndebourne rehearsal standards had clearly wrought the usual high-level results. The work's the thing, and thanks especially to Cohen, his Count, Countess and Susanna, we all came out reeling afresh at Mozart’s comic genius.


As for Glyndebourne, it was looking especially enchanting on a sunny Sunday morning, when I arrived for the soundchecks: dew on the lawns and mist on the fields. Something of that brilliance had faded by the time I took these pictures in the late afternoon, but the essence of the early autumn mood down by the lake remains.


All production photos by Bill Cooper for Glyndebourne

18 comments:

Susan Scheid said...

Lovely, lovely. Your Diplo-mate advised the Edu-mate and me that we must get to Glyndebourne, and I do hope one day we will, though it must wait at the very least until the Edu-Mate retires, for while she is still gainfully employed, October is out of reach. Meanwhile, I enjoyed your account, and only wish I could have joined in on your Study Day. Though I'm sure I would be the slowest-witted pupil among the group, I know I would enjoy learning what I could.

David said...

The main season DOES coincide with the summer hols, though some of us find the dressing up less fun than others. It's one of the pleasures of the tour when it starts at the home base that casual wear is fine. And standards, as in this case, cam be every bit as high.

Anne said...

I was there and just wanted to say how much you brought to my enjoyment of the performance, which was excellent as you say.

David Damant said...

I cannot understand how one can see into the class differences of the 18th century if the dress is modern. The enormous difference between the count and his servants is lost, as is the way in which Figaro steers the revolt against such a difference. Also Almaviva was a very great aristocrat - he was to be ambassador to England. John Gielgud said that young men could not play princes anymore - and nor can those around him respond with the right body language ( think what you would do if the Queen, or Obama, suddenly came into the room. In Dido at the ROH Aeneas walked on to the stage as though he was just another singer). But at least if the period is right one might understand the droit du seigneur and the relevance of its abandonment.
But anyway there is no hope. People go to great operas to enjoy themselves, not to become better people. How can anyone applaud dove sono? What a pretty song?
As for casual dress, that would be fine if the casual dress were elegant - colour co-ordinated, and pressed etc. Most of the time no-dress-code means scruffy. The audience for Shostakovich takes my prize for ugliness. If that is how people feel comfortable, one can only weep

David said...

Anne - so glad you enjoyed both.

David - the answer is that a new set of values here loosely replaced the old, ie not-so-free love and the Count, rather than Figaro, being something of the rebel. I don't think one should underrated the entertainment value when raised to as high a performing level as this. Has there ever been a time when 'Dove sono' hasn't been applauded? One wants to cheer the Countess's resolve in the final section as well as how brilliantly - in this case exceptionally so - the singer carries it off. Whereas 'Porgi amor', which ends as well as begins in beautiful resignation, should glide straight into the recit, as it did here.

I assume your dig at audience dress is a reaction to the Coli's 'come as you like' policy, which is no big deal; by and large ENO audiences don't dress up, and nor does half the Royal Opera set. I'd just like to see a bit more colour in the costuming.

David Damant said...

Well of course it is the performance (= the music and the singing, and the interaction of the singers) which counts. My kit for the opera houses is dark glasses so that one has a general idea of the movement on the stage without having to see the production ( missing the Gesamtkunst I know), and a jockey cap with a large peak so as not to see the sur-titles ( fancy having them at the ENO when the operas are in English !! The plot is only the skeleton ) O dear.

Great works of art ( novels and plays, as well as operas)are not stories - they are windows into the human predicament. With a tragedy one has one's emotions purged with pity and terror, and can achieve a catharsis, as Aristotle said. On one occasion my Chairman's wife asked if I enjoyed Electra. Probably my reply explains why I was not promoted

My comment on dress was that it is ok to dress down but not to look scruffy. As so many do and I suppose they go around like that. One of the joys of going to Italy is the elegance with which people dress, men and women

David said...

With a tragedy, absolutely. With a comedy, one has one's emotions purged by laughter, understands the characters as real human beings and is occasionally touched by deeper, maybe more disturbing feelings. All of which happened here, so it worked pretty well - much better than I thought it would from the basic premise. I also meant to add that the Count truly dominated proceedings, so he was decidedly a princely force even if occasionally ridiculous.

David Damant said...

Your rather brilliant addition to Aristotle - to include comedy - might be taken further. Comedy may through ( as you say) laughter and somethings deeper may act like the glass that clears the heart of past regret and future fears ( Omar Khayyam through Fitzgerald) And one comes out happier and a better person

Laurent said...

Indeed Glyndebourne is a special place so happy to see it continuing. We enjoyed dressing up, it lends a special magic to the day. Maybe one day we will return to this wonderful place.

wanderer said...

David, the photos look as delicious as it all sounds and again, how lucky they are to have you.

I'm confess I'm a bit of a dresser-upper when some tradition is to be upheld and this is probably the down-under thing overly trying not to be too down-under. I have to say I have never felt so overdressed anywhere ever as when I last went to the Barbican!

Willym said...

Can there be anything more perfect than Nozze? It has can bring you to laughter one moment and tears the next. I am entirely convinced that if our sins are forgiven us it will be to the "Contessa perdona".

Again you fill me with envy that I was not there to share the magic of Glyndebourne, the music and your contribution to the Study Day.

As a sidebar - I haven't quite figured out why but I'm not getting notification of your posts. I should try and set up the RSS again.

David said...

Laurent and wanderer - my reluctance to dress up for the main Glyndebourne season stems from too many heatwavy summer days when struggling with DJ and hamper on train and coach proved sweaty work. Could I have worn a nice floaty dress, I'd have been much happier...

Willym - I agree, it's perfection (though only without the two 'extra' arias, fine in themselves, that overburden Act 4). I like the idea of universal pardon - at Glyndebourne the tutti expression of that last heavenly moment felt like a sacred mass.

David Damant said...

I wonder, dear David, whether you are like me, and actually want to go to the opera, and not to a picnic etc. After two or three visits I filtered out the ( admittedly beautiful) frame entirely. But many people like the Gesamtkunst, so yet again I may be inhuman, though I speculate how far those attending go to enjoy themselves rather than learn from great works of art

David said...

Well, I dearly love the Glyndebourne gardens and lake(s) - and when the opera in question is The Cunning Little Vixen or Rusalka, they become part of the Gesamtkunstwerk. But I'm happiest enjoying them when I feel relaxed - which is to say reasonably smartly but not formally dressed - as in final rehearsals or on the home-base leg of the tour.

wanderer said...

David, I envy the way the Indian men dress, and that freedom denied us. Western male dress is unfathomably ludicrous.

By the way, there was one man in drag at the Munich Ring and several in Bayreuth, though not of the loose flimsy kind. Only in Germany.

David Damant said...

There are some men in England who dress in Indian clothes without seeming affected - one of them is in addition a Knight of the Garter

David said...

Our mutual friend Eben looks splendid in his Nehru jacket, which I admit is a touch more formal than the Indian wear wanderer has in mind. I've never had the nerve to sport my shalvar kemise, quickly run up in Peshawar, outside the house.

David Damant said...

The Knight of the Garter I referred to is the owner and inspiration of Grange Opera, and he can appear in his Indian kit.

I do not see why more men should not wear Indian attire, as many women ( not originating from the sub-Continent) quite frequently do.