Royal Opera House, Covent Garden
Tamino – Charles Castronovo
Pamina – Ekaterina Siurina
Papageno – Christopher Maltman
Papagena – Susana Gaspar
Queen of the Night – Albina
Shagumuratova
Monostatos – Peter Hoare
Sarastro – Brindley Sherratt
First Lady – Anita Watson
Second Lady – Hanna Hipp
Third Lady – Gaynor Keeble
Speaker – Sebastian Holecek
First Priest – Harry Nicoll
Second Priest – Donald
Maxwell
First Armoured Man – David
Butt Philip
Second Armoured Man – Jihonn
Kim
First Boy – Archie Buchanan
Second Boy – Luciano Cusack
Third Boy – Filippo
Turkheimer
Sir David McVicar (director)
Leah Hausman (revival
director)
John Macfarlane (designs)
Paule Constable (lighting)
Leah Hausman (movement)
Royal Opera Chorus (chorus
master: Renato Balsadonna)
Orchestra of the Royal Opera
House
Julia Jones (conductor)
A shadow hung over this
performance of The Magic Flute, the
shadow being that of the late SirColin Davis. Yet at the same time, as Sir Antonio Pappano reminded us in a
touching introductory speech, this was an especially fitting memorial, for if
one wanted a sense of Sir Colin as a person, this was perhaps the work to which
one should listen. The last time around, in
2011, had not necessarily shown Davis to his greatest advantage, though a
variable cast shouldered much of the responsibility. But no one who heard Sir
Colin in 2006, whether in the theatre or on the much-loved DVD of this
production, is likely to forget so magical an experience.
It would have been an
invidious situation for any conductor. With the best will in the world, one
could not claim that Julia Jones proved a match for our pre-eminent Mozartian.
Nevertheless, tempi were generally well-chosen, if occasionally a touch on the
fast side. (Such things are relative; the provisional wing of the ‘authenticke’
movement would probably have had her knee-capped for Klemperer-like
backsliding.) There was fluency, but little in the way of Davis’s
twinkle-in-the-eye magic. Though the Orchestra of the Royal Opera House, a few slips
notwithstanding, played admirably on the whole, boasting a fullness tone that
might almost have been intended for Sir Colin himself, the brass, trumpets
especially, presented a significant fly in the ointment. Insensitive,
undifferentiated rasping and blaring worthy of the likes of René Jacobs or
Roger Norrington sounded entirely out of place in a generally cultivated
performance. Jones should certainly have had them blend better. Rather to my
surprise, the chorus, normally so dependable for its excellence, appeared to be
having some of an off-day too, oscillating a little too much between shouting
and the slightly lacklustre.
Charles Castronovo’s Tamino
marked a significant improvement upon his recent
Ferrando (under Davis). Style was more Mozartian, phrasing mellifluously
handled, without detriment to welcome vocal heft. If his German fell somewhat
short of perfec, that, sadly, was a failing common to most of the cast, with
the exception of Christopher Maltman’s winning Papageno, ever alert to pathos
as to humour, and to the pathos within the humour. Sir Colin would surely have
applauded. Ekaterina Siurina made a lovely Pamina, clean toned and touching.
Though Albina Shagimuratova’s first aria as the Queen of the Night was a little
uncertain, noticeably slowing down towards the end, there was still a great
deal to admire; her coloratura in the second aria came closer to what Mozart
wrote than one generally hears. It was certainly a pleasure to hear a
fuller-toned voice in the part. Brindley Sherratt’s Sarastro did the job
without offering anything especially memorable; his well-judged low notes were
perhaps an exception. Peter Hoare made an excellent Monostatos, more of a
character, less of a mere caricature, than we have come to expect. An
especially strong impression was made by the Three Ladies, more womanly than
one often hears, and all the better for it. If only, here as elsewhere, more
work had been done on the German, and not only in the dialogue, whose difficult
racism – at least to our ears – had been excised, if not necessarily with sufficient
care for continuity.
Sir David McVicar’s
production had looked rather tired in 2011. I am pleased to report that it
seemed to have gained something of a new lease of life under Leah Hausman. The sense
of interplay between the timeless and the eighteenth century remains
impressive, doing much to impart that sense of wonder lacking on this occasion
from the orchestral contribution. The final scene still seems a miscalculation,
an almost blinding light rolled on like a huge cheese; there is more to the
Enlightenment, let alone to the stranger reaches of Rosicrucianism, than that.
Revival of this production, however, remained a happy coincidence in the light
of Sir Colin’s passing.
