The Coliseum
Marcello – Richard Burkhard
Rodlofo – Gwyn Hughes Jones
Colline – Andrew Craig Brown
Schaunard – Duncan Rock
Benoit, Alcindoro – Simon Butteriss
Mimì – Kate Valentine
Parpignol – Philip Daggett
Musetta – Angel Blue
Policeman – Paul Sheehan
Foreman – Andrew Tinkler
Jonathan Miller (director)
Natascha Metherell (revival
director)
Isabella Bywater (designs)
Jean Kalman, Kevin Sleep
(lighting). Chorus of the English National Opera (chorus master: Genevieve
Ellis)
Orchestra of the English
National Opera
Oleg Caetani (conductor)
This second revival of
Jonathan Miller’s La bohème was the
first time I had caught the production. Miller has often been over-praised,
particularly by those ‘of a certain age’, apparently unaware or unwilling to
accept that the world has moved on from the 1960s of their youth; indeed,
Miller’s Royal
Opera Così fan tutte is not
simply bad, but one of the most objectionable stagings I have seen of anything.
This Bohème, whilst hardly
groundbreaking, does its job reasonably enough. For some reason, the action is
updated to the Paris of the 1930s. Beyond imparting a certain cinematic quality
– though not necessarily nearly so much as Miller and his designer, Isabella
Bywater seem to think it does – it is not clear what is gained, but nor for
that matter is a great deal lost. An individual’s fondness for the photography
of George Brassaï does not in itself seem to me justification for a production,
but anyway... The characters are for well directed on stage, for which revival
director, Natascha Metherell should doubtless receive much of the credit. (Both
Metherell and Miller appeared on stage to take a bow.) Occasionally, I wondered
whether the action were a little too prey to domestification of the wrong way;
the meeting between Rodolfo and Mimì is decidedly low-key, more akin to a neighbourhood
watch meeting than an ignition of passion. However, the selfishness of ‘Bohemian’
youth comes across at least as strongly as I can recall upon other occasions:
are not these boys to some extent playing at poverty, whilst Mimì’s suffering
is the real thing?
Described in the publicity
blurb as a ‘cast of young British talent’, that is for the most part what it
is. I have little patience with those who castigate ENO – or Covent Garden, for
that matter – for ‘failing to promote British artists’. The arts world has, let
us be grateful, yet to capitulate to the insidious yet hysterical nationalism pervading much of our political class and media. What we want are singers, artists in
general, who are good, and preferably more than that. With the exception of
Gwyn Hughes Jones, we did pretty well. Though his Rodolfo improved somewhat
during the third and fourth acts, and was not without sensitivity, there was
too much that was simply crude, almost an allegedly ‘Italianate’ parody, or
strangely faceless. The vacuum extended to stage presence too; it would have
been well-nigh impossible to believe in him as a Romantic lead. Kate Valentine’s
Mimì, on the other hand, was a credit to her and to ENO. Nobility of spirit was
allied to sterling, necessary musical values of phrasing and tonal variegation.
It was a delight to make the acquaintance of the charismatic American singer, the
splendidly named Angel Blue (an exception in terms of nationality, but
certainly not quality). She sang as well as she acted, holding the stage
without effort, imparting both ‘artistic’ superiority to Musetta as singer and,
increasingly, warm humanity to her as woman. Richard Burkhard’s Marcello
impressed too, as did the excellently sung – and acted – Colline of Andrew
Craig Brown and Schaunard of Duncan Rock. It was a pity that Simon Butteriss
over-acted – ‘silly voice’ rather than expression of the text through singing –
in the role of Benoit; maybe he was doing so under orders. A greater pity was
the banality of Amanda Holden’s translation; making Puccini sound satisfactory
in English is not the easiest of tasks, but too often, a tin ear revealed
itself in the straightforward incompatibility of words and vocal line.
Oleg Caetani made a very
welcome return to the Coliseum. His direction of the ENO Orchestra was
splendid, rich in tone – sometimes, a little more, alla Daniele Gatti, would have been appreciated there, but then
Gatti, last summer, had the Vienna Philharmonic – but above all, dramatically alert.
Temptations to linger, to sentimentalise, were eschewed, without draining the
drama of its lifeblood. Wagnerisms – I noticed some especially Tristan-esque progressions – and modernisms
were not necessarily underlined, yet, given Caetani’s ear for balance and line,
caught one’s ear nevertheless. I should love one day to hear a properly
modernistic Bohème – or Tosca. This was not it, but refusal to
play to the gallery, and underlining of solid, yet certainly not stolid,
musical virtues proved a great relief for a work in which superficial gloss can
all too readily hold sway. Choral singing and direction of the chorus also proved
estimable throughout.
