The Coliseum
(sung
in English)
Wozzeck
– Leigh Melrose
Marie
– Sara Jakubiak
Captain
– Tom Randle
Doctor
– James Morris
Drum
Major – Bryan Register
Andres
– Adrian Dwyer
Margret
– Claire Presland
First
Apprentice – Andrew Greenan
Second
Apprentice – James Cleverton
Madman
– Peter van Hulle
Marie’s
Child – Harry Polden
Carrie
Cracknell (director)
Ann
Yee (choreography)
Tom
Scutt (set designs)
Oliver
Townsend, Naomi Wilkinson (costumes)
Jon
Clarke (lighting)
Chorus
of the English National Opera (chorus master: Martin Handley)
Orchestra
of the English National Opera
Edward
Gardner (conductor)
If
a production, and I include musical as well as staging elements here, has one
more strongly confirmed in one’s judgement that Wozzeck is not only the greatest opera of the twentieth century but
one of the greatest from any century, then it has accomplished its principal
goal admirably. The first night of ENO’s new production unquestionably achieved
that, reminding one yet again how paltry most operas, whenever they were
written, seem when placed anywhere near Berg’s shattering drama. Tears
certainly came to this reviewer’s eyes more than once during the third act,
only to be superseded by a numb sense of utter horror at the child’s future
prospects, or rather lack thereof, in the final scene as music and drama so
chillingly came to their celebrated halt: no conclusion, simply the most abject
desolation.
Carrie
Cracknell’s contemporary – to us – production may not encompass everything
suggested by Berg’s work, but most sensible people would agree that a single
interpretation need not; it is perfectly possible to concentrate upon certain
ideas, and to leave others for another time. There may be losses entailed in
that course of action – for me, the Doctor’s experiments sat somewhat oddly,
some might even say nonsensically, with the rest of the action – but there will
be gains too. We are in a barracks town, suffering from disorder both social
and, in Wozzeck’s own case, post-traumatic. The wretched vision – is it only
his? Or is it real? – of a coffin draped in the Union flag, its pallbearers,
and a soldier in action hammers home the point (some might say a little too
heavily, but I was won over). The squalor of Marie’s council flat tells its own
tale, as does the centrality, somehow greater than one generally senses, of the
tavern to this town’s horrible, hopeless life. Though not a barracks town, and
Aldershot or somewhere might have been a better example, something about the
portrayal suggested a certain, perhaps rather dated, view of a northern city
such as Hull.
The
odd thing about Wozzeck, set against such a backdrop, is that he seems less
ill, more philosopher. There is of course an element of that in the opera in
any case, but it is brought out more strongly here. Madness gives way to ‘Hamlet
in Hull’, who eventually resolves, with a greater degree of calculation than
one might expect, to kill Marie and then himself; we seem more to be in the
realm of EastEnders perhaps, as Marie’s
flat floods – there is no lake as such – and turns partly red. One also senses
more strongly than usual that this is one level the story of a crime,
explicable yes, but still a murder, one that led, of course, to a celebrated
trial. (The city museum in Leipzig to this day has a fascinating section of its
permanent exhibition on the original case as well as Büchner and Berg.) Violence
hits home too, whether that of Wozzeck’s crime, that of the Drum-Major’s vile
abuse of him, or that simply endemic to society both particular and general.
Designs
are properly ghastly, enhancing claustrophobia and the town’s desolate
tackiness. The former quality hits home all the more strongly given the
excellent decision to have all locations present on stage at once, sometimes
used and/or lit, sometimes not; there is no escape from what becomes very much
a community drama in the most negative sense. There is perhaps a sense that this was
conceived more as a piece of spoken theatre, or at least closer to that
tradition than might in principle be ideal, but on those terms, it works very
well, Richard Stokes’s exemplary translation contributing powerfully to the
drama, without drawing undue attention to itself.
I
was fascinated by Edward Gardner’s conducting of the score. Gardner’s method is
certainly not what I have become accustomed to, nor what I am ultimately likely
to favour, but the well-nigh neo-Classical bent imparted to Berg’s closed forms
brought revelations of its own. Rarely if ever can the inner workings, the ‘constructed’
quality, of Berg’s score have been lain so bare. The ENO Orchestra, a very few,
quite forgivable, slips aside, followed his direction admirably indeed. There
was certainly hyper-Romantic, expressionistic loss, especially earlier on, yet
the final Interlude retained most of its horrifying impact; at last, it seemed,
there was opportunity properly to cut loose. As an additional standpoint, quite
distinct from those offered by great interpreters such as Abbado, Boulez, Böhm,
and Barenboim,
this musical narrative of mechanisation briefly wrenched into human
subjectivity, if only in death, had me thinking in various ways not only about
the score but about the drama as a whole.
Leigh
Melrose made a wonderfully human hero, as starkly opposed to such mechanisation
as to the barbarity of his social conditions. The aforementioned ‘Hamlet’
quality of philosophising and indecision was at least as much his
accomplishment as the production’s, not quite so ‘intellectual’ as
Fischer-Dieskau’s controversial portrayal, but complex in a different and not
entirely unrelated fashon. Marie is a very difficult role to bring off
convincingly; ideally, one needs to be Waltraud Meier, but what to do if one is
not? Too much of the whore and not enough of the angel, or the other way
around? Sara Jakubiak managed the tricky balance very well, soaring moments of
radiance pitted against the grime of quotidian existence. Tom Randle was, as
usual, excellent beyond the call of duty as the Captain, he and James Morris as
the Doctor offering exemplary clarity of line and diction, as well as fully
inhabiting their flawed characters. (We should, of course, remember that their
flaws are in large part also to be attributed to the viciousness of society;
Wozzeck and Marie are not the only victims.) Bryan Register’s thuggish Drum
Major horrified in the best sense, whilst Adrian Dwyer and Clare Presland
offered finely-etched portrayals of the ‘other’, surviving couple, Andres
(perhaps his wheelchair proved a cliché too far?) and Margret. Presland’s
crazed, dramatically truthful moment in the tavern limelight proved a powerful
moment in its own right, presaging Wozzeck’s deeds yet also offering an
alternative. Peter van Hulle offered another example of truth in madness, the hallowed
tradition of the Fool cast in new light. Harry Polden – how one felt for him,
cowed under Marie’s kitchen table as she entertained the Drum Major in her
off-stage bedroom! – and the other children had us shiver, shudder, turn in righteous
anger against the wickedness of a society, our
society, which we know will perpetrate the same horrors upon them. Who cares?
Certainly not our political class; yet do we? Truly? Wir arme Leut’...
