Silk Street Theatre, Guildhall
Ibn-Hakia (Joseph Padfield), Iolanta (Elizabeth Skinner), and King René (David Ireland) Images: Clive Barda |
Mavra
Parasha – Anna SiderisVassili – Dominick Felix
Mother – Jade Moffat
Neighbour – Bianca Andrew
Iolanta
Iolanta – Elizabeth SkinnerKing René – David Ireland
Marta – Jade Moffat
Brigitta – Marho Arsane
Laura – Chloë Treharne
Bertrand – Bertie Watson
Alméric – Eduard Mas Bacardit
Ibn-Hakia – Joseph Padfield
Vaudémont – John Findon
Robert – Daniel Shelvey
Kelly Robinson (director)
Bridget Kimak (designs)Declan Randall (lighting)
K. Yoland (video designs)
Chorus and Orchestra of the Guildhall School of Music and Drama
Dominic Wheeler (conductor)
The Guildhall has shown typical
enterprise in programming: two very rarely staged one-act operas in an
intriguing double-bill. As I never tire of pointing out, much of the best
London opera is to be found in our conservatoires. This term, we have already
had an outstanding Royal Academy Alcina;
later this month, we shall hear La finta
giardiniera at the Royal College.
Any mild disappointment here was
occasioned only by Stravinsky’s Mavra
itself. I do not begrudge, indeed I wholeheartedly welcome, its staging.
Although the Philharmonia recently performed it, I was unable to attend, and I
have never previously had the opportunity. If there is a weaker work by the
composer in his maturity, I am delighted to say that I have forgotten it. (I
might dislike Orpheus, but I
recognise its craft. Even Jeu de cartes
has a good deal more going for it.) Describing it, as a short buffa work at the cusp of his Ballet
russes and neo-Classical tendencies, makes it sound more interesting than it
is. It does not overstay its welcome, perhaps, being so short, but the motoric
elements here really do sound as if the composer is on auto-pilot. At best, one
might find a passing correspondence with L’Histoire
du soldat, even Petrushka, but it
is trivial stuff really, with a trivial story, concerning a pair of lovers who
trick the girl’s mother into accepting her hussar into the house as a new
domestic servant.
Here, it was given, as the composer
preferred, in the vernacular. Vocal performances were all spirited, well
attuned to the trickiness – here, somewhat pointless trickiness, I tend to
think – of Stravinsky’s writing. Anna Sideris and Dominick Felix proved agile
of voice and on their feet. Jade Moffat and Bianca Andrew offered fine ‘character’
support as Mother and Neighbour. Solo and ensemble demands were navigated
readily, in lively combination to the considerable amount of stage action
required of them by Kelly Robinson’s updated (1960s?), production. Bridget
Kimak’s colourful designs engaged the eye, and if there was not a great deal to
the staging beyond what one saw, it is not clear that there could have been.
There were a few occasions on which orchestral rhythms and ensembles might have
been tighter still, but under Dominic Wheeler, the uneasy marriage of clockwork
and Russian colour in its last, equivocal hurrah generally came across well. I
shall leave the final word with Stravinsky, writing to his publisher in 1969,
imploring him to publish the work: ‘Of course the music is not and will never
be a success and there may be no demand or justification for printing it; and
if I say that worse music than Mavra is performed
you may say that better music is also not performed. Still, I would like to see
the work in print.’
Neighbour (Bianca Andrew) and Mother (Jade Moffat) |
Iolanta, by contrast,
has great music indeed, fully worthy, at its best, of the composer of Eugene Onegin. I noticed far less the
run-of-the-mill quality of some exchanges than I had in such exalted
surroundings as the Paris
Opéra earlier this year, which is surely tribute to impressive performances
indeed. There, in Dmitri Tcherniakov’s searching staging – somewhat slow-burn
in Iolanta itself, but cleverly
paving the way – the opera had been paired with The Nutcracker, as indeed had been the case at the latter’s
premiere in 1892. In a programme note, Robinson noted that both plots are – I should,
more cautiously say, might be considered – ‘variants of the Sleeping Beauty
fairy tale’. I wish, then, that the two stagings were more obviously connected,
drawing out connections rather than leaving it at that. That said, there was
much to admire in Iolanta in itself,
updated to a modern hospital ward, the princess awaiting her awakening under
the watchful – and not-so-watchful – eyes of her nurses and some
impressive-looking medical equipment. As in the opera itself, it is not
entirely clear to what extent, if any, the Moorish doctor, Ibn-Hakia, plies anything other than the
psychological tools of his trade, although an operation certainly takes place
here at the right time. Video projections and lighting work powerfully later
on, both to illustrate, simply yet unforgettably, the blinding first light and
the all-important presence of the eye. Iolanta’s? God’s? We seem free to
choose.
Vaudémont (John Findon) |
Most importantly, space is
permitted for an excellent cast to work Tchaikovsky’s wonders. The central pair
of lovers both proved impressive indeed. Elizabeth Skinner faltered on one
occasion, yet otherwise proved moving and generous of spirit. Her portrayal of
the princess’s blindness was unerring; no one could have failed to be on her
side. John Findon, as Vaudémont, was, quite simply, outstanding. His ardent tenor
was just the thing, rising thrillingly above the orchestra – remember how young
these singers are! – and yet capable of considerable subtlety. Their Russian,
like that of the rest of the cast, seemed to me excellent too: I certainly
managed to follow its meaning (without, alas, any real knowledge of the language)
when the surtitles failed. David Ireland’s King René was another generous,
keenly observed portrayal; there was no doubting his love for his daughter and
consequently his plight. All of the singers acted well as a company, listening
to each other and responding in kind. Eduard Mas Bacardit, Bertie Watson, and
Daniel Shelvey offered, to my ear, particularly fine performances, but there
was not a weak link in the cast.
Robert (Daniel Shelvey) |
I occasionally wondered whether
the orchestra might be too small, but it rose to the occasion at the great
climaxes, showing instead that Wheeler, ever attentive to the score’s ebb and
flow, had been keeping it down, emphasising, perfectly reasonably, chamber
tendencies, or at least possibilities, within.