Opera
Billy Budd (Welsh National Opera)
Three men in a boat
Michael Tanner
In a performance and production as magnificent as this new one in Cardiff, unveiled on St Valentine's Day, Billy Budd seems to be quite Britten's strongest opera. Neil Armfield, the Australian producer, devoted himself entirely to focusing on the crucial dramatic points, without a single conceit or, so far as I noticed, irrelevant bit of business. He was working with the right set designer, too. Brian Thomson has worked with a set reminiscent of some pro- ductions of Der fliegende Hollander of the 1970s: a large rectangular platform which moved in all conceivable ways, and some- times had ramps placed against it. The cho- rus, when not participating in the action much, tends to stand round it on the stage floor; otherwise they get on it too. With a few chairs it serves all purposes. There is the usual surrounding gloom, sometimes intensifying into fog. With correct period costumes, the atmosphere of the piece is exactly created.
What the producer didn't do, perhaps because it can't be done, was to clarify rela- tions between the participants in what is a triangle of sorts. He has Claggart fairly obviously in love with, or at any rate pow- erfully attracted to, Billy. The latter's red kerchief is got hold of by Claggart, and in his embarrassingly explicit monologue about light and darkness he presses it to his groin and his lips. Later on Vere obtains it, and so the suggestion — astounding that it could ever have been left unmentioned that he too loves Billy for more than his moral grace is registered without being stressed. What is left unclear, and not in a fruitful way, is to what extent Britten and his characters are taking it that beauty is, as Kant thought, a symbol of virtue. The obscurity goes back to Melville's tale, which I find unconvincing. Maybe its vagueness was what appealed to Britten, thought not, we gather, to Forster, who wanted lo rescue Vere from Melville'. But if there is to be a drama, Vere is unres- cuable. A tale in which Vere decided that Billy was justified in striking Claggart, as of course he was, would be of no interest. But the tale we have, made over into musical drama, is only interesting because some- thing wrong is done, even though we don't understand why.
I find no difficulty in the character of Claggart, realised with wonderful musical economy, and some telling dramatic strokes. In Cardiff, his vileness is the more vivid in that Phillip Ens has a superb voice and is young and striking in appearance. His ugliness comes entirely from within, and there is no mystery about it. The most irritating thing about the opera, and the writing it gives rise to, is that people will go on about the mystery of good and evil, as if there is something that needs to be explained. Wagner surely cleared the mat- ter up once and for all in Alberich and Klingsor: evil often proceeds from the impotent envy of those who are unappeal- ing, and know that they are, and find the sight of the beautiful both irresistible and intolerable. Is that so hard to understand? Shakespeare knew it too, and put it into lago's mouth, pithily: `He has a daily beau- ty in his life that makes mine ugly.' So much for motiveless malignity. So much, too, for waffle of Claggart's kind when he explains himself to us.
No problems about Billy, either. Good nature and good looks do sometimes go together, though beautiful people naturally tend to get spoiled. Britten finds an idiom of innocence for him which may be the most moving thing he accomplished, at any rate in that familiar line. If this Welsh National Opera production is to be criti- cised, it is for not having a more plausible Billy. Christopher Maltman is a friendly- looking chap, much like the ENO's Nemorino, a rather similar character. They both need to be at least moderately attrac- tive to command our attention, and though Maltman acts with engaging ingenuous- ness, and sings some of the music very beautifully, he has no charisma. And, like most of the crew of this Indomitable, he has what is nowadays called a weight problem.
What, or rather whom, we are asked to be interested in, though, is Captain Vere, `starry Vere', for no clear reason. He is bookish for a Royal Navy man, seems to spend a lot of time thinking to no particu- lar purpose, and when it comes to action is obeyed merely on account of his position: nothing in his character, as portrayed in the text or music, gives him any force of per- sonality. Yet he sets the opera in motion, and his 'redemption' seems to be its sub- ject. The role was to have been taken by Robert Tear, but at a late stage he was compelled to withdraw through illness, and Nigel Robson took over. A challenging article by Tear survives in the programme book, however, in which he says he finds the subject matter of Britten's operas a 'tri- fle tedious'. Robson is superb, as he has been in everything he has done lately. He appears at the beginning and end as a bro- ken man, unconvincingly telling us that Billy 'has saved me, and blessed me'. But what are the theological underpinnings of this claim? They are wholly unspecified, so that what we are left with — and the Welsh production shows it to be a great deal — is an opera whose appeal is really in its orchestral and choral glamour — Tear's word. Everything that relates to surfaces in the music is wonderfully realised; Britten may be the best composer of all for sug- gesting or accompanying physical action. And that may be why this scintillating score so often reminded me of the best film music of the period. When he attempts to illuminate psychological depths, however, all he can manage is routine gesturing. Yet, conducted as this was by Andrew Litton, and sung so forcefully by the chorus, who would want to forego this exciting score, just because there is nothing at the centre?
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