ARTS
Opera
Yan Tan Tethera; Cosi fan tutte (Queen Elizabeth Hall)
Factory made
Rodney Milnes
The new performing space created in the Queen Elizabeth Hall is good enough news in itself: London has long needed a central, accessible arena for experimental work and indeed for those medium-scale operas that at present have no natural home in the capital, and if the South Bank Board's plans proceed smoothly, it could well be a good venue for more than just concert performances of traditional operas (Glyndebourne's Albert Herring has already been given there semi-staged). As it is, the space could hardly have enjoyed a more auspicious launching than that by Opera Factory London Sinfonietta under the aegis of Summerscope (ne South Bank Summer Music) with two stagings that seemed to me to achieve at long last what the Factory has been aiming at since it first hit London six years ago. I have not been notable for a wholeheartedly positive res- ponse to David Freeman's work in the past, but these shows are a total success: performances of both continue to the end of the month, and are urgently recom- mended.
The first question everyone asks when discussing the new Birtwistle, Yan Tan Tethera, is whether or not it is just a little bit too long. How long is a piece of music? Birtwistle, like Bruckner, works on his own time-scale, and like Bruckner he could well reply that his piece isn't too long, rather that the questioner is too short. The 90-minute span of Yan Tan Tethera has a cogent dramatic shape to it, and the music itself is very, very beautiful. You just have to be prepared to surrender to someone else's sense of time, and if you do that as a matter of course for Wagner, then why not for Birtwistle?
. Tony Harrison's clear and direct libretto Is drawn from a folk tale about a northern shepherd who travels south and arouses the jealousy of a local shepherd whose sheep are less productive and who sum- mons the devil to dispose of his rival. After seven years — really, we are let off lightly with 90 minutes — wrongs are righted. The title of the piece represents the first three digits of a northern numerology for sheep- counting as well as a Trinity-inspired spell for warding off evil. Good shepherd and bad shepherd have, of course, their own resonances to counter a dangerously ley- line-ish scenario, just as Birtwistle and Harrison are northerners who have travelled south — there may or may not be significance in moments in the score that echo Britten and Tippett, just as the libretto may or may not be a complex allegory about working at the National Theatre. The work is faultlessly directed by Mr Freeman on David Roger's set and ex- quisitely lit by Peter Mumford (sunlight striking through sarsen stones on butcher's grass): it looks like one's ideal setting for the opening of The Midsummer Marriage. Omar Ebrahim sings the leading role, with flat northern vowels perceptibly flattening his vibrato-less tone, and is strongly sup- ported by Helen Charnock (top Cs three a penny), Richard Suart and Philip Doghan. Even greater admiration must be reserved for the four children — this music is not easy — and the chorus, who sing through wonderfully expressive sheep masks and behave like, well, sheep. Elgar Howarth and the Sinfonietta recreate Birtwistle's sound-world with playing of much beauty. A fascinating 90 minutes.
How long is Cosi? A lifetime, apparent- ly, as one longs vainly for the passing of years to act as antidote to the poison it pours into our ears. It is not so much the emotional truths delivered by words and music — most adults can cope with them on the right day of the week — as the determined assault on trust, without which all human intercourse is impossible. It is the breakdown of trust between the pairs of friends/sisters rather than the partner- swapping element that strikes so lethally at the bed-rock of certainty. This is strongly implied in Mr Freeman's production, sung in an admirable, much-needed new transla- tion by Anne Ridler and set on an Italian beach of today. (The only problem with this up-dating is the precise identity of Despina — presumably one of those semi- servants who come with rented villas.) There are two surprising things — in Opera Factory terms, that is. First, the welcome absence of any attempt to `shock', which has disfigured too many of their offerings; maybe the 'herbal' cigarettes are a hangover of this, but I am assured that young people nowadays resort to such things when talking about Life and Love (in my day it was Merrydown cider). Secondly, it is very funny indeed. There are as many gags as in a John Copley production, and they are good gags. The first-act finale, a slow-motion grope-in, is one of the most brilliantly sustained pieces of comic direction I have seen for years. Despina's disguises, first as a Japanese lady acupuncturist with surgical stockings, then as a shabby, Umberto D-style lawyer, are spot on.
The gags continue well into the second act, until the stiletto of truth is eased effortlessly between ribs heaving with laughter. The world falls apart, and we are left with four hopelessly alienated human beings quite unable to cope. There is no re-pairing, whether with old or new part- ners. The men — and serve them jolly well right — are patently more shattered than the women, and the image in particular of Guglielmo's face, scarlet and crumpled with tears, will haunt me as long as I live.
The cast — Marie Angel, Christine Botes, Janis Kelly, Nigel Robson, Geof- frey Dolton, Tom McDonnell — is ideally homogeneous, and Paul Daniel ensures that musical and indeed vocal values are not skimped: the piece is never less than well sung, and very well played. Dear Lord, I loathe this opera as much as I love it, but if you can take it, then don't miss this production.
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