Opera
Ariadne auf Naxos (Covent Garden)
Carry on Ariadne
Rodney Milnes
Among the many benefits of approaching senility is the ability to con- sign really unpleasant experiences to a dustbin of oblivion. The disadvantage is that when they rear up again, the shock of gory locks well and truly shaken is some- how redoubled. All I remembered about the Royal Opera's Ariadne was that I disliked it: I had quite forgotten the full extent of its grisly horror. That the man- agement should have seen it in Paris and then bought it was bad enough (1985 was also the summer of La donna del lago not a vintage year): to revive it seems an act of quite unpardonable sadism.
In case readers have forgotten, Jean- Louis Martinoty's production appears to be based on two premises. First, that Ariadne is a hideously boring opera, and secondly, that no one is going to under- stand a word of it anyway; therefore all the boring bits, like everything the Composer or Ariadne sings lasting more than a couple of bars, must be titivated with irrelevant business lest we all fall off our seats with boredom. I mean, we all know that 'Es gibt ein Reich' is an incredibly tedious aria, and that the way the Composer maunders on about what his opera means can only induce a state bordering on that of cata- tonia (where so many of dear Ivor's shows were set). But fear not: M. Martinoty is never at a loss for a ritzy routine or a quaint gag to take our minds off these regrettable lapses on the part of composer and librettist and make sure that we never risk falling back on actually listening to what is being sung and played. With a single-minded efficiency that in its ghastly way commands a certain admiration, he has contrived a production aimed with a marksman's skill at a musically and verb- ally illiterate audience. Whether or not the Covent Garden audience takes this as a compliment is a matter open to discussion. All I know is that I don't.
Not that this was musically one of the house's great evenings. It was sad that on his first return as a guest Sir Colin Davis should have been on uncharacteristically limp form: the piece moved at too leisurely a pace, studded with hugely artistic but largely self-defeating rubato, and ironically it was only in the trickiest section — the long final duet — that he started to come to grips with the score's structure and flow. Later performances, ohne mich, may go better. A glutinously slow tempo may have been the reason for Anna Tomowa-Sintow (Ariadne) having a nasty accident — at least I hope it was an accident — in Tin schemes war', when she took a breath in the middle of the second word. Never mind, no one understands these silly old words and we know they don't really matter, and anyway the miracle of surtitles means that the singers don't have to worry either. Thereafter Mme Sintow's broadly arched phrasing and sumptuous tone gave great pleasure.
Ann Murray's Composer would be a winner if it could be disassociated from the ceaseless mugging that breaks out all over the stage whenever the poor girl opens her mouth. As Bacchus, William Johns (house debut) revealed an impressive heroic tenor: if there were added to it a feeling for musical phrase he could be really useful. The evening belonged to Edita Gruberova: of all Zerbinettas she is the only one to make the music really funny, turning trills and arpeggios (each one perfectly voiced and in full tone) into sniggers and gurgles of great sophistication. Hers was a truly witty performance. She also bears a strik- ing resemblance to the immortal Joan Sims and this, together with Mme Sintow doing her Hattie Jacques in the Prologue, was the only vaguely engaging element in this Carry On Ariadne. Ten days ago news broke of the appoint- ment of Jeremy Isaacs as successor to Sir John Tooley at the ROH; as I write, Covent Garden is still uncertain as to whether it may or may not issue a state- ment on the subject later this week. Doubtless an administrator as tough as Mr Isaacs will turn his attention to this sort of thing when and if he arrives. I hope he does: he was one of two really good candidates for the job, and a strong-willed outsider with the will to tackle at root the problems facing an organisation that is seriously underfunded (it receives half the subsidy of the Paris Opera) is desperately needed. The poor man will now be being overwhelmed with advice; mine, apart from urging a general Martinoty-verbot, is that the single thing most urgently needed at Covent Garden is a new audience. One that will take this Ariadne lying down will take anything.
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