Opera
Twice Through the Heart; From the House of the Dead (English National Opera) Cosi fan tutte (Opera North)
Inspired coupling
Michael Tanner
ark-Anthony Turnage's Twice Through the Heart is a matter for relieved gratitude: a contemporary opera lasting just over half an hour, in an idiom that is uncompromising but accessible, and per- formed by Susan Bickley and 16 orchestral players under Nicholas Kok with conviction and intensity.
Bickley manages the awkward vocal writ- ing with such aplomb that one takes it to be wholly the expression of the distraught unwilling murderess, who relives her suffer- ings and their outcome until she is awarded
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a surprisingly gentle ending, almost lulling in its effect. The brief silence which fol- lowed did seem to be eloquent of the audi- ence's response, a recognition that this piece adds something to the repertoire, and is not merely the ENO being conscientious in promoting new work. There are limita- tions in Jackie Kay's poems about having to kill a brutal husband, but what comes across is more the general drift than the details, and one concentrates wholly on the subject, registering the orchestral details only as bringing it into clearer focus.
It was not only moving in itself, but an inspired choice as a coupling for Janacek's From the House of the Dead, which can cer- tainly stand alone, but isn't so exhausting that it has to. The production strikes me as somewhat less effective than the very famil- iar and ever-admirable WNO one, which wears its 14 years lightly, and is one of the most striking and in all respects illuminat- ing productions of any opera I have seen. This new one, directed by Tim Albery and designed by Stewart Laing, is serviceable, not impeding the strange and perversely celebratory work, but not making any new points either.
It is updated in a routine way, taking place, perhaps, in one of Stalin's more humane camps, though that makes many of the words seem very odd, and the Act II pantomime, which is the best stretch of the production, more bizarre than it always is. The strength of the work is demonstrated by the powerful effect which each episode has, once — at least on the first night -- past the poorly executed Overture, the strings covering themselves with shame. Throughout, Paul Daniel, in another tri- umphant and highly individual realisation of a great score, stressed the work's links with the Sinfonietta, virtually turning it into a series of fanfares, which increase in jubilant strength as the incidents they illus- trate or accompany become more grue- some.
The paradox which is so blatantly at the heart of the opera, that within every human being there is a divine spark, though nearly every character manages to conceal that fact effortlessly, only the orchestra offering almost continuous enthusiastic support for it, is left in the air; but that is no one's fault but Janacek's. It is usual to congratulate him on his extreme resilience in the face of the moral squalor which he was magnetised by, but one might ask whether he really did think that however people behaved they still showed the immanence of God's pres- ence, and if so what we should do about the way we treat them. Paradoxes set to exultant music, indeed partly constituted by it, are no less vexatious than in any other context.
Another opera where fascinating ten- sions occur between the action and the music is notoriously Cosi fan tutte, Opera North's production of which I caught up with in Manchester. Lighting failure apart, this seemed to be, on the whole, another production which leaves the audience to do its own interpreting, which is as it should be.
As with the ENO's House, the teamwork of the cast was impressive. Mozart makes crueller demands on his singers than Janacek, of course, or virtually anyone else. These singers quite often didn't distinguish themselves, though I find that unworrying in Cosi because on the whole the most difficult arias are also the least rewarding, Fiordiligi's 'Come scoglio' being the most obvious example. The elements of parody and satire in Cosi — how one dreads Despina in disguise, even if she doesn't camp it up as usual — are all the more annoying because the depth of Mozart's devastating exposé of love is probably the most lethal thing, in its sensu- ously warm way, that any of the arts has to offer.
In this unpretentious but thoroughly intelligent production, all the points were made with a decorum almost to match Mozart's own. Perhaps because I haven't seen it for a long time, I found its elegant and poised sabotaging of our aspirations to fidelity quite dreadful, and crept out of the Palace Theatre wondering how Mozart could make Don Alfonso so detestable while going to such sublime lengths to show that his estimate of the human heart is dead on the mark.
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