Other Links

Editorial Board

Google Site Search

SEEN AND HEARD OPERA REVIEW
 

Conductor: Carlo Rizzi
Directors: John Caird
Set Designer: Yannis Thavoris
Costume Designer: Emma Ryott
Lighting Designer: Paul Pyant

Cast:

Radamès: Dennis O’Neill
Ramfis: Andrew Gangestad
Amneris: Margaret Jane Wray
Aida: Zvetlina Vassileva
The King: David Soar
Messenger: Philip Lloyd Holtam
Voice of High Priestess: Meriel Andrew
High Priestess: Helen Greenaway
Amonasro: Philip Joll

Dancers: Ramón Diaz, Leroy Dias dos Santos, David Klooster, Jessye Parke, Antonio Tengroth, Jolice Truter, Pepe Ubera, Ruth Varley

Margaret Jane Wray as Amneris and Chorus

Next week at Tate Britain a new exhibition opens – ‘The Lure of the East: British Orientalist Painting’, featuring paintings by artists such as Lord Leighton, David Wilkie, John Frederick Lewis and others. Perhaps the Gallery could undertake some sort of joint-ticketing scheme whereby visitors to the exhibition could also go to a performance of this new production of Aida? I make the suggestion since it is very much a nineteenth-century vision of Egypt that gives visual form to John Caird’s production, expressed through the set by Yannis Thavoris and the costumes designed by Emma Ryott  Some of the orientalist painters produced meticulously observed representations of landscapes, buildings and people; for many more the East provided a canvas (sometimes literally) for the expression of dreams of the exotic, for an extravagance of imaginative invention, the creation of a realm that was decidedly ‘other’, that had never existed in specific time or place, often characterised by dimensions of transgressive sexuality and violence, of despotic power and slavery.

Certainly the Egypt of this production belongs to no specific period, rather it is made up of elements from many different ‘Egypts’. The text talks of the pharaohs; the High Priests strut around in Ottoman fezes (the Priestesses look as if they belong to some order of Coptic Christian nuns). Invocations of Isis sit side-by-side with allusions to Islamic worship – and human sacrifice. But while this may be no Egypt that ever was on land or sea (or Nile), it persuades as a cohesive ‘dream’ of Egypt. The audience are invited to take their clue from a stage tableau behind gauze which accompanies the orchestral prelude. An initially languorous Radamès, with his companions, lounges on cushions and smokes a hookah, while ‘visions’ of the characters of his story appear above him. Is the whole to be regarded as his dream? One half expected an epilogue which might, Puck-like, say to the audience:

                   
If we shadows have offended,

Think but, and all is mended:

That you have but slumbered here,

While these visions did appear.
 

Aida is an opera built – even more than most – around dualities and antitheses. Many are old theatrical favourites (but none the worse for that) – such as the clash between love and duty, between private desire and public requirement. Antithetical patterns of loyalty and betrayal and of imprisonment and freedom (literal and metaphorical) are everywhere in the work. Just as there are Priests and Priestesses, so there are scenes populated wholly by males, scenes populated wholly by females; duality is everywhere. The great framing duality, theatrically speaking, is set up in the contrast between the grand ceremonial scenes and the (rather more numerous) intimate exchanges. In an interview in the programme, Carlo Rizzi observes (no doubt surprisingly to some) that “Aida is mostly a chamber opera” – tell that to Verona! Actually there is much truth in the observation – at the heart of the work is a series of duets – such as those, for example, between Amneris and Aida, Aida and Radamès, Amneris and Radamès, Aida and Amonasro. This ‘grandest’ of operas actually ends, after all, with just three people on stage.

The epic dimensions of the opera worked pretty well. With the always excellent WNO chorus supplemented by a substantial ‘community chorus’, and with Carlo Rizzi ensuring a thoroughly Italianate sound from the orchestra, there was no shortage of power and impact, musically speaking. But it wasn’t pure power, it was power intelligently, even sensitively, deployed. And with, according to John Caird, some 138 people simultaneously on stage in the scene of the Triumphal March there was no denying the epic scale of some of the visual effects (even if the ‘march’ was, perhaps necessarily, a rather static affair). The tiered set made some striking ‘grand’ pictures possible, with figures arrayed at various levels, and the results were often impressive without being empty.

It was perhaps in the more intimate exchanges that some doubts crept in. In some of these the participants were often rather excessively still, and rather too often seemed to be singing directly to the audience rather than to one another, so that the psychological dynamics of the relationships were often less than wholly convincing. In some of these scenes the all-purpose nature of the set, even assisted by some fairly creative lighting, rather militated against a sense of intimate (and in plot terms necessarily secretive) meetings. The relatively limited acting skills of some of the singers were also rather evident in some of these ‘exposed’ scenes.

Musically the evening was good without being altogether outstanding. Dennis O’Neill has always been an intelligent Verdi singer and he has lost none of that intelligence even if the voice hasn’t quite the lustre that it once had. ‘Celeste Aida’ was a bit disappointing, oddly deficient in real lyric intensity and grace, but much else was pleasing and impressive and this was a performance of greater vocal certainty than encountered in one or two recent hearings of this now veteran tenor. He sang out with power in the grand scenes, but also – especially in the last scene – was able to scale down his voice appropriately and touchingly. As Aida, Zvetlina Vassileva seemed rather nervous, especially early on, and there was often a degree of awkwardness in her gestures and movement. But – perhaps as she relaxed – she produced some lovely pianissimo singing and was, at the last, compelling and moving. Margaret Jane Wray’s Amneris was a powerful vocal presence without ever quite convincing one that she had arrived at a consistent sense of her character’s emotional and moral make up. Though there was much to admire in her singing, there wasn’t, finally, much that was really convincing as an interpretation of the role, as a plausible revelation of the coherence of one of Verdi’s most complex and interesting figures. As a result her Amneris was too often uninvolving. There were some good strong performances elsewhere – Philip Joll had dignity and presence, vocally and theatrically, as a fervent Amonasro. Andrew Gangestad invested Ramfis with a disturbing and threatening power and sang with security and weight – a fine performance; David Soar’s King was an authoritative figure.

The choral singing and the orchestral playing were generally of a high order. Chorus masters Stephen Harris and Tim Rhys-Evans, as well as conductor Carlo Rizzi ensured that the work of chorus and orchestra alike was full of dignity and tenderness, fire and sensuousness, as appropriate.

It is more than twenty years since WNO last performed Aida. I suspect that this production will get more than a few revivals and will, largely, deserve them. Visually it works well in most respects and some scenes are very impressive indeed; one or two of the solo arias, duets and trios would perhaps benefit from a bit more thought in terms of what the singers might do while on stage, though heaven forbid that it should be overtaken by mere fussiness. Well worth the hearing and seeing, even if it doesn’t always engage the emotions quite as much as it might. I suspect it will be interesting to see what different principals will make of it in future years.

Glyn Pursglove

Pictures © Bill Cooper

Back to Top                                                    Cumulative Index Page