SEEN AND HEARD INTERNATIONAL

Mozart, The Magic Flute:  (Revival Premiere) Soloists, Chorus and Orchestra of Welsh National Opera, Gareth Jones conductor, Wales Millennium Centre, Cardiff, 24.9.2010 (GPu)

Conductor: Gareth Jones

Original Director: Dominic Cooke

Revival Director: Benjamin Davis

Set Designer: Julian Crouch

Costume Designer: Kevin Pollard

Lighting Designer: Chris Davey

Tamino: Peter Wedd

Pamina: Elizabeth Watts

Papageno: Neil Davies

The Queen of Night: Laure Meloy

Papagena: Claire Hampton

First Lady: Camilla Roberts

Second Lady: Carolyn Dobbin

Third Lady: Joanne Thomas

Monostatos: Howard Kirk

First Boy: Guy Roberts / Rory Turnbull

Second Boy: Robert Field / Henry Payne

Third Boy: Erwan Hughes / Josh Morgan

Speaker: Eddie Wade

Sarastro: Tim Mirfin

A Priest: Simon Curtis

First Armed Man: Philip Lloyd Holtam

Second Armed Man: Laurence Cole

Actors: Joseph Grieves, Brendan Purcell, Alastair Sill

Production Picture © Johan Persson

I don’t know who coined the phrase “philosophical pantomime” to describe The Magic Flute, but it has always struck me as peculiarly apt. It also suggests something of the difficulty involved in really doing justice to this extraordinary work – to the modern mind (even after works like Waiting for Godot) philosophy and pantomime are most likely to seem mutually exclusive (or at least radically bipolar) categories. A great production of the opera makes us laugh, and makes us think; renews our sense of both the absurdities and the heroics of the human condition; prompts reflection on the relations between emotion and reason; mocks where mockery is deserved, invites respect – and even awe – where they are deserved; and, of course, lets us hear a body of marvellous music. The last of these requirements was certainly met in this (second) revival of Dominic Cooke’s 2005 production. Well-played and almost uniformly well sung, this was a treat to hear. Some of the other demands of greatness, however, went largely unmet – this is decidedly a production that loads the scales rather more in favour of pantomime than philosophy.

In that respect it stood at something like the opposite end of the spectrum from Giuseppe Frigeni’s production of Fidelio which, a week before, had opened the year’s programme for Welsh National Opera in their season under the heading ‘Eternal Light: Great Operas of Germany and Austria’. Where Frigeni put his stress on ideas (or at least devised a production which seemed intended to let ideas shine through without being obscured by too many human details), Cooke’s production is full of concrete detail, humorous characterisation and colourful stage business). Seeing the two operas in such close proximity reminds one of how much they have in common (for all the obvious differences). Both operas embody the movement from darkness towards light (some of aspects of which light might, historically speaking, be indicated by the word Enlightenment); in the programme for Fidelio Lothar Koenigs wrote of it as about an act of choice: “to live in fear, corruption and cowardice, or to help oneself and others cast off the yoke of fear through moral courage and personal bravery” and much of tat is just as true of The Magic Flute. Both are personal variations on ‘rescue opera’. Both of them are, essentially, operatic tragicomedies. The dramatist John Fletcher (of Beaumont and Fletcher) writing at the beginning of the seventeenth century defined the then new genre of tragicomedy as a work which “wants” (i.e. lacks) deaths, “which is enough to make it no tragedy, yet brings some near it, which is enough to make it no comedy”. The complex of attitudes and emotions thus suggested is certainly difficult to achieve successfully, in drama or opera. But it surely isn’t really enough to operate, where The Magic Flute is concerned on the basis that, in the words of WNO’s publicity material, “ultimately . . . The Magic Flute is simply great fun”.

Fun there certainly is, in plenty, in this production – from the sky-bicycling of the three boys, from Neal Davies’s lively Papageno and from other sources too. But the heroic dimension of the opera is less well served. The archetypal rocky scene of ‘knight’ versus dragon with which the opera begins is transmuted into an encounter between Tamimo and the various limbs of a giant lobster as they poke out from the doors of a Magritte-inspired room. The audience, not surprisingly, finds it funny rather than heroic. The contrasts (contrasts made up of elements which also complement one another) which Mozart and Schikaneder set up between heroic and comic dimensions are constantly subverted, as the comic encroaches substantially on the territory of the heroic. The problem is, to a degree, inherent in the nature of the work. At one early performance of the opera a Bavarian acquaintance annoyed Mozart “by laughing … even in the serious scenes”.

Fun as it is, Domini Cooke’s production is a reductive reading of the opera; but, let it be said, it is a production which, having reduced the complexity of the opera, achieves a fair degree of inner coherence of its own. And, given some sprightly performances, I found myself more willing to take the production on its own terms than I had when seeing it previously. Yes, it is fun; but there is more to the opera and that goes largely unarticulated.

Elizabeth Watts was outstanding as Pamina; richly expressive and tonally various in voice, as well as entirely plausible dramatically and the eloquent demonstration, in her bravery and her willingness to undergo the initiation rites, of the need to treat with scepticism some of the libretto’s observations on the dangerous inferiority of women. Peter Wedd’s Tamino lacked the vocal lustre of Watts, but made a very presentable hero (when the production didn’t implicitly undercut any notion of heroism). Neal Davies was an admirable Papageno, vocally certain in an interpretation full of vivacity and humour. Laure Meloy coped pretty well with all the vocal challenges of her role, and was, within the mode adopted by this production, a persuasive advocate in her Act I dialogue with Tamino and a melodramatic villainess in Act II. Tim Murfin was a somewhat disappointing Sarastro, a little short of the necessary presence and sometimes lacking in projection, especially at slower tempi. Claire Hampton’s Papagena was full of energy and enthusiasm. The Three Boys and The Three Ladies (those contrasting/complementary triads, the one full of innocence the other trapped at the level of sensory desire) all made their contributions pleasantly and effectively.

The work of both Chorus and Orchestra is pleasing, the orchestral sound being especially beguiling during the introduction to Act II, and Gareth Jones’s conducting was everywhere intelligently supportive.

Glyn Pursglove