Glyndebourne’s 2010 production of Billy Budd was the
company’s first and was an out and out triumph among the critics.
Rupert Christiansen of the Telegraph scrambled for superlatives
when he said, “I was enthralled beyond my wildest hopes by this
stupendous achievement, and scarcely know where to begin lavishing
praise.” It now appears on DVD and, for those of us who couldn’t
get a ticket, it confirms the production’s promise triumphantly.
For Budd Glyndebourne recruited Michael Grandage, Artistic
Director at the Donmar Warehouse, who here directs his first
opera. However, his touch is so sure that it feels as though
he has been doing this for years. The first glory of the production
is the set, a brilliant rib-cage of a ship’s interior designed
by Christopher Oram, a regular collaborator of Grandage’s. The
set feels hermetically sealed, reinforcing the claustrophobia
of this world, but its real mark of genius is that its tiers
re-create the tiers of the Glyndebourne auditorium so that the
theatre’s galleries seem to continue on into the stage, making
the audience feel every bit as much a part of the action as
the singers on stage. Likewise, when Vere appears on the quarterdeck
of the ship, he not only commands the Indomitable but
the audience in the theatre as well. There are two short “extra”
features, one of which deals with the design specifically and
is extremely informative; the other is a more general introduction
to the work and this production.
Grandage brings a theatre director’s touch to the acting of
the characters, which here is every bit as important as the
singing. Happily, both are outstanding. John Mark Ainsley’s
Vere is deeply conflicted, not just in his words but in his
gestures. He fidgets with unease in his cabin at the opening
of the second scene of Act 1, and his body seems saturated with
utter powerlessness during the court-martial scene. Yet his
stage presence in the prologue and epilogue seems to go through
a transformation: from the troubled, restless aristocrat of
the opening he seems to take on a grander stature so that, by
the time of the epilogue, he has faced up to his past and gained
a new assurance in the words “he has saved me.” Interestingly,
during the execution scene it is the older Vere who witnesses
events on stage, reliving and reimagining the events that have
haunted him ever since. Ainsley’s is not a conventionally beautiful
voice, but he uses his bright timbre to great effect and his
vocal acting is incredibly incisive so that he is never less
than completely convincing.
The part of Billy is a triumph for Jacques Imbrailo. He enters
into the character quite astonishingly, achieving marvellous
identification with him, through body as well as voice. His
boyish mannerisms encapsulate all of the Billy’s youthful innocence
and naïve charm and he makes him so endearing in the enthusiasm
with which he gives himself wholeheartedly to every task. Imbrailo
bounds around the stage with engaging energy, and his face (especially
his eyes) embody all of the character’s charming vigour, as
well as his sense of impending doom in his soliloquy. His voice
is just as young and energetic, though not so boyish as to remove
any sense of masculinity. The production rests on his shoulders
and does so securely.
His nemesis, the black-voiced Claggart of Phillip Ens, is his
antithesis in every way. Grandage dresses Claggart in dark colours
from top to toe and Ens’ cavernous bass embodies Claggart’s
malevolent darkness completely. He is deeply sinister and neither
he nor Grandage shrink from the sexual undercurrent of the work,
always bubbling dangerously just below the surface and threatening
to engulf the Master-at-Arms. However, Ens also makes him a
character to pity as well as to fear: his blighted vision of
the world has cut him off from human society and we see him
as hopeless and loveless in his “own dark world”. Ens never
blusters, always maintaining an almost alluring silkiness to
his voice – nowhere more so than in his meeting with Vere at
the start of Act 2 – so that Claggart is never a caricature
but always a person to be reckoned with.
The rest of the cast provide outstanding support. Glyndebourne
is famous for the quality of its collective achievement,
and they have assembled a crew of sailors in whom there is no
weak link. Special mention goes to Iain Paterson’s Redburn,
rich and fulsome of voice, and brilliantly acted. I loved the
way he pronounced Claggart’s name, in the first act, with a
mixture of contempt, admiration and terror, and the regret with
which he carries out Billy’s sentence is palpable, not least
in the snarl with which he pronounces the words “Gentlemen,
the court rises”. Likewise, Matthew Rose’s Flint is rich and
resonant, sharing many of Redburn’s regrets but equally determined
to see out the task. Other standouts include the sympathetic
Dansker of Jeremy White, the fantastic Novice of Ben Johnson
and Alasdair Elliott’s Whiskers, who journeys from comic self-parody
to wounded self-knowledge.
Again and again Grandage’s vision of the piece brings it to
life brilliantly. The opening of Act 2, when the French ship
is sighted, is tremendously exciting, and the full ensemble
at Billy’s execution is terrifying in its grandeur, but he also
pinpoints the human dramas with expertise, such as the lovely
scene when Dansker visits the condemned Billy on his last night
alive, or the characterisation of each sailor during the scene
below decks at the end of Act 1, and the scene with the flogged
Novice is very moving. Scene changes are subtle but very effective,
evoking great differences with little touches, and the sets
that glide in for Vere’s cabin or the sailors’ quarters seem
to do so in union with the orchestra, evoking the majesty of
Britten’s phenomenal score all the more powerfully.
The singing of the Glyndebourne Chorus is beyond praise, as
is the top-notch playing of the London Philharmonic Orchestra.
Mark Elder reveals himself to be a dramatist every bit as gifted
as Grandage, pacing the work with a keen sense of movement but
not so hurried as to leave no room for contemplation. It really
seems as though everybody involved in this project knew they
were collaborating on something special and gave the very best
of themselves to produce work of startlingly high quality.
There isn’t a lot of competition for Billy Budd on DVD,
but even with the little there is this DVD immediately jumps
to the top of the recommendable list. The only Billy
that is more convincing is Hickox’s outstanding CD set on Chandos
which contains vocal actors of the calibre of Keenlyside, Langridge
and Tomlinson who are so convincing that you barely notice the
lack of visuals, so vivid are the stage pictures evoked in your
mind. That doesn’t take away from the stupendous triumph of
this film, however. Anyone with an interest in Britten or in
opera should rush to acquire it. For my money this is the best
opera DVD of the year so far, and quite possibly the best in
a considerably greater time period.
Simon Thompson
The Glyndebourne Chorus 
OA1051D [86:00
+ 87:00] 
