This isn’t strictly a release for the Britten centenary; it was
filmed
in 2011 and released in 2012. It is, however, an exciting and tremendously
compelling
version of Britten’s most tautly constructed opera. Jonathan
Kent’s
Glyndebourne production has become something of a classic on the Downs,
and
it is captured brilliantly here with sensitive camera direction and a top
notch
cast.
Kent’s production works through implication and shadow, suggesting
scenes with a minimum of means. His stage contains two counter-revolving
discs - a literal Turning of the Screw, as he suggests in one of the
extra films. These allow scenery to glide in and out of the stage picture
mysteriously. The central piece of stage machinery is an enormous set
of glass panes which is tilted, revolved, lifted and dropped to suggest
a huge range of possibilities - most impressively, the lake in which
Miss Jessel drowned. It also acts as the boundary between the interior,
safe world of the house and the dangerous, exterior world of the grounds
and the ghosts. This avoidance of the concrete elements in the staging
allows the story to float from scene to scene with the ethereal quality
of the ghosts themselves, and Kent is a master of evoking a particular
mood. We are struck by this in the Tower scene of the first act, for
example, when Quint first appears: all we see of him is a shadow looming
in the background. It also registers in the final scene of Act 1, when
the ghosts first appear and the effect is genuinely uncanny. Quint appears
silhouetted against the backdrop, singing his haunting melismas to the
young Miles. He then lifts him out of the bath and drapes him in a towel.
Kent goes further than any director I have seen in making explicit the
suggestion of paedophilia in the text, and it’s genuinely distasteful
to watch, made all the more so by how events in the news have raised
the subject so high in the UK’s national consciousness. He sets
the production in the 1950s, the time of the opera’s creation.
The first scene has a lovely touch in showing the Governess arriving
at Bly on a train rather than by coach. Kent explains that, for him,
the 1950s is the last time when you could convincingly argue that Britain
was going through a period of innocence. The corruption of this generally
innocent mood mirrors the corruption of the two children.
Kent has at his disposal a first-rate cast who are actors every bit as
much
as they are singers. The element of dramatic terror is so important in
giving
this opera its power, and everyone delivers at the top of their game. In
the
Prologue, Toby Spence is a curious, fairly affable narrator and we see him
plundering
through the evidence before he begins to tell the story. He then
transforms
himself into a genuinely creepy Quint, who seems to get an eerie thrill of
pleasure
out of his physical contact with Miles. Spence’s portrayal gains its
power
from a vocal tone that manages to combine alluring beauty with a palpable
sense
of threat. He is the finest Quint I have come across since Ian Bostridge
(high
praise!) and he treads the ambivalent line between seduction and terror
with
astounding skill. His fellow ghost is a less interesting character.
Giselle
Allen, however, sings her part with a mixture of hysteria and forlorn
loss.
She even manages to evoke some sympathy for Miss Jessel who was, after
all,
led astray by Quint every bit as much as the children were.
Thomas Parfitt is an astounding Miles, so compelling that I feared for his
psychological
health while I was watching him! His innocence in the earlier scenes
gradually
melts away. In the manner of the finest horror films, he has a creepy way
of
looking out from under his brow in a way that suggests that he knows far
more
than he is letting on. He seems to be physically interested in the
governess
in a way that is far from healthy, but he retains enough of the childlike
side
to his character right through to the final scene, in spite of the
all-too-adult
implications of what has been going on elsewhere. Vocally speaking he is
also
very assured. His interactions with all the other members of the cast are
compelling
and memorable and his
Malo solo is ethereal and suggestive. There
is
also a penetrating quality to his treble that would make you notice him
even
if he were not the focus of so much of the story. Joanna Songi is very
good
as Flora, but it somewhat undermines the production’s power by
casting
an adult soprano in the role. Susan Bickley puts in a very good turn as
Mrs
Grose, though, and when she first tells the Governess of Quint’s
past
the power of the climax is remarkable.
At the centre of the action, Miah Persson’s Governess is a triumph.
Persson
has completely bought into the story and Kent’s interpretation of
it.
She charts the character’s descent into paranoia and self-absorption
with
remarkable skill. You feel her nerves as she sits in the train carriage in
the
opening scene. You sense her optimism as she walks in the gardens of Bly
in
Scene 4, something dramatically offset by Quint’s appearance. She
gives
a powerful sense of the Governess losing control: she already seems unable
to
handle her situation by the Church scene of the second act, and her
remonstration
with Miss Jessel in the bedroom seems like fruitless folly. However,
Persson
and Kent also remind us that the Governess’s moral fervour and
self-determination
are every bit as responsible for Miles’ desperate state as Quint is.
The
final tableau of Act 1 sees her possessively wrapping Miles up in her own
dressing
gown. The final scene, where she and Quint seem to struggle for victory
over
Miles, resembles a wrestling match at times. Kent reminds us that
Miles’
final words - “you devil!” - could be directed at either Quint
or
the Governess. Persson brilliantly convinces us of Persson’s
culpability
in Miles’ doom.
In the pit the reduced forces of the LPO play with startling transparency,
and
Jakub Hrůša summons up a shimmering, kaleidoscopic sound-world
that
sets off Britten’s score in the best possible light. The
presentation
and packaging are also luxurious and attractive, with some beautiful
production
photos in the high quality booklet, though I was a little irritated that
this
was stapled to the DVD container so that you couldn’t remove it to
read
it. Don’t let this put you off, though. For me, the finest
Screw
is Daniel Harding’s Virgin Classics recording on CD, but if you want
a
DVD you’ll be hard pressed to beat this one for its outstanding
musical
values and for a brilliant sense of drama that will pin you to your seat.
Simon Thompson
see also review by Michael
Greenhalgh (March 2013 Recording of the Month)
Britten discography
& review
index
[111:00 (opera); 22:00 (extras)]
