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The opera novice: Glyndebourne is special but opera can inspire on a small scale
Two very different opera experiences in a week for Sameer Rahim
While planning my first trip to Glyndebourne’s opera festival, I inquired whether you really had to submit to the whole black-tie get up. I was politely informed that although some people now wear lounge suits the dress code remained formal. Ah right, then – time to dig out the dress shirt and bow tie. After all, nothing’s more embarrassing than being the odd one out at a fancy-dress party.
Though the stereotype has it as the most socially elitist cultural event in Britain – snooty people watching snooty opera – appearances can be deceptive. Sure there were a couple of Bentleys in the car park but there were many more hatchbacks. And the sign on the bathroom door that had (a gentleman in black-tie) showed that the organisers have a sense of humour.
The real reason to get excited about Glyndebourne is not who goes there – it’s the quality of the productions. Opera enthusiast John Christie and his soprano wife Audrey Mildmay founded the festival in 1934. Christie, who inherited the country house from his grandfather, wanted to create a Sussex Bayreuth and to that end built a 300-seat auditorium; but his wife persuaded him it would be better to start with The Marriage of Figaro. Now Glyndebourne does all kinds of operas and proudly boasts of its self-sufficient finances and artistic independence – though the Arts Council helps with the tours and education projects.
On Sunday, the first day of this season, I saw The Cunning Little Vixen (1923) by Leos Janáček, a fantastical story of animals and humans in the forest. The protagonist is a female fox who’s captured by a forrester, escapes and falls in love. A sweet tale in the original Czech novel from which it was adapted, Janáček made his ending darker. His biographer John Tyrell quotes a letter he wrote as he began composing. “I’ve begun writing Lišky Bystroušky [Little Vixen]. A merry thing with a sad end; and I’m taking up a place at that sad end myself. And I so belong there!” The final scene was sung at his funeral in 1928.
Certainly this music, which evokes the murmurs of the forest, feels as threatening as it does welcoming. (This BBC animated version from 2009 gives you an idea.) Melly Still’s new production creates a dreamy magical world that still manages to seem real. On the winding path at the back that resembles a helter-skelter, the animals bolt down holes and emerge in unexpected places; a mosquito armed with a syringe takes blood from the forrester. Most memorably the slutty chickens, tottering on their high heels, are brutally killed by the Vixen (an excellent Lucy Crowe) – one even ending up headless.
This was an exquisite production with fantastic attention to detail both on stage and in the pit. It seemed better rehearsed than some of the London productions I’ve seen. Though tickets aren’t cheap and getting there isn’t that easy, you’d be seriously mistaken if you thought Glyndebourne was just a chance to have a posh picnic.
Of course opera doesn’t have to be lavish to be impressive. Two days later, I went to Fulham Opera’s small-scale but big-hearted production of Die Walküre. Played in St John’s Church, Wagner’s second opera in the Ring Cycle was properly staged at full length. Artistic Director Ben Woodward accompanied the performers on the piano and although we naturally missed the musical richness of a full orchestra, this allowed the singers to be heard with beguiling clarity.
Unfortunately I missed the first act, but I did manage to see Elizabeth Russo really inhabit the role of Fricka, Wotan’s irritable wife. Ian Wilson-Pope, who writes a usefully detailed plot summary in the programme, had great presence as Wotan, the God who just can’t help siring children.
The only other time I’d seen this opera was in a comfortable cinema watching the Met’s production beamed in from New York. While I was one of the few people, it seems, who enjoyed Robert Le Page's stage invention, there was something special about hearing it sung live and at such close quarters. I paid more attention to the words than I had before – something that Wagner, since he thought of his works as Greek drama set to music, would have approved of. The evening’s highlight came during Wotan’s farewell to Brünnhilde (an impishly charismatic Zoë South). By this time sunlight no longer streamed through the stained-glass windows; as the mesmerising magic fire music was played, burning torches illuminated the Church.
Fulham Opera is performing tonight and on Sunday. I’d recommend anyone curious to go along. If anything, it’s not every day you get served drinks by a Valkyrie.