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Author
Claudio
Monteverdi
Director
Chen Shi-Zheng
Conductor
Laurence
Cumming
Set
Designer
Walt Spangler
Poppea
Kate Royal
Nerone
Anna Grevelius
Ottavia
Doreen Curran
Ottone
Tim Mead
Seneca
Robert Lloyd
Arnalta
Christopher
Gillett
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London
Coliseum
English
National Opera
18 Oct - 6 Nov 2007 |
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Poppea
- toast of imperial Rome in
AD 64, apotheosis of Venetian
opera in 1643 and incredibly,
cynosure of the strangest
twenty-first century fashion
show in town - is the latest
star of the E.N.O repertoire.
Kate Royal heads an outstanding,
sexy young supporting cast
of English voices; but they,
along with some highly accomplished
orchestration, and specialist
Laurence Cumming at the helm
and harpsichord, could not
quite deliver this production
of The Coronation of Poppea
from its baffling, hallucinogenic
setting. This was courtesy
of director Chen Shi-Zheng:
crazy guy, crazy staging -
if you don't believe me, go
ask Alice. We were treated
to a mind-boggling wonderland
of visual metaphors and outrageous
falderals, which left one
to wonder what pharmaceutical
flights of fancy had engendered
them.
Zheng's 2006 Orfeo was our
first initiation into such
arcane workings in service
of the E.N.O, and despite
similar misgivings, he just
about charmed the faithful
on that occasion, although
eyebrows were raised at the
backpacking sybarites which
peopled its interpretation.
With set designer Walt Spangler
now on board, it was merely
a pale flavour of fantasies
to come, for this full-fat
Poppea seems to completely
take leave of its senses at
times. Where to begin? Well,
Nerone's remote-controlled
squid, scuttling after him
like a giant, animated cape-gooseberry
certainly gave pause for thought.
Perhaps the seemingly arbitary
projections of globules, goldfish
or glamour-girls in the background
were discombobulating. Or
what about the Nefertiti-wigged
super-models strutting the
boards like a cat-walk; and
the equally bizarre, bare-chested,
pony-tailed Ganymedes 'doing
the Egyptian' - all from the
director's own Orange Blossom
Dance Company. Why? Well yes,
such eye-candy was bewilderingly
random. Valley girls, south-beach
models, surfer dudes and blue-toothed
body-guards (to the man, in
sunglasses) swigged from bottles
or mimed into mobile phones
throughout the operatic action,
contriving to suggest a Miami
Vice scenario as envisaged
by the Carry On team. Poor
Mercury, suspended from the
ceiling, reminded one of the
late Leigh Bowery; whilst
even the three allegories
of Virtue, Fortune and Love,
appeared garishly-geared (cellophane
couture in lurid technicolour
courtesy of costume designer
Elizabeth Caitlin Ward) and
night-club bent; more interested
in dancing around hand-bags
than debating jurisprudence.
You did not have to be a purist
to wish for a glimmer of tradition
or historical reference in
this miasma of ideas, the
sum of which were in danger
of burying Monteverdi without
a trace. This was definately
to the disadvantage of the
lovers - the glamorous and
capable Royal (Tacitus' 'depraved'
consort) is paired with Anna
Grevelius' Nerone. The latter,
suited and booted, filling
an originally castrato part
with gusto. Alas, he/she is
a wee bit weedy - less playboy
of the western world, and
rather more Just William -
but contrives to sing and
flirt with the best; although
the gratuitous sapphic kiss
between the sopranos is embarassing.
Sexual ambivalence and innuendo
similarly extend to the queen's
nurse, whose pinny and stilettos
are filled by contralto Christopher
Gillett as a caricature, post-modern
Widow Twanky. Despite a death
scene which consisted of drowning
in an outsize bird-bath whilst
on gardening leave (complete
with panama, gumboots and
this season's most cutting-edge
accessory, a tiny lawn mower)
Robert Lloyd, returning to
E.N.O after an absence of
30 years, presents us with
an exemplary Seneca. Gravitas,
underpinning a bass voice
of molten molasses, ensured
his performance was the most
moving of his peers. Ultimately,
The Coronation of Poppea might
want to be a blockbuster musical
in the Rent mould, but the
devil doesn't have to have
all the best tunes: perhaps
our nonpareil of a national
opera should aspire more to
the side of the angels!
Caroline Kellett Fraysse |
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