Pentheus’ head finishes up on a pole by the end of The Bacchae, whereas in this production of Szymanowski’s operatic take on the play, a colossal head dominates the stage from the outset. During Act 1, subtle video projections continually flit across it in response to the action of characters and the music - like some animated Rorschach test. It no doubt represents some emblematic and established manifestation of organised religion, which the enigmatic and charismatic Shepherd seeks to subvert through playing on King Roger’s supressed desires. In the second act the head revolves to show its, that is Roger’s, mental state, with levels partitioned according to intellect and instinct (remember the Numbskulls?). By Act 3 the head is gone, but its intellectual contents are being ritualistically destroyed by the usurping Shepherd and his followers. It’s certainly a spectacular but elegant solution to the rather static scenario presented by the work. The ambiguous climax of the work, where Roger greets the dawn in a blaze of C major and the auditorium is flooded with white light (I was directly in the firing line of the whopping arc-lamp) provoked the appropriate wow factor.
If perfume were music then it would surely sound like this. The orchestration is swooningly gorgeous and was beautifully played on Saturday evening under Pappano. A special mention for Peter Manning’s honeyed solo violin playing, and the two harpist’s, who conjure from their instruments a surprisingly varied range of sounds and timbres. The three principal singers were without fault, and the chorus simply magnificent. The magical opening of hushed chorus and tam-tam, rudely punctuated by someone’s phone going off, still managed to send shivers up the spine. This is the Royal Opera at the top of their game and should not be missed by whatever medium you choose to experience it.
If perfume were music then it would surely sound like this. The orchestration is swooningly gorgeous and was beautifully played on Saturday evening under Pappano. A special mention for Peter Manning’s honeyed solo violin playing, and the two harpist’s, who conjure from their instruments a surprisingly varied range of sounds and timbres. The three principal singers were without fault, and the chorus simply magnificent. The magical opening of hushed chorus and tam-tam, rudely punctuated by someone’s phone going off, still managed to send shivers up the spine. This is the Royal Opera at the top of their game and should not be missed by whatever medium you choose to experience it.
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