tamaranth | A Night at the Opera

Last night I had the first of my birthday presents, as

ladymoonray took me to the Royal Opera House to see Don Giovanni. It was splendid, although the two acts were splendid in rather different ways.

I haven't seen an opera at the ROH since the recent expansion / rebuilding (though I did get inside the Opera House itself for a Nokia press party a few months ago). Ticket prices are much higher than the ENO, and there hasn't been much on that I wanted to see. And I'm not on their mailing list any more.

But Don Giovanni is my favourite opera, and this was a wonderful production. Gerald Finley in the title role was believably rakish and charismatic -- there is no point in a Don who isn't a credible Bold Seducer -- and Erwin Schrott was magnificent as Leporello -- a gorgeous, rich bass voice and real dramatic and comic timing. (Pretty, too). (Other cast: Ian Bostridge as a surprisingly meek and weedy Don Ottavio, horribly reminiscent of the Prince Regent in Blackadder: Rebecca Evans a bubbly Zerlina, Robert Llloyd v. scary as the Commendatore, Darren Jeffery a yokel-esque Masetto, Tamar Iveri a competent Donna Anna and Nuccia Focile a delightfully maddened Donna Elvira, complete with shotgun).

Our seats were at the side of the stalls, close enough to see sweat (and no doubt sniff pheremones) and to note costume details, Elvira's blue boots etc. This meant that at the end of the interval we had an excellent view of Antonio Pappano, the Musical Director, as he trotted out in what looked like someone else's jacket and explained that as the set had collapsed and was unsafe to enter, the rest of the opera would be rendered as a concert performance. (50% refund if we send our tickets back).

Naturally this wasn't ideal, but in fact it worked amazingly well -- the cast rose to the occasion, the lighting tech should've come down at the end for justly-deserved applause ... and the final scene, with Don Giovanni being dragged down to Hell, was intensified by the simplicity. The Don in red satin and velvet; the Commendatore in black, with spiky silver glove/bracer; Leporello cowering in the wings in grey. Stark simple lighting, those swooping scales (we could see right into the orchestra pit) and world-class voices. Bliss.

Oooh, and the fight scenes (half of which we lost due to the set collapse, of course) were choreographed by Bill Hobbs, founder member of the Swash and Buckle Fencing Club, where I used to fence.

And not only me.
I'd recognise that hair anywhere ...