More Opera at Hastings Odeon

1899 poster for Puccini's "Tosca"

Attendances for live transmissions of opera in Hastings Odeon are gradually climbing.  Last night there were 24, which is double the number we had last year.  Obviously the message is slowly getting through to the Hastings cognoscenti that these are performances worth going to.

Last week gave us the opportunity of sampling the Royal Opera House's Vêpres Siciliennes as well as the Met's Tosca.  We hadn't seen a transmission from the ROH before, and it was interesting to make the comparison.  It trumped the Met in a number of ways.  First, we were spared the gooey love-ins that pass for interviews with the stars: Kasper Holten, Director of Opera at Covent Garden, acted as guide to the opera, giving a brief synopsis before each act, and at the same time a bit of background to the production itself.  Secondly, I have to say that the production was more challenging and stylish than what we usually see from the Met (I'm excluding the Met's Ring Cycle, which was extraordinary in a number of ways).  I sometimes have the feeling with the Met that they throw a lot of money at a production, with lavish staging and world class singers but at times err a little on the conservative side.  

What let Covent Garden down in the end was, alas, the quality of the sound.  The music seemed to be coming through a fine sheet.  And if I'm to be honest, the director's take on the opera, involving a conceptual overlay of interference with artistic freedom, integrated with the already complex plot, resulted in great style but also an element of the pretentious.  The last act in particular, with conspirator numero uno in a large hooped dress killing people with the end of a flagstaff, tipped into the absurd - and they seemed to have forgotten the final part, when - at the last minute - loyal Sicilians spill onto the stage and slaughter the French.  

The Met's "Tosca" was not without its silliness, either.  In the first act the Madonna, who is supposed to be dominating proceedings from her altar, had been banished to somewhere in the wings, and Cavarodossi's portrait of Mary Magdalen was a dreadful piece of soft porn.  In the second act the villainous Scarpia was depicted in his office with three simpering whores clambering over him, which clashed with his singing that he prefers sex where the woman resists.  The concentration of evil that is the essence of his character didn't come across so well as when he's alone.  His office also seemed to be furnished with Ikea sofas, which didn't seem entirely in period.

But the singing and acting were wonderful: the three principals, Roberto Alagna, Patricia Racette and George Gagnidze, were magnificent and even survived the intermission love-ins with Renée Fleming with a degree of dignity.  With such quality down the road, I'm hoping that the Hastings audience will grow.

Antony Mair