Venice observed.

Benjamin Britten: Death in Venice, English National Opera, London Coliseum, 26 March 2007

In setting out, in advance, to plan this review of this new production of Death in Venice, directed by Deborah Warner, I decided to open with some general remarks on Britten’s operas, and the treatment of their literary sources, in comparison to other composers. I was astonished to find in the programme an article Novelle and Libretto by Richard Stokes covering just this ground and with similar conclusions. This may, perhaps, reflect a common unease that of Britten’s ‘literary’ operas, Peter Grimes, Billy Budd, The Turn of the Screw, Death in Venice, only the first represents a fully digested transmutation to the operatic stage; the others retain too much of their literary origins, demanding cerebral rather than emotional response, to be considered completely successful as music dramas. Only Peter Grimes totally engages our sympathy. One has only to think of Mozart, Rossini and Beaumarchais, of the bel canto composers distilling the romantic essence of historical novels of the likes of Walter Scott, not to mention the transformation of the sources used by Gounod, Bizet or Massenet as complete conversions to operatic form.

Death in Venice is a case in point. Based on the 1912 episodic novella of Thomas Mann, it relates the story of a distinguished literary figure Gustave Aschenbach (known as von Aschenbach since his fiftieth birthday, as the opening line informs us), who, suffering from writer’s block, travels to Venice, where, after a series of portentous incidents, develops a voyeuristic obsession with a Polish youth seen on the Lido beach. Prolonging his intended stay, he succumbs to the cholera epidemic that hits Venice at the end of the summer season. The opera, composed in 1973 as a vehicle for Peter Pears, which follows the text closely, consists of seventeen short scenes divided into two acts. Apart from Aschenbach, the stage is populated with a host of other characters, both singing and silent, representing those he encounters gondoliers, porters, hotel staff, fellow guests, a group of athletic youths and so on. Additionally, we have the voices of Apollo and of Dionysus, commenting on the action and replacing the wider mythological musings of Aschenbach in the novella. To my mind the opera is too long and could end with the nightmare struggle for ascendancy between the two gods; what follows is tedious and repetitious, more like Tippett than Britten, perhaps. Worse, it avoids the punch line of the novella: (in translation) ‘And before nightfall a shocked and respectful world received the news of his decease’, reminding us this was a figure with a public persona.

It is rare that the principal credit for the success of a production goes to the set and lighting designers for the visual impact of the staging. They were respectively Tom Pye and Jean Kalman. From beginning to end we had brilliant evocations of the Munich cemetery, the boat to Venice, gondolas, the hotel rooms, merging, through the use of curtains and backdrops, seamlessly to the beach and to the canals and back again, with the lighting subtly suggesting the changes in the atmosphere. The settings were, of course, enhanced by Britten’s marvellous musical tone painting. These elements formed the background for the action, beautifully sung, acted and performed, both mimed and sung parts were just right; in particular, the balletic cavorting of the youths on the beach, choreographed by Kim Brandstrup, deserves particular mention.

Peter Coleman-Wright sang the majority of the minor roles, including Dionysus, showing great versatility even though the clarity of his words could have been better. Apollo was sung by the rising star among counter tenors, Iestyn Davies, adding yet another triumph after his part in WNO’s Return of Ulysses in Oxford (and many other appearances here). Ian Bostridge sang von Aschenbach in a wonderfully sustained performance, every word clear, though he appeared far too young to have acquired his ‘von’; the ministrations of the barber, supposed to rejuvenate him towards the end made no difference. His tenor is firmer and less ethereal than Pears’, the ghostly echo of whose timbre was often present in the musical accompaniment.

This production was an integrated triumph for all concerned in all departments. It was held together by the sensitive conducting of Edward Gardner in his debut as ENO’s music director (last heard struggling with the vastness of Opéra Bastille in L’Elisir d’Amore)

 

This was a first ‘invited’ visit to the London Coliseum, an opera venue for which I have long held a great affection, alas diminished since the colour of the decor changed from blue to red in its recent refurbishment. The seats remain extremely comfortable with adequate passing room. On this occasion we chose to sample their answer to the ROH Crush Room with food pre-ordered on the internet. This was served impeccably in the plush elegance of the downstairs American bar with a table also available in the interval, enhancing the enjoyment of the evening’s entertainment. An early 6.30 curtain up meant that we were home by midnight, thanks once again to the X90!