Back
Hop off, you frogs, and other nationalism London Peacock Theatre 05/30/2000 -
Peacock Theatre
30 May 2000
Mischa Spoliansky, Send for Mr Plim
Harry Nicoll (Mr Plim), Gordon Wilson (Owner of the shop), Ashley Holland
(Personel Manager), Anna Clare Monk (Secretary), Nicholas Cavallier (First
man), Frances McCafferty (Caroline Walburga von Recklitz), Hilton Marlton
(Second Man), Lillian Watson (Elida de Coty)
Kurt Weill, Die Sieben Todsünde
Marie McLaughlin (Anna 1), Christopher Saunders (tenor 1), Harry Nicoll
(tenor 2), Ashley Holland (baritone), Nicholas Cavallier (bass)
Robert Ziegler (conductor), Paul Curran (director)
BBC Concert Orchestra
Freemasons Hall
31 May, 1 June 2000
George Frideric Handel, Israel in Egypt
Carys Lane (soprano), Carolyn Sampson (soprano), Alexandra Gibson (alto),
Simon Berridge (tenor), Neil McKenzie (tenor), Simon Birchall (bass),
Robert Evans (bass)
Harry Christophers (conductor), Aidan Lang (director)
The Sixteen, The Symphony of Harmony and Invention
The performance of an English oratorio by Handel in the Freemasons' Hall
has become a reliable highlight of the Covent Garden Festival. One day The
Sixteen will do the right thing and perform Solomon there, or at
least Theodora, with its great chorus on the widow's son of Nain. In
the meantime, this highly skilled and energetic performance of Israel in
Egypt will do nicely.
Israel in Egypt is not the easiest of Handel's oratorios to present
dramatically. It consists of two contrasted parts: a series of vocal
tableaux that depict the story of the exodus, with special reference to the
plagues (frogs hopping and flies buzzing vividly); and an extended
celebration of the destruction of Pharoah's army, with detailed musical and
verbal contrasts but not much variety of substance. The first part is
attractively pictorial, the second part is essentially an exercise in
xenophobic triumphalism, with the Israelites as the Protestant English and
the Egyptians as the French, or Catholics in general.
There is nothing in the music to redeem the oratorio from its nationalism
-- the Egyptians do not even make an appearance to demand our understanding
in beautiful music. But Aidan Lang's production pushed at the irony of the
exultant Israelites being the same Jewish people who were targetted for
complete destruction by the Nazis, and the cities of the Germans and their
Japanese allies in turn being subject to brutal destruction. A montage,
always returning to the image of a single eye, was projected on a screen
over the choir. Images matched the text: the exodus itself was accompanied
by film of refugees fleeing into ships, "The Lord is a man-o'-war"
(stirringly sung) by footage of a modern sea battle, a plausible equivalent
of the thoughts that would have gone through the minds of most of Handel's
audience. The total destruction of the Egyptians was represented by images
of Hiroshima or Nagasaki after the atomic bombs. The war footage was
interspersed with images of people, in the first part defaced photos, in
the second part faces zooming in to form a mosaic of people, of all kinds.
It was probably possible to watch the singers without taking in the full
force of the images. But the montage managed to avoid clunking
clichés and was at times very moving.
Any blanket condemnation of the Germans (or anyone else) was completely
dispelled by the performance at the Peacock Theatre the night before.
Weill's Die Sieben Todesünde is in German, and (although
written in Paris) offers a blend of parody Lutheran sanctimoniousness and
indulgence that could only come from Berlin in the Weimar republic. Weill's
music is among his most lushly orchestrated, setting melodic beauty against
tricky vocal lines and tricksy words. Marie McLaughlin was gently wistful
and conflicted as the practical Anna 1, while the uncredited Anna 2 and her
dance partner found all the sensuality of the music.
The other part of the double bill, Mischa Spoliansky's Send for Mr
Plim, is far less familiar but even more redemptive. A compact little
satire about a department store boss who fires the eponymous employee
everytime a customer complains but then realises that you can't treat
people that way, its failure in Germany in 1932 and its current popularity
there are both historially interesting. But it's also a gem of a score,
forty-five minutes of brilliant operetta and opera parodies and ingeniously
orchestrated songs. An adaptation at the Battersea Arts Centre last year,
for a small band, showed its charm and satirical bite; Robert Ziegler and
the BBC Concert Orchestra, with a crack cast of singers, this year showed
its musical delights.
The semi-staging was economical, the singers and orchestra had fun. Lillian
Watson was on particularly good form as the ultra-trivial Elida de Coty,
presumably well squirted with L'heure bleu, and Harry Nicoll's singing was
spot on for Mr Plim's comic-sentimental ballads. The translation (by
Kenneth Richardson), alas, wasn't quite sure what it was doing, with some
equivalences (polyester knickers and English currency) and some retained
references that probably didn't mean much to the audience (Caroline
Walburga von Recklitz is from Spandau, presumably for its social cachet --
Julian Forsyth ingeniously made her from Leipzig in the BAC version,
invoking age-old Saxon hateur towards Prussian Berliners). The second man's
aria began "O Isis and Osiris, O Dickens and Jones", which was nicely
absurd though he is really more of a Verdian tenor.
An added bonus at this performance was a retake (for technical reasons) of
Frances McCafferty's tirade about blue-patterned chamber pots. The BBC will
broadcast a recording at a later date. H.E. Elsom
|