Powder Her Face - Linbury Studio, 26 April 2010
Thomas Adès's brilliant, precocious debut opera will I suspect be judged more kindly by posterity than by Barry Millington in the Evening Standard. Its originality lies not so much in its elements but in their juxtaposition. Hoary pastiche-jazz, faux-Stravinsky and blatant Strauss quotes take on a new life sandwiched between the rumbling brass monsters and careering strings which form both frame and critique of the plunder.
Carlos Wagner's superb production, revived from 2008, echoes this Surrealistic reappraisal of the familiar - quite literally, in the case of a Daliesque jewelled lobster. A sweeping staircase dominates the stage. There's more Dali in the gigantic, furniture-sized cosmetics strewn across it. They emphasise the beauty, the vanity and the superficiality of the opera's subject, Margaret, Duchess of Argyll, who passed into the annals of history as protagonist in the sensational, scandalous 'headless man' divorce case in 1963.
There's not much sympathy on show for either the Duchess or the agents of her destruction, a hypocritical judge and envious, sententious public. At the end of the final act, as the penniless Duchess is about to be thrown out of the hotel she calls home, she reflects that the only people who were ever nice to her were the staff and servants who were paid to be. The hard-edged, brittle music suits its subject.
The 2008 cast returns, immaculately rehearsed and choreographed in the stagey but effective movement style Wagner has gone for. Joan Rodgers is once again unimpeachable as the Duchess, as fearless casting herself down the steep stairs as she is administering the climactic on-stage blow-job. The rest of the cast all throw themselves into their multiple roles with the same gusto. There's as much shrieking as singing for Rebecca Bottone's high-flying maid, but she manages it effortlessly. Alan Ewing as the Duke and Hotel Manager was announced to be suffering from a throat infection, but it was barely noticeable. As the Electrician, Iain Paton sometimes sang with more sensitivity than the pounding orchestration would permit to be heard. This is partly a feature (or fault, if you like) of the writing, but there were places where Timothy Redmond could have tamed the orchestral volume more effectively.
A word of warning if you're coming to see this - the front rows of the Linbury stalls have been removed to accomodate an orchestra pit, so row E is the front row.
production photos (above): Bill Cooper / Royal Opera House
curtain call (below): intermezzo.typepad.com
