Orchestra of Scottish Opera
Stuart Stratford
Pelléas et Mélisande was one of the very first operas produced by the new Scottish Opera in its opening week in 1962. Ten years later, to mark their first decade, they re-staged it, in a lushly Pre-Raphaelite production with a remarkable trio of men in the cast; George Shirley (a rare tenor Pelléas), John Shirley-Quirk and Joseph Rouleau. Those were the performances I first remember. The company hasn't done it since the late 70s, so it was very welcome to see it return to the bill, and with what looked like a very promising cast.
The set was a side and rear wall in what looked like grey ash wood, with long French windows cut in the side wall, while on the opposite side, tall, slender boles resembling silver birches marked the encroaching woods. There was a pool, when required, and the rear wall could split, or advance, to alter the available space. It was sparse, yet elegant, very cool, enclosed in some respects, yet quite open in others, and beautifully lit. The daytime outdoor scenes were bathed in the pale gold light of a winter sun, while rippled reflections dappled the walls at times to remind you of the presence of water.
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| Carolyn Sampson as Mélisande - Scottish Opera 2017 (© Richard Campbell) |
The costumes were turn of the 20th Century - the period of creation - and there were only two real incongruities that jarred. One was, as usual, Golaud's sword, directly referenced in the text, and there are not many ways around that one. The other was in the Tower scene, when Pelléas and Mélisande are trying to join hands; first of all, the window was low enough for it to be not impossible under normal circumstances, and secondly, there was a bench right under it which could easily have been stood upon (and he did, eventually), so that looked a little silly. However, it was a minor point in an otherwise well-conceived and good-looking production. McVicar was generally respectful both of the text and the music, blanking off the stage in between each scene so that Debussy's wonderful orchestral interludes got our full attention (although some of today's audience seemed like they had the attention span of a three year-old!), and Stratford and the orchestra made the most of them.
Musically, it's always an option whether to play up, or tone down, the Wagnerian aspects of the score, and Stratford clearly favoured the former, with the result that in Act 4, the heaviest of the five, all the singers at one point or another had a bit of a struggle to be heard, but other than that the balance sounded fine, though I was surprised to see them all with hairline mics. It didn't sound like they were being amplified; however, the opera is to be broadcast next month, and it's possible they were recording today's show for that purpose. The standard of French was mostly very good, with only Andrei Bondarenko really not as clear as he could have been, though the actual pronunciation, when you could make it out, was perfectly acceptable. Bondarenko, who had made such a strong impression at the Cardiff competition four years ago, was physically curiously impassive, surprising when he had seemed anything but in Cardiff. It mattered little, however, when all the emotion was poured into the voice. All the inflection was there, every nuance, every colour; you didn't need to watch him, just listen.
I've not been overly impressed with Roland Wood on the previous occasions I've heard him, but Golaud brought out the best in his voice. The vibrato I've found obtrusive in the past was unnoticeable here, and if the ratcheting anxiety and suspicion which the character expresses weren't as intense as I've seen from other performers (Laurent Naouri especially), he was very moving in the last act. Carolyn Sampson was an excellent Mélisande, singing with luminous simplicity, simultaneously transparent and enigmatic, and just the sort of impenetrable innocence the character requires. Around the central trio, Alastair Miles was maybe not quite as resonant an Arkel as I would have liked, but he made his presence felt, while Anne Mason was a quietly dignified Geneviève. Young Thomas John's Yniold was well sung, though I found him physically as impassive as Bondarenko, which somewhat dampened the impact of his scenes.
[Next : 8th April]
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