Gluck - Iphigénie en Tauride (Paris, 2021)

Christoph Willibald Gluck - Iphigénie en Tauride

Opéra National de Paris, 2021

Thomas Hengelbrock, Krzysztof Warlikowski, Tara Erraught, Jarrett Ott, Julien Behr, Jean-François Lapointe, Marianne Croux, Jeanne Ireland, Christophe Gay, Agata Buzek

Palais Garnier, Paris - 26 September 2021 

The essence of what is continually great and everlasting in the later works of Christoph Willibald Gluck is that despite the formality of the 18th century musical conventions and the poetic licence of contemporary adaptation, he manages to make the stories and predicaments of the great mythological figures of Greek drama feel completely human. Despite appearing to have a very limited idea for presenting the drama, Polish director Krzysztof Warlikowski's production of Gluck's Iphigénie en Tauride nonetheless similarly strives to find the underlying humanity in his production for the Paris Opera, and perhaps even delve deeper into the mindsets and troubled history of the Atreides family. The success of the production is mainly down to Gluck of course, but Warlikowski knows when to defer to genius.

Essentially, the Orestia deals with the downfall of a great family, a royal family, and assuming that they aren't really lizard people - something I'm prepared to keep an open mind about - even royal families are human too. Hmm. Anyway. Warlikowski has been here before - or rather later - with his Princess Diana influenced production of Alceste, and this production of Iphigénie en Tauride which was first produced in Paris in 2006, opens somewhat obscurely with a title 'Dedicated to Queen Marie Antoinette'. Other than it being about a royal family and it being produced for Paris, I'm not sure what the intention of that is, but it doesn't prove to have any real bearing on the rest of the production.

Warlikowski's setting for Iphigénie en Tauride is, well, it looks very much like most Warlikowski sets designed by Malgorzata Szczesniak, with glass panels, mirrored rooms, a wall of showers on one side and a wall of sinks on the other. Here Tauride is an old people's home where Iphigenia as an old woman in a gold lamé dress looks back at the defining incident in her experience of a troubled family life. Or not so much looks back on it of course as much as relives it, her mind failing, flitting between her current infirmity and mental state in old age and the incident on Tauride that may have helped reduce her to her condition.

This Tauride or old people's home is of course less a physical place than a state of mind, and it's the impact that her experience has on her mind that Warlikowski wants to explore. Within that however, the actual drama plays out much as you would expect, with Orestes and Pylades brought by the priestesses as strangers to be sacrificed at the paranoid King Thoades, who while trying his best not to fall victim to the fate an oracle has decreed for him, inevitably ends up bringing it about.

Warlikowski illustrates a few scenes behind the reflective shield of her mind, showing the now and the past, but it's fragmented and nightmarish in its visualisation and not a narrative illustration. Doubles are used, as they often are in productions of this work  which seems open to such divisions and analysis, (Lukas Hemleb, Geneva 2015), (Claus Guth, Zurich, 2001) More than just use an actor to double Iphigénie past and present, internal and external, the director also doubles or contrasts the past as a mirror of the present. What plays out simultaneously is a kind of shadow nightmare scenario of her experience in Aulide, where it's now Iphigenia the priestess who is to carry out the human sacrifice, with Thoas becoming her surrogate father.

The psychoanalytical approach is quite appropriate, the dysfunctional family issues compounded with Iphigenia's encounter with the stranger who is her brother Orestes, and in Orestes seeing in Iphigenia the image of the mother he has just murdered. It's inevitable then that the familiar influence of the films of David Lynch also plays a part in this Warlikowski production, with scenes and imagery reminiscent of Wild at Heart (another horrific family saga of murder and brutality) and Mulholland Drive (a glamorous life on the surface with hidden horrors surfacing in the moment of death). Mix in a bit of royal scandal and there's plenty to make this visually impressive and troubling while still largely leaving the drama to tell its own tale.

Here, as is often the case, the best a director can do is find a suitable setting for mood and let Gluck's music and the drama speak for itself. Warlikowski does a little more than this, finding a way to bring the audience into the human drama that is playing out in the mind of Iphigenia. There are a few other touches, having the chorus and other players in the Tauride drama placed in the boxes, isolated and pushed off to the sidelines away from the wholly personal interiorised nature of Iphigenia's relationship with the drama. Diana's appearance at the end of Act 4 is appropriately sung from the back of the Palais Garnier up in the gods, all contributing to present as immersive a presence as possible of the drama replaying out in her mind.

Evidently it's Gluck's beautiful music, his attunement to the drama and the understated emotional states that drive the drama forward and it was successfully led from the orchestra under Thomas Hengelbrock. Vocally it was impressive also in the three leading roles. As Iphigenia Tara Erraught was superb, deservedly stepping into major opera house roles like this after a successful career as a repertory singer in Munich. Her musical range is consequently wide and varied, but she can do a leading Mozart role well (The Marriage of Figaro) and is certainly impressive in her French delivery of Gluck. Jarrett Ott was an excellent Orestes and Julien Behr offered strong lyrical support as Pylades.

Links: Paris Opera

Rossini - La Cenerentola (Dublin, 2019)

Gioachino Rossini - La Cenerentola

Irish National Opera, 2019

Fergus Sheil, Orpha Phelan, Tara Erraught, Andrew Owens, Rachel Croash, Niamh O'Sullivan, Graeme Danby, Riccardo Novaro, David Oštrek

Bord Gáis Energy Theatre - 11 November 2019

Rossini's La Cenerentola departs from the familiar traditional Cinderella story in a number of key areas. There's no there's no fairy godmother, no magic pumpkin coach and mice coachmen, there's not even a lost slipper, but in no respect could you say that Rossini's opera lacks magic. To state the obvious it's in Rossini's music as well as in the fairy-tale romance, in the tale's moral of kindness and goodness being its own reward. Rossini unquestionably makes this come to life, but that doesn't mean it can't have a helping hand in the stage directions.

Since the moral is timeless, there's no reason however why La Cenerentola needs to be done in fairy-tale period costume. It could work just as well in an adventurous modern day setting (as in Opera North's entertaining production), although perhaps not so much in a "real-world" setting. Orpha Phelan, directing her first production for Irish National Opera, decides to embrace the fairy-tale side of the work, but she does so in a way that plays to the opera and the story's inner life, which is its belief in the power of imagination.

It's by no means an original idea to set a fairy-tale inside a book, but it's a nice effect that works with the nature of Cinderella, the fold-out house set of the first Act attesting to the simplicity and poverty of the situation Cinderella finds herself in; a servant to Don Magnifico and her demanding step-sisters, who despite the grandness of the family name and their pretensions have hit upon hard times. Cinderella however, when she gets a moment's peace from the ministrations imposed on her, finds her escape in her books, sitting in a corner reading classic tales of romance and adventure.

Orpha Phelan uses the opera's overture to give the audience a glimpse into the reasons for her retreating into a dream world by showing us something of the tragic circumstances of her personal background. As I said when I saw the Wexford Festival Opera's production of another Rossini short opera two weeks ago - L'Inganno Felice (featuring another unjustly mistreated young woman in similar circumstances), Rossini's overtures are just too good to waste and Phelan directs a lovely opening that also takes in scenes and figures from all the classic fairy tales that Cinderella escapes into; Sleeping Beauty, Red Riding Hood, Puss in Boots.

It's a theme that is expanded on further and impressively when the cardboard book is wheeled off the stage and the Prince's palace is shown to be filled with oversize books of classic stories, many with an Irish connection, from Yeats, Wilde and Joyce to Hans Christian Andersen and Charles Perrault, from Treasure Island to Clara Louise Burnham's The Right Princess. If you thought that the set for Act I was a little basic, it was just so that set designer Nicky Shaw could make an even greater impression in Act II, the glorious set showing that the opera in this production is all about the power of storytelling and the imagination, with characters escaping from the books and running around the stage as Cinderella's ability to realise her dream falls into place.

Cinderella's dream however is not necessarily to marry a prince but to be loved and respected and to be able to feel part of a family, no matter how cruel and mean her own are to her. It's the dream of a better world where kindness and fairness is rewarded or is its own reward. It's not a deep philosophy, a little bit utopian and not entirely realistic about human nature (although to be fair, the Magnificos show no desire to reform or accept Cenerentola as one of their own), but we can dream. What would we do if we couldn't dream or didn't have books (and opera) to make it a better place?

You can't ask for more from La Cenerentola than to get that idea across and it's done wonderfully in the INO production, not least in Fergus Shiels' wonderful elegant run through Rossini's delightful, beautiful score. The stage direction of the performances was superb, never overplaying or exaggerating the comedy, but allowing the essential human side of it to come through. As Cenerentola, Tara Erraught is back home again this season after debuting the INO's inaugural production (The Marriage of Figaro) and we're fortunate to get the opportunity to see her over here when she is in demand in Europe and New York. She handles the demands of a Rossini mezzo-soprano exceptionally well.

It's also a pleasure to welcome American tenor Andrew Owens to Dublin. He is outstanding as the Prince, Don Ramiro, a perfect voice for Rossini and bel canto, lovely Italianate phrasing with real steel and volume behind those top notes. For all the challenges faced by the principals, La Cenerentola is an ensemble piece really with rapid delivery, comic timing and interaction that places demands on Rachel Croash and Niamh O'Sullivan as Clorinde and Thisbe, Graeme Danby as Don Magnifico and particularly Riccardo Novaro as Don Ramiro's squire Dandini who gets a bit above himself and has to take all the attentions of the step sisters. That's hard work. In the context of the literary nature of the production it was also a nice idea to have David Oštrek as the tutor/philosopher Alidoro acting as a kind of author/narrator, directing or scripting the outcome. There's no question that the whole affair of INO's La Cenerentola was very well directed towards a successful outcome.

Links: Irish National Opera

Mozart - The Marriage of Figaro (Wexford, 2018)

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart - Le Nozze di Figaro

Irish National Opera, 2018

Peter Whelan, Patrick Mason, Jonathan Lemalu, Tara Erraught, Ben McAteer, Máire Flavin, Aoife Miskelly, Adrian Thompson, Graeme Danby, Suzanne Murphy, Andrew Gavin, John Molloy, Amy Ní Fhearraigh, Catherine Donnelly, Dominica Williams

Irish Chamber Orchestra

National Opera House, Wexford - 13th April 2018

"Ah, when we are not fighting each other for personal interest, every woman will march to the defense ofher fellow woman against ungrateful men who seek wrongly to oppress them".

There's always something truthful, relevant and contemporary to be found in Mozart's operas, particularly his works with Lorenzo Da Ponte, and Marcellina's pronouncement in Act IV of The Marriage of Figaro neatly taps into a certain current social phenomenon that is unlikely to be missed by anyone in the audience, even if it needs reduced to something a little shorter and catchier with a hashtag. The fact that the above line was first uttered in 1786 however also highlights just how long the same struggle has been going on. The Irish National Opera's new production of Le Nozze di Figaro could of course have made a lot more of this in a modernised setting, but for the first night of the first production in Wexford of their inaugural season they instead wisely focus on the other essential elements that demonstrate why this is a masterpiece and why opera is important. And they do it rather well.

The latter question of why opera is important is one that I personally felt it was important to address and I had wondered before the opening night what kind of message the first INO production might set for future direction, standards and overall purpose. Every opera of course has its own needs and requirements, and a stuffy period Marriage of Figaro sung in English with nothing new to add to it might have been deemed a safer bet, but it would surely have sent out entirely the wrong message about the importance and relevance of opera to the lives we lead today. A modern high concept production wouldn't be a good move at this stage either, but director Patrick Mason pitches it right here with a bright fresh update that doesn't set about making a statement of its own. Mozart and Da Ponte's adaptation of Beaumarchais can do that perfectly well on its own in performance, and it was in the fine music and singing here that the production made the necessary impression.

That sense of brightness and freshness is to some extent established by the set design and the lighting, which presents an open space that at any moment can work as an interior, an exterior, or both within the same space. With a small model of the Almaviva estate mansion always present on the stage, and a large portrait of Mozart in the background throughout, it also manages to keep the wider context of the work in the back of the mind without having to be too clever or knowing. Not that you would be unaware of Mozart's hand in the work for one moment when the music is played as well as it is here by the Irish Chamber Orchestra under the direction of Peter Whelan; the composer's character stamped across every single, crisp, elegant and emotionally buoyant note.

The period updating of the production isn't over-emphasised, or at least not in any way that might compromise the nature and intentions of the work, but there is a hint of late sixties/early seventies. Glyndebourne did this too with their 2013 production of Figaro and it's a workable solution to the out-dated (if still very much alive in a new form) droit-de-seigneur tradition that Count Almaviva has every intention of re-establishing for the purposes of his designs on Susanna, his wife's maid who is about to be married to his manservant Figaro. In light of recent controversies of misconduct by men in positions of power, the setting here presents a different picture, even from the superficially similar Glyndebourne production. If the 60s/early 70s play to notions of a 'permissive society', it's one where the playing field is not level and indeed playing the field is not seen on equal terms, rather it's one that just gives men the power to take further advantage of the liberties offered.

There's no need for the production to emphasise that with any placards of banners or hashtag references. The implications that it holds for all women, and not just Susanna, are made clear in the several lovely chorus arrangements of the original work in the songs that Figaro has cleverly organised for the other female servants to sing, illustrating precisely what Marcellina recognises in that quotation from Act IV. There's a need for women to combine their strengths and resources, to recognise who the enemy is and to challenge and resist; and it's not just a protest against all men, but "ungrateful men who seek to wrongfully oppress them". Mozart and Da Ponte's enlightened views, as well as the consequences of such oppression, are insightfully woven into every note and word that make up the fabric of this near-miraculous work.

The production however highlighted what is really essential to get right in Le Nozze di Figaro. You can play and sing every note to perfection, but unless the comedy engages and strikes a chord with the audience, it's all to little avail. This is a work that has to implicate and draw you in, and it's done through the personalities of the wonderfully drawn characters who nonetheless essentially need real people to bring them to life. It's here where Patrick Mason has done the necessary work to make the opera - at full length with all the 'supporting' characters arias included - fairly zip along. There are some broad comic gestures but also subtle ones, all the set-pieces run like clockwork to provide the expected laughs and plot developments, the busy but uncluttered and adaptable sets permitting a wonderful flow and openness that allows us, for example, not only to see Cherubino jump from the Countess's bedroom window, but also make a run for it across the garden below.

And it's not just all about the comedy. It's necessary to strike the right tone for each of the emotionally rich and insightful situations that Mozart assembles. It's here that the benefits of including Marcellina's and Basilio's Act IV arias prove their worth, not just balancing and contrasting the emotional tenor of each adjacent scene, or even just rounding out the characterisation, but showing that there is a human side to each of the characters. The actions (or intentions) of the Count don't just have a consequence for the women that he has set his libidinous sights on, but it has an impact on everyone, on how men and women behave towards one another, on how society views such behaviour and the wider impact that it can have on it. It's even more of a joy to have these usually cut scenes included when you have such good performers in the roles of Basilio (Adrian Thompson), Bartolo (Graeme Danby), the gardener (John Molloy) and Marcellina (Suzanne Murphy). Barberina is another role in the opera that can be undervalued and fail to make an impact, but not when you have a young soprano as talented as Amy Ní Fhearraigh to make something of it and show just how musically and emotionally rich a work Mozart has created down to the finest detail. Ní Fhearraigh has already made a stunning impression in the recent Opera Collective Ireland Owen Wingrave and this performance will only enhance that reputation further.

The performing challenges that the principals in this production have to measure up to however is of another degree altogether, balancing and mixing comedy with pathos in arias, duets and complex ensemble arrangements. It's the Count who has the trickiest role to maintain, keeping on the right side of caricature that can either go the way of pathetic bumbling fool to unsympathetic cheating lecher, neither of which tend towards a convincing redemption. Ben McAteer's Almaviva carried a measure of those characteristics, but - in line with the well-considered period setting - was more of a last-gasp opportunist finding that the times (and women's rights) were fast catching up with his sort. His singing was perfectly measured for technique and character, a perfect foil for whoever he was on stage with at any given moment. The Countess is also a challenging role with some of the key arias in the whole opera, and it in places seemed a little too big a role for Máire Flavin. With some terrific support from the Irish Chamber Orchestra however, those arias sang of all the depth of feeling of all Rosina's emotional turmoil and sadness.

It's great to see Tara Erraught back on home shores, having built up an international career in Munich - where most of her performances broadcast on the internet show the breadth of her experience - as well as (controversially) at Glyndebourne and the Met in New York. This was a wonderfully engaging Susanna that Erraught sung brilliantly but just as importantly brought to life with verve, charm and character. Figaro actually ran the risk of being left as a bystander to all the plots and machinations going on around him, but Jonathan Lemalu exuded a quiet confidence in his performance and characterisation of the former Barber of Seville that made it seem a lot more effortless than it really is. Personally, I find a mezzo-soprano a better fit for Cherubino and was surprised at Aoife Miskelly's high and light lyrical soprano being cast for the role, but her 'Voi che sapete' was wonderful and Miskelly's ability for character role playing was a joy to behold. Irish National Opera's impressive inaugural production sets out with high standards, not least of which is to demonstrate the importance of opera today.

Links: Irish National Opera

Srnka - South Pole (Munich, 2016 - Webcast)

Miroslav Srnka - South Pole

Bayerische Staatsoper, 2016

Kirill Petrenko, Hans Neuenfels, Rolando Villazón, Thomas Hampson, Mojca Erdmann, Tara Erraught, Dean Power, Kevin Conners, Matthew Grills, Joshua Owen Mills, Tim Kuypers, John Carpenter, Christian Rieger, Sean Michael Plumb

ARTE Concert - 5th February 2016

Commissioned to write a new opera for the Bayerische Staatsoper, the young Czech composer Miroslav Srnka and Tasmanian writer Tom Holloway have found a subject that is inherently dramatic and even operatic in South Pole. Working from the existing documentation of Captain Robert F. Scott and Roald Amundsen's race to be the first to reach the South Pole, all the rivalry between the two explorers is laid out; the personalities, the tensions and the drama and danger of the expeditions. The setting itself offers great possibilities for exploration in the musical treatment and for the stage production, and both certainly offer a great deal of inventiveness even if ultimately the subject and the inconsistencies within the treatment can't help but invite its own defeat.

Unless, of course, you consider inconsistency to be an essential part of the make-up of the work and its subject. It's very evident from early on that South Pole wants to tell the two stories of Scott and Amundsen simultaneously but separately, a 'double opera' that contrasts the experience of one with the other. The opera opens with the famous telegram message sent by Amundsen to Scott, where the British team learn that, contrary to reports that the Norwegian team were setting off for the North Pole, they are now in direct competition with the British explorers on their Antarctic expedition to the South Pole. The morse tapping, sung out by Amundsen, establishes a rhythmic connection between the two teams and it holds for a while as they each encounter similar challenges and problems in their preparations. By the second half those paths have gradually diverged, and the opera itself also seems to lose direction, even if that is to some extent intended.

The opera then is successful in as far as it adheres to the tone and content of its source material and subject, but it's also a victim to the challenge of maintaining the complexity that these divergent paths take. Using the source material available, South Pole does establish well the personality of the two explorers, but it also attempts to speculatively delve more deeply into aspects of their personality and love-lives. As far as outward appearances go, both are practical and single-minded men - and the John Adams-like musical arrangements of the beginning, hold them in this rhythm. There are minor differences in their preparation, Scott fatally choosing ponies for the expedition, Amundsen dogs, but first and foremost in their mind is the determination to beat their rival and the unthinkable consequences of failure.

The two expeditions take place then simultaneously on the stage, and the gaps between the men and their attitudes grow as they face the challenges of the merciless conditions in the Antarctic. Amundsen shows little concern for the deprivations of his colleagues, much less any sentimentality they show for loved ones back home, refusing to even let them keep journals or write letters but keeping one of his own to be published after the adventure. Scott is also very practical-minded and necessarily so, but any sympathy he has for the pain endured in the suffering of his team is tempered by the greater torment he feels that Amundsen will beat him to the South Pole and render his efforts meaningless.

That much might be interpreted by the historical facts and public face of the individuals concerned, but South Pole is not an all-male affair. Kathleen Scott appears as a figure to show a deeper side to Scott as more than just an explorer, but more than just the wife of the explorer, a projection or a vision conjured by letters, the creators of the opera attempt to depict her as a person in her own right. A similar approach to Amundsen proves more problematic but it serves to provide a strong contrast. Amundsen refuses to discuss his love-life with his colleagues, but is nonetheless 'visited' by the figure of the 'Landlady' - whether this is a fictional creation or not I don't know - who he once had an affair with. Whether all this works, or intentionally fractures the divisions between the men - their loneliness emphasised more than any purpose or sentiment that unites them - it all comes together in a marvellous, if somewhat unconventional quartet close to the end of the first half of the opera.

After that, it becomes harder to hold the work together and the music becomes more complex in its unconventional rhythms and tonal levels, with up to 100 individual parts being played at any one time by the orchestra. The two halves of the story take very different turns and the music accompanying them accordingly jars atonally in their individual experiences and in how they sit uneasily side-by-side. If there's anything that holds South Pole together as two sides of a related story that almost never overlaps, it's Hans Neuenfels' stunning stage direction for the piece. Brightly lit in a blinding white background - as you might expect - the set is nonetheless highly stylised and expressionistic, a black X marking the spot up at the back of the stage, reminding us constantly of the importance of the goal. A line divides the stage down the centre, with Scott's expedition on the left and Amundsen on the right, both playing out simultaneously.

Principally then, although the other roles are all well developed, the opera plays out as a two-hander between Scott and Amundsen, and consequently it needs two strong personalities in the creation of these roles. If both Rolando Villazón and Thomas Hampson could be said for one reason or another to have had better days, there's no sign of it in South Pole. Both men imprint a strong character into their singing and performance in what are evidently very intense roles. The unconventional rhythms of the drama and characterisation don't favour much in the way of lyricism, and the staccato English-language libretto doesn't always help, but the performances of both men are impressive. Tara Erraught and Mojca Erdmann likewise do much to bring Kathleen Scott and the Landlady to life and widen the dimension of the opera. It still never entirely feels like it's successfully of a whole and it becomes harder to maintain interest or find a central core that holds it together as the work progresses, but South Pole is an ambitious piece that has much of interest in its component parts.


Links: ARTE Concert, Bayerische Staatsoper

Strauss - Der Rosenkavalier (Glyndebourne, 2014 - Blu-ray)

Richard Strauss - Der Rosenkavalier

Richard Strauss - Der Rosenkavalier

Glyndebourne, 2014

Robin Ticciati, Richard Jones, Kate Royal, Tara Erraught, Lars Woldt, Teodora Gheorghiu, Michael Kraus, Miranda Keys, Christopher Gillett, Helene Schneiderman, Gwynne Howell, Andrej Dunaev, Robert Wörle, Scott Conner

Opus Arte - Blu-ray

It's unfortunate that the controversy over personal comments made by critics about the casting of Tara Erraught's Octavian tended to overshadow what is actually a very impressive and well-performed Der Rosenkavalier at Glyndebourne 2014. Strauss's opera is about so much more than a singer and a performance. It's a work of extraordinary richness, sophistication and complexity, transcending any traditional view of what opera is about, and it requires careful direction to draw all the various levels of meaning out of it and bring the wonderful contrasts of performance together. Richard Jones directs an elegant production of the opera, beautifully conceived and designed, that at least touches on its multiple delights, even if it doesn't bring anything greatly original to the stage.

It might seem like a trivial concern, but what is immediately striking about the production was the impeccable taste of the interior design that create a loving sense of the period without being slavishly literal. Paul Steinberg's sets for each of the three acts are eye-catchingly colourful and elegant, but minimally dressed in a way that complements without overwhelming the drama, the sentiments and the personalities in the opera. Richard Jones' actual direction of the drama was a little less adventurous, but well-pitched to match the flow between farce and philosophy. Der Rosenkavalier however is so layered and meticulously constructed a work that it doesn't really need any further elaborations or interpretations imposed upon it.

Act I plays out in a pretty much as it is written. There were a few distinctive directorial touches, but they only serve to enhance what is already there in the work. Instead of the usual crude bump and grind that accompanies Strauss' suggestive overture, Jones instead emphasises the erotic charge of Octavian's desire for the more mature woman by showing Marschallin emerging naked from a stylised shower and displaying herself to the bewitched young man. Elsewhere, the first act is mostly played as a straightforward bedroom farce, acted with verve and certainly well-sung, but with no great character or originality.

The suggestions are all there however that there is something of greater depth being explored. A prominent clock alerts the viewer to real-time aspect of Act I, as well as recognising the importance of the passing of time and the ending of an era as a theme, but it doesn't take it much further than this. The subsequent acts however find other subtle means in both set design and the expression of the drama to highlight the conflict between the past, the present and the future. A distinction is drawn between the traditional aristocratic privilege of the past, the rise of the nouveau riche bourgeoisie in the present, and the freedom of youth as the future, unbound by anything but love and free to choose their own destiny.

Within such change is the capacity for both sadness and optimism (with some fun in-between), and the production successfully finds the appropriate tone for each situation. The work itself and the production is at its best in those key moments in each of the three acts. The Marschallin's reverie over time and ageing at the end of Act I is beautifully sung by Kate Royal. It's not despairing, but dignified, the nobility of her sentiments and recognition of the ways of the world allowing her to bring reconciliation at the key moment of Act III in the gorgeous trio. In between it's the Act II meeting of Octavian and Sophie that makes the greatest impression. The encounter (lushly orchestrated) is caught up in a rush of colour and sugar that you could almost swoon with pleasure. That's the impression the moment should evoke and with such an emphasis it determines the overall tone of the production as one where love and beauty are celebrated and the outlook is an optimistic one.

That's about as much of a directorial position as Jones takes on the Glyndebourne production. It's a bit of a designer's doll-house of a set-design and the figures are threatened with being a little dwarfed by the greater scheme of things. That's a risk that is inherently in Strauss and Hofmannsthal's conception of Der Rosenkavalier, and if the characters emerge from it as more meaningfully human, it's on account of the beautiful writing of the score for the drama and for the voice. You won't find the finest interpretation of any of those roles here - at least not in any way that is revelatory - but it's at least very well performed.

The female leads at least are impressive. Royal is suitably elegant and sings with feeling, but doesn't quite capture the melancholy of Marschallin's position. Teodora Gheorghiu is a bright Sophie and forms a good partnership with Tara Erraught's Octavian. It's true that Erraught is more Mariandel than Octavian pretending to be Mariandel in Act III, but a girl playing a boy playing a girl is just one of the complexities of this work that it is difficult to carry off without considerably more experience. The appalling wig and sideburns she wears doesn't help, but in terms of her singing and her ability to carry the central role of Octavian, there is nothing here that was anything less than convincing. Inevitably, with such strong singers in these roles, the trio at the denouement was simply gorgeous in delivery of the singing and its sentiments.

Lars Woldt sings an entertaining and unrepentant Ochs von Lerchenau. A director can permit a little sympathy for the character if he shows some belated good grace in his defeat, but Richard Jones doesn't give him that much. Michael Kraus' Faninal is also well-sung, but a bit dull and doesn't make much of an impression. Musically, however, there is nothing run-of-the-mill about Robin Ticciati's conducting of the London Philharmonic Orchestra. If the concept doesn't inspire any greatness, it at least allows expression of the full beauty of the arrangements, wonderfully controlled by the conductor. For the listener too, this is a Der Rosenkavalier to put aside any examination of the work's cleverness or any distracting controversy surrounding the production and simply revel in its glorious beauty.

Richard Jones' colourful production inevitably looks stunning in High Definition on the Blu-ray. The lighting is well handled, the image perfectly clear and warmly toned. The DTS HD-Master Audio and PCM Stereo tracks can be a little echoing with the use of stagge microphones rather than radio mics, but the quality of the singing and the musical performance is apparent. The extra features include Ticciati talking about taking over at Glyndebourne and working on his first Der Rosenkavalier, the leading ladies interviewed about building their characters and their Act III trio, and Richard Jones talks about the look and design for the production. The BD is region-free, with subtitles in English, French, German, Japanese and Korean.

Links: Glyndebourne

Janáček - The Makropulos Case (Bayerische Staatsoper, 2014 - Webcast)

Leoš Janáček - The Makropulos Case

Bayerische Staatsoper, 2014

Tomáš Hanus, Árpád Schilling, Nadja Michael, Pavel Cernoch, Kevin Conners, Tara Erraught, John Lundgren, Dean Power, Gustav Belácek, Peter Lobert, Heike Grötzinger, Reiner Goldberg, Rachael Wilson

Staatsoper.TV - 1 November 2014

The challenges that come with putting on a production of Janáček's The Makropulos Case are probably no more difficult or easier than dealing with the specific requirements of any of the composer's operas. In all of his works, it's not only vital to settle on a consistent tone and temperament that brings the music and the staging together, but the key singing roles have to be perfect - and singing in the Czech language is no easy matter for a non-native. It's only however when you get to see one of those works come together on every level, that you realise just what its most important ingredients are. The Bayerische Staatsoper's 2014 production of The Makropulos Case is revelatory in that respect.

While all the other elements are still important, it's clear from the Munich production that The Makropulos Case only really works as it should when you have a soprano of great charisma and ability singing the role of Emilia Marty. I'll come to that later, but the other elements are important to consider in how they relate to each other. Musically, everything was perfectly in place here. Tomáš Hanus has prepared a new critical edition of the work, and if it can be judged simply on how well Janáček's music delivers the intent of the libretto, it's a superb interpretation, but it's also clearly responsive to the composer's familiar rhythms and the advancements in the musical language that are evident at this late stage in the composer's career.

The value of Árpád Schilling's direction is less easy to determine. Visually, Márton Ágh's costume and production design doesn't appear to have a great deal to contribute to the drama, the message or the purpose of the work, but conceptually it's on solid ground and it provides a setting that suits the tone that has been carefully established. Act I in Dr. Kolenatý's office is somewhat Kafkaesque, the minimal set consisting of a marbled wall with chairs studded vertically into the narrow side of the revolving set. There are a few steps from this leading down to a snow-covered front-stage. It feels imposing, intimidating, confusing and otherworldly, which isn't a bad impression to give as the details of the Prus versus Gregor case are outlined, and the way that the enigmatic Emilia Marty becomes involved in it.

The stage of the opera-house, or the back-stage of an opera house in Act II, is bright, modern and clinical. Asylum-like almost, with stylised padded walls. Quite what the tone is meant to indicate isn't entirely clear, but if you want to see it that way, it's perhaps a view of Emilia Marty's inner world. Having lived in various guises for the last 300 years, it could be seen as a reflection of her needing to renew and refresh, clinically detach herself from the sentiments and emotions that would inevitably become a heavy burden over such an extended lifetime. There's nothing playful about the science-fiction concept for this opera. It's a serious attempt to examine what gives life meaning, and of course, what gives life meaning above all else is the fact that it will one day come to an end.

Schilling's directing takes this very seriously, as does the musical interpretation of the score by the conductor Tomáš Hanus. Picking up on several other incidents that occur in the work and some of the comments made, Schilling takes this a little further. As a few late additions to the set indicate - including a kind of sacrificial flagellation - what is considered here is not just what would it mean for a person to cope with the eternity of existence, but what it would mean to be a woman, to be a beautiful woman, and to be the object of constant attention, to be pursued, hounded and living permanently as an object of desire to men (and women, if we also consider Krista's fascination with Emilia Marty, which should not be discounted as something incidental). Imagine that and imagine being forever young, beautiful and talented.

Well, that's the challenge that the soprano singing Emilia Marty/Elina Makropulos has to be able to work with. Aside from the language and musical challenges, aside from having to carry the weight of 337 years of being a woman in this position, she also has to be ageless, alluring, enigmatic and charismatic. No small order. Enter Nadja Michael. Michael hasn't been the most consistent singer in the past - when I last saw her Lady Macbeth in Munich she was all over the place really - but there's no questioning her presence and commitment in a performance. Emilia Marty proves to be a perfect fit for Nadja Michael.

I don't know about her Czech - she occasionally sounds a little less than perfectly clear in enunciation - but there's no faulting her singing performance or her ability to enter into her character. Marty is of course an opera diva, and I think Michael can relate to that. She looks simply terrific here, having that necessary presence and allure, wearing short blonde curls here and a teasing dress in Act II that reveals rather a lot. Her performance however is utterly magnetic and otherworldly credible. It would be a bit of a problem if the great opera singer Emilia Marty couldn't sing her own role, but there's no danger of that here, and Michael's performance is enthusiastically and deservedly acclaimed at the curtain call of the live streamed broadcast.

This is the kind of performance that can carry a show, but the other roles are supportive in how exceptionally well they are sung. Pavel Cernoch gives a clearly sung and impassioned Albert Gregor ('Bertie') and John Lundgren's Prus is well-measured and wonderfully sung, his role and relationship to Emilia Marty considered within the context of what it adds to the concept. The other roles are all more then capably sung by the Munich troupe regulars, with Reiner Goldberg in particular giving a touching performance as the former lover of the Carmen-like Andalusian gypsy Eugenia Montez. (There's a whole other question in The Makropulos Case of opera as an eternal artform of passions, and that's not neglected here either). Lyrical, dramatic and passionate, this was everything that Janáček should be, and it will do much to continue to raise his profile as one of the greatest composers of the 20th century.

Strauss - Die schweigsame Frau (Bayerische 2014 - Webcast)

Richard Strauss - Die schweigsame Frau

Bayerische Staatsoper, 2014

Pedro Halffter, Barrie Kosky, Franz Hawlata, Okka von der Damerau, Nikolay Borchev, Daniel Behle, Brenda Rae, Elsa Benoit, Tara Erraught, Christian Rieger, Christoph Stephinger, Tareq Nazmi

Staatsoper.TV - 5 October 2014

There are a few subjects or themes that appear regularly in the operas of Richard Strauss, and sometimes even within his other tone poems and orchestral works. One of them is family life, as seen in his Symphonia Domestica and in the closely autobiographical opera, Intermezzo. Another recurrent theme in Strauss' work is around opera itself and the nature of being a composer. This self-referential subject is most evident in Ein Heldenleben, Feuersnot, Aridane auf Naxos and Capriccio, but there are also self-referential elements in the music and treatments of Der Rosenkavalier and Der Liebe der Danae.

All of these familiar themes are there to one extent or another (depending how much emphasis a director wants to give them) in Die schweigsame Frau ('The Silent Woman'). Considering that Strauss was married - albeit happily - to a woman who by all reports was very difficult to live with, the idea of being married to a silent woman was perhaps one that Strauss found amusing to contemplate. It certainly makes a fine subject for an entertaining but relatively light comic opera, but the musical treatment by Strauss is typically sensitive and beautifully orchestrated in a way that draws out other qualities and characteristics from the subject. These are brought out wonderfully in the Bayerische Staatsoper's production directed by Barrie Kosky and conducted by Pedro Halffter.

The first thing a director has to recognise about Die schweigsame Frau is that in addition to the family matters that dominate the subject, the work is also very much an opera about opera. Set in England, the subject of Die schweigsame Frau resembles Verdi's Falstaff in it being about an old and somewhat past-it knight, Sir Morosus, who is encouraged by one of his servants, the barber Master Cutbeard, to get himself a wife. Morosus however can't bear to have women about him and despises their chatter. In his 46 years as a sailor travelling around the world, the only silent woman in his experience is one who is "in the churchyard and under a stone cross". His housekeeper is torment enough, but a wife in the house would have him in a coffin within three weeks.

When his son Henry returns from the dead however, bringing with him a loud wife and a noisy opera company that he has joined, Morosus considers that it would be better to marry in order to disinherit his son and the raucous company he keeps, but who would marry an old man like himself? Somewhere between The Barber of Seville and Don Pasquale (it's worth noting that alongside Falstaff, the three comic operas referenced here are perhaps the three finest comic operas ever written, barring Mozart's work, but that too is referenced elsewhere), Sir Morosus' barber hatches a plot to trick the old man into a sham marriage, rescuing the inheritance for Henry, and perhaps winning the old man over to a realistic acceptance of the idea of married life.

Well, realistically that's not going to happen, and the authors recognise this. Instead, what Strauss manages to do - the music being particularly instrumental in how successfully this is achieved - is reform Morosus' view of the world and the audience's view of Morosus. Over the course of Die schweigsame Frau, he becomes wonderfully human. Even though he is being set-up, with three members of the opera troupe being offered as potential brides in a sham marriage, Morosus is nonetheless moved that a beautiful woman would even consider marrying an old man like himself. Timidia, who is Henry's wife Aminta playing a role, is herself moved somewhat by how the old man is stirred into love and begins to understand that happiness isn't necessary something elusive.

The fact that the emotions are stirred by something "fake" isn't an issue. The role-playing is just another example in the Strauss canon, of how the "artificial" construction of art, music and opera can inspire genuine feelings and suggest possibilities that one might not otherwise be open to in "real-life". To do that successfully, of course, the opera and the music must itself be good, and with Strauss, that's something that is never in any doubt. Act II culminates in the most beautiful sextet that is typically Straussian in the soaring beauty of its orchestration, but worthy of Mozart (who is the model for this kind of scene evidently, and a model that Rossini often emulated) in how it draws together sentiments of nobility, sadness and humanity, even within a comic situation.

Despite its qualities, Die schweigsame Frau wasn't a success when it was first performed and it has rarely been revived over the years. Much of the opera's troubled history stems from the fact that it was banned by the Nazis in 1936 after only three performances. This was less to do with any controversy surrounding the subject of the work than the fact that Strauss worked with a Jewish writer, Stefan Zweig, on the libretto. Even after the war, there was little appetite for this Strauss comedy, or indeed for much the lush orchestration and frivolous subjects that seemed increasingly out of touch with developments in 20th century music, and Die schweigsame Frau is consequently one of those latter works by the composer that is rarely performed and has subsequently fallen into obscurity.

In the year of Strauss's 150th anniversary however, Munich's Bayerische Staatsoper's new production of Die schweigsame Frau gives this neglected work a welcome revival and they've done rather well by it. For much of the first two acts, and much of the third also, the set consists of nothing more than a raised platform on the stage, with a bed the only real prop. Barrie Kosky however lets the characters and the music fill out everything that is essential in the work. Or rather, the conductor Pedro Halffter ensures that the full impact of Strauss's orchestration serves the comic drama and the underlying human sentiments, while Kosky draws out the typically Strauss themes and references, most notably in how the Henry's opera troupe are all dressed as famous opera characters.

It might have been better to dress Tara Erraught as Mariandel here rather than Violetta, since her character plays the same type of plain-speaking, forward country-girl when introduced as one of Morosus' potential wives, but I can think of at least one good reason not to go in that direction (fun and appropriately opera self-referential as it might have been), but there's no reason to over-complicate the work with too much cleverness - the work is strong enough to work on its own terms. Act III opens up the stage a little more when Timidia starts transforming the house and start spending the money which drops down like rain as the platform opens up. It's a simple and effective direction that gets the essentials across.

The production is also very well served by the cast. Like most Strauss operas, the principal soprano role is exceedingly challenging, and Aminta/Timidia is no exception. Brenda Rae has to hold some very high notes indeed, and she does so impressively, her performance in the dual role moreover wonderfully engaging. The lower end of the bass tessitura for Sir Morosus is no less challenging, and in many respects, the role can be just as rewarding as Baron Ochs von Lerchenau. Perhaps that's just because Franz Hawlata sang it so well here and, just as importantly, recognised and brought out the different human facets of his character. As mentioned above, Tara Erraught's soaring mezzo-soprano made a noticeable impact, but there were equally strong performances and singing from Nikolay Borchev as the barber and Daniel Behle as Henry.

This was a wonderful start to the new season of live steamed broadcasts at the Bayerische Staatsoper in Munich. In an anniversary year where we've been treated to plenty of Der Rosenkavaliers, Ariadnes and even an unusual amount of Die Frau ohne Schatten productions, this is an ambitious and pleasantly successful venture into lesser explored but eminently worthy Richard Strauss territory.

Links: Staatsoper.TV

Mozart - La Clemenza di Tito

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart - La Clemenza di Tito

Bayerische Staatsoper, Munich, 2014

Kirill Petrenko, Jan Bosse, Toby Spence, Kristine Opolais, Tara Erraught, Hanna-Elisabeth Müller, Angela Brower, Tareq Nazmi

Staatsoper.tv Live Internet Streaming, 16 February 2014

The intentions of Jan Bosse's production of La Clemeneza di Tito for the Bavarian State Opera can be - like most Munich productions - difficult to decipher. Fortunately - and thankfully mostly down to some pruning of Metastasio's libretto for Mozart's version - the purpose and moral of La Clemenza di Tito is not at all difficult to fathom. In terms of the complex nature of the relationships between the characters, yes, there are the usual Metastasian coincidences and cruel twists of fate, but essentially the underlying sentiment is as clear as the title of the opera itself. It's all about the virtue of mercy, clemency, understanding and love for one's fellow man.

If a production can get that essential point across, even if the manner of presenting it isn't the most expressive, then that's really what counts. And in this particular work, perhaps more so than elsewhere, that relies very much on how well attuned the production is to Mozart's music. That's because while Metastasio's libretto for La Clemenza di Tito is very much a classical text - the libretto having already been set to music by some of the most notable composer's of 18th century Baroque opera seria - it's very much transformed and enhanced in this particular instance by the hand of Mozart.

The circumstances of the writing of La Clemenza di Tito are well-documented. The composer's final opera was composed as a commission for the coronation of Leopold II in Prague in 1791. Written in haste and completed in only 18 days to a pre-existing libretto (adapted and reduced to two acts by the poet Caterino Mazzola), the composer assisted by his pupil Süssmayr (who actually only worked on recitatives, and even then those were corrected by Mozart), the composition of La Clemenza di Tito bears all the hallmarks of a rush-job done on autopilot. Even if that were true, Mozart on autopilot is no minor matter, but there is considerably more of the composer's beautiful soul and sensibility in the work that might be apparent within the restrictions of the opera seria form.

It's this quality that Mozart himself brings to the work that it is important to keep in mind when considering La Clemenza di Tito and perhaps that is the intention of the director here. Even though the stage set is a curved forum in the style of the Capitol in Rome at the time of Titus Vespasianus, the costumes are closer to the late 18th century period of Mozart's time. It's worth noting that some figures in period costume with powdered wigs, also take up place at the side of the stage to emphasise this and that the orchestra itself takes their place in the pit as if it's a lower level of the stage. There's not much made of this afterwards, but some elements are brought out further on one or two occasions to add to the effect and remind you that it is by Mozart, that it's an entertainment and that it was meant for a specific audience.

One example is during Sesto's Act I 'Parto, ma tu ben mio' aria. The most conflicted character in the opera, it's Sesto (urged on admittedly by the rather less conflicted Vitellia) who is unable to recognise the more open, kinder nature that sets Titus apart from how rulers are expected to behave. The importance of this character, and the need to show the complexity of his nature and how it is affected by the conflict in his position, is vital to the work. Just so that you don't miss how Mozart scores this aria with some beautiful obbligato clarinet, the musician is brought up onto the stage also. It tells us that we should have some sympathy for Sesto's predicament to the work Mozart. Attention is drawn to the music in this way on several other occasions, in Vitellia's important 'Non piu di fiori' aria not significantly here with a softer fortepiano accompaniment for the recitatives of Titus rather than the usual harpsichord continuo.

Other than that however, there's not much else that is notable about the stage direction or Stéphane Laimé's set design, or much variation between the two acts other than, evidently, the second part taking place in what are now the burnt ruins of the forum. There's one other nice touch at the start of Act II when the action starts without the orchestra being in the pit. Annio actually has to walk down into the pit and play the harpsichord himself to the recitativo secco. It seems to emphasise that the characters can't live, can't exist, and can't really be fully brought to life without Mozart's music there to draw it out.

The singing is evidently just as important when it comes to expression of the sentiments and the themes in the work. Kristine Opolais was the only performer that seemed less comfortable with the particular demands of the Mozartian soprano tessitura. She's a fine soprano and sings well, but is clearly uncomfortable with the high coloratura and the challenge of the sudden drops to the lower end that characterise Vitellia. Toby Spence however proves to have the ideal kind of voice for lovely soft, lyrical tenor that we expect for Titus, and he has all the necessary warmth as well. Sesto, of course is a key role and Tara Erraught performed well. Sesto's arias in particular were handled with great sensitivity for the conflicting sentiments and an awareness of his underlying nature. I was impressed by Angela Brower's Annio - and not just for playing her own accompaniment - but Hanna-Elisabeth Müller's Servilia and Tareq Nazmi's Publio were also of note.

For all the good points about the singing and for the attention given to emphasising the importance of Mozart's score, the production nonetheless never really managed to match the nobility of spirit or find the necessary warmth that characterises the best performances of this work. The fault would seem to lie with the actual stage direction, which was mostly static, with lots of standing around and little on-stage activity (other than a few close-up video projections and the huge conflagration at the end of Act I) to break it up. Kirill Petrenko's conducting and the delicate playing of the Bayerisches Staatsorchester captured the delicate transparency of Mozart's scoring, but it failed to connect with the narrative drive of the dramatic action in the way that it should.

Bell - A Harlot's Progress

Iain Bell - A Harlot's Progress

Theater an der Wien, Vienna 2013

Mikko Franck, Jens-Daniel Herzog, Diana Damrau, Marie McLaughlin, Tara Erraught, Christopher Gillett, Nathan Gunn, Nicolas Testé

Theater an der Wien - Live Internet Streaming, 24 October 2013

Much in the same way that William Hogarth's prints lend a natural structure for Stravinsky to follow in his opera of The Rake's Progress, so too do the six engravings that make up the satirical morality tale of its companion piece provide a strong framework for A Harlot's Progress. Premiered in 2013 at the Theater an der Wien, British composer Iain Bell effectively fleshes out the six tableaux of A Harlot's Progress in music and drama in his first opera work. Even with the expertise and authenticity of a libretto noted London historian and author Peter Ackroyd, the work however never really brings any deeper sense of meaning, purpose or indeed humanity to Hogarth's sharp-edged satire.

The six scenes of Hogarth's 1732 engraving sequence for A Harlot's Progress could be described as follows: 1. Moll Arrives in London; 2. Moll is the Mistress of a Wealthy Gentleman; 3. Moll becomes a Common Prostitute; 4. Moll beats Hemp in Prison; 5. Moll is dying of Syphilis; 6. Moll's Wake. As each engraving of A Harlot's Progress represents a sequential stage in its morality tale, Bell's opera follows the same "progression", although Moll Hackabout's story is evidently and intentionally less a progress than a steady decline.

From the moment the young innocent country girl arrives at the Cheapside market in London "to find her fortune", the downward trajectory of her progress is indeed on the cards. Pressed into the service of Mother Needham, a procurer of young girls for wealthy gentlemen, Moll's fortunes decline steadily even as she lives a life of apparent luxury as the kept woman of Mr Lovelace. When the gentleman finds that Moll secretly has a lover of her own - the highwayman James Dalton - he throws her out onto the streets where she becomes a common prostitute, gets pregnant and dies ignominiously in a prison in a syphilitic condition.

No, A Harlot's Progress is not a barrel of laughs, but does Iain Bell's score and Peter Ackroyd's libretto really have to be so relentlessly miserable? Ackroyd's depiction of the period London is undoubtedly authentic in its character detail and language - which gets very colourful indeed - even if the work is consequently too wordy and descriptive. It certainly fleshes out the sequence of engravings into a credible narrative drama, and - like the image of Moll's hat and the presence of the baby in Hogarth's drawings, Ackroyd manages to use references that replicate the idea of the series being a cycle. That's all well and good, successfully bringing the series to life, but the opera doesn't advance further on Hogarth's ideas, nor bring anything new to the table.

As far as opera goes, the morality tale of the fallen woman story has by now been told many times in operas like La Traviata, Lulu, Lady Macbeth of Mtsensk and even most recently in Anna Nicole, and done in all the above with considerably more character, invention and colour. Even Stravinsky's The Rake's Progress recognised that there was humour, satire, irony and tragedy in Hogarth's work and found a way through neo-classical arrangements and pastiche to express the varied character of the tale. Neither Ackroyd nor Bell are able to match the wit and satire of Hogarth's prints, finding only misery, rutting, disease and death in it all.

The tone of Bell's score is consequently rather dark, drab and lacking in character. The overture sets the ominous tone for what is ahead, with rolling drums, fragmentary phrases, plucked notes and droning violin as bodies in rags crawl through the mist to the front of the stage. Individuals arise out of this seething mass, one stabbing and robbing another, others selling their wares, and the score picks out moments and characters with short phrases and serial runs. There's a full orchestra and a chorus employed here, but they are never used to bring any real dynamic to vary the tone or suggest any deeper level of individual character. Everyone in their own way is just miserable and out for themselves. Playing on the theme of Paul Bunyan's 'The Pilgrim's Progress', Hogarth's prints were a satire exposing the hypocrisy behind the society and its establishment figures in their exploitation of good people like Tom Rakewell and Moll Hackabout, but there's very little of that evident here.

The Theater an der Wien's staging is simple but effective enough for the purposes of connecting the scenes of the drama together. Although the costumes are approximate to the period (with some exceptions), the set wisely doesn't pile on the grimy misery of Georgian London. A stylised backdrop of a white wooden cage encloses the drama with panels that increasingly shut down sections on Moll's life as black ashes fall down upon the stage. Moving to contemporary opera is a considerable challenge for Diana Damrau and far from the Mozart roles she is most famous for, but she carries it off and gives a good performance. Tara Erraught's Kitty is also impressive, and Nathan Gunn is fine as James Dalton, but despite the attention paid to fleshing out the detail of the drama, there's not much for the characters to do here other than play out the misery of their existence.