It probably isn't a good thing to go to operas on two consecutive days, although such a thing will happen again in May, for sure.
But despite all my dithering I knew deep inside that I ought to go to this one. Perhaps "ought" isn't a good enough reason, either. Sir John in Love is by Vaughan Williams and is based upon Shakespeare's Merry Wives of Windsor. A strong cast, as ENO said, mixing Youth and Experience, and containing half a dozen names worth making the effort for.
Vaughan Williams, one of Britain's finest composers, wrote a ravishingly buoyant score for his 'Falstaff' opera, which has been described as one long chain of melodies. It is permeated with English folksongs, including the great British favourite Greensleeves. The vivacious characters are brought to life by an exemplary British cast,says ENO.
First off, I will say that almost without exception it was wonderfully acted. Top marks to Andrew Shore as Falstaff, a real star performance, and there was nobody that came across badly. And Robert Tear and Jean Rigby both acted far far better than their singing. There were some examples of excellent singing: Shore, Marie McLaughlin and Iain Paterson were my stand outs; hon menshes also to Alistair Miles (who was probably better than how I heard him, because it was a deep bass role), Sarah Fox, and to Andrew Kennedy, who I have decided that I would like to see in a proper role, because at times he really hit my T-spot. He also gets my award for "Most Hyperactive Tenor of the Week" against formidable opposition...
Some of the music was magnificent. I single out the orchestral rendering of Greensleeves, exemplifying everything I like about Vaughan Williams. There was also some terrific orchestra work in the closing scene which managed to salvage the evening for me. I shall leave the final scene for a moment. But most of the score was dire. I can't stand that twee Merrie England folksiness tripping gaily through the meadow. Cowpat music, I think.
I thought the score was patchy at best. One tune, nicked from one of Henry VIII's courtiers, does not an opera make. I thought for the most part the vocal lines were horrible, and I feel loath to criticise the singers who delivered them, even though I felt that there were quite a few voices straining unlyrically in a way that made me judge them as too small for the house. The plot was amusing, but the libretto/dramaturgy really failed to give any insight into the human condition.
The dreadful libretto/dramaturgy combined with an awful staging to make the evening drag interminably. I am sure I could sit through the entire sixteen hours of Wagner's Ring and be not as bored as I was. Three hours into the second Act I lost the will to live, very jealous of the couple behind who had declared at halftime "It's a waste of money if we stay, and a waste of money if we go." They went. At least I got an insight into the relativity of Time, when I realised that a three week opera can actually be fitted in between half past seven and quarter past ten.
Much of the problem with the staging was the sheer wasted energy. There were a great number of chorus members and extras, who weren't exactly standing around but hadn't been given any clear directions on when to move. The sets were uninspired junk, with a house made of matchsticks acting as the focal point. For certain scenes they split it in two, which just irritated me because one half had no upstairs.
But the second worst bit was a scene in the country, where the scenery consisted of two dimensional cut-out cardboard greenery and a two-dimensional cut out cardboard cow. My colleagues could have done a better cardboard cow in 1991 when I moved to Agriculture Division - and, guess what, they did.
But the very worst aspect of all was the accents. Everyone else seems to think they were Mockney and Fake Somerset, but I swear they were the worst attempt ever at bucolic Norfolk.
Thankfully the final scene was a semi-coup de theatre with a half hearted attempt to make the tree look realistic, and there was a pretty impressive bonfire. The music for this scene was enjoyable, too, but frankly, it's not been staged anywhere in the world since 1958, and, if it takes another forty-eight years to be staged again, well, I shall be eighty-six and have an excuse to stay at home. Or maybe not - I want to be Rose Hacker. But I'll give Sir John in Love a miss.
Edward Seckerson in the Independent This comedy of errors falls flat, tepid says the Times. The FT loves it; Too Much `Hey-Nonny-Nonny' Deadens ENO's `Sir John in Love' . And someone travelled all the way from California and set up a blog specially - here's their review of the performance.
Audience observations. To my right were a couple, who seemed rather mismatched to me. I don't think it was a first date but I have my suspicions it will soon run its course. He was late twenties and earnest and thoughtful, she was early twenties, and seemed to be a spoilt attention seeker. When they arrived she had an enormous tub of ice-cream and spent the first twenty minutes shovelling it into her gob, before he suggested that she stopped scraping the spoon noisily along the tub. Before it had even started he suggested he would take her to Nixon in China.
Throughout the entire opera she spent her entire time fidgeting. To some extent, I have sympathy, because it was boring. But she made no effort to concentrate, perhaps concentration it isn't one of her core competencies, but she behaved like a spoilt small child high on e-numbers. When I returned at the end of the interval, she was sitting alone in her seat, and the boyfriend returned a considerable time later. As we left, he, rather desolately, said "Well, perhaps it might have been better if you'd known what was going on, most of the performances have surtitles." I think by then she had lost the will to live and no doubt her anecdotes in the future will include "I had this boyfriend once - would you believe he took me to an opera. Boring shit, I don't know what was worse, the boring opera or the boring boyfriend. I'm well shut of him."
Sir John Falstaff - Andrew Shore
Ford - Alastair Miles
Mrs Ford - Jean Rigby
Pistol - Graeme Danby
Rugby - Mark Richardson
Page - Russell Smythe
Mrs Page - Marie McLaughlin
Anne Page - Sarah Fox
Dr Caius - Robert Tear
Peter Simple - Richard Coxon
Mrs Quickly - Sally Burgess
Fenton - Andrew Kennedy
Shallow - Stuart Kale
Slender - Christopher Gillett
Sir Hugh Evans - Iain Paterson
Host - Nicholas Folwell
