English National Opera presents
Death in Venice
IAN BOSTRIDGE AS ASCHENBACH
COPYRIGHT ENGLISH NATIONAL OPERA, Photo by NEIL LIBBERT
Music by Benjamin Britten
Libretto by Myfanwy Piper
Based on the short story by Thomas Mann
Directed by Deborah Warner
Conducted by Edward Gardner
24 May – 13 June 2007
Review by Mary Couzens
A review by Mary Couzens for EXTRA! EXTRA!
When Benjamin Britten (1913 – 1976) completed his operatic version of Death in Venice in 1973, he was already suffering from the acute heart condition that would end his life. However, despite the fact that his creative outpouring included such ground breaking, popular operas as Peter Grimes (1945) and War Requiem (1961), like many artists, he remained singularly unsatisfied with his own body of work. That dissatisfaction is a phenomenon that he was also drawn to in the context of his work, which is perhaps, one of the reasons why he was attracted to Thomas Mann’s Death in Venice.
Renowned author Gustav von Aschenbach suffers from writer’s block. A chance encounter in Munich causes him to believe that sunshine and warmth may offer a cure. On the boat to Venice, he encounters men of a dubious character. He surmises, however, that a better class of people awaits him at the Lido, where he hopes to begin a more fruitful period of creativity. Once he has reached his destination, he comes face to face with both his unexpected muse, and his own mortality.
COPYRIGHT ENGLISH NATIONAL OPERA, Photo by NEIL LIBBERT
Although on the surface, Ian Bostridge may seem too young to play novelist Gustav von Aschenbach, he plays the role with all the fervour of one possessed by his obsessions. And, at the age of 42, Bostridge is, admittedly, not that far off from being the character’s true age of 50. His boyish dash seems to imbue the character with an added level of poignancy that may not hitherto have been there and, as is always the case with the opera star, his singing rises far above any potential misgivings onlookers may initially harbour. Benjamin Paul Griffiths as young Tadzio, the object of von Aschenbach’s fascination, moves with a grace and poise in keeping with his position as a young nobleman and his ballet dancing is sublime. He never utters a word, but his innocence speaks volumes. Peter Coleman-Wright plays so many characters, it is hard to keep track of all of them, and performs each distinctively and with great panache. Iestyn Davies does a fine job as the voice of Apollo. As do a troupe of excellent young dancers who add interest and sparkle. The rest of the players lend great support, playing varied characters from street venders to gondoliers with naturalistic ease, in order to enable the action to flow smoothly.
Set Designer Tom Pye has outdone himself on this outing with versatility and imagination underscoring every spectacular scene change, from the opening on board an ocean liner to the production’s sparsely effective ending. Lighting Design, courtesy of Jean Kalman shimmers with the afterglow of fulfilled possibilities. At times its diverse subtleties almost fool the senses into feeling the warmth of the sun and smelling the sea’s spray. Costumes by Chloe Obolensky help lend a sense of decorum and imbue a time-frame to this painterly production. Kim Brandstrup’s choreography is dreamy and playful, although dance sequences involving Tadzio and his friends tend to occur a bit more frequently than the storyline seems to warrant. Taut, concentrated direction from Deborah Warner enables the characters to display their dualities without lapsing into melodrama. Conductor Edward Gardener gives his all to the orchestra; enabling them to effectively recreate the swells, rolls and softly lapping waves of Britten’s darkly diverse score. Hearty acknowledgement of his efforts and those of the orchestra and chorus by the audience at the opera’s conclusion were well deserved.
BENJAMIN PAUL GRIFFITHS AS TADZIO
COPYRIGHT ENGLISH NATIONAL OPERA, Photo by NEIL LIBBERT
This spectacularly staged rendering of Britten’s Death in Venice features highly focused direction, fine performances, superb sets, elegantly understated lighting, and literary toned encounters of the Mann kind. No expense seems to have been spared and much was made of the entire company by the time the opera drew to its shattering conclusion, with numerous curtain calls, amidst thundering applause washing over all. I was, however, singularly unconvinced that I had witnessed an opera of the magnitude signified, for in hindsight, its overall impression, like von Aschenbach’s grand obsession, seemed as vapid as Venetian mist.
New Production
8 performances
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