Opera: The Pearl Fishers, Coliseum

Well, well, well - it turns out that when I predicted my shiny new opera category would be left languishing on a shelf gathering dust, I could not have been more wrong.  Less than two weeks after Carmen at the O2, I found myself spending another evening in the company of Bizet at the English National Opera’s production of his earlier work, The Pearl Fishers.  I’m not quite sure how this happened: I have always loved the famous baritone-tenor duet (you know, this one), which I think would be one of my Desert Island Discs, and the opportunity to see it performed live was too tempting to resist. 

I still have no real understanding of what makes a good opera or a good production, so don’t consider myself qualified to provide an informed review but, if the opinion of someone who still has their opera stabilisers firmly attached counts for anything, I found the whole evening captivating.  From the very beginning, in which three pearl divers rise and fall behind a projected sea, complete with bubbles, the design was beautiful even from my seat in the balcony.  Later, the impression of water was created using mirrored floors and rippling material through which the divers smoothly emerged and disappeared, creating a magical effect.

The production opens on a shanty town full of people with so much to look at that having a bit of distance to take everything in actually felt like an advantage.  The action soon becomes concentrated on two men, Zurga and Nadir, who sing the famous duet “Au fond du temple saint” (“Deep in the holy temple”) about their past love for the same woman.  When a veiled priestess, Leila, arrives to pray for protection for the pearl divers as they carry out their work, it doesn’t take a genius to guess who she might be, and it doesn’t seem likely to end well.

A smartly-dressed man had come out on stage before the start to say that the leading lady, Hanan Alattar, had a throat infection but was going to perform.  He appeared again after the interval to deliver the news that the leading man, Alfie Boe, had been struck down as well (not surprising, seeing as they spend most of the second act singing in each other’s face), but would also be battling on.  This added an element of tension, wondering whether their voices would hold out until the end, but I can honestly say that I wouldn’t have noticed and am amazed that they can produce such vocal performances whilst feeling rotten when I can barely drag myself into the office.  I felt there was real chemistry between them and, not knowing the story, wasn’t holding out much hope for a happy ending (particularly once they were tied up and doused in petrol) so breathed a sigh of relief when Zurga sacrificed himself for their happiness.

I am aware that The Pearl Fishers is not particularly well-regarded but, whilst appreciating that there is not much of a plot and finding that the surtitles just drew attention to the banality of the lyrics in translation, I loved the music and the performances and was completely entranced.  I now feel determined to continue my education and hereby promise that the opera category will be dusted off again soon.

Opera: Carmen, O2 Arena

It’s a red-letter day: I’ve broken the bottle of Dom Perignon on a shiny new category – opera.  Not that it’s likely to be troubled too frequently as before this my experience was limited to Jerry Springer: The Opera, which I imagine is not typical of the genre, and something broadcast on a giant screen in Trafalgar Square last summer.  Clearly, I can lay no claim to being an opera buff so might as well confess that I only went to see this production of Carmen because I have a Massive Embarrassing Crush on Darius Campbell (formerly Danesh) who, following his triumphant victory over a Nolan on Popstar to Operastar, was appearing in a supporting role for one afternoon only.

Having established that the O2 is not a particularly suitable venue for comedy, I can now exclusively reveal that it doesn’t work for opera either.  The problem is the same: it’s just too chuffing big.  This production was staged in the round with an alleged cast of 200 (although I think they must have been counting the orchestra) and a stage shaped like a giant squiggle.  From my seat in Level 4, which is as high up as it sounds, it was like watching a performing troupe of Borrowers – it was very difficult to tell where you should be looking, who was singing and, at times, what on earth was going on.  This can only be the fault of the director, who didn’t seem to have taken any account at all of the size of the space and the position of the audience, and who had almost certainly never been anywhere near Level 4.  It also seemed like a complete waste of the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra, whose sound was completely lost. 

I had no prior knowledge of the plot of Carmen - and was none the wiser until I looked it up on Wikipedia during the interval - although I found that I did recognise quite a bit of the music.  To be swept along in the story of the tragic heroine, you need to be able to see the sparks fly between her and her lover, Don José, and from this distance it was never going to be possible to make any kind of emotional connection.  However, I’m not sure there was any chemistry to see: whilst she was a fiery, feisty señorita, he looked like the fat Boswell brother out of Bread. 

M’colleague had had enough after two hours and left at the interval, which was a shame because the second half was considerably better (and shorter) than the first, with more inventive staging and a much swifter pace.  The use of fire eaters, dancers and an elaborate procession gave an insight into what this production could, and should, have been – it needed to be big, bold and brash, but a lot of it was just boring.  It might have been a different experience from the seats nearer the stage, but if something is going to work in an arena the size of the O2, it has to reach those of us at the back.

But what of Darius, I hear you ask?  In the role of the bullfighter Escamillo, he didn’t have a whole lot to do but he did get one of the big hits (if that’s the correct operatic term) and the best costumes.  Even from a distance, the stage presence  he displayed in Gone With The Wind was evident and his voice sounded pretty good to me; I don’t think I’d have been able to tell that he wasn’t a proper opera singer, but what do I know.  Not so sure about the stunt ponytail, with its dangerous echoes of the Popstars era, though.