Asides from Glyndebourne #2
A second outing to
Glyndebourne (see previous blog July 2015), this time by taxi from a Lewes
B&B.
Alas, no warm sunny weather
this time _ rather, intermittent fine drizzle floated in from the Downs. So,
the lawns were largely empty, apart from some hardy hold-outs, among whom we
were numbered. A picnic blanket with a reasonably waterproof backing and a golf
umbrella balance on a low stone wall provided a dryish encampment, supplemented
by cagoules. Good subject-matter for a Bateman cartoon.
The Opera (technically an
Oratorio) was Handel’s Saul. This was
something of a contrast to the austere The
Rape of Lucretia.
Handel’s librettos(i?) are
vary sparing of words. Phrases are endlessly repeated, with musical variations
of course. But this can be a bit tedious to the un-Handel’d ear. The
Glyndebourne production hit on a solution to broaden appeal – introduce
movement (Handel’s original oratorios would have been entirely static events,
and mostly still are).
Repetitious music is the soul
of dance. So over the top we go, with gorgeous sets and costumes, with the
chorus drilled in wonderfully fluid gyrations, and with a troupe of acrobats
thrown in. Handel’s static flourishes are transformed into a fantastical, if
tragic, carnival.
The programme notes have the
director saying that a dream-like atmosphere, belonging to no historical time
or place, is aimed at.
This has been the only opera
production which I have attended where there has been spontaneous applause,
just for the revealed set, when the curtain has been raised.
Footnote: Charlstone
From Handel-waltz to the
Charlstone: The somewhat disappointing BBC series Life in Squares, about the Bloomsbury Group (labels inscribed with
famous names stuck on characters doing little more than flirting and beyond…)
at least piqued an interest in Charlstone, the country residence near Lewes of
Vanessa Bell and Duncan Grant (and later Vanessa’s semi-estranged husband,
Clive).
It is a pretty house, set in
lovely gardens. It is full of the artwork of its famous inhabitants. Yet, as
with other houses which are preserved empty in some relatively recently passed
state (for another example, Henry Moore’s house in Hertfordshire) there is
something a little depressing. The place seems to be forever waiting for its
proper occupants, but has to put up with endless guided tours.
At some point in time the
transition is made from empty home to intimate furniture and art museum, and
the atmosphere adjusts accordingly.
Sept 2015
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