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The quality of mercy is examined before the Doge. Pictures: Johan Persson The Merchant of Venice
Welsh National Opera
Birmingham Hippodrome
***** DAVID Pountney has long had a gift for restoring to life out-of-the-way operas that have been needlessly neglected. In recent years he has given life to the Polish-Russian composer Moishe Vainberg (Mieczyslaw Weinberg), whose sense of drama and musical artistry was greatly admired by Shostakovich. Among East European
repertoire, we owe it to Pountney that Smetana’s
Dalibor
entered the western repertoire (at Edinburgh), and equally the same
composer’s Dvě Vdovy
(The Two Widows).
Two operas by Martinů – Julietta
and The Greek Passion -
were brought by him to Opera North and ENO,
and to the Royal Opera. He has performed an
invaluable service. Now hotfoot from the festival Pountney directed
(till 2014) at Bregenz, comes a work that has every claim to be a
masterpiece. This was a world, and now UK, premiere, and everything
about it was memorable. It is by André Tchaikowsky, a Polish born
composer who escaped the ghetto and spent most of his later life in
England. He became an outstanding concert pianist, supported, encouraged
and promoted by the great Artur Rubinstein. He was only 46 when he died,
in 1982, but he left a striking albeit limited number of works behind.
Of these, The Merchant of Venice
is undoubtedly the most important. Everything about this
opera, and arguably about Keith Warner’s WNO production, was frankly
superb. The first reason is the libretto. Despite numerous attempts to
convert Shakespeare’s plays into operas, not everyone has fared well.
Even Thomas Adès’ acclaimed score for
The Tempest made its imp But no such problems arose here. Tchaikowsky – no relation to his Russian counterpart; in fact it was a name assumed to conceal his original Jewish surname – acquired a librettist, John O’Brien, who worked wonders with Shakespeare’s play. Martin Wolfel as Antonio and Sarah Castle as Portia Time and again one finds the key lines of the
original used to maximum advantage: crucial lines, of Shylock, and
Portia, Antonio, Bassanio and Gratiano, are brought in to give the story
maximum familiarity and maximum impact. At no point does one feel any
crucial bits of verse are lost. By intelligent selection, Tchaikowsky
and O’Brien have packed into the opera virtually every aspect of real
importance – with a sparkling text to match. The task facing composer and librettist was not
minor. The story relies on several distinct but interlocking elements:
the attraction, and loyalty, of the merchant Antonio to the well-born
Bassanio, conceivably reaching back to the latter’s boyhood; the
fashioning of the bond with Shylock; the absconding of Shylock’s
daughter, Jessica, with her Christian boyfriend Lorenzo; the aspiring
foreign suitors of Portia, and their hilarious comic failure; Gratiano’s
falling for Portia’ maid Nerissa; the trial scene before the Doge; the
posing of Portia as a ‘young lawyer’ and the financial humiliation of
Shylock; the moonlit love scene of Lorenzo and Jessica; and the amusing
deception of Bassanio and Gratiano thanks to the girls’ mischievous
claiming of the rings they themselves gave. What is so extraordinary is how well all of this
is encompassed within the frame of the opera. The first to establish
himself is Antonio, the role given to a countertenor (Martin Wölfel),
whose sympathetic character was established by the softness – perhaps a
little too recessive – of his tone. It is possible to believe that here
is a man in love (his word), but who sacrifices himself willingly out of
loyalty, and even shows tolerance and forgiveness towards Shylock (whom
his young friends, if not he himself, has often mocked and derided ‘on
the Rialto’. Wölfel gives us an Antonio who is almost
unbelievably passive, even as he prepares to undergo the knife; one
cannot imagine him running a shipping firm that plies its way to
‘Tripoli, The Indies, Mexico and Britain’. Yet set against the
rumbustiousness of his friends (Simon Thorpe’s Salerio notably
impressed), he emerges with a dignity and honour that made its own kind
of impression and impact. Wölfel’s voice, when you could hear it, was
exquisite. There were two Shylocks, alternating in this cast. Quentin Hayes is one of the strongest, most agile of our (still) young baritones, even though the parts he plays nowadays tend to be grey haired. He achieved something quite impressive here: his Shylock was outwardly laid-back, not snarling or aggressive. O’Brien follows Shakespeare in tacking the ugly ‘pound of flesh’ terms on almost casually at the end of the deal. Hayes gave us a Shylock who is patently
vulnerable (‘Hath not a Jew eyes, hath not a Jew ears?’) was one of many
famous lines memorably set by Tchaikowsky); and who, like Rigoletto,
almost fears the growing up of his now ripe daughter. The stages by
which, in the test of strength, he attempts to uphold an alternative
deal (‘three times’ my capital); sneers at the cross; and finds himself
deprived even of his principal, were splendidly phased. Antonio’s only
act of near-cruelty is to stipulate he become a Christian. Mark Le Brocq as Bassanio and Bruce Sledge as
Lorenzo both furnished notably attractive, even golden tenor voices,
both as soloists and in duet (Le Brocq with Wölfel, Sledge with Lauren
Michelle’s gentle Jessica). Their actions were a little stolid – one of
the very few failings in Keith Warner’s beautifully modulated, immensely
inventive production, which scored on nearly every front. But in front
of a full moon, the Jessica-Lorenzo closing duet allowed Tchaikowsky to
insert a piece of pure lyricism into what was quite a dramatic piece of
music overall.
Music like what? Right
at the outset he embarks on a scherzo passage that has plenty in common
with, say, Shostakovich at his most buoyant. At other times, he slips
into a character close to many Austro-German composers of the middle
century, but most notably Berg and even the richer reaches of atonal
(pre-12 note) Schoenberg. Time and again his orchestration is not just
engaging but apt for the moment: passages of slow cello and then oboe,
or cellos and basses in the kind of inverted passage that 12-tone
composers import. Eerie xylophone, of a strange,
shofar- like
effect reinforced by groaning trombones. Whereas the allusion to Portia
invites a spread of meltingly beautiful strings, but somehow originally
deployed, not obviously. One gets the feeling time and again that one is
listening to a composer of the utmost ingenuity, a musician of the front
rank. One character who imprinted himself unforgettably
on this production was David Stout’s Gratiano. Stout has a marvellous
way of prising the most out of a comic situation, while at the same time
playing it down or taking the mickey out of himself. The voice is rich
and immensely rewarding – often making the most of an alluring low bass
register. But when Gratiano tames himself, as in the court scene, he
lends a surprising distinction by his presence (one that was shared with
Miklós Sebestyén’s august though naturally flummoxed Doge). Stout was
dressed much of the time in a beige or white suit – the consistency of
Ashley Martin-Davis’s outfits, both for the girls and the men, helped
maintain the stylistic thoroughness and concentration of Warner’s
staging. Likewise his sets – including some heavy walls not unlike the
funeral walls of Venice’s San Michele – served well. This opera looked
all of a piece, and that helped the production excel from beginning to
end. Tchaikowsky writes
expressively and with great imagination for the individual voices.
Indeed Stout’s solo work more than once suggested the sinister baritone
role from Britten’s Death in Venice.
One instrument he gives special weight to is the clarinet (as at
Shylock’s ‘for sufferance is the badge of all our tribe’). He deploys
mocking low woodwind for the Jew’s malicious urging of the bond, then a
soaring horn, then Berg-suggesting flute for Lorenzo (after some
scintillating coloratura from Lauren Michelle’s Jessica dangling from a
wall). One of the most satisfying ensembles is an all-male quartet for
Lorenzo and Gratiano teamed with Solanio and Salerio; equally, some of
his interludes – these play a strong role across the whole opera – are
distinguished by using solo instruments, always to telling effect. ‘My
daughter, my ducats’ laments Shylock, heralded by a panicky interlude;
the women’s chorus did well at this point.
A cute little hedge permits
characters to keep popping up and diving down in a crazy manner. It all
makes for a deliciously witty contrast with the serious business of the
court scene, though a yelping clarinet and serious brass bring home
effectively the grim letter from Antonio, announcing the demise of all
his ships and begging Le Brocq’s Bassanio to be present at the grisly
end. Tchaikowsky uses brass
sparingly but ably. For instance, the tuba launches Act III, where
assailed by Thorpe’s fine bass Salerio and Gary Griffiths’ Solanio
(Shylock: ‘I courted Leah when a bachelor’) Quentin Hayes’s put-upon
Shylock’s hints at his own personal griefs, and explains his devotion to
keeping Jessica. The scene includes one of his best lines in answer to
the twosome: why take a pound of flesh? ‘To bait fish withal’. Time and
again, this superb libretto gives us the gems of Shakespeare’s text. The
short pre-court interlude again suggests the German opera tradition –
Hindemith, perhaps. A bass clarinet warbles away as Shylock is summoned;
a flute backs up the ‘Hath not a Jew eyes’ comment. But most unnerving
is the sequence, ‘And if you wrong us, shall we not have revenge?’ which
is sung with devastating forcefulness a
cappella (unaccompanied): an awesome
passage which particularly underlines the agility of Tchaikowsky’s vocal
writing. The court scene, strongly characterised and
volubly see-sawing between the two sides, is of course at its height
with the appearance of Portia. The wonderful Sarah Castle gives an
astonishing performance – subtly winding Shylock up, hooking him and
reeling him in, to the admiration of all present. Castle’s light vocal
touch – she is deemed, after all, ‘a boy’ – added hugely to the
impressiveness of this scene. The undoing of Shylock is brilliantly
manufactured by libretto and score alike. If any scene confirms the
masterpiece that this opera is, it is of course this one. The pianissimo
flute, then oboe, that accompany ‘It droppeth as the gentle rain from
heaven’ only underline the ongoing delicacy of Portia’s solo line. Her
appearance – unrecognised - clad in black lawyer’s attire is both comic
and deeply serious. Abetted by so subtle a score, Castle managed to
carry off both with deftness and delightful aplomb. So: here we have a
completely unknown opera, completed by 1981, teasing out the marvellous
eloquence of one of Shakespeare’s most cleverly constructed dramas. The
text drawn from the Bard’s iambics is truly inspired. The music is as
clever and varied and elegantly conceived as, arguably, that associated
with any Shakespeare opera. And here in Keith Warner’s splendidly moved,
smartly conceived, riveting production abetted by Ashley Mart-Davis’s
designs and a cast able to bring a splendid intensity and captivating
freshness to the multi-layered plot, we have the makings of a
masterpiece. Which is just what this
The Merchant of Venice is.
Roderic Dunnett 09-11-16
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act
from the music and characterisation (Prospero, Ariel) rather than from
the truncated libretto that to som extent mangled Shakespeare’s original
and sheared it of its poetic uniqueness.