By Ziggy Himsworth, Second Year English
BOpS’s recent production of Mozart’s ‘Don Giovanni’ was completely bizarre, and entirely wonderful. The exaggerated melodrama and theatrical absurdity, both self-aware and sincere, made the show into a parody of itself: an over-dramatic, unconvincing but totally entertaining evening of gun-fights and adultery.
BOpS made the story of a menacing womanizer – a man dragged to hell for his crimes of rape and murder – into a performance that was ridiculously campy and fun.
The action was often so overtly staged that it became almost surreal, but its artificiality was, I think, what made it so endearing: a very loud and visible smoke machine flooded the theatre several times; janky pyrotechnics went off without warning; the chorus moved through choreographed dances with stiff unease, or outright refused to act at all, instead standing dead still in an unnerving semicircle around the soloists.
The costuming was gothic, and classically operatic. Black lipstick, dark eye-shadow and thick arching eyebrows fixed on the cast expressions of permanent surprise.
The lace dresses, fishnet gloves, and ‘20s finger waves were straight out of Vaudeville. Don Giovanni, played by James Outtrim, was particularly imposing in a billowing cloak and top hat, an effect compounded by a thunderous voice, and his being three feet taller than the rest of the ensemble.
Vocal performances ranged from hesitant to experienced, but every time someone ran faster than tempo, or glanced anxiously at the conductor for timing, or sacrificed technique in favour of dramatic flailing, the cast became more charming.
Tilly Collard, playing Donna Elvira, was perhaps the most passionate. Her poise and grand gestures, along with her ability to look indignant for the entire run time really sold the character. Eve Doyle was a brilliantly slap-stick Leporello, and Lewis Pierce as the Statue had clear talent for standing still before nailing the line, ‘Don Giovaaannnniii!’
It was Lucy Hancock as Donna Anna, however – in her controlled vibrato and careful phrasing – who was the vocal stand-out, and her duets with Jake Wingfield’s Don Ottavio were lovely. When the ensemble sang together, all nerves were lost to momentous noise, and we got a window into the power of an opera performed with confidence.
Musical Director Will Walshe-Grey's continuo was elegant and creepy, and Aina West’s guitar serenade was beautifully played– so calm. The singers and instrumentalists were just out of sync, and the resultant atmosphere was a little eerie and disjointed.
But the slight chaos was what made the show so enjoyable. It was nice to find, too, that all opera audiences, at Glyndebourne or the Winston Theatre, have no idea when to clap.
All in all, the conflict between commitment to a grandeur out of reach and, in other moments, complete liberation from seriousness, made this the kitschiest, most eccentric opera I have ever seen. I can only imagine what Mozart would have thought, and I can only hope that the next one is half as strange.
Featured Image: Cecelia KocDo you like operas?
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