by All eyes were on Thomas Allen. Not that there was no other attraction. On the contrary, every inch of the stage in Glyndebourne’s The Happy Widow (1905), masterfully directed by John Wilson and maximally directed by Cal McCrystal, with visual glory: a sweeping Hollywood-style staircase down which the unbroken hero, Danilo, could make his entrance, sliding from bottom to top and sliding from bottom to top. c-ing all; a smattering of silk ruffles and sheer ruffles in bold stripes or sherbet colours, as gorgeous as any herbaceous border in June; oversized hats, Dior style worn at a saucy tilt; sexy grisettes with high kicks and black stockings; fit, dandyish men in tight suits, luxuriant mustaches styled à la Marcel Proust.
Why, then, in the midst of all these spectacles, has Allen, a septuagenarian with a stage totter, dancing feet that look fake and not much to sing, been translated? This outstanding British baritone, after many years on the world’s operatic stages, knows the power of stillness. His comic restraint – as the smug Baron tries to save his Pontevedrian homeland from bankruptcy – was the steadying force in a big-hearted hyper-action new staging of Franz Léhar’s operetta which opened at the East Sussex festival last weekend.
The act is firmly rooted in the pre-war Edwardian period in its composition. Old customs remain sacrosanct, and men hold the keys to power except, as it happens, when money is involved. Hanna Glawari, the sassy widow of the title, is an heiress (a role that feels tailor-made for the star of the night, soprano Danielle de Niese), and her success could save Pontevedro. Her widow’s weeds are off-the-shoulder and low-cut. She can hardly wait to end her year of mourning, lift up her skirts and dance. A natural stage animal, De Niese is magnetic, witty and brave (she hurt her leg at the beginning of the rehearsal period, but there was no sign of it). She may have lost some of her voice but her dedication and musicality are winning. The Mexican baritone Germán Olvera as his love interest, Count Danilo, was extremely acrobatic, as well as golden-voiced. Michael McDermott, making a highlight of the house, took Rosillon’s obscure love for the Valencienne Marriage, sung by the ever-engaging Soraya Mafi. Cameo roles were well received.
Gary McCann’s design, with its eye on the belle époque through 1950s cinema, is brilliant (lighting by Ben Cracknell, choreography by Carrie-Anne Ingrouille). Diverse in film, theater and circus as well as opera, McCrystal, who Iolanthe a recent hit at English National Opera, he brings his versatility to this stage and at no point asking for less. There is no good gag over and over again. Bad gags are also replayed. One liners, funny walks, waggled bottoms, pratfalls, are all won by guckles and applause. The actor Tom Edden, in the speaking role of Njegus, took on the excess but succeeded well. The best trick was the simplest: a Ferrero Rocher pyramid offered, through a butcher’s service, at the most inopportune moments of personal disclosure.
The production benefits from a reworked English translation (by Stephen Plaice and Marcia Bellamy). A new edition of the score (by Lee Reynolds) added transparency to Léhar’s tight rhythms and waltz melodies. Like the composer who grew up with brass band music in his bones, Wilson brings great precision and speed to the performance. Among those many times when the orchestra plays bits of melody over dialogue, calm, tender, courageous, they are the most touching. Wilson has drilled the London Philharmonic Orchestra, as well as the Glyndebourne chorus, to the highest standards. These musicians reveal, above all, the operetta for what it is: a masterpiece of the early 20th century.
Benjamin Britten and Peter Pears, composer and tenor, life partners, founded the Aldeburgh festival in 1948, wisely choosing early in mid-June when the East Anglian landscape was at its best, and perhaps – though not last week – at least cold. This year’s festival, the 75th, will be Roger Wright’s last as chief executive. It has been a decade of change and expansion, both physical, at the revived Snape Maltings site, and artistically. This transformation has happened almost stealthily. He did not lose sight of continuity.
The composer Judith Weir, (b1954), the king’s music master, is one of the major musicians of the festival, and 14 works from her career have been registered in various concerts. Having always sought an independent path, she has more than she bargained for, and deserves this generous celebration. A new orchestral piece, Planetit was given its world premiere last Tuesday by the Knussen Chamber Orchestra conducted by Ryan Wigglesworth, in a concert that included the Symphony No. 41 Jupiter K551 by Mozart, and his Piano Concerto No. 24 in C minor, K491 (woodwinds are best played here).
Founded in memory of the inspirational composer and teacher Oliver Knussen, the KCO is made up of Royal Academy of Music students playing alongside professionals.
They provided a complete, persuasive representation of Weir’s ambitious exploration of our galaxy and planet as seen from afar in three NASA photographs. In three parts, the music moves from misty airy currents of woodwinds to large, static, wide-spaced chords, to a stirring final mass of action. This wonderfully atmospheric work should immediately enter the repertoire of chamber orchestras. Wigglesworth, who continues in Britten’s tradition as composer-conductor-pianist, was a lyrical, fluent soloist in the concerto, exploring the depths of the music and providing his own exciting cadenzas. He also played his own Glasmelodien for solo piano, a brief meditation on Mozart’s music for the glass harmonica. The past and the present collided, gorgeous, ethereal and wonderful.
• The Happy Widow at Glyndebourne, East Sussex, until 28 July
• The Aldeburgh festival is at Snape Maltings, Suffolk, until June 23
