I Put a Spell on You

THE WORLD OF SHAKESPEARE’S “Midsummer Night’s Dream” begins and ends in a nobleman’s home, taking us into the woods only after the plot has leapt into complications. Benjamin Britten and Peter Pears fashioned an opera libretto that invites us into a fairy-kingdom right away, keeping us there until the final scene forces us back into a fancy drawing room. The emphasis thus shifts from quarreling nobles to the magic of this Athenian wonderland, even as the music that Britten wrote suggests uneasiness. “Take nothing for granted while you’re here,” it says. “However well you think you know the play, your expectations are about to be confounded.”

Puck (Oliver Barlow) and fairies.
Photo by Tristram Kenton.

“A Midsummer Night’s Dream” is one of the more popular of Britten’s many operas, and this revival of Peter Hall’s 1981 production, playing through the end of August at the Glyndebourne Festival, is more spirited and charming than any other version I’ve seen. Why this opera is part of this season is examined below; why you should see it now follows immediately.

I like an old-fashioned curtain-up, and this one is thrilling. As conductor Dalia Stasevska leads the London Philharmonic through the unsettling glissandi that open the piece, we see sparkles, a forest, an aggregation of sprites. The glade of glistening trees ease back their branches and leaves to allow the spritely chorus to advance to the proscenium. The singing begins – and it’s an augmented Trinity Boys Choir, so the difficult music is effortlessly sung – and what seemed at first to be merely a moon-drenched sylvan woodland reveals itself as anthropomorphic, each black-clad tree wearing foot-baskets of shrubbery with leaves-laden branches for arms. John Bury’s designs were inspired by the art of Arthur Rackham, but if they’re of an era, it’s a timeless one.

The fairies sport ruffs and wings; their fantastic hairstyles are individualistic. They herald the coming of Oberon (Tim Mead) and Tytania (Soraya Mafi), who are, of course, at odds with one another. She has possession of little changeling boy; Oberon wants that kid and will go to great lengths to achieve this desire. Recreating a role written for Alfred Deller, countertenor Mead brings a Handelian dimension to his character as his purity of voice contrasts with his scheming, patriarchal character. Along with his purity of voice, Mead projects a dignity so unshakable that even his silvery, Batman-like cowl is merely majestic (until a curtain-call moment, but I’ll leave that for you to discover and enjoy).

Mafi (who is alternating the role of Tytania with Liv Redpath) stands up to Oberon with a voice that commands and a presence in their opening duet, “Ill Met by Moonlight,” to reinforce that power. This is the reason Oberon has to resort to trickery to get his way. Yet later, when he sings, “I know a bank where the wild thyme blows,” his machinations seem reasonable. What a little moonlight can do!

The Mechanicals: Snug (Patrick Guetti),
Bottom (Brandon Cedel), Quince (Henry
Waddington), Starveling (Alex Otterburn),
Flute (James Way), and Snout (Alasdair
Elliott). Photo by Tristram Kenton.

It’s Puck, of course, who does his bidding, and young Oliver Barlow brought a fantastic voice and presence to the role. He’s competing against his own costume for attention, what with the shock of bright red hair that leaps up from his head, but he creates a complete character from the look. “I'll put a girdle round about the earth in forty minutes,” he promises Oberon, and the libretto reads merely “He flies off.” O, how he flies! No Peter Pan ever took to the sky more convincingly.

We meet Lysander (Caspar Singh) and Hermia (Rachael Wilson), whose first-act dilemma is exposed instead here in the forest, which makes enough dramatic sense to trouble the Shakespeare purists. “The course of true love never did run smooth,” Lysander tautologically tells us, leading to a kind of duet with Hermia that is at once musical and conversational, a testament to Britten’s compositional genius.

The Helena and Demetrius tangle is more arresting because she’s pursuing the highly uninterested he, while he moons after the uninterested Hermia. Thus Lauren Fagan and Samuel Dale Johnson are given a livelier encounter. “Tempt not too much the hatred of my spirit, for I am sick when I do look on thee,” he sings brutally, and she, undaunted, replies, “And I am sick when I look not on thee.”

Six ruffianly villagers enter next, the Rude Mechanicals, intent on presenting “the most lamentable comedy and most cruel death of Pyramus and Thisby” as entertainment for Athenean royalty. If Flute, who hilariously goes on to play the woebegotten Thisby, seems to have the best moments, it’s a tribute not only to James Way’s excellent performance but also to the genesis of the role: it was originated by Peter Pears.

Lysander (Caspar Singh), Hermia (Rachael
Wilson), Helena (Lauren Fagan) and
Demetrius (Samuel Dale Johnson).
Photo by Tristram Kenton.

Bottom gets the most fuss, what with the convincing ass-hat he soon wears, but Brandon Cedel glories in the part so much that you’re convinced you see his face even after the transformation. All of Bottom’s risible pushiness is captured in the music, and we even get a sense of the individual characters of the rest of his company, from their set-upon director, Quince (Henry Waddington) to Starveling (Alex Otterburn), Snout (Alasdair Elliott), and especially the charmingly reluctant Lion, Snug (Patrick Guetti).

Lynne Hockney, who was the production’s original choreographer, directed this revival, with Lauren Poulton taking the task of recreating the choreography. And there’d be much less magic without Paul Pyant’s lighting design.

Why is this opera part of this season? Because the arts in the UK are in trouble, and Glyndebourne is one of many institutions victimized by an aggressive cost-cutting move that is jeopardizing London’s identity as a cultural center. (See my article here for more on that subject.) A popular opera like this one helps call attention to the plight, and may even inspire its audience to pull some of those threatened-by-the-arts politicians out of office.

I quoted Sir Simon Rattle’s speech to an LSO audience in the article referenced above; here’s another excerpt that’s all too germane:
 
“More than 40 years ago, I had an unforgettable conversation with the wonderful and much missed stage and opera director, Sir Peter Hall when we were working together in Glyndebourne. He was, in this time in the Thatcher years, running the National Theatre, and was very much someone who was defending the whole cultural sector.

“We sat and had lunch and I said, ‘Peter, it’s a cheeky question, but it seems like every month the Prime Minister is attacking you from the Commons. So how does that feel?’ He says, ‘Well, to be honest, Simon, it doesn't feel wonderful, but someone has to do it.’

“And then Peter looked and did his most charming smile with the most mischievous, twinkle in his eyes, and said, ‘Guess what, it will be your turn next.’”

Turns out it’s the turn of all of us: all of us who sit by and allow paranoid, low-intelligence government ministers get away with this kind of thing. Presenting a production as splendid – and as essentially British – as this “Midsummer Night’s Dream” is one method of protest, but the rest of it is up to us.

A Midsummer Night’s Dream
Music by Benjamin Britten
Libretto by Benjamin Britten and Peter Pears
The London Philharmonic Orchestra conducted by Dalia Stasevska
Directed by Lynn Hockney, based on the 1981 production by Peter Hall
The Glyndebourne Festival, July 30