This going out thing is getting tedious. No sooner have I
tidied away the debris from the night before than I have to do it all over
again. It’s just as well that tomorrow is a holiday. It might allow me to catch
up on serious things like washing, ironing and blogging. I’m spending far too
much time thinking about where I’m going and not about where I’ve been or where
I am, though the latter does not bear thinking about.
For a bit of variety, I decided to go out in the afternoon,
and return in the early evening. To achieve this, I went to the Theatre Royal
to see, for the third time, the much-revived, 1980 Anthony Besch production of Puccini's
'Tosca'. I saw it in 1992, and possibly in 2002. My last opera memory, which may
not necessarily be the last opera I attended, was Verdi’s ‘Aida’, set during
the Seven Day War between Israel and Egypt! As I type, I’m having a terrible
dose of déjà vu. I remember slagging it off somewhere else on the Internet,
perhaps on my old web site, or perhaps it was in an e-mail to someone with whom
I no longer correspond (which is most people I have ever met). I guess it must
have been after the lavish production of Verdi’s ‘La Traviata’, which was about
this time ten years ago; a night more memorable for the state of my health
rather than the entertainment on show. Anyway, I can’t tell when I last
attended an opera.
It may just be the result of fatigue on the sixth day of
this marathon session, or it may be that I no longer see opera as an enjoyable
art form, but I was quite bored and wanted to go home. My experience wasn’t
enhanced by the number of people seated in the Balcony who coughed loudly, with
no intent to muffle, all the way through the performance, just as they would if
they were watching a DVD in their front room. I also had difficulty seeing past
the rather large head of the young gentleman in the seat in front. Perhaps I
should splash out on a more expensive seat, next time?
Musically, it’s a better work than ‘La Boheme’, but I don’t
find Puccini’s music as interesting, or as stirring, as that of Verdi.
Irrespective of my taste, it was well-played by the wonderful Orchestra of
Scottish Opera, conducted by Francesco Corti. It's an ensemble which, sadly, is
still having to watch its back for fear of those who would erase it from history,
presumably having never heard it play.
Jose Ferrero, as Mario Cavaradossi, took until the second
act to get going, and was still somewhat unconvincing in the role at the end.
Susannah Glanville was an equally uninspiring Tosca, and from where I was sitting,
she looked like Keeley Hawes for two acts and Michelle of the Resistance for
the third and final act. Yet again, I failed to bring my opera glasses! Both
leads looked very young, so may improve with age, something I felt that Floria
Tosca should have had on her side. Ms Glanville looked far too young, or was it
too thin? Robert Poulton stole the show as Scarpia, the evil Chief of Police, and he was booed and hissed as the cast took their bows. Honourable mention must go to David Morrison as the Sacristan.
I think I may have been having a bad day, so was never going
to be as receptive to the performers and the performances as I should have
been. One thing that would have helped, I think, would have been better
supertitles; a great deal of the libretto was without translation. Enough complaints! Time for bed. Runnicles and
Bruckner tomorrow, and I’ll need a good rest for that
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