Did you hear that loud rumble last evening? Some say it was a Comet hitting the sound barrier, but I know better. It was Verdi turning in his grave.
What Verdi had in mind when he wrote his much loved opera, "The Masked Ball", was a protrayal of the circumstances loosely based around the assassination of Sweden's King Gustavus III, at the end of the 18th century.
He could not have visualised that a production of this opera, by the English National Opera company, would have been transported to Spain, in the unsettled period immediately after the death of Franco and before the re-establishment of a stable monarchy. What is more, that it is now characterised by sex, violence and debauchery. Not that I'm against sex, or debauchery come to that, but as they say in "Private Eye", a little debauchery goes a long way.
The controversial scenes are the work of Spanish director. Calixto Bieito, who seems to thrive on controversy. Perhaps it is not so much "thrive on it" as wallow in it. His production of Mozart's "Don Giovanni" last year was much reviled for its scenes of Sex, Violence and drug-taking; you begin to get the picture of how his mind works.
It is obvious that this production bears little relation to what Verdi intended. While The days of modern producers slavishly following the stage directions of the original are long since gone, opera is now more about questioning things rather than reinforcing traditional opinions. I get the feeling that the pendulum has now swung so far the other way, that controversial producers are now jaculating their own twisted versions on to a masterpiece and in the process making a mess of it. I am sure, however, that there will be some theatre critics who hail the production as a modern coup de theatre in the same way that other critics hailed the presentation of a dead sheep as an outstanding work of art.
As you will know by now, the photograph having received saturation coverage, the opening scene displays (or perhaps that should read 'exposes') 14 men spread across the stage, sitting on loos with their trousers round there ankles, reading newspapers. According to the Dail Mail, a spokesman for the ENO said, " They are not actually defecating. They are in the cubicles because they are conspiring and that is the only place they can assure they are not being overheard." How 14 men can conspire sitting on a line of loos in what must be a gigantic gents toilet is not explained. The conspirator at the end of the line must be at a huge disadvantage and cannot have a clue as to what is going on. I can imagine the dialogue.
Were you passing an opinion, comrade?
No, just wind, Juan.
I am sure that this questionable opening scene will be viewed in time as prophetic, as this production may already be on its way down the toilet, in spite of the valiant efforts of its cast.