The Coronation of Poppea - Middleton Hall, University of Hull
The court of the Roman Emperor could be
an opulent, gaudy place – one where hot Italian passions were
indulged; a passionate, dangerous environment. Especially passionate
and self-willed/selfish was the court of Emperor Nerone (in English,
Nero, now infamous for allegedly playing his fiddle while the city
burned), portrayed in Claudio Monteverdi's opera of 1642, The Coronation of Poppea.
In its earlier form, this was the
first opera to be based on historical material instead of mythology,
although it still had a couple of Gods (Virtue, Fortune and Love)
come along to kick everything off. The English-translation (by
Christopher Cowell) presented for two nights in the University of
Hull's Middleton Hall had been edited down by conductor Dale
Christmas, cutting out all of the supernatural elements, much of the
instrumental sections, and giving us instead a trim, lean
near-tragedy driven entirely by the self-will and passions of one
man: Emperor Nerone.
Nerone's a posturing, bullying little
man under Jake Smith's direction, played by Beatrice Acland – it's
a soprano part, making the Emperor of the Roman Empire prone to
almost shrieking and having temper tantrums at times. But then what
should the Romans expect? When you concentrate political control in
one man from a young age, as in Nerone's case, giving him the wealth
to match his power over life and death, of course he's going to
consider his will paramount over all other concerns. Even the
high-minded, intelligent Seneca (James Robinson, bass, in
appropriately magnificent form) recognises Nerone's life-and-death
authority with little opposition. It's knowing that death can happen
so easily, on Nerone's whim, that gives the later half of this opera
its tension – although (spoilers!) it never actually lives up to
that threat and is left groping for a climax. Oh, and that innuendo
just then...entirely deliberate.
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| Seneca (James Robinson) on the virtues of solitude - oblivious to the orchestra behind him... |
Nerone's passion is for his mistress,
Poppea of the title (soprano Abigail Spear), who lounges around the
1920s art deco apartment to which Smith has (sort of) relocated this
Tudor-esque storyline. If we imagine Nerone about three times
fatter/rounder then his desire to divorce his wife (Ottavia, soprano,
Rachael Nolan) and replace her as Empress with his mistress could
work in Henry VIII's England just as easily as in Ancient Rome.
Unlike Anne Bolyen, however, Poppea's seduction of the Emperor is all
about giving him what he wants (Anne Boleyn preferred to tempt her
king, but keep him wanting until he'd committed to their affair by
divorcing his queen and breaking with the Pope). Likewise, when
together, Nerone and Poppea can't keep their hands off each other,
their duets filled with phrases like 'to posses you' and 'to be with
you' – but this is a relationship where they've clearly already
'possessed' each other, as far as Giovanni Busenello's libretto is
concerned anyway.
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| A cloying embrace between Nerone (Beatrice Acland) and Poppea (Abigail Spear) |
The passion isn't quite there onstage
though. Poppea's nurse, Arnalta (Pam Waddington-Muse, a concerned
contralto, who produces much of the opera's comedy), is on to
something when she talks about Nerone as a schoolboy; Acland's Nerone
is all about lustful pawings without convincing anyone that he has
done or can do the deed, even with Spear serving herself up on a
plate. The vocal blending of their duets is a poetic and musical
union of their characters, but it has no counterpart in the physical
and visual relationship which seems to always be promising that same
intimacy, but always delaying it. It's only in the opera's closing
moments that these two (the lovers are both soprano parts, which may
be inhibiting) actually kiss each other, and it feels like they've
finally overcome whatever nerves or inexperience had been holding
them back – though we know from the libretto that they've already
slept together.
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| Ottavia (Rachael Nolan) listens to Seneca praising her good fortune. |
Monteverdi's score, arranged specially
for this production by Matthew Moore, is played by a medium-sized
ensemble (of maybe twenty musicians), featuring a smattering of
period instruments like the harpsichord and the eye-catching theorbo.
They're one more element giving the piece a Renaissance feel (despite
Smith's attempt to relocate to the 1920s), relying on strings and
recorders for much of the opera. It's all quite light and rippling,
rarely lingering on a phrase or theme. In fact, there's very little
in the way of tunes, as such; the orchestra, conducted by Christmas,
competently underscores the action with melody throughout, but you
don't go out humming any arias. This is early opera, a century before
Mozart, and in its day was redefining what dramatic music could be
and do, so we shouldn't expect it to be hugely adventurous by more
modern standards.
The decadence and passion of Nerone's
court is never quite visible in this visually 1920s relocation, and
the relationship between Nerone and his mistress feels like an
extended exercise in delayed gratification. And so Hull University's
Coronation lacks a killer punch, despite its musical
successes.
Images thanks to Elizabeth Coombs Photography.
