Ravel, L’Heure espagnole and Puccini, Gianni Schicchi : new productions by Richard Jones (director), John Macfarlane (set designs), Nicky Gillibrand (costumes designs), various soloists and orchestra of The Royal Opera House, Antonio Pappano (conductor)  Covent Garden, London.  30. 3.2007 (JPr)

Forgive me for an immediate digression but I was  reminded through the first half of this operatic double bill of those later Nureyev ballet evenings. He never lost his star quality even as his powers diminished, and he was put on in showcases of often short ballets, appearing in some and not others. The audience often waited and waited for him to appear. Something of the same happened at Covent Garden. Many in the audience who had not prepared themselves for what they were seeing wondered why he did not appear before the interval and anxiously, no doubt, studied their watches wondering where Bryn Terfel was in the second half. Forty-five minutes from the end of a short evening on stage he came on and an already fun evening took off even more. There is a danger that this review could take longer to read than the operas to perform, so I had better get on with it.

Ravel’s L'Heure espagnole (The Spanish Hour) is a one-act comic opera, based on the play of the same name by Franc-Nohain which was first performed at the Théâtre de l'Odéon in 1904. The composer thought of his work as a ‘conversation in music … with the tradition of the Opera Bouffe’. The French farce of a plot involves Concepcion, wife of Torquemada, clockmaker of Toledo in the eighteenth century, taking the advantage of his regular Thursday absences to service the municipal clocks to allow her to entertain her Latin lovers. On this particular Thursday her plans are first thwarted, and then transformed, by the presence of Ramiro, a simple but muscular muleteer. The term ‘farce’ always makes me think of slamming doors and dropping trousers. Here as her several partners in adultery are on the verge of colliding there is much of the former, including imprisonment in large clocks, but fortunately none of the latter. All are finally interrupted by the return of Torquemada. Clocks have gone up and down to the bedroom throughout the work and all is resolved by the cuckolded husband allowing Ramiro to set Concepcion’s alarm-bells ringing anytime he comes by when he is out!  

Ravel wrote the work mainly in 1907, hoping it would be performed at the Opéra-Comique at the end of 1908; however, Albert Carré, the theatre’s director, rejected it as being too risqué for his audience. Ravel persevered for several years and it was only after an important intervention of Mme Jeanne Cruppi, singer and wife of a government minister, that the opera finally its première on 19 May 1911. The work carries the dedication - ‘A Mme Jeanne Cruppi, hommage de respectueuse amitié’. Ravel insisted that the music must be funny in a comic opera, cue demented mechanical ticking, unconvincing cuckoos and other unusual orchestral sounds including a contrabass sarrusophone.

I don’t think Richard Jones quite had his heart in this as much as in the following one-acter. He cannot be blamed for not throwing everything at it. The full stage machinery is used by designer John Macfarlane to draw us into the comedy. During that surprising dark beginning to the music the set moves forward as we seem to zoom into this fantasy world. We have been greeted by a proscenium front drop painting of large breasts held in a polka dot dress top and we enter the world of the ‘Carry On’ films and seaside saucy postcards. In fact the one misjudgement of the whole evening was Christine Rice’s Concepcion. Her voice is outstanding and she looks a ‘Yummy-Mummy’ to use this modern phrase but she never convinces that she has the sexiness to attract so many men. The rest was perfect casting, from Bonaventura Bottone’s simple, deceived Torquemada, Yann Beuron’s dozy, love-lorn poet, Gonzalve, Andrew Shore’s typically spot-on characterisation of a ruddy-cheeked lascivious banker, Don Inigo Gomez. I struggled at first to recognise Christopher Maltman with his floppy hair as the beefy innocent Ramiro but for me he was a revelation, with excellent comic timing and was perfectly cast.

There are precious few laughs at the start but it picks up a bit as it goes on. However the joke wears a little thin and Richard Jones has probably realised this by the time get to the finale where we have six statuesque Las Vegas showgirls to add sparkle to the Habanera. Overall, undoubtedly all good fun but also a near miss.

Bryn Terfel as Gianni Schicchi

The première of Gianni Schicchi (as part of Puccini’s triptych Il Trittico) took place in New York on 14 December 1918 because most of the singers back in Italy were in military service, and naturally operatic life suffered because of this. The composer very much wanted his opera to be premièred ‘at home’ especially since he could not travel to the US because it was difficult to get a visa even had it been safe to travel. In spite of Puccini’s absence, the première of Il Trittico was a great success, especially Gianni Schicchi.

In Buoso Donati's room his greedy relatives surround him with prayers while he is dying. They have heard rumours that he has left all he has to some monks. After this proves to be true, the peasant Gianni Schicchi is their only hope. Lauretta, his daughter, is in love with Rinuccio, Buoso's nephew. Lauretta makes her heartfelt plea (yes, ‘that’ song!) to ask for her father's help. Schicchi explains the way to alter Buoso's will. Because no one outside the room apparently knows of Buoso’s death, Schicchi dresses himself in Buoso’s nightclothes, climbs into bed in a darkened room and the notary and two others is called to witness the changes to the testament. ‘Buoso’ now leaves only small items to the relatives and the important possessions to Gianni Schicchi. After the notary leaves, the relatives riot and attack Schicchi, who survives. He has reminded the family throughout how seriously the authorities would view their activities if they were to be found out. He suggests to the audience that if they have enjoyed themselves, he may be forgiven for his crime. Rinuccio and Lauretta stay with him whilst everybody else leaves.

After a front drop painting of spaghetti and a fork rises there is the one reservation that followers of Richard Jones have seen some of what is revealed before. John Macfarlane’s 1970’s sets, wallpaper, ceiling lights, TV, wardrobe, bed and all, and Nicky Gillibrand’s same-era costumes have been seen particularly recently in their superb Lady Macbeth of Mtsensk for Covent Garden. Jeremy White (Betto di Signa) was definitely Jim Royle. I am not familiar enough though with The Royle Family programme to know how far this influence extended elsewhere through the staging.

This sense of over-familiarity is quickly forgotten by an exuberant ensemble performance with too many marvellous individual contributions to name everyone. Perhaps the veteran Gwynne Howell’s hangdog Simone and the Italian, Elena Zilio making her Royal Opera début as Zita (made-up as one of Julie Walters’ elderly creatures) deserve particular mention.Marvellous and often small inventive detail delighted as the relatives tear the place apart to search for the will, they hang down from the loft in the ceiling and come up through the floor, the hidden body under the floor kicks up a floorboard threatening discovery and in the will-reading without words (moments of genius in music by the composer) the tension is palpable until the last page when all realise only the monastery’s benefits and are distraught.

Joan Rodgers (Nella) Bryn Terfel (Gianni Schicchi)
Elena Zilio (Zita) and Marie McLaughlin (La Ciesca)

The young Albanian Samir Pirgu as Rinuccio seems another tenor discovery with great potential and he sang a full-bloodied ‘Firenze è come un albero fiorito’ but only just hang on at the end and must take care and not do too much too soon.

Finally on comes Bryn Terfel, a man-mountain of a janitor/handyman, with flat cap, fag in mouth, jeans and just about sparing us the ‘builder’s bum’. Even surrounded as he was by wonderful character actor-singers, Terfel can act more than all the others together with just a hand – all that was visible from behind a door during Dina Kuznetzova’s slightly underwhelming ‘O mio babbino caro’ – and his eyes when otherwise covered up as Buoso in the deathbed. Perhaps it is me but I get the idea that Terfel relishes these comic roles so much more that the Wotans he possibly feels forced into.

We last see Terfel embracing a bust of Dante at the front of the stage, putting his cap on its head and a cigarette in the mouth. Gianni Schicchi had its inspiration from a few lines of no obvious comic potential from Dante’s Inferno. I suppose this could be seen as a reflection of a subversive tribute to one Italian cultural icon from another.

Almost forgotten in all this is Antonio Pappano’s conducting of his always consistent Royal Opera House orchestra. He revelled throughout the evening in both scores underlining the jollity and cartoon-like action on stage with much gusto.

When these two comedies were last put on at Covent Garden in 1961-62 they were part of a triple bill with Schoenberg's Erwartung. The ticket prices (up to £170) are higher now and so is the drawing power on stage (Terfel):  but is it worth excluding so many who cannot afford these exorbitant prices from experiencing the joy of these two typical Richard Jones productions and possibly being hooked on opera for the rest of their lives?

Jim Pritchard

Pictures © Catherine Ashmore

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