Guidance

Number three of the series. This time, it's opera's turn.

OPERA CON GUTSO

La Bella Decapitata by Gaetano Involtini

Die Schraubenschlüssels by Hans-Dieter Zwiebel

The Perforation of St. Phyllida by Orlando Botts

In viewing opera, the informed observer runs the risk of being pinned by the horns of a bifurcated peril. Firstly, both the very spectacle of opera and its association with privilege suggest that participation, even as a passive voyeur, is a tacit assent to outmoded social structures. Such an analysis stems from a Marxist perspective of course, but one need not be a Marxist to perceive a display of conspicuous consumption in a first-night opera crowd. Secondly, opera requires us to suspend our disbelief to such a degree that we will happily accept the ludicrous premise of an overweight, middle-aged woman portraying a 14-year-old Druid princess. To trifurcate an already sufficiently pointy ideological dilemma, consider also that opera regularly receives enough State subsidies to balance the budgets of several emerging nations. It can be argued then, that opera falls between the twin stools of political and aesthetic incorrectness. If so, is it still possible to appreciate it? The answer is a qualified "yes"... if one avoids dressing up, takes the cheapest seats and refrains from laughing at inappropriate moments.

And so, to some current productions. La Bella Decapitata is Involtini's only surviving work. It is a minor miracle that we have this much, given that Involtini is perhaps the only known operatic composer to have been executed for treason. In reading this work, we can perceive a Baroque analogue to the contemporary stylings of Tarentino, which is a point the youthful cast and director have seized gleefully. The exquisite delicacy of the score counterpoints the production's 12 realistic decapitations, 3 anatomically correct disembowellings and one slightly less accurate dismemberment by elephants. Patrons are thus advised to avoid the front five rows, and with good reason. While this work may be enjoyed in the sense that one enjoys a film like The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, it would be wise for the director to arrange some sort of splash-guard around the orchestra pit, as the abundant flying gore kept putting the string section out of tune.

Die Schraubenschlüssels ("The Spanners") is equally grotesque, but for entirely different reasons. The popular cartoon image of opera features large, bellowing Teutons in horned helmets, and all that prevents this production from being pure caricature is the absence of the aforementioned headgear. Apparently, there is no-one in the cast weighing less than 100 kilos, and if you have no difficulty imagining Helmut Kohl as a romantic lead, it may just be possible to endure this angst-riddled travesty by the Bremen Opernarbeiterins Kollectiv without giggling. Industrial deafness is a very real hazard here, and the staggering volume of the performances suggests the cast is already suffering from it. This is hardly surprising, considering that the score is performed entirely by intense, burly young men pounding train wheels and sheets of scrap metal with sledgehammers. This ill-conceived attempt at "industrial opera" leaves Hans-Deiter Zwiebel unchallenged in his position as the least talented of Bertolt Brecht's disciples. If you hear an odd sound once the post-performance tinnitus subsides, it is probably Brecht rotating at high speed in his grave.

Orlando Botts was a contemporary of Henry Purcell, who led a campaign to have The Perforation of St. Phyllida banned by Royal decree. That such a work could re-emerge to annoy us afresh nearly 300 years later serves only as a reminder that the 20th century has no franchise on diabolical mediocrity. We might learn from the mistakes of the past, but some of them still have the power to make us cringe. The aria "Oh holy virgin martyr, a-bristle with arrows bright..." remains a benchmark for sheer awfulness.