21st-century opera parody: Hamlet at Glyndebourne
Brett Dean's Hamlet
Glyndebourne Festival
Blue Upper Circle Standing 5, £10
17 June 2017
Glyndebourne page
To my mind Ambroise Thomas' 1868 opera Hamlet is like a parody of what a 19th-century opera of Hamlet would be. I'm inclined to think Brett Dean's 2017 Hamlet follows suit: a parody of what a 21st-century opera of Hamlet would be.
Exhibit one for Dean-as parody: the presence and behaviour of Barbara Hannigan. You'll know I worship Barbara Hannigan just as any other person with ears and eyes, but I'm beginning to wish directors and composers worshipped her either a bit less than I do or in a more controlled fashion. Naturally reticent Hannigan is not, and casting her as Ophelia seems to me as about as wise as using nitroglycerin to stir your tea. Having Hannigan in the room warps the fabric of the play, a distortion that reaches its apex in the most grotesque mad scene I've ever seen (this is saying something), which as well as being annoying is entirely unmoving.
Which brings us to exhibit two: I'm not sure Dean wants us to be moved, by Ophelia or by anything. His vision of the play, supported absolutely in Neil Armfield's sensitive production, seems to focus on all that is odd and fragmentary in Hamlet. It's quite a contrast to the rigorous naturalism of Robert Icke's recent stage production for the Almeida. R&G, Polonius and Hamlet are mined for their comedy, while Claudius and Gertrude are sidelined ciphers, their characters and interrelations barely explored. The aim, I think, is to emphasize the rot at Denmark's heart, or maybe just to subvert our expectations (exhibit 2a, the refusal to set 'To be or not to be' and various other super-famous lines), or maybe (exhibit 2b) to remind us that there's no getting away from the fact that opera is a stylized art form.
On this alienating interpretation of Hamlet is lavished – exhibit three – an extraordinary suite of performances, from singers and instrumentalists alike. Let's look at the orchestra and conductor Vladimir Jurowski first. Dean sets them numerous challenges, most striking of which was extensive use of spezzati groups placed around the auditorium. A very high level of musicianship from all players and presumably extensive rehearsal mean that ensemble throughout is essentially perfect – not only between the instrumentalists but with the singers as well. It's an astounding achievement. That cohesion extends to the music's texture as well, with all performers uniting to realize Dean's soundscapes (to results sometimes enchanting, sometimes enervating).
The cast is maybe not quite as ridiculously show-off as in Thomas Adès's The Exterminating Angel (exhibit 3a) but whichever way you look at it Glyndebourne has gathered together Anglophone singers all at the top of their game. Allan Clayton as Hamlet is tireless, his voice seeming to flow forth effortlessly. It's an ingenious bit of casting to place Clayton's light-coloured tenor against the darker-hued David Butt Philip as Laertes (and indeed Butt Philip's thrilling singing in this opera is an unexpected joy). Rod Gilfry as Claudius sounds absolutely terrific, his confessional soliloquy a tantalising glimpse of what might have been. There is more frustrated brilliance in Sarah Connolly's Gertrude, who is magnificent as always but criminally underused. Kim Begley is excellent as Polonius but the show-stealing prize goes, predictably, to John Tomlinson as the ghost/player king/gravedigger: whatever my disappointments with the rest of the opera, Tomlinson fulfils expectations absolutely.
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