After you, Claudio

London
Coliseum
09/25/00
Claudio Monteverdi <I>The coronation of Poppea</I>
Joanne Lunn (Fortune), Linda Richardson (Virtue), Carolyn Sampson (Love),
Michael Chance (Ottone), Alice Coote (Poppea), Peter David Walker (Nerone),
Anne-Marie Owens (Arnalta), Sarah Connolly (Ottavia), Kate Flowers
(Damigella), Eric Owens (Seneca), Toby Stafford-Allen (Valletto), Susan
Gritton (Drusilla), Graeme Danby (Mercury), Mark Le Brocq, Mark Wilde,
James Oxley, Mark Beesley
ENO Orchestra
Harry Christophers (conductor), Steven Pimlott (director)

In contrast to almost all of the other works in the ENO’s Italian season,
<I>The coronation of Poppea</I> is an Italian opera in every way: a tale of
ancient Rome, based on a Roman source, composed by Venetians and performed
in Venice on the public stage. One of the first and best, it outlines the
conventions of later opera. There are comic guards, a lovers’ parting at
dawn, a furious woman scorned, a comforting old nurse or two, a randy
pageboy and an ecstatic duet between the lovers when they have killed or
exiled everybody who stands in the way of their happiness. (Later operas
prefer to say that lovers have overcome all obstacles, of course.) But
Monteverdi and his librettist Busenello seem not to be interested in the
Roman past or posterity, but in the present, ticket buying, audience. They
present a direct, well-formed and rationally plotted drama of passion and
revenge in sublime, and profound, music.

In other words, <I>Poppea</I> is inherently popular and close to
production-proof. Its specific observations of humanity and human passions,
like Shakespeare‘s, make it work for any audience of humans. Recent
productions by a brace of Aldens have pushed it to extremes, but they only
showed how much depth there is an apparently simple story. In contrast,
Stephen Pimlott’s production for the ENO aims purely to tell the story with
a little explanatory decor. Nerone and Poppea were beach bunnies; Ottavia,
Nerone’s spurned wife, was, perhaps, Joan Crawford or Mae Rose Prizzi; poor
Ottone, Poppea’s bereft ex, was, roughly, Elvis; and everybody else vaguely
belonged in a film noir, though nothing depended on the detail. The gods in
heaven were in-period Venetian theatrical entities. On earth, Mercury
dressed just like Seneca, and Love doubled Poppea in a coup de theatre in
the garden. There was also a chorus (in the etymological sense) of six
shaggy satyrs who dance, carouse and discretely keep an eye on the singers
as they climb around the scaffolding.

The set consisted of a circular platform in the middle of the Coliseum‘s
fixed-set building site. The orchestra -- essentially the continuo with
violins, extra theorbo, guitar and flutes and recorders -- were behind the
singers under a platform, interspersed with candles. A tilted mirror above
gave the audience a puzzling view of them, hinting at a baroque angle to
the proceedings. (Mirrors and candles might turn out to be a recurring
theme in this season.) The instruments were perfectly audible, sometimes
strange sounding and always vigorous, but they never risked overpowering
the singers.

David Walker as Nerone and Alice Coote as Poppea were a pair of A-list
party animals, all blond curls and gilded voices. Coote made Poppea
scheming and sensuous, while Walker didn’t quite convey the personal power
to match the libido. Both, though, sang superbly, particularly together,
where Coote‘s slightly richer voice put an interesting spin on the
situation. “Pur ti miro” was not a disappointment. Sarah Connolly was a
scary, forceful Ottavia, perhaps too restrained in her farewell to Rome,
which she sang in a spot as a cabaret number. Anne-Marie Owens was a tender
Arnalta, not really vulgar enough, though she got the right laughs in her
final comic triumphal aria. Kate Flowers was funny as a merged
Nutrice-Damigella, and Toby Stafford-Allen an excellent Valletto (though
definitely not prepubertal).

As Ottone, Michael Chance sounded rather ragged, but he is at last finding
a stage personality, and was both funny and sad when wearing Drusilla’s
dress. Susan Gritton was suitably comic as Drusilla, moving easily to
simple nobility at the end. Eric Owens, an established American singer,
made a striking house debut as Seneca. He has a fine, mid weight bass
baritone with some impressive low notes and a strong stage presence.

H.E. Elsom