BY BRIDGET O’BRIEN
Peter Grimes
Opera Queensland with Rory Macdonald (conductor), Stuart Skelton (heldentenor), and special guests
Brisbane Festival
QPAC, 22 September
What’d you miss?
- A voice like nothing you’ve heard before
- Seasickness in the concert hall
- A perfect opera?
In many ways, Peter Grimes is the perfect opera.
The score’s four sea interludes evoke pictures of the grey and harsh sea-bound landscapes. The libretto is the perfect balance between literary nuance and dramatic clarity to stir suspense and empathy. The story itself draws characters who grow increasingly stuck beneath the oppression of gang and accusation; and the narrative transpires into a madness that is so palpably human.
The community construct across a huge handful of equally significant and spurring roles poses interesting behavioural expositions. Not a tale of hero versus villain, this excellent piece of theatre is built upon hazy and paradoxical archetypes, and the domino patterns of influence they have upon one another. The story’s surging undercurrents highlight the grey area that justice can occupy.
Brisbane Festival’s production of Peter Grimes stood as the big-ticket item on the program, with a cast and creative team of the highest standards recruited. Unfortunately for the first audience at the Thursday show, internationally renowned heldentenor Stuart Skelton of the title role tragically fell ill midway through. On Friday, it was announced that Skelton had suffered allergies and would be well enough to perform the Saturday. I was unspeakably relieved.
Skelton’s voice – resounding beneath its usual strength – was like nothing I’ve heard. His fortissimo was so disarming I had to dig my fingernails into an armrest to anchor myself. There were a few moments that my stomach churned with vicarious performers’ paranoia, each time an onset was a little dusty. But Skelton’s gusto excelled. It’s one thing to master the virtuosity of a role like Grimes, and another entirely to act it with captivating sincerity. I was totally at Skelton’s mercy: fearful of a transpiring insanity in his eyes, wincing in wretched pity, donating sympathy to a brute who mightn’t have deserved it.
Commendation was well earned by Bradley Daley for his piercing yet blundering tenor as Bob Boles, and equally the rattling stoicism from Jud Arthur as Hobson. Mark Stone had me siding with his Balstrode before I could even gauge his loyalties. And maybe it was the leather jacket and pocketed hands, but Michael Honeyman’s Mr Keene had me repulsed and cautious immediately – which unsettled me when he spoke truth later on.
Sally Matthews’ superb soprano as Ellen Orford conquered the onerously written role with glittering height and sturdy bedrock. Her simple and intrinsic choices as an actress were saddening and told of a torment that would rival Grimes’ has is not been better harnessed. Jacqueline Dark’s character Mrs Sedley was the most exposed example of the moral righteousness that can ruin a guiltless accused – and, perhaps the strongest female voice in the cast, she laced this role with humour and gratuitous opinion.
There was a dichotomy between the abilities of local talent and the imported – the roles of Auntie and Nieces (Hayley Sugars, Katie Stenzel and Natalie Christie Peluso) were oftentimes drowned in ensemble moments or unable to slice through the mammoth textures of the orchestra that unfairly joined them on stage. However, their grimy characterisations redeemed this vague lack of balance.
I anticipated forgivably cumbersome direction and chorus involvement as a “semi-staged” show, with the orchestra centre stage, a makeshift proscenium at the front, and choir-stands behind. However, from the opening scene, the mechanical and jarring movements of the chorus tightened the air in the room, and the audience appeared drawn into the story’s vortex of cruelty. Director Daniel Slater enlivened what was at risk of becoming a two-dimensional stage, designing moments of drama creatively, within the box he had.
Britten’s chorus is a strong tool in this piece, wrenching opinion in one way or another, as the toxicity of gossip often does. Performed by the Opera Queensland Chorus and fleshed out with some borrowed and talented students from the Queensland Conservatorium Griffith University’s Opera School, they presented a robust sound and an entire gallery of faces that told a story as individuals – which en masse was arresting. The tsunami-like witch hunt pressed against the lip of the stage, executed with monstrous vocal strength, was a highlight.
The position of the orchestra as a centrepiece drew all moments of interlude back to themes of the sea – dangerous and enthralling. This vivacity was ignited by conductor Rory Macdonald; young, fresh, and unassuming; but with the conviction to captain the show.
It was a shame that even this seemingly economical attempt at opera had ticket prices that stood in the way of this piece being entirely accessible to the masses – as I believe a stranger to the work or even the genre may have found themselves as enraptured as I did. I left, grateful to be stained with a feeling of seasick discontent, and in awe of the immeasurable talent that churned me so.
READ NEXT: Bridget interviews Stuart Skelton on gang mentality and Peter Grimes.
Image by Stephanie Do Rozario
