Geoffrey Rush: The King's Speech and The Diary of a Madman

It was fascinating to see Geoffrey Rush in a film and on stage in the same week.


I don't see many films and can't easily compare The King's Speech with other recent releases but it is reported to be in line for major awards this year. Apart from thinking it was perhaps twenty minutes over long I enjoyed it, though not as much as Deborah Ross who wrote in The Spectator "... I love it so much that, if I could, I would take it home and put it down for a good school and wrap it up warm in the cold and, should it catch a chill, I would nurse it and offer hot lemon and maybe even oxtail soup...". In fact, I am surprised that such an old fashioned and low key movie is so well received; but, as I said, I haven't seen the others.

The King's Speech is about the relationship between the Duke of York, later King George VI, (Colin Firth) and, Lionel Logue, an unorthodox Australian speech therapist (Geoffrey Rush). The Duke had a very bad stammer and was unable to speak effectively in public. He engaged Logue to assist him at a time when events leading to the abdication of Edward VIII and his own accession to the throne made his ability to cope with the impediment all the more critical.

Colin Firth mastered the stutter, and the accompanying frustrations and outbursts of temper very well. Geoffrey Rush's portrayal of Logue was very restrained, you could say underplayed, depicting an otherwise very ordinary man with a particular gift going about his work almost unaffected by the status of his royal patient. As a former and failed actor, Logue was a slightly unconventional father to his growing sons. There was a silent but brilliant flash in his portrayal when, on the outbreak of war, Logue looks at his elder son and realises, I think, that the boy may become a victim of the conflict.

His acting was in great contrast to his Aksenth Poprishchin in The Diary of a Madman at the Belvoir Street theatre and the comparison shows the great range of his talent.

If Geoffrey Rush's acting was restrained, you could say the same of the whole film which avoided the clichés of royal costume drama, particularly in the music. The film has an original score by Alexandre Desplat. But, interestingly, towards the climax, the King's first radio speech of the second world war, Beethoven was heard. A slow measured passage which I found came from his 7th. symphony. Royalty and Empire usually demand Elgar, who was absent, and the King's coronation, seen as a black and white newsreel being watched by the participants, could have had Walton's coronation march Crown Imperial which was written for the ceremony, but may have been thought too grandiose for the established mood.

And then to Belvoir Street for The Diary of a Madman. This play was written and first performed by Geoffrey Rush at Belvoir Street in 1989. It's revival marks the retirement of its director Neil Armfield as Artistic Director of the theatre. The play is based on a short story by Nicolai Gogol (1809 - 1852), adapted by English playwright David Holman with Neil Armfield and Geoffrey Rush.

We have all heard of Gogol but is he known than read? The story is in the form of a diary by a member of the lower orders of the Russian civil service. We first learn that, like many in structured organisations, such as schools and some parts of the legal profession today, he is both trapped in and fascinated by the intricate hierarchy of which he is an insignificant member.

 "I'm only forty-two, that's an age nowadays when one's career is only just begining. Just wait my friend, until I'm a colonel or even something higher, God willing. I'll acquire more status than you."

Then, in the most innovative part of the story, he hears a conversation between two dogs, which doesn't surprise him over much as he had read of cows asking for a pound of tea in a shop. He then claims to have tracked down some letters between the dogs and relates their content in some detail. Finally, on reading that the throne of Spain is said to be vacant, he realises that he is the King of Spain; and mistakes the men who come to take him away for the royal entourage. If there is a fault in the narrative, it is that the final delusion appears from nowhere. It doesn't seem to develop smoothly from the character's illusions about the dogs, or his hopeless infatuation with a woman well out of the reach of a junior clerk. You might say that it was an appropriate delusion for a man obsessed with position and rank, but it happens suddenly nevertheless.

The story was written as a satire on aspects of Russian life at the time: such things as a quotation from an obscure poet Poprishchin wrongly attributed to Pushkin, a contemporary newspaper nicknamed the Little Bee, and the sharpening of quills in goverment offices - in which Poprishchin takes such delight -and which a note to the Penguin edition of the story tells us was, unsurprisingly, the responsibility of the most minor clerks. However, all this is similar enough to aspects of modern life not to matter much.

The story as written is ready made for adaptation for the stage. Although in the form of a diary, the writing quickly jumps into what must be intended to be read as the stream of Poprishchin's thought rather than a transcript of his diary; so it translates very well into a monologue for the theatre. The adaptation  includes large sections of the story unaltered.

The Blevoir street theatre is unusually configured with banks of steeply raked seats looking towards the stage which is in one corner of the space. It's similar to, but not quite a thrust stage. The amazing thing about it which we noticed as soon as we came in was the way in which this unpromising space is transformed by each set built in it. The set for The Diary of a Madman depicts  Poprishchin's decrepit but brightly painted attic bedroom. It's so different from the very modern hotel room on a revolving stage used for Measure for Measure that you immediately feel you are in a different place.

The play cleverly adds a context for the narrative of the diary by placing Poprishchin in the attic attended by Touvi a faithful Finnish servant, charmingly portrayed by Yael Stone, who also takes two other minor roles. However, it soon moves into the diary itself.

Geoffrey Rush depicts an engagingly eccentric man, whose first steps into another world - his contacts with the talking a writing dogs - are almost believable. There is a little improvisation, including some interaction with the musicians, which is never allowed to detract from the narrative. The performance is very physical; seemingly out of control at times. Gradually the character collapses, so that by the time he reaches an asylum he is a grotesque and frightening figure. A truly remarkable performance.

Postscript added 12 March 2011

Since this was written Geoffrey Rush has missed out on the oscar for best suporting actor for The King's Speech and Diary of a Madman has opened in New York: here are reviews from the New York Times and The New York Review of Books.

French Connection

Chance events can provoke an interest; and it was the appearance of Pascal and Ami Rogé at the Australian Festival of Chamber in 2005 and 2006, together with a chance encounter with them in New York that encouraged me to fight jet fatigue and attend Pascal Rogé’s concert at the Queen Elizabeth Hall on 29 April.


It was also fortunate that the day prior to the concert the Rogés appeared on In Tune on BBC Radio 3. This discussion was valuable not only in getting an understanding of the concert program, but also for the information that, following their performance of a work by Matthew Hindson at the Townsville festival, which I must have heard but am unable to recollect, the Rogés commissioned him to write a concerto for two pianos which they will perform with the Sydney Symphony next year. I have always enjoyed hearing Matthew Hindson’s music. My forgetfulness is related not to the quality of his music but the difficult task of bringing newly heard new music to mind after a single hearing.

When I learned of the new work I thought that Matthew Hindson’s usual fast pace and rhythmic drive will make for a very exciting concerto. I have since heard his short piece Beauty, written for the anniversary of the Australia Ensemble, and his 2010 work Light is both a Particle and a Wave. Beauty is not manic at all, I found it very moving, I don't know if he has achieved this kind of thing in any earlier compositions or if it's an new development for him, but whatever the answer, I now like his music more than ever. There are also some excellent contemplative passages in the second movement of Light... The awful thing is that if I travel as planned, I will not be here in Sydney when the concerto is performed in May 2011.

Of the concert itself, Pascal Rogé said that he designed the program to make the case for Chopin as a French composer. Chopin’s mother was French and he spent 15 years in Paris. He also wanted to show Chopin’s influence on the French composers who followed him Fauré, Ravel, Poulenc and particularly Debussy.

He says in the program:

I have interwoven the Chopin pieces with those of the other composers with hardly any pause between them, moving from one to another, as if walking from one artwork to another in a gallery. In this way, I was able to make connections between the works, and we could transport ourselves into a journey of sounds and colours.

And this is exactly what happened.

The Queen Elizabeth Hall was packed, with part of the audience seated right alongside the piano on the stage. By great good luck when I booked on line at the last minute about the only seat available was in the front row; a wonderful place to be for such a marvellous concert. Pascal Rogé played with an intensity I didn't see at Townsville, and there was, as promised, almost no pause between the works.

I have never been a great follower of Chopin, but I suppose I became familiar with his music by a kind of osmosis by hearing it from time to time on the radio and such. Almost all of the music was familiar to me, and the argument about the connection between Chopin and the French composers seemed unanswerable. Among the French pieces was The Girl with the Flaxen Hair, which has been known bring me to tears, which it did again.

The influence of Chopin cannot have been direct: none of the French composers can have known or heard him. Fauré's dates are the only ones with a small overlap:

Chopin 1810 - 1849

Fauré 1845 - 1924

Debussy 1862 - 1918

Ravel 1875 - 1937

Poulenc 1899 - 1963

so the selection gives some idea of the dominance Chopin's music must have had in Nineteenth century France.

Pascal Rogé made a recording of many of the pieces played in the concert last year, and I have now bought one. There is only one CD, so some of the pieces played in the concert are omitted. Having heard the concert, listening to the recording was a special experience for me, but I'm sure most would find well worth hearing on its own.

International Piano Series Queen Elizabeth Hall London 29 April 2010.

Das Rheingold

I am determined not to become a Wagnerite. It's not that I don't like Wagner - or The Ring; but there is so much more music to hear and enjoy. George Bernard Shaw wrote:

It is generally understood, however, that there is an inner ring of superior persons to whom the whole work has a most urgent and searching philosophic and social significance.

That was in 1898 and they are still around, only now they take to the air themselves and congregate on rocky outcrops wherever a Ring cycle is performed. I have no wish to join them.

But I have bought a ticket to the Met's new Das Rheingold on 2 April 2011 ( as well tickets to all kinds of other things ). And at the risk of seeming obsessive, I am approaching this occasion by stages. First, I was able to hear the opening night of Rheingold streamed on the Internet. And before long I will see it in the cinema - though not live in my time zone.

The Met has invested large sums in the technology required by Robert Le Page's production. An early version of it was deployed in his Damnation of Faust, which I saw in the theatre in 2008 and 2009. When I first saw it I wasn't much taken with the visual effects and thought that the strength of the production was the playing of the Met Orchestra. But on seeing it again, I changed my mind and found the staging to be very effective. The physical part of that staging was a scaffolding like structure at the front of the stage. The structure for the Ring is much more complicated. Some of it didn't work on opening night.

I live in a critical desert where inane and decaying newspapers sometimes manage to print 250 words about a show. The Met is more fortunate and the piece I heard streamed attracted many writers, most of whom were given the space to say something of interest.

There are more but I have seen:

The New York Times
The New York Post
The Washington Post (Associated Press)
The Times
The Financial Times
The Daily Telegraph
The Guardian &
Daniel Stephen Johnson

though some of the links my die with time.

As heard on line, it sounded wonderful. Even at a distance and though medium fidelity speakers the orchestral sound was overwhelming. No explanation is required for the reception the audience gave to James Levine.

As a dedicated non Wagnerite, I was a little disappointed to find how familiar the music was - even after a long break. The singing seemed uniformly excellent and I did not feel at all deprived in not being part of the magic on stage.

The critics confirmed my hearing of the orchestra at a distance:

The true star of the night though was James Levine, who stood through his first full performance at the conductor's podium for seven months due to a serious back complaint. As he has done so often over the past 40 years at the Met, he inspired a great orchestra to give of its best, culminating in a mesmerising climax. The Guardian

Almost as if determined to prove something, he conducted the score with exceptional vigor, sweep and uncommon textural clarity. New York Times

But what chiefly galvanises the drama — as so often at the Met — is the quality and power of the orchestral playing under James Levine's painstaking direction. The Times

The production worked for some ...

Lepage treated the audience to a mesmerising display of virtual magic, giving them plenty to feast their eyes on in the intimate scenes between the coups de théâtre. Telegraph

...keeping the gadgetry low-key and respectful and intelligently enhancing Wagner's mood rather than imposing his own. Guardian

but there were also mixed feelings  ...

For the most part it was an impressive success: an inventive, fluid staging and a feat of technological wizardry that employs sophisticated video elements without turning into a video show. Wagner buffs tend to be a fanatical sort, and no doubt there will be debate about Mr. Lepage’s work. Here he received a mostly enthusiastic ovation with scattered boos. I had mixed feelings. New York Times

and a craving for Eurotrash which I find hard to fathom:

Forget meaningful symbols or sociopolitical undertones. In New York, a tree looked like a carefully painted tree in a canvas forest. The principals struck traditional poses, modelled quaint breastplates and winged helmets. This was no thinking-person’s Wagner, but it made a lot of conservatives happy. Financial Times

But what's already depressingly clear is that Lepage has virtually nothing to say about the political, social, moral or ecological subtexts of The Ring. You might have thought that, in this of all cities — and after everything that has happened in the past two years — a tale about the corrupting lust for gold would be staged with a modicum of irony, if not outright satirical venom. The Times

Until converted, my opinion is that productions should by and large be faithful to the composers' intentions and that the universal appeal of myth isn't enhanced by narrowing its scope.

I remembered Wotan as a overbearing figure declaiming about this and that in a way which relied on the subtlety of the orchestral accompaniment for texture. I have heard Bryn Terfel's powerful voice but unlike some critics have not been impressed by his acting. On both counts I was surprised to get the impression of a conversational, domestic Wotan with excellent variation in his tone and delivery. The critics were divided:

The formidable bass-baritone Bryn Terfel sang his first Wotan at the Met, a chilling, brutal portrayal New York Times

Bryn Terfel, making his US debut in his celebrated role of Wotan, the lord of the gods, was brooding and dark. Guardian
The Welsh bass-baritone Bryn Terfel was riveting as Wotan, playing him as a vigorous, hot-tempered god, full of youthful pride and daring. Vocally, he was overpowering, ringing top notes alternating with gently modulated phrases. Washington Post

Not even Bryn Terfel, who hurls out Wotan's lines with customary verve (though edging nervously sharp on some big notes) but musters only a fraction of his usual charisma. For once the big Welshman seems overawed.  The Times

More problematic was bass-baritone Bryn Terfel in the central role of Wotan, king of the gods. He deployed his world-class voice with skill, but when the score called for rich, flowing sound, he tended to yell and go sharp. A stringy wig concealing half his face blunted his usually razor-sharp acting. New York Post

Eric Owens' Alberich was amazing. My memory of Alberich was of a cringing and unattractive dwarf, a typical bully, tormenting Mime as an outlet for his own rage. Again there were two surprises: the audio stream revealed an Alberich as powerful as Wotan, their dialog resembling a prize fight. And having heard Eric Owens as General Groves in John Adams' Doctor Atomic, I didn't expect such a strong performance. The portrayal of General Groves as a figure of fun, probably done to give some variety between the characters, was about the only thing that annoyed me about Doctor Atomic and this may have affected my appreciation of his singing.

Everyone loved him:

And the bass-baritone Eric Owens had a triumphant night as Alberich...Mr. Owens’s Alberich was no sniveling dwarf, but a barrel-chested, intimidating foe, singing with stentorian vigor, looking dangerous in his dreadlocks and crazed in his fantasy of ruling the universe. New York Times

I guess part of the reason I was uncomfortable is that Alberich, in this production, is not the stupid little clown we're used to seeing; in fact, he's fucking terrifying. Johnson

A vocal standout was Eric Owens, whose bass-baritone retained its essential beauty and heft even in Alberich’s moments of rage. New York Post


Another distinctive feature of the audio was the Loge of Richard Croft. My memory is of Loge sung by a wispy high tenor; and I enjoyed the much richer sound I heard here. Loge was only mentioned in passing by the critics and perhaps my strong impression came from the broadcast medium: he may not have sounded as strong in the theatre:

...tenor Richard Croft made for a lively Loge, perhaps lacking quite enough volume to rise over some of Wagner's orchestration. Washington Post

I also enjoyed the creamy mezzo soprano of Stephanie Blythe as Fricka, and so did the New York Times:

the powerhouse mezzo-soprano Stephanie Blythe was a vocally sumptuous, magisterial yet movingly vulnerable Fricka.

Watch this space for Das Rheingold parts 2 and 3.

Metropolitan Opera New York Internet stream Das Rheingold heard Tuesday 28 September 2010 (local time).

Victorian Opera: Julius Caesar

The second event on my visit to Melbourne was the Victorian Opera production of Handel's Julius Caesar at the Recital Centre. I had been less than enthusiastic about three VO productions heard earlier; and was also sceptical about the use of the Elizabeth Murdoch Hall in the Centre for opera. I'm not critical of the use of a space without a traditional stage: operas staged by Pinchgut Opera in the City Recital Hall in Sydney have been excellent overall and musically outstanding.


However, on my previous visit to the Melbourne hall at the time it was opened in 2009, I heard chamber music, (Schubert's Trout Quintet played by the Goldner Quartet with Piers Lane and Alex Henery and a late night concert which introduced me to Morton Feldman's haunting Rothko Chapel), for which the acoustics of the hall were perfect, and a performance of some opera excepts and Vaughan Williams Serenade to Music, with Orchestra Victoria conducted by Richard Mills and singers, which I thought was not as well suited to the space.


The Elizabeth Murdoch Hall is lined with timber, and I could smell the wood as I came in: I hope this natural aroma therapy will last.

For Julius Caesar, the orchestra was placed in front of the stage. The simple all purpose set included an obelisk, Cleopatra's Needle perhaps, reaching almost to the ceiling and some thin drapes hanging from a rail attached to the roof, which were opened and closed during the performance.

As soon as the orchestra played, my doubts about the quality of the music were extinguished. The ensemble from Orchestra Victoria conducted by Richard Gill, the artistic director of Victorian Opera, played beautifully. The orchestral sound was balanced and well articulated. If I wanted to find fault I would say that the hall was not quite as kind to the singers, as I thought I noticed a little too much reverberation at times. But overall I was enchanted. I should have allowed myself enough time in Melbourne to hear it more than once. So much for scepticism.

I don't think I had heard David Hansen the countertenor who sang Caesar before. He has a remarkably agile voice, his high notes in particular had great clarity of tone. Tiffany Speight was a fine Cleopatra, and it was interesting to hear Tobias Cole ( Oberon in OA's Midsummer Night's Dream earlier this year ) as Tolmeo. He sang Caesar in the most recent revival of OA's famous production. The other singers were excellent as well.

It may not be a universal rule, but I think there is much to be said for staging 17th and 18th century opera in small theatres and halls. I know that when Handel's opera's were first performed the rather static nature of the opera seria was mitigated by the use of elaborate scenic effects; but I'm not certain about how large the theatres were. I have seen the OA Julius Caesar, first performed by Yvonne Kenny and Graham Pushee in 1994, in both Sydney and Melbourne. Those theatres were fine for the music and the space allowed for elaborate and effective staging. I was, however, disappointed by David McVicar's production, originally for Glyndebourne, which I saw at Chicago Lyric Opera in 2007. I will mention some aspects of the production later, but my overriding impression was that the theatre was too large for the work which lacked impact for that reason. It's seen from a distance, and though there are singers who are powerful enough for a large auditorium many fine artists are not. In Chicago, French countertenor Christophe Dumaux, who sang Tolemeo, seemed much more suited to the space than David Daniels, who sang Caesar.

The VO production was directed by Steven Heathcote who recently retired after an outstanding career as a principal dancer with the Australian Ballet. His background in dance was reflected in some aspects of the production, which I thought was well suited to the hall and enhanced the excellent music. I disagree with the critic for the Melbourne Age, who wrote: "All too often, what we were seeing on stage seemed superficial to what was being played and sung."

The static nature of opera seria creates problems for the modern director, but those problems were elegantly solved here. Two examples:

Towards the end of Act 1, Caesar sings the remarkable aria with horn obligato "The skilful hunter treads silently when stalking his prey". In Francisco Negrin's OA production this was done with Caesar and Tolemeo confronting one another around a large table covered with a green baize cloth. It was a thrilling piece of theatre. David McVicar's production picked up a dance rhythm in the music and had Caesar and Tolemeo performing a kind of gavotte which seemed to drain the dramatic tension from the scene. The VO production, with less elaborate resources, depicted the scene as a confrontation in a way which did enhanced the music.

Another highlight of the OA production was the aria -

" If in the pleasant, flowery meadows, the bird among flowers and leaves, conceals itself, it only makes its song more delightful.."

in which Caesar steps out of character and conducts a kind of duel with the accompanying violinist as they compete to find the highest note. This was also very effective in the theatre. (The applause and foot stamping can be heard on the live recording ).

Chicago also had the violinist on stage without the same theatrical effect, but Steven Heathcote's solution was to have a dancer depict the bird of the lyric sometimes eluding Caesar's reach but when caught allowing the singer to try a few lifts from the ballet. It created a nice effect.

Apart from the obelisk, the Melbourne production was not intended to accurately represent Caesar and Cleopatra in their historical context, but it was straightforward and effective. The much more elaborate Chicago production was a sly representation of British Imperialism, which despite the comic effects had a Serious Purpose. Mr. McVicar says in the program: " On some level this is an opera about what happens when you walk into other people's countries under false pretenses". So there.

I find that it is now 40 years since I first heard Julius Caesar. I mention this because over that time there has been a change in the performance practice for opera seria, most of which included parts for the then prevalent castrati. I saw the first stage performance of Julius Caesar in Australia presented by Young Opera at the Science Theatre, University of New South Wales. Ceasar was sung by one of the great Australian singers, contralto Lauris Elms and Cleopatra by the equally celebrated Marilyn Richardson. Here is the cast list:



As with many programs there is no indication of the year, but looking in Lauris Elms' memoir The Singing Elms I find it was 1970. She says (at the time of her writing): "Twenty-five years later people still remember those performances." And Forty years later as well.

Alfred Deller's career as a countertenor was well established by then, but the voice did not have the prominence it does today. I bought a LP record of highlights of the opera as performed by New York City Opera after hearing it in 1970. Beverly Sills is Cleopatra, but Caesar is sung by a bass baritone, Norman Treigle.

As late as 1999, we have a female Caesar at the Met, in a performance I found on the Met Player:

Jennifer Larmore and Sylvia McNair as the ill-fated couple, abounds with dazzling vocal pyrotechnics as well as heart-rending drama. Stephanie Blythe (Cornelia) and David Daniels (her son Sesto) give memorable performances as the grieving family of the murdered Pompey. Brian Asawa sings Cleopatra’s conniving brother Tolomeo.

I was surprised to see David Daniels, Caesar in Chicago, was Sesto. In 1970 David Parker, a tenor, sang this role, but in the other productions I have mentioned Sesto has been sung by a contralto.

* Julius Caesar, Victorian Opera at Melbourne Recital Centre; 22 July 2010.

Forgotten Operas

In the Members room at the Art Gallery of NSW I came across a display of French opera posters from around 1900. It seems there was a more formal exhibition of the gallery's collection of the posters about ten years ago with an illustrated catalogue I haven't seen yet.


The posters are the work of various artists, none of whom I know; but the fascinating thing was how many of the operas depicted are now unfamiliar. I have made the mistake before of thinking of the history of music, (and the same applies to other things), as an orderly linear progression of famous works, in the case of music, beginning with Bach, or Monteverdi perhaps, and on through Mozart, Beethoven and so on. But in fact as a quick look at the Naxos catalogue proves, at any time there were thousands of composers of countless works which we will never hear. Leaving aside works that were never performed, this small exhibition is a reminder that many operas  reached the stage but soon vanished.

I have not heard any of the operas advertised by the posters, but at least know of Massenet's Esclarmonde, (in a poster by Auguste-Francois Gorguet 1862-1927); and was reminded by an interview with Richard Bonynge in the August 2010 edition of Opera News that it was famously revived by him and Joan Sutherland and performed in San Francisco and at the Met in New York 1976. I hadn't heard of Le Mage (poster by Alfredo Edel 1856-1912) but then as the Opera News article points out that Massenet left 28 complete operas as well as incidental music ballet and songs.

Charles-Marie Widor is famous for his organ symphonies particularly the toccata from the symphony for organ no.5 op. 42 no. 1, but I had never thought to ask if he had composed any operas. There were four, represented in the exhibition by Les pêcheurs de Saint-Jean (poster by Fernand-Louis Gottlob 1873 - 1935).

The operettas are even more deeply lost. I hope time permits me to search for and find Shakespeare! by Gaston Serpette (poster by René Péan, b.1875 'opéra bouffe' at the Théâtre des Bouffes Parisiennes) or the saucy Mam'zelle Boy-Scout by Gustave Goublier (Poster by Boulanger 1858 -1924 for the operetta at the Théâtre des Renaissance).

But, because of its curious name, the opera which most caught my imagination was La Glu by Gabriel Dupont (Poster by Robert Dupont 1874 - 1949, the composer's brother, for the opera at the Théâtre National de l'Opéra de Nice). My student's French dictionary has no entry for "La glu" but it's meaning is clear from this review found in the New York Times archive -

PARIS Feb. 12- The new dramatic opera "La Glu" produced recently in Nice has been received with the greatest enthusiasm by all who have heard it. The libretto is drawn by Henry Cain from Jean Richepin's powerful book bearing the same title, and presents the following story:


An elegant Parisienne is known by the significant nickname of "La Glu" or birdlime. To gratify a whim she begins and intrigue with a young Breton fisherman, who, however, takes the affair so seriously and loves her with such mad jealousy that he tries to kill himself on learning that she has betrayed him. His mother saves his life and to rescue him from the charmer who endeavors to get him again into her power, murders her.


The music , which has been written to this simple theme by Gabriel Dupont, is extremely melodious and full of poetic beauty. The orchestration is declared by musicians to be admirable.


Paris desires to hear this opera, which in a general way, seems likely to awaken the same emotions that "Carmen" does, but Berlin will almost certainly enjoy that good fortune first. The Princess of Saxe-Meiningen, a sister of the Kaiser, has sent a copy of it to him from the Riviera, at the same time writing him about it with superlative praise. "La Glu" will be produced at the Imperial Opera House in Berlin early next season."


February 13, 1910

By that point Carmen had emerged as a classic: it was not as well received when first performed. The NY Times itself joined the general opinion of the day:

"...Carmen must stand on its own merits - and those are very slender. It is little more than a collocation of couplets and chansons with a strong flavor of the opera comique ( which may be "spicy" but is not very pure -- art-wise, we mean) and musically, is really not much above the works of Offenbach. It is new, and it has chic, but as a work of art, it is naught. "


October 24, 1878

Australian Shakespeare Company COMEDY OF ERRORS

First stop on my recent Melbourne excursion was the Atheneum in Collins Street for the Australian Theatre Company's production of The Comedy of Errors. Since, by chance, I have happened upon two of the more obscure Shakespeare plays, King John and Henry VIII this year, I thought, why not see them all; so when I found that the Comedy of Errors was being performed in Melbourne during my visit I decided to add another to my list.


The play dates from about 1592. It concerns the confusion arising from the presence of two sets of identical twins, each set unaware of the other, in Ephesus. Antipholus of Ephesus and Antipholus of Syracuse, were separated in a shipwreck when they were very young. Their servants, both named Dromio, were separated with them.

The introduction to the Penguin edition of the play says:

Modern productions and scholars, as if taking their cue from the play’s good-natured laughter at erroneous perceptions, have re-examined the play through theatrically innovative and historically revisionist perspectives to overturn older prejudices against it as a mechanical farce of mistaken identities representing a one-off piece of Shakespeare juvenilia.

The Melbourne production, I think correctly, presented the play as a mechanical farce of mistaken identities. The problem of presenting the identical twins was overcome by having the characters in masks which owed something to the comedia del arte, and something to cartoons and the muppets. As dressed and masked the sets of twins were pretty much indistinguishable .

The twins named Antipholus, are the children of Egeon, a merchant of Syracuse and Emilia (who has become Lady Abess at Ephesus. At the begining, we learn that Egeon has been sentenced to death by the Duke of Ephesus, as he has entered Syracuse contrary to restrictions imposed because of a trade dispute between the two cities. As written, Egeon has a very lengthy speech in which he sets out the misfortunes of his family and his search for his son as an explanation of his presence in defiance of the ban. The duke relents and gives Egeon time to find the money for a fine in lieu of excecution

The penguin editor says:

And in the hands of an actor who can tune the rhetorical peaks and valleys of Shakespeare’s masterly piece of verse-narrative to Egeon’s turmoiled recollection, the story can grip theatre spectators completely, as modern productions have often shown.

This production passed over this possibility by breaking the speech into sections and interpolated between later scenes. This became a running joke, as Egeon was dragged across the stage to execution, time and again, reciting his apparently never ending story. The joke worked well; so I will need to await another production to see if the speech can be completely gripping. At the moment I am sceptical about this.

The only trouble with presenting the play as knockabout farce and slapstick, is that, although it is Shakespeare's shortest play it makes for quite a long real life cartoon. I don't say this as a criticism of the production, more of the play, or at least way Tom and Jerry and the like have changed our expectations of the content and pace of slapstick.

It is wonderful that Melbourne has retained so many of its traditional theatres, and although the Atheneum looks somewhat run down it was a pleasure to see the play there.

There was one set, having the appearance of a roughly sketched building. Names were attached to it indicating that it, or its various doors, represented different locations. It was well designed to accommodate those scenes in which the participants can hear, but not see, each other in a convincing way.

The costumes and masks, while elaborate and well made, complemented this style giving the whole production a rough hewn appearance and feel.

The play was well acted throughout. Notwithstanding all the knockabout action, the words were spoken with clarity by everyone. It's probably not a play for great performances; and no one member of the cast seemed to stand out.

The Residents at the Sydney Theatre company are now performing the play at The Wharf; it will be fun to see what they make of it.

Seen at Atheneum Melbourne
21 July 2010

KING JOHN - THE ELEVENTH HOUR AT THE ADELAIDE FESTIVAL

Queen's Theatre Adelaide


While visiting Adelaide, I was fortunate to see a production of Shakespeare's The Life and Death of King John by The Eleventh Hour. The Eleventh Hour is a theatre company from Fitzroy in Melbourne.

I suppose I had heard of King John, but when I found that it was on in Adelaide during my visit, I couldn't bring anything about it to mind. The King John of history and myth was lost to my memory as well, and I had to remind myself of Magna Carta, Runnymede and the adventures of Robin Hood (none of which are in Shakespeare).

It's said that performances of King John are rare these days, although the play was popular in the nineteenth century when pageantry, and elaborate scenery and costume were more in evidence. It gave scope for all of these. It may also be that King John loomed larger in the imagination of people at that time; historians of the period treated him as the personification of evil. William Stubbs, professor of modern history at Oxford, described the him as not only as " the very worst of our kings" but also "polluted with every crime" and "false to every obligation". Still under this influence, A.A. Milne taught us that " King John was not a good man-..." I suspect that for the 19th century actor John was what Richard III became in the hands of Laurence Olivier. If you look at the old silent film of Beerbohm Tree performing the death of King John, which was shown in the foyer in Adelaide, you get some sense of this I think.

For those interested, there is a debate about the source of Shakespeare's play and whether it followed in time, and drew upon, the anonymous play The Troublesome Reign of King John or whether Shakespeare came first. Whatever the answer to this, the play is not very coherent, it conflates some incidents from history and jumps forward in time without explaining that it is doing so. King John reigned from 1199 to 1216. The first four acts of the play are chiefly concerned with John's dispute about the inheritance of the Crown with Arthur, Duke of Brittany; or more accurately since Arthur (born 1187) was a youth at the time, with his supporters. This dispute ended when Arthur vanished mysteriously in April 1203 ( in the play he falls, or jumps, from a wall after John's unsuccessful attempt to murder or blind him.) Then the last act depicts the events leading up to John's death in 1216. There is no sub-plot or elaboration, just the rather tortured narrative and countless battles. But a reading of the play does give a feeling of Shakespeare, the working dramatist of great linguistic facility, working against time to get the thing ready and onto the stage.

Stories about the inheritance of royal power were relevant to the politics and events of Shakespeare's time, but are not of pressing concern now.

The Eleventh Hour has tackled the plays difficulties by setting its production in France on the last day of the First World War. It's not simply a production in modern dress. The company, ( I assume its dramaturge William Henderson ) has written a play set on that day in the course of which Shakespeare's King John is performed.



The performance took place in Queen's Theatre in Playhouse Lane, Adelaide. The name suggests a delightful old traditional theatre, but that's not what I found. Although there has been a theatre on the site since 1841, the building, or what remains of it has had a variety of uses over time. The word BAZAAR in faded paint is the only name on the facade. At some stage it was "horse bazaar", I assume a kind of market. All that lies behind the facade is a large space. This is currently used for functions or as a performance space, each user adapting it to their own needs.

A large room to the side was used as a foyer and Shakespeare Tavern; and when it was time for the play to begin the audience was led from there to a side door of the theatre proper, offered paper Chinese fans against the heat, and shown to a steeply raked temporary grandstand structure which held just over a hundred seats. The bank of seats faced back towards the building's facade.

The space between the seats and the front of the theatre was converted to an elaborate set, depicting a barn near the trenches of 1918. To imagine the set, you must forget the usual kind of stage design. The old building was converted into the barn: spaces in the existing wall had been built up and accurately matched with existing structure to show shell damaged walls. Old carts, wheels, barrels and boxes were placed realistically around the "barn" and straw littered the floor. There is a sound design which reproduces the sound of nearby artillery, aircraft and exploding shells and bombs.

The play begins with the entry of a group of soldiers blinded by gas wearing eye bandages, together with three women, two ambulance drivers and an army nurse. The group has sought shelter in the barn, and are soon joined by a badly wounded officer and a chaplain.

This sets the scene for a theatrical device which if simply described sounds contrived and wholly incredible, but which, surprisingly, led to a fascinating and absorbing performance. The nurse, Matron White, suggests to the group that to keep the Captain's spirits up, they should perform the play they have been rehearsing - King John, of course. The Captain is King John. It could be that soldiers at the front in the First World War did some playacting to pass the time, I don't know; but did a group of walking wounded ever learn King John? However, once we take this jump, the strengths of the idea begin to work.

I am totally sick of the convention of placing historical plays and operas in modern times, and the variation of equipping ancient warriors with sub machine guns, with the purpose of teaching those of us lacking the insight and virtue of the Director that war is and was evil and destructive. The improbable device used here managed to skirt a didactic onslaught and instead provided some real insights and emotional force.

The idea drew on some parallels with the plot of King John. As a map in the foyer reminded us, the trenches in France were close to where the action of Shakespeare's play took place. And the futility of that war seems close when Lewis, the dauphin says of a battle:

And now 'tis far too huge to be blown out
with that same weak wind which kindled it.

The gas blinded soldiers give an edge to Shakespeare's very effective scene in which Hubert, acting as the king's henchman, prepares to blind the youthful Arthur with hot irons. In a performance in which all the actors were excellent, Michaela Cantwell (alias Lieutenant Violet O'Faolain, Ambulance Driver) gave a most affecting performance as the troubled and vacillating Hubert. The idea of Hubert being performed by a woman was another bit of the mysterious alchemy which gave this show such emotional force.

Shakespeare's play was interrupted from time to time by episodes in the story of soldiers who were performing it. This did two things. First, it provided another parallel with the old play by showing the stresses which work on wounded and war weary soldiers to produce tension and acrimonious exchanges. But more importantly it gave an impetus to the production which would be difficult to achieve from the text of King John itself. The performance of King John became the driving force of the soldiers' existence: when things got too hard to bear there was always THE PLAY. It became more important to them than issues of life and death, injury, pain and distress.

My only reservation about the performances was that the soldiers developed more identifiable personalities than some of Shakespeare's characters. This might be a fault in King John itself, though I imagine it might be overcome if various of the disputing nobles were given very distinctive costumes. Here they were all in regulation army issue.

One of the ambulance drivers had set up a field telephone which relayed messages from Marshall Foch and General Haig about the armistice to take place at the eleventh hour that day. This also provided some drive to the proceedings; and it was no surprise when the church bells celebrating the end of hostilities accompanied Richard's concluding speech:

This England never did, nor never shall,
Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror,
...Nought shall make us rue
If England to itself do rest but true.

King John has died, one line of the play explaining that he was poisoned by a monk. This has some point, as during the play John has anticipated Henry VIII by seizing the wealth of the monasteries to finance his battles. No one knows why John died, but I prefer Holinshed's story that his death followed "increased feeding on rawe peaches, and drinking of new sider". No sooner has the Captain delivered John's final lines than he himself falls off the cart on which he rested, dead. I don't want to quibble with such a fascinating production, but this was not difficult to predict.