The Ring Revisited

Flipping stations idly trying to find some intelligent conversation or good music, I found myself on Radio 3, mid-opera. As I ran my bath, I found I recognised the language (German) and, slowly, the music. It was Wagner's Ring Cycle, but which opera?

Hmmm. A baritone (probably a bad guy), tenor (probably a good guy) and soprano (could be heroine or love interest) locked in some kind of conflict. The tenor was singing a lot about his Vater, so I guessed Götterdämmerung, but eventually was informed differently. It was Die Walküre, Act I and live from The Met.

Wow.

Having grown up in New York and having first heard opera on WNYC's Live from The Met broadcasts, introduced to Wagner by an impassioned music teacher, this was a real find. As I reclined in my bath, I tried to follow what was going on. Ah, yes, Sieglinde and Siegmund had just run off together, incurring the wrath of the gods. And Brunnhilde was about to get in a LOT of trouble.

Now Brunnhilde and I had some history, as I had played one of her sisters, Waltraute, and also been Brunnhilde's understudy in a children's version of the cycle, though I was much relieved I never had to go on-stage in this role. Too much pressure. But, I loved the costume, and especially my winged headgarb. That was pretty cool for an 11-year-old. But, I still marvel at the utter inappropriateness of kids playing out a drama that involves such a plethora of sexcapades and murders. Oh, well. I am sure it didn't shape my world view in any view. Ahem.

It did inspire me to learn German. And visits to The Met were a ticket to the promised land, extremely rare and to be treasured. Sitting in the nosebleed seats, peering through a black scrim, trying to fathom what was happening. For six hours. Bliss.

At the end, with Wotan bidding farewell to a sleeping Brunnhilde alone on her mountaintop, punished for daring to follow her instincts, I felt a pang for the past.

BP Summer Big Screens: Tosca

Royal Opera House
as seen in Victoria Park, London
3/7/07

As the great British summer lives up to its historic billing as a damp squib, the idea of sitting in a park to enjoy a live screening of opera becomes more and more perverse. After Glastonbury's muddy excesses, its urban, posh cousin did its best to follow suit. The tents and wellies should have given a clue as I approached with my three companions, picnic supplies in hand.

And sure enough, as the huge red curtain on screen rose, the heavens opened for a light sprinkle which abated after about 15 minutes, about the time Mario Cavara- dossi (Salvatore Licitra) was opining the joys of his jealous lover, opera singer Floria Tosca (Violeta Urmana) and some time before villainous Baron Scarpia (Mark Delavan) made his suitably Vaderesque entrance.

Given the unpromising surroundings the performance was enjoyable and gripping enough for one to shake off the fear of imminent hypothermia. Plus, there were the added attractions of Hackney at its finest. Children milling about, yuppies on mobile phones and the amusing array of waterproofing: umbrellas, tarpaulin, the odd tent and the plethora of rain ponchos supplied by the corporate sponsor.

Up on screen Scarpia was explaining his life's philosophy of violent conquest, eschewing the "astrology of flowers" (was that a correct translation?), while in murky Victoria Park we were all looking forward to cracking open the hampers for the interval food and drinks. Presenter Deborah Bull and her guests discussed the opera's enduring appeal and concurred that love, betrayal and jealousy were as potent as ever. Certainly, the frolicking children were stopped in their tracks at the more dramatic moments while the adults took sips of wine and pondered how Cavaradossi's gaoler was allowed to smoke on-stage. Is Westminster Council aware of this flagrant violation of the law?

Despite a similarity to Dawn French which gave an inappropriate expectation of comedy breaking out on stage, Urmana was a commanding Tosca, if a bit hindered by the ridiculously long train of her dress. Licitra was a bit lacking in the charisma stakes. But Delavan excelled in this area, verbally jousting with Tosca and turning from torturer to seducer in the flash of an eye.

As the curtain fell at 10:30 and we stretched our frozen limbs, opera in the park seemed once again like a jolly good idea. See you next year down the front.