Il dolce suono

And so to the opera. I have belatedly become an enthusiast for live transmissions of stage plays and, even more belatedly, have extended it to operas. The big worry was, obviously, what would the sound be like, and I have to report that it was superb; on top of which I think that in this case the cinema viewer may have got the best of the visuals as well, because the camera was able to focus on what really mattered without being distracted by all the nonsense entailed by the director's agenda. The most odd thing about the live relay experience is the lack of applause from the audience around one. It's bad enough in a play, but in opera there are far more occasions for applauding, or indeed for booing; because I have been to see the controversial Royal Opera House production of Donizetti's Lucia di Lammermoor. Overall conclusion? I'm voting no. Not to the extent of booing; that would be ridiculous even if I wasn't two hundred miles away, although two people did walk out when our heroine had a very bloody miscarriage. But top marks to the band and the singers, especially the thrilling Diana Damrau in the title role, but nul points for the pretentious direction and staging.

The director stated in an interview screened before the performance that she wanted to make this a more feminist version. I have no problem with that ambition. My literary taste doesn't run to the Gothic in general or to Sir Walter Scott in particular so I can't comment on how feminist or otherwise the original novel is; I'm guessing not very. However, the reality is that the plot is the plot and Lucia is a victim (not the only one - surely one has to feel a bit sorry for Arturo); therefore the best way to make a feminist point is to show that her victimhood at the hands of men is a bad thing. This isn't very hard.

What is hard is watching the stupid split stage with which the director inflicts us. Her argument is seemingly that by showing Lucia doing stuff when everyone else is making decisions about her the female role is enhanced. It doesn't work. All that one sees - with one major exception - is her dressing, undressing and vomiting while the men do the powerful stuff. Feminism my arse. The major exception is where the thing really comes unstuck. The one real act of existential authenticity that our heroine takes (I mean in the original plot; in this version she also consummates her passion for Edgardo) is to murder her husband on their wedding night. Donizetti has it take place offstage while Edgardo and Enrico are debating which of them, is going to kill the other and why. Here it takes place on the other side of the stage at the same time. Unfortunately the brother and the lover take so long raking over old family feuds that, presumably in order to occupy the time, Arturo turns out to be as hard to kill as Rasputin. He's stabbed, but he won't stay down; he's smothered with a pillow, but he rises again; and so on. It's hilarious, but that's probably not what was intended. As is the fact that all the female chorus members are dressed as men and have false moustaches.

Now regular readers will know that I like a bit of bel canto almost as much as I like a bit of verismo, and vocally this was really good stuff; but probably best listened to rather than watched.