Tittle tattle travels fast. Even in Jane Austen’s prim and proper early 19th century world of Mansfield Park. No Instagram. The Bertram family gather round a scandal sheet to learn that their daughter, the recently married Mrs Maria Rushworth, has high tailed it from the Rushworth Wimpole Street établissement. Mr Rushworth abandoned and distraught.
His sole attractions for Maria, “£12,000 a year” and an ageing family pile, Sotherton, had finally proved no contest for the rugged charms of Mr Henry Crawford, a guest cuckoo in the Mansfield Park nest.
Domestic chaos is compounded when the indefatigably disapproving Aunt Norris produces a note left by Julia Bertram, the daughter Henry was meant to marry, advising she has eloped to Gretna Green – “My dear, whatever will the neighbours think?” – with a mysterious Mr Yates.
He never appears. Mr Yates’ sole attraction for Julia seems to be his ownership of an elegant brougham, although she complains he hasn’t told her the colour. Which in turn tells us something about the seriousness of Miss Julia Bertram.
In my youth, he would have been the cad in the white E Type who pinched the girlfriend. Only, Mr Yates would have taken longer to get to Gretna Green. Trip Advisor reckons 49 hours by brougham, not counting service area stops for fresh horses. You can pick up a frisky cuddy at Tebay on the M6, just before Shap – and the best steak and ale pie this side of Carlisle.
Henry’s sister, Mary Crawford, who is being wooed by Edmund Bertram, the second son of the family, spurned because as number two in the pecking order he is destined for the clergy, says the only problem is that Henry and Maria were discovered.
Her moral ambivalence revealed, Edmund’s eyes are opened, and he realises the worth of the spurned Fanny Price, a Cinderella-useful, obliging, goody two-shoes cousin living with the Bertrams at Mansfield Park.
The dénouement. Edmund descends on bended knee to propose to Fanny Price. The mystery is Fanny doesn’t sock him one for his cheek. But he did give her a very interesting book to improve her mind. Patronising poltroon!
So ends Jonathan Dove’s 2011 two act chamber opera, Mansfield Park, libretto by Alasdair Middleton, based on Jane Austen’s 1814 novel. It was performed in the Silk Street Theatre, Barbican, by fellows and students of the Guildhall School of Music and Drama.
It is impossible to overstate what a compelling joy this production was. Slick, packed with wry humour, delivered by a cast with bravura, fit to grace the main stage of any professional opera house.
This was my first visit to Guildhall School, and I have been missing out. Sure, the students get by with a little help from their friends/ teachers. Seasoned director Martin Lloyd-Evans, Anna Reid, Associate Designer of Damsel Productions who since 2014 has notched a brace of challenging projects on her design-credit belt.
There was a deluge of highly co-ordinated action in this production provided by Charlie Morgan, Associate Head of Vocal Studies and Movement. Zoé Ritchie, French and British lighting designer created great atmosphere. But why the pervasive fog? They were all backed up by Students and Fellows of the School.
Full details of the production team, cast and synopsis are to found in the digital programme, here. Nutshell version of the plot for non-clickers. Fanny Price is the poor cousin of the extensive Bertram family. She has lodged at Mansfield Park with Lady and Sir Thomas Bertram since she was ten.
The sharpness of her cousins, Maria and Julia has been somewhat softened by the kindness of their brother, Edmund.
All visitors to Mansfield Park are welcomed as the “gals” approach marrying age. Mr £12,000 a year Rushworth pitches up, as do the Crawfords. As Sir Richard says disdainfully, “Who are these Crawfords?” Instant trouble.
Dove sets the action in a series of Chapters/Tableaux; themes announced by the cast ensemble. “Chapter One, The Bertrams Observed”, “Chapter Two, First Impressions.” And so on. Eleven Chapters in Act I, Seven in Act II. The strength of this approach is that it gives a firm sense of place without huge scene changes.
The audience instinctively uses imagination to fill in the gaps. For instance, when riding off in the brougham – they’re the mode of transport du jour – to visit Mr Rushworth’s Sotherton, the cast simply hunkers round and makes jogging movements. Perfectly clear.
A pivotal moment comes when Sir Thomas leaves to visit his Caribbean sugar plantations and they all decide against Edmund’s wishes – and Fanny’s better judgement – to mount a risqué play, Lover’s Vows, a means of throwing tight-laced convention out of the window.
As Mr Rushworth remarks wryly of Henry Crawford and his betrothed, Maria who are playing the part of lovers. “They seem to like rehearsing a lot!”
A comedic highlight. Lady Bertram’s constant companion is her lapdog, Pug. Pug doesn’t simply appear as a stuffed extra. He is wheeled on in Chapter One by servants, in a glass case and removed lovingly by Lady B. Then she, when anything offensive is suggested, covers Pug’s eyes. Message is the dog is more sensitive to scandal than the habitués of Mansfield Park.
Sir Thomas returns unexpectedly in “Chapter Nine. The Rehearsal Interrupted”. He stops the theatrical shenanigans. Reality check! The fastest crossing to Antigua in 1814 was 41 days, so even with only a couple of days transacting sugary business, Sir Thomas was away from Mansfield Park for the best part of three months. Lovers’ Vows was better rehearsed than most Ring Cycles. And didn’t these pushy Crawfords hang about?
No point in moaning about credibility. This opera is a romp. The equivalent of the five long-running Brian Rix Whitehall farces of the 1950’s. And none the worse for it. I’ve always enjoyed Jane Austen’s formulaic work, but it is hardly to be taken seriously. All hulk Mr Darceys emerging shirt-busting from park ponds.
Trouble. I mentioned this to my neighbour at the interval. Found I had bumped into an Austen academic who had submitted long and worthy analyses of the author’s work to such as A-Line magazine.
It was like turning unwittingly to a companion during the third interval of Götterdämmerung, remarking that time was passing exceedingly slowly, only to find yourself sitting next to Richard Wagner.
Of course, Austen’s novels carry a vein of societal moral criticism – good old Fanny Price. But it’s a pretty thin vein. Not the artery of blistering commentary that floods Charles Dickens’ works. And Dickens populates the whole world. Not just the pleasant parts of rural Surrey and Hampshire.
My neighbour thought Dove’s opera over frivolous. I opined that those were the best parts. We didn’t speak again.
Voices were of the highest standard. Standouts were baritone Thomas McGowan, Edmund, mezzo-soprano Julia Merino, Fanny Price, and tenor Dominic Lee, the put upon Mr Rushworth. Lee performed his role with unconstrained puppyish naivety. Moving on, he will be well suited to character parts.
Conductor, Dominic Wheeler led an ensemble of twelve, vigorously. And none as vigorous as pianist Yongqiu Yuan. I was expecting smoke to rise from the pit at any moment as he rattled through Dove’s testing piano score.
Dove is criticised for being “listenable,” so trivial. Phooey! There’s huge depth in his compositional style. Set piece “high” points were memorable – especially an a cappella ensemble – and the glorious, soaring closing chorus.
His opera Itch which I saw and reviewed at Holland Park Opera is, like Mansfield Park, a thoroughly accessible work delivered with explosive humour. In the case of Itch, literally.
Flight, about the plight of a refugee enmeshed in the complexities of bureaucracy, commissioned by Glyndebourne in 1998 was more realpolitik. Can’t wait for Dove’s version of John Adam’s Nixon in China. The world is crying out for Trump in Moscow.
Maybe the Guildhall should commission it. What a wonderful future the talent pool trained in their school promises for tomorrow’s opera.
And Another Thing!
It’s afternoon. A dulling day. St Mary-at-hill, Lovat Lane, near Bank Tube. Heart of the City of London. For a dress rehearsal of Bach’s St John Passion, performed by the Baroque specialist collective Solomon’s Knot. Prior to a performance in Wigmore Hall next day.
Great care was taken with authenticity. There are many versions doing the rounds. It was a celebration of the 300th anniversary of the first outing at St Nicholas Church, Leipzig. Being close up and persona, seated on a few feet from the action, l felt as if back 300 years.
Confined space, filled with sound, experiencing the individual skills of the “collective” as they constantly manoeuvred soloists around the stage to shape the music. Artistic Director – it may be a collective, but they draw the line somewhere – Bass, Jonathan Sells was ever alert.
Three hours passed in a trice. A huge privilege to see the finishing touches being added. I went home and bagged two of the few remaining seats for their next gig, Bach’s Ode to Grief, again at Wigmore, on 8 May.
Read more from Gerald Malone on The Rest is Opera