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Spectator
18-06-2025
- Entertainment
- Spectator
The cheering fantasies of Oliver Messel
Through the grey downbeat years of postwar austerity, we nursed cheering fantasies of a life more lavishly colourful and hedonistic. Oliver Messel fed them: born into Edwardian privilege, the epitome of well-connected metropolitan sophistication, he doubled up as interior decorator and stage designer, creating in both roles a unique style of rococo elegance and light-touch whimsy that sweetened and consoled – 'a gossamer world of gilded enchantment' as Roy Strong soupily put it. 'Marie Antoinette would have felt at home in any of his settings.' Posterity has not been kind to Messel. Only a little of his art has survived changes of fashion since his death in 1978: the Dorchester Hotel is currently restoring the VIP suite he dreamed up, and several villas in his beloved Barbados retain the appearance and atmosphere that he suavely devised for them. But aside from the Royal Ballet's unsuccessful attempt to resuscitate the splendours of his 1946 vision of The Sleeping Beauty, the work he prolifically did for the stage, both in Britain and the USA, survives only in coffee-table books and the archives. Perhaps the long lens of history will judge Messel's most substantial theatrical achievement to be embodied in the nine operas by Strauss, Rossini and Mozart that he designed for Glyndebourne between 1950 and 1959. An expertly curated exhibition, running through the current festival's season in the opera house's foyer, pays these legendary productions handsome tribute. Glyndebourne's fête champêtre was Messel's natural element, and his ancillary designs for the programme book and proscenium arch did much to establish what might now be described as its brand. Part of his genius was his understanding the village-hall scale of Glyndebourne's stage. The palatial scenes of Idomeneo and Der Rosenkavalier had intimacy as well as spaciousness, while the servants' quarters in Le nozze di Figaro and La Cenerentola were cutely cosy rather than dingy – Glyndebourne audiences in the 1950s weren't in the mood for gritty realism, and Messel seduced them with a sumptuous yet subtle palette of pink, green, plum, turquoise, ultramarine and canary yellow. Even if his initial sketches, dashed off in one session, were so impressionistic that seamstresses were hard put to interpret his intentions, he lavished as much imagination on costumes as he did on the scenery, relishing the textures of taffeta, chiffon and silk. Sadly few of these have been preserved, but a centrepiece of the exhibition is the Marschallin's gorgeous midnight blue and salmon pink gown from Rosenkavalier, worn by two great sopranos, Régine Crespin and Montserrat Caballé. Props also engaged him: Messel may have drawn vaguely, but he was meticulous and resourceful in the atelier, hands on and dirty, making do and mending with the detritus of pipe cleaner, cellophane, sticky tape, papier-mâché, sequins, and staples to conjure up the silver rose for Rosenkavalier or the Countess's mirror in Figaro. A furiously hard all-night worker who paid fanatic attention to detail, he was not an easy-going collaborator and he found the director Glyndebourne assigned him, Carl Ebert, 'rather hell' – a view that was probably reciprocated. Designs would be presented as a fait accompli: he had the whiphand, and any criticism or request for alteration would send him into a sulk. 'He thought he was perfect,' recalled his long-suffering assistant Carl Toms. But he wasn't perfect, and time caught up with him. Come the Swinging Sixties, his camp caprices began to look over-contrived and fey, and his productions would inexorably be replaced by more visually robust statements. In the West End young lion designers such as Sean Kenny abandoned painted backcloths for a grittier aesthetic based on solid materials and revolving machinery, while Glyndebourne turned to Emanuele Luzzati, an Italian who dealt in vibrant primary colours that Messel would have considered vulgar. He was, in other words, not a classic for the ages. But like his rival Cecil Beaton, he sums up an era. One tantalising glimpse of what his art looked like in performance remains: On Such a Night, a 40-minute promotional colour movie directed by Anthony Asquith, shows live scenes from the 1955 production of Figaro. The DVD is no longer on sale in the Glyndebourne shop, but copies can be snapped up on Amazon.
San Francisco Chronicle
15-06-2025
- Entertainment
- San Francisco Chronicle
Review: San Francisco Opera's ‘Idomeneo' dazzles with powerful voices and striking visuals
Mozart's 'Idomeneo' will never be the composer's most popular work, but it is a great opera, full of fire and vivid characterizations. Merely 24 years old when he wrote the score, Mozart poured everything he had into 'Idomeneo,' and San Francisco Opera's excellent new production, which opened on Saturday, June 14, at the War Memorial Opera House, showed the work's dramatic power and musical beauty thanks to a fully committed cast. This is the kind of opera that Mozart dreamed of making, filled with first-rank singers down to the secondary roles. But after its Munich premiere in 1781, 'Idomeneo' had only one subsequent private performance in Vienna. It wasn't until the 20th century that the work entered the standard repertory, thanks in no small part to San Francisco Opera's groundbreaking 1977 production. 'Idomeneo' takes up the story of the titular king of Crete's return from the Trojan War. Beset by storms, he offers a rash vow to the god Neptune to sacrifice the first person he sees on shore if he and his crew should arrive safely home. Naturally, Idomeneo is greeted by his son Idamante. The prince is in love with Ilia, a captured Trojan princess, and she responds to his ardent wooing. But the princess Elettra expects to marry Idamante and is furious to discover he's considering an alliance with his enemy. Though shorn of its ballet and several arias, as is customary in modern presentations, this is a big show that the Opera is staging. Australian director Lindy Hume's production relies for its sense of scale on cinematographer Catherine Pettman's dramatic filmed images of the Tasmanian coastline. The visuals are artfully projected onto Michael Yeargan's spare set by projection designer David Bergman. Following this prompt, costume designer Anna Cordingley has buttressed the shoulders of the king's royal mantle with feathers, possibly a reference to the Palawa/Pakana first people of Tasmania, to whom the production team pays respect in the program book. Otherwise, the costuming is modern dress and predominantly black and gray, effectively showcased by Verity Hampson's original lighting, revived for these performances by Justin A. Partier. Hume's direction focuses on the characters' emotions and interrelationships, and she pulls strong acting performances from all of her seasoned principal singers. Tenor Matthew Polenzani conveyed the king's anguish and regret in a manner that felt authentic and lived. He's completely comfortable with the role's vocal demands, and if his florid runs in the centerpiece aria 'Fuor del mar' (Saved from the sea) were smudged, that's partly because Mozart unkindly put most of them in the singer's midrange. Projecting a firm sound out into the War Memorial auditorium took precedence. On Saturday, we learned from Opera General Director Matthew Shilvock that mezzo-soprano Daniela Mack, in the role of Idamante, performed a little bit under the weather, but I doubt the audience would have known without the announcement. She may have felt that her energy was down, but even at 90%, she has more than enough power and vocal agility to put over her part. In dramatic terms, she was a powerful presence, especially in her recitatives and her entrance aria, 'Non ho colpa' (I'm not guilty). But the evening's singing laurels went to Ying Fang as Ilia and Elza van den Heever as Elettra. In a part stuffed with gorgeous melodies designed to show off a lyric soprano, Fang made an indelible impression, her voice in pristine condition, beautiful and well controlled. In a much broader role, van den Heever commanded the stage in her three highly contrasting arias. Hers is a huge voice, but she brought delicacy and warmth to her seductive Act 2 'Idol mio' (My dearest). Then she showed off her Straussian power by exploding from silence into her rafter-shaking final aria, rushing out to stunned applause from the audience. Out of a number of small roles, tenor Alek Shrader as the king's advisor, Arbace, must be mentioned. Hume has him deliver one of the two arias Mozart wrote for the character, and the opportunity paid off, as Shrader sang with the confidence and tonal sweetness for which he has been noted. John Keene's chorus has a lot of work in the show and performed brilliantly. Music Director Eun Sun Kim, for whom there are no superlatives left, led a tautly dramatic performance from the pit. In Mozart's expansive score, the orchestra has several moments to shine, and these musicians did.
