Siegfried (Mariinsky Opera)

I'm getting tired of criticising this production so I'm going to mainly focus on the music. You can find my various rantings on the first two parts here and here. Little changed staging wise for "Siegfried": big statues, white cube and bad projections remain par for the course. It's become alarming clear the whole shebang has been massively under-rehearsed, whatever Alexander Zeldin managed in "Rheingold" has rapidly slipped into stock operatic gestures and meandering near the front of the stage (where the prompt box happens to be, it even got a thank you at the end from Brunnhilda). This was still a big step up on "Walkure", thanks to some brisker tempi from Gergiev and more consistent casting.

Big surprise came in the form of Leonid Zakhozhaev's Siegfried. Whilst he was seldom exceptional, the role of Siegfried is a marathon not a sprint and his staying power was commendable. He largely held his own against Brunnhilda (who just sings in the last scene) which is a serious testament to his stamina. I wasn't much taken with the rather vulgar gestures he strung together in the opening act (probably the director's fault) but he was nicely childish and petulant initially, then managed to capture some of the heroism which further gave way to fear at the sight of his bride to be. Top marks for his hugely impressive physicality, right up to the conclusion. His Brunnhilda was sung strongly by Olga Sergeyeva but her wide, flabby vibrato was not to my taste. Her acting is better not mentioned. Evgeny Nikitin returned to the role of Wotan giving an even meatier performance than in "Rheingold" (and infinitely better than Mikhail Kit yesterday). He has an ideal instrument for the part and whilst his acting was pretty over-exaggerated (eye patch returning to Wotan's right eye after a brief trip over to the left for "Walkure") it was a potent performance that nicely meshed with Zakhozhaev in their tremendous collision in Act III. Nikolai Putilin continued his terrific Alberich with a well sung and, dare I say it, slightly nastier performance. Gennady Bezzubenkov was miked as Fafner (not unusual although this was quite heavily done) but gripped never the less (the staging of Fafner was risible although by this point that didn't come as much of a surprise). Vasily Gorshkov has a marvellous, big tenor but for me lacked focus and impact. More personal taste I suspect but his Mime just didn't do it for me. Zlata Bulycheva gave a solid if unremarkable Erda, Anastasia Kalagina was a harsh, rather unattractive Woodbird.

There was plenty to enjoy here, a consistency of casting I definitely didn't expect after the first two operas. Gergiev brought his orchestra back in line although I still had a general misgiving that not all in the pit had their hearts in it. Some strong moments from the horns but fatigue appears to have really started to set in amongst the brass as a whole. A much slicker evening, considerably shorter than Walkure, which is odd, largely due to reduced intervals. I can't make Gotterdammerung tomorrow which is a bit of a pity, but frankly if it had to be any cycle I had to miss the end of this is probably it. The burning of Valhalla will I suspect be fire free and the flooding of the Rhine no doubt blue light based. Still, as tonight showed, there are definitely some promising voices floating around the Mariinsky, it's just a pity they're stuck in such a dysmal production with so little direction and preparation.

Die Walkure (Mariinsky Opera)

Whilst I was far from overwhelmed, yesterday's "Rheingold" was no disaster. Today's Valkyrie wasn't either but it slipped dangerously towards that category. The production remains both nondescript and unhelpfully dominating; the colossal statues serve little purpose but do manage to make the singers seem very small and unimportant. The weak projections continue to make unimaginative appearances including in the most limply staged fiery peak I hope I ever have the misfortune to see. Most of the singers are average at best. Thank god for the Brunnhilde.

The staging hasn't changed much from yesterday's performance. Big white cube with large moving statues (whose ever changing body parts even gain horse skulls at one point). My heart soared when they finally used different vertical levels at the start of Act II but they soon lost interest and it was back to muddling about at the front of the stage (by the prompt box which seemed rather alarmingly used). Sadly the relatively astute singer movement of Rheingold has gone, now they wander aimlessly and the fight at the end of Act II was simply embarrassing. The fiery conclusion is usually a guaranteed bankable moment, thrilling music and plenty of pyrotechnics. Here it was a limp projection and music played loudly but in a shockingly leaden fashion. It all looks very cheap and the murky mythology (was obscure Russian myth really the way to go for a globally touring production?) helps no one. I could pick holes all night in the meagre staging (the sperm was just hysterical) but I need to sleep before tomorrow's Siegfried which, if the running time this evening is anything to go by (over six hours), will be very long.

The music was much less impressive today. Things didn't start well with a Goodall style plod through the surging storm music. Sadly, Gergiev missed the dynamic contrasts such that unlike Goodall (whose recording I love) this was a complete write off. He also failed to find a consistency in his tempi. A good deal was very slow (which with the silly intervals made this a very, very long evening) but moments felt rushed and nothing really cohered. The orchestral playing also seemed more laboured than it had yesterday, if these are already signs of tiredness things are going to be terrible by Saturday. The previously potent brass had lost their colour and even the woodwind, which to Gergiev's credit he really made work in Rheingold, were not in the same knick.

The singers, with two marvellous exceptions, were mostly capable but little more (and several not even that). Language continues to prove problematic although, thick slavic accents notwithstanding, the text is largely being projected thanks to reasonable diction from many. Mikhail Kit was a frail Wotan. He started badly, warmed up a little towards the end of Act II but then tired badly by the conclusion. Gennady Bezzubenkov was an average Fafner yesterday, a meek Hunding today and will no doubt have completely shot vocal chords for Fafner tomorrow. Avgust Amonov's Siegmund could hit all the notes but not with much gusto, although gained a second wind just before his death. Mlada Khudoley could mostly hit the notes as well but spent all her time looking like she was trying very hard to do so and she managed to muddy her big final "Redeption Through Love" motif (won't be back till the end of Gotterdammerung) which was really disappointing. Mercifully two singers did fine work. Larisa Diadkova gave a magnificent Fricka (even better than her strong effort yesterday). Vocally exciting and suitably overbearing against Wotan (not that she had much opposition in Kit), this was a world class performance. Olga Savova was a surprisingly decent Brunnhilda. I have almost no faith in anyone currently being able to sing this role properly but this really wasn't a bad effort. A very strong top let down by a slightly underpowered lower register, from her first Hojotoho it was clear she would be in a different league to most of her compatriots. A pity she is singing no further Brunnhildas (there are three different ones in this cycle). The Valkyries were perfectly acceptable but they didn't blend well and several simply weren't up to their solos.

If things keep going downhill like this, Gotterdammerung's going to be a washout (although I can't attend anyway as I'm abroad). I find it hard not enjoy myself, I adore this music, but the production's trying its hardest to make sure I don't. Usually, regardless of how terrible a director's ideas are, you can count on a bit of spectacle. This production has little going for it even on such a shallow level. Neither of today's top women are involved tomorrow so things look bleak but open mind and all that, you never know.

Das Rheingold (Mariinsky Opera)

Exciting times. A full Ring Cycle in four days (sadly curtailed to three for me owing to a trip abroad). This is the Mariinsky production that's been shipped over to Covent Garden. A new production of the Ring is always going to split the crowd somewhat, you can't ever please everyone. I'm as picky as anyone but assuming the orchestra largely get things right, I'm a big lover of the work as a whole so I always enjoy myself. This staging drew only a smattering of boos, which to my mind is almost a point against it. This "Rheingold" is utterly inoffensive because it has so few interesting ideas.

Firstly, it must be stated that there are clear limitations with a staging designed to travel. Here the limitations ended up looking like budget constraints. The production doesn't do anything particularly brave or exciting, it just looks cheap. Clearly there are difficulties because much of the Russian mythology behind the designs is completely unknown in the west but beyond the statues and a few costumes even this isn't much of a problem as there just isn't much on stage (and I'm not convinced there's anything in the mythology to make the Tarnhelm an extremely cheap looking wisp of fabric). Credit to Alexander Zeldin for marshalling some solid acting performances from the singers but nothing can overcome the designs. Apart from the four dominating statues the staging is almost completely bare. A big white cube. The action is consistently on one level with only the statues providing anything vertical. It remains to be seen what they're actually capable of, so far they've just gone up and down a lot and bent at the middle once towards the end. Spectacle is in extremely short supply.

The big moments largely get short thrift. The opening scene is staged in a fairly slick, economical fashion and the initial appearance of the Nibelung is terrifically done (a rare good use of children) but Alberich's transformations just look silly and the appearance of the Rheingold couldn't have been done worse. A weak projection that could barely be seen does not suffice for the glistening brilliance of the gold that sits at the epicentre of this great work. As a whole the projections didn't work well. Very little imagination appears to have gone into them, the odd bit of fire and some dire lightning was pretty much the extent of it. The costumes for the principals were quite effective and by far and away the most interesting element of the staging but there were far too many non-singers floating around in stretchy fabric for my tastes (the "hoard" of gold as performed by people in sequins looked abysmal)

The line-up of singers is pretty astonishing when one considers they are all company members of the Mariinsky (there isn't another house anywhere to compare). It was far from a flawless cast, an international cast would have more depth, but impressive never the less. Eveny Nikitin's Wotan, whilst never poor, lacked any real impact. Capable, but for a towering god he was a touch uninteresting and weedy. Larisa Diadkova, as Fricka, showed much greater strength and managed a thrilling intensity that was almost unmatched elsewhere. Nikolai Putilin's Alberich was a little cuddly for such a nasty creature but as his voice blossomed in the third scene, he knocked out some intense top notes. A potency that Nikitin just couldn't compete with. Oleg Balashov's Loge was a triumph of total performance. His voice wasn't particularly brilliant but he brought with it tremendous flair and excitement. Bouncing around the stage like the fire demi-god he is, it was a marvellous display of operatic performing. Elsewhere things were solid but uninspiring, a competent pair of giants and some lightweight Rhinemaidens. After initially making no impression Evgeny Ulanov pulled out all the stops at the conclusion as Donner and Evgeny Akimov's Froh had a lovely bright top but a significantly less impressive bottom.

Much will be made of the action in the pit but I can't say I was amazed. Gergiev largely took things slowly (two hours forty is not a quick Rheingold) but a couple of moments seemed almost rushed and it didn't form a cohesive whole. The Mariinsky orchestra make a suitably stunning noise though; some of the brass was breathtaking, I simply cannot wait to hear Siegfried's music soaring out of this pit.

I don't think this is going to be a production that will go down in the annals of great stagings. Badly designed within the constraints of a touring production such that it just looks cheap. The singing was largely high quality, although what condition the singers will be in by the end of Gotterdammerung remains to be seen (although sadly not by me). It's a Ring Cycle though so hooray all round, there's little I enjoy more. Even in such a middling staging.

Dreamboats and Petticoats

Jukebox musicals don't come much thinner than this. A narrative so thin and uninteresting that I could scarcely understand why they bothered with characters at all. This "Jukebox" is a massive selection (about forty songs) of Rock'n'Roll hits (almost none of which I knew) delivered in a slightly stage school manner but with a great deal of panache from all involved.

Little intelligence went into this production and I find it almost alarming that the writers behind such brilliance as "The New Statesman" managed to waste their time on this. So short of one liners one wonders why they bothered. The staging is generally disappointing as well. The set is a pretty dull, unoriginal collection of painted flats, plus a scaffolding like structure that gets pushed around occasionally. The choreography, delivered enthusiastically by the reasonably capable cast, is similarly unoriginal and lacking in verve. All in all, the evening really boils down to a song list and at least at this count the show scores a hit.

The cast are incredibly young, good-looking and all surprisingly strong singers albeit in a less than Rock'n'Roll manner (and mostly seem to come from shows like Hollyoaks, so I've never heard of any of them). Scott Bruton is suitably sweet and charming as the uncertain teenager, AJ Dean as his best mate displays impressive vocals (especially his falsetto, something all the men showed strongly). Ben Freeman is instantly hittable as the arrogant, desperate to be young again Norman; perfect for the part. Daisy Wood-Davies is initially the most thinly disguised pretty-girl since Anne Hathaway in "The Princess Diaries", do they really think glasses and pig-tails convinces anyone? She can sing as well, some wobbly sustained notes creeping in at times. The two, out and out, gorgeous girls, Jennifer Biddall and Emma Hatton give solid performances. Strong dancers and singers (acting not called for). David Cardy appears to be having a blast as the one older member of the cast; he demonstrates an ideal ability to land bad jokes. The supporting cast play musical instruments, the live music tremendously impressive throughout.

A throwaway amusement. Seldom dull (Sister Act could take a leaf out this book) but never particularly exciting or moving. This has moved in as filler before Legally Blonde (I quite literally can't wait to see that again) and should sustain its run, the older market seems to have latched on efficiently. I just wish I wasn't made to stand up and dance at the end. That's theatrical death to my mind (although I might secretly love it, I haven't quite made up my mind yet). The octogenarian behind me was throwing down some epic moves to her credit. There's better stuff out there, a lazily manufactured show, but if these are your tunes. You might just love it.

The Girlfriend Experience

I don't shock easily. In fact there isn't much that does these days which is pretty sad to my mind. "The Girlfriend Experience", thanks in many respects to the gimmick that drives it, is the filthiest show imaginable. I found myself blushing and looking away at some of Poppy's lines, often amusing but always disgusting.

The interesting element of the play is the manner in which it is put together. There is no script only an edited soundtrack (made from hundreds of hours of recordings) that is relayed live into the actors ears. In that sense it's almost like a documentary, every vocal inflection and pause repeated exactly by the actors. It's clever stuff and high marks must go to the foursome who manage to create believable characters out of this rather artificial construct. The resulting narrative isn't much different from how a documentary might be structured and all events are true to life so the show never achieves much of what theatre can, but that doesn't prevent it being both amusing and illuminating.

The cast are spot on although the extent to which acting comes into this is somewhat questionable. If the vocal work is so entirely prescribed, the acting surely comes down to the physical? I'm not so certain but it doesn't much matter. The cast all wearing disturbingly little do good work. Debbie Chazen is charming as Tessa, the owner of the house (but by no means a pimp). It's an unprovocative performance; prostitution has never seemed so day to day. Lu Corfield gets most of the filth ("water sports" aren't something I ever thought portrayed on stage) and Beatie Edney most of the girlfriend element. Alex Lowe plays all the "punters" and gives a fantastic display of vocal range, every character impressively nuanced.

I'm not sure this recorded play has all that much depth or future but impressively handled, as it is here, there's certainly some merit to it. Prostitution laid wide open and given a very personal and respectful portrayal. Only the deconstructed flat-pack set struck me as artificial, almost as if something clever and arty had to be thrust into this urbane, incisive work. Original and thought provoking, I won't soon forget it.

Time and the Conways

Rupert Goold has taken JB Priestly's "Time and the Conways", created a relatively conventional production with a very fine cast and made a piece of theatre that's decidedly average. There's nothing particularly wrong with the stage and the script has its moments, but the whole evening feels contrived; mostly due to Priestly's single-minded text but not helped by Goold's visually stunning but unilluminating additions.

The play's Act I is quite nicely written, believable characters are created and they exist in a rather charming world, but is totally inconsequential in the context of the later events. It's something of a marathon work and could well have done with some pruning. The central conceit of flashing forward twenty years to see the result of the family's dreams before returning to the present is a fascinating if flawed idea. His thesis that we are the sum total of all the events in our lives, that nothing is lost with the passage of time sits rather awkwardly when we see the hopes and dreams of this family lost in the mire of life. Beyond the theatrically brilliant (and technologically, I've never seen anything quite like this before) ending which beyond wow factor has limited resonance, Goold doesn't overly address this point.

What he has done is marshalled a very fine cast, and made a decent fist of individual scenes if not the overarching whole. The actors are given the tough task of appearing both very young then middle aged and not all entirely come up to the mark. Francesca Annis is terrific as the matriarch of the family, but her elderly form has the voice of a eighty year old smoking man. Paul Ready is utterly charming and makes for a wonderful and wise middle-aged man but despite the greying hair he still looked about twenty (not much he could do about that though). The daughters are all supremely well cast. Fenella Woolgar excels both as the young, liberal girl and then her much older school teacher self. Faye Castelow doesn't have to make the change into middle age as her character doesn't make it, but her excitable Carol is an absolutely exquisite creation. A character who you can do nothing but love. Lydia Leonard displays incredible sadness buried just beneath the surface as Hazel. Hattie Morahan takes the most significant daughter, given the opportunity to flash into the future and torn to shreds by it. I found it impossible to take my eyes off her. Of the rest Adrian Scarborough puts in a terrific performance as the snivelling but successful husband of Morahan.

This isn't a great play and nor is it a particularly special production but it is heritage programming from the National Theatre (a key part of its remit to my mind) and I don't regret seeing it for a second. Constantly engaging if never very effective, everyone works very hard but the end result is pretty average.

Jerusalem

Impressive. Three hours fifteen minutes is an outrageous length for a new play but Jez Butterworth's "Jerusalem" somehow manages to both justify its length and make it fly by. The play ultimately reaches an inevitable conclusion but this is a work that's all about the journey, and what a journey it is.

Mark Rylance embodies the lead part, Rooster Byron, like few actors I've ever seen. From his first appearance you can tell that this is something else (about the point where he downs a pint glass filled with milk, a raw egg and "vodka"). His commitment to the part is unflinching. As he regales his "rats" with endless incredible tales (Kidnapped by traffic wardens, meeting a ninety foot giant who built Stonehenge, etc) you almost start to believe him. His dry wit is incredible, the most casual of lines absolutely hysterical. Yet when his young son appears, he shows a tender, mournful side that makes his casual existence all the sadder. The play is pretty much all about him but he has able support in the form of Mackenzie Crooke's sarcastic hanger-on and Alan Davies' wittering Professor. The young cast (his "rats", all of whom look like they just stepped off the set of "Skins") are less consistent. Danny Kirrane wanders the stage in a suitably drugged up stupor and Tom Brooke has decent comic timing but both Jessica Barden and Charlotte Mills resort to far too much empty arm waving and extreme facial expressions. Aimee-Ffion Edwards has a lovely voice but has an otherwise tiny role.

The play exists in Ultz's marvellously detailed set, tall trees looming over the decrepit trailer that Byron exists in. My only complaint is that the set seems designed for a far larger stage than the Royal Court (planning on a transfer perhaps), the forest extending some distance into the wings. Plays are seldom this funny and genuinely moving all at the same time. Worth seeing for many reasons but above all others, purely on the basis of Rylance's performance.

A Streetcar Named Desire

Wandering into the Donmar Warehouse for its latest production is like stepping into another world. You're instantly greeted by the buzz of cicadas and the atmospheric, crumbling wrought iron designs of Christopher Oram's set. The Donmar Warehouse has a massive advantage on the mainstream theatreland thanks to its tiny size and "A Streetcar Named Desire" takes full advantage. Unsubtle at times but never less than gripping. Usual disclaimer as this was the first preview and as such things can change before the press opening early next week.

With Rachel Weisz in the lead role it's obvious where most of the press is going to go but it's Ruth Wilson who gives the star turn. It's a difficult role to gauge, no obvious defining traits, yet Wilson carefully balances her care for the less than likeable Blanche with her perplexing love for Stanley. I say perplexing because the weakest link in this new production is Elliot Cowan's one-dimensional Stanley. He has all the right animal magnetism, rippling muscles make him visually appealing, but otherwise he's just a brute and seldom showed anything but anger. His marriage to Wilson wasn't a relationship that worked on any visible level. Weisz is by no means a damp squib in the lead role but has to overcome the fact that a fading beauty she is not. Whether actually too young I'm not sure but Weisz, with her incredible youthful looks, could get away with being twenty-one. That said, she captures the spirit of Blanche, deliciously fragile, and creates a creditable performance, never overblown but always on the edge. Barnaby Kay provides very solid support as Mitch, the man who attempts to lure Blanche back from sheer madness.

The production is evocatively designed, with lovely murky lighting, but the diagonal split of the stage wasn't especially effective, the characters movement crow barred in to fit the set. The otherworldly appearance of Blanche's dead husband, whilst hardly the most original idea, is brutally effective in getting into her mind. The closing stages of the piece are very well done, the intimacy of the Donmar coming into its own, the physicality of Stanley and Blanche providing a shocking end.

A solid revival of a terrific play with some uneven casting slightly spoiling the party. Wilson shows that she was born to the stage and Weisz, whilst slightly miscast, does impressively. Cowan may well mellow as the run goes on and find the almost crippling weaknesses in Stanley but is far too brash at the moment. Totally sold out so only day seats and returns I'm afraid but probably worth the effort if only to catch this amazing play in such a tiny, claustrophobic space.

Collaboration

With the end of the opera season I've been on a straight play bender over the last few days and have found a remarkably fine run of works. Between "Phedre", "All's Well That End's Well" and now "Collaboration" my re-immersion in straight theatre has paid real dividends. "Collaboration" is the most unlikely, a new play without any stars fed into the West End from Chichester. I can't imagine financially it's doing very well which is a real pity as it's a very impressive piece.

Harwood has chosen to tackle a fascinating topic from an original angle. Taking the impact of Nazi Germany from the perspective of an artist who thinks of little but his music. The historical accuracy of the work is difficult to gauge but Strauss gets a fairly positive spin. Naive and childish, wrapped up in his music and desperate to protect his family. He is paired with the much more urbane, thoughtful Stefan Zweig; a Jew and the librettist of Strauss's latest opera. The interplay of the two is beautifully crafted; the end result so horribly predictable to Zweig yet Strauss remains blind. As the work descends towards the terrible events of World War II, the outcomes of the various characters seem almost like fate, the conclusion inevitable, but the dialogue is so carefully written as to have the audience on absolute tenterhooks.

The pair are perfectly cast. Michael Pennington takes Strauss and makes him a wonderfully conflicted figure. So keen to do right but never quite aware enough to realise the importance of his decisions. David Horovitch's sage like Zweig is truly compelling; his reading of the suicide note hit all the emotional buttons without seeming manipulative. The pair's extended dialogues were never less than riveting thanks to their very watchable chemistry. Isla Blair has a amusing line in matriarchal battleaxe, yet a tenderness that makes her relationship with Strauss so vital. Martin Hutson earns high marks for creating a three-dimensional Nazi, all the creepier for avoiding stereotype. His apparent pleasantness paired with extreme anti-Semitism was distinctly uncomfortable; I squirmed in my seat more than once. Sophie Roberts took the one rather unwritten role as Zweig's secretary and later lover, solid enough but she wasn't working with much.

A clever, intellectual play that manages to make a potentially dry topic emotionally involving. Well cast and cleanly directed this is definitely worth a look. It's part of a double bill with "Taking Sides" and I'll try and take that in as I'm told it gifts an even broader perspective. Regardless, "Collaboration" is well worth spending an evening with, take your tissues though.

All's Well That Ends Well

Take a Shakespeare problem play, make it a fairytale - problem solved. Well not entirely, but Marianne Elliott's Gormenghast-like production is terrific. The frankly uncomfortable plot and often less than beautiful dialogue is given an attractive gloss by the unusual setting and designs. It's hard to be moved, the situations too awkward and the characters unpleasant, but somehow Elliott's production swept me along to the merry (if less than "All's Well") conclusion.

The staging is largely quite sparse and traditional but everything is surrounded by Rae Smith's imposing gothic ramparts and silhouetted towers. The lighting provides much of the atmosphere;this is a dark, ethereal world of hazy, mottled light where magic seems only just out of reach. The wrap around projections are marvellously witty (the animated animals have a few surprises up their sleeves) and only add to the otherworldly feel. The magical music (as ever at the National played live), glockenspiel dominated, is yet another component that so compels that you could almost forget you were in a theatre.

After a fairly slow start, with too many brief scenes with too little action (Shakespeare's fault I fear) Elliott's production really notches things up and from then on I was enraptured. The narrative's shaky morality left me a touch wary but it's the distancing effect of the fairy tale setting that eventually overcome the issues. The central forced relationship between the rather aggressive heroine and mean hero would leave a nasty taste in the mouth in the real world, but in this otherworld such qualms can be taken in context.

The casting is very solid across the board. Olvier Ford Davies and Clare Higgins represent the mature thesps and do so in grand style. Higgins does a tidy line in overbearing but well meaning mothers, carefully treading the line between care and power. Davies might lean towards the stereotype in portraying the old king, but it Elliott's clever conceit of having him a rambling grandfather figure that reaps rewards during his endless lecturing. Conleth Hill (shed of his usual accent) takes Parolles and creates a figure of Falstaff like brilliance. A complete coward but an exceptionally funny one, Shakespeare is seldom this laugh out loud funny. The romantic couple (if you can really call them that) are strongly cast. George Rainsford might look like he's just stumbled out of school but he's creates a sympathetic figure that allows the piece a certain extra depth. Michelle Terry (also starring in the National's rather less impressive "England People Very Nice") also tempers her forceful character. Her Helena clearly cares so deeply for Bertram that even though her methods are unconventional they are bred from a tenderness rather than callousness.

This is never, at least to my mind, going to be one of the great Shakespeare pieces, the young romance is far too morally grey to be realistic or even appropriate, but staged so slickly and effortlessly with such a marvellous cast it's hard not to be pulled in. Most convincing of all is the brilliance of the ending when after a series of photos are taken we're left focused on the "happy" couple and Betram's face which says anything but. It's one of many fantastic insights that have made a middling work a superb night at the theatre.

Phèdre

I can quite honestly say this is the first time I've ever been in a theatre and been desperate for a show to finish because I couldn't take it anymore. I say this as frankly the most positive thing I've ever said about a piece. "Phèdre" is a work riddled with the most unpleasant, flawed characters imaginable and a conclusion so shockingly blunt that I'll be recovering for days. The heavily stylised language and non-naturalistic staging won't appeal to everyone but the sheer emotional weight of the evening is hard to shake off.

The stars have aligned both on and off stage. The creative team of Nick Hytner, Bob Crowley and Paule Constable have produced a marvellously statuesque set, evocatively lit and filled with surprisingly believable characters. The text doesn't make for easy reading but the cast are an amazing bunch reading the verse like it were regular speech, the rhythms flowing so naturally. It's extremely tragic stuff and a certain degree of wailing perhaps goes too far but the power of the evening is in the silences. The downfall of Margaret Tyzak's despicable character is largely off-stage yet her slow, blood curdling walk across the stage conveys far more than an epic Tosca like leap ever could. What reads ludicrously, the death of Hippolytus is the stuff of myth and legend, when delivered by the masterful John Shrapnel becomes utterly riveting.

The casting is hugely impressive across the board. Helen Mirren takes top billing and deservedly so, her steady fall draws sympathy from the audience in a manner that belies her unpleasant character. Dominic Cooper is oddly cast as a valiant warrior but makes a very fine fist of the part (albeit dressed like he's auditioning for G.I. Joe), delving into the madness of honour and the pain it can cause. Tyzak creates one of the most unpleasant characters imaginable yet never becomes an artificial villain; every action stems from a deep seated motive. Ruth Negga is sweetly naive, yet ultimately strong. Stanley Townsend's Theseus a model of failed heroism (in clothes that suggest a middle aged birdwatcher rather than military leader). Only Wendy Morgan falls slightly into the melodrama trap, too much shouting with too little intent.

The highly theatrical nature of the work means that some will likely find it distancing, but sitting in the second row I wanted nothing more than to run a mile. A terrifying tale of operatic extremes, superlatively acted and gorgeously designed. For those with a strong constitution I couldn't recommend a piece more.

Tosca (Royal Opera)

The sickness of Angela Gheorghiu brought a young up and comer Amanda Echalaz into the limelight last Thursday (and she did a decent job under the circumstances). The second "Tosca" of the run, Nelly Miricioiu, sits right at the other end of a soprano's career being, to put it bluntly, a little past it. A final hoorah I suppose but in the battle of experience versus youth the youngun took this prize.

The rest of the cast remained the same and little had changed. Marcello Giordani has some of the most superb top notes, his "Vittoria" a model of fine singing each vowel sound so impeccably delivered, but isn't the most rounded of performers preferring the old fashioned stand and deliver style (plus the odd grimace). Bryn Terfel is special, and he's especially special in the role of Scarpia. A meaty baritone combined with some darkly potent acting make this a performance to savour. Everything he did was almost horrifically detailed and yet hideously natural, not a man to meet in a dark alley. Miricioiu on the other hand offered some period acting combined with a voice that whilst rich in certain places, wobbled at the top rather badly. To her credit, after a couple of dodgy early notes, when "Vissi d'arte" came along she gave a more than accomplished performance without a hint of the early misfires. She still sounded the age she is, not a terribly believable Tosca, but it was no disaster. Of the rest, Jeremy White and Kostas Smoriginas started the show in a decent fashion and Martyn Hill, whilst a little hammy, makes for a suitably creepy Spoletta.

The orchestra gave another exciting reading under Jacques Lacombe and the chorus at the end of Act I was a touch tighter than it had been at the previous performance I attended. All in all it's been a revival with teething problems (as Barbiere similarly suffered) that have prevented it reaching true brilliance.

Il Barbiere di Siviglia (Royal Opera)

The sickness of singers is reaching an almost farcical level as the Royal Opera season draws to a close. After losing repeated singers for the gala, Simon Keenlyside for "Siviglia" and Deborah Voigt for "Tosca" (and her replacement Gheorgiu at one performance of that), this final performance of the run lost its tenor (already the second tenor to Juan Diego Florez) to a cold resulting in a very last minute substitution of Toby Spence singing from the side in t-shirt and jeans (with Colin Lee acting the role on stage). Did I mention Joyce DiDonato sang her role from a wheelchair? Everyone gave it a go of course, but the brilliance of opening night was sadly not readily apparent.

That's not to say this was poor. Just relative to the first night this was not a peak performance. Ferruccio Furlanetto and Alessandro Corbelli remain a buffo double act to die for and DiDonato despite being grounded has a set of pipes of some majesty. The wow factor however, had left the building. Spence is a solid singer but he's not in Florez's league, especially at the top of his register. He didn't even bother singing "Cessa di più resistere", the aria Florez had brought the house down with (although to be fair, it is often cut). DiDonato remains a sterling performer and she'd clearly practiced a great deal with the wheelchair but sadly much in this production depends on the physicality of the performers and the set was not designed for easy wheelchair access.

It's still a solid production and the orchestra, whilst not in quite such superb form under Paul Wynne Griffiths (the overture in particular lacked precision and felt a little stodgy), still played with real gusto at times. The cast are of world calibre but some of the sheen had been lost and this performance ended up feeling like more of a standard revival than the awe inspiring show it had been at opening night. This was the last performance so it doesn't much matter now, but praise should be given to all involved for giving it a fair bash, circumstances just got in the way.

Nerve (Anastasia Volochkova)

"Nerve" might well be the most self-indulgent piece I've ever come across. That would be all well and good if it was of any merit but unfortunately "Nerve" might well be the worst show I've ever seen (not since "Divas" has the London stage been abused by something quite so cringeworthy). An incomparably abysmal combination of Opera and Ballet with some of the least effective choreography and worst singing I've ever come across on a professional stage.

The programme gives a fine idea of what is to follow. Lots of glamorous pictures of Anastasia Volochkova and not much else. What doesn't quite stack up is the emphasis on "tragedy". Unless Volochkova grew up on a circus, this show doesn't seem overly representative of anything relating to reality. Every one of the shallow empty sections of choreography (all to badly recorded and then eurotrashed classical music) is accompanied by flashing coloured lights, often directed out into the auditorium as well as on stage. The choreography is packed with woeful, cod theatrical, mournful gestures and enormous lifts that seldom came off cleanly. Volochkova might have been a great dancer once but it was pretty hard to tell here. Her technique is somewhat less than clean and in the air she looked simply terrible. That didn't stop her regularly flouncing to the front of the stage to receive applause no one wanted to give. The two men who had to accompany her fared better. Rinat Arifulin looked dangerously near giggling a few times but he largely carried off the choreography without trouble. Yevgeny Ivanchenko had a few problems with the lifts but he too looked better than the prima donna at the centre.

If the ballet was bad, the opera was simply disastrous. Firstly it was offensively over-amplified, the singers miked to within an inch of their lives. Clearly the opinion was taken that since the singers weren't very good, ear-drum destroying bass would cover the problem. Vasily Efimov offered quite comfortably the worst operatic singing I've come across at the professional level. Horrendous register shifting, murky tone, abysmal diction and a serious inability to hit the right notes. Natalia Borozdina wasn't quite so terrible although "Un bel di vedremo" was well beyond her. At least when it came to the bizarre musical-style number, "Your Love" she sounded moderately pleasant on the ear.

To describe this as embarrassing would be a grotesque understatement. So awful that I, and many others in the audience, failed to hold in the giggles as the voice-over (done apparently by a Russian man with gravel in his mouth) intoned various bits of cod philosophy (windows like open veins was particularly hysterical). I don't know what Volochkova was thinking. As an evening it's tacky, tawdry and ultimately just plain silly. Still, at least it was so terrible it was mildly funny. One sequence involving a golden cage was like a truly awful "Eurovision" entry, and I do like "Eurovision". It just isn't very tragic...not emotionally at any rate.

Tosca (Royal Opera)

I'm not sure what the Royal Opera are doing to their singers but they seem entirely unable to hold onto them. When Deborah Voigt cancelled sometime ago they were good enough to find two replacements both of whom I preferred to Voigt. The second I'm catching on Saturday but the first Angela Gheorghiu fell ill before yesterday's performance leaving the Royal Opera House to find yet another Tosca. This Tosca came in the form of Amanda Echalaz (a relative unknown although she sang a small role in "The Minotaur" and has sung Tosca in some less significant houses). Up against a male cast of Bryn Terfel and Marcello Giordani, she wasn't in an easy position.

Initially it looked like a piece of pretty dud casting. Almost nonexistent low notes and a lack of weight throughout her range, a bantamweight Tosca was on the cards. Mercifully she grew in strength as the evening went on. Her soprano remained a little thin for my tastes (not exactly a Callas like soprano) but by the meat of Act II she injected intensity where she lacked the heft. Her "Vissi d'arte" wasn't flawless but carried a certain gravitas. All in all, she wasn't a Tosca that will fondly remain in my memories and never really embodied the character but under the circumstances was relatively successful. Marcello Giordani is an old-school Italian tenor and he has the money notes bang on. Not exactly a rounded performance and his chemistry with Echalaz was limited (perhaps due to rehearsal time) but I had few complaints vocally. A wall of very expressive sound. Bryn Terfel gave a total performance that will be difficult to better. He looked the part, sounded the part and acted the part with total commitment. Gosh what a nasty creation his Scarpia is. His "Te Deum" at the end of Act I was simply hair-raising. To add yet further strength to the male casting was a very witty Sacristan from Jeremy White and the solid Kostas Smoriginas to kick off proceedings as Angelotti.

Despite the strong Scarpia of Terfel the entire production still failed to come together dramatically. "Tosca" has enough drama in the music to overcome production flaws but Jonathan Kent's solid if uninteresting staging has been revived with a lack of attention to detail. Too much wandering about the stage with too little intent. Clearly Echalaz was operating with little preparation but that excuse doesn't quite work for Giordani. The lighting remains a little dim for my tastes but the sets are atmospheric enough, especially the Act II study of Scarpia.

Jacques Lacombe brought authority to the pit and overall despite some weakness on Echalaz's part this was a very decent evening musically. It didn't quite come together as a complete performance but it came mighty close. I'm catching it again tomorrow to hear another soprano in the title role and it will be interesting to see what effect that has dramatically. Still, to my mind, any performance of "Tosca" is worth relishing and this one had some serious merits.

England People Very Nice

"England People Very Nice" caused an absolute maelstrom of outrage when it premiered earlier this year but I never got round to catching the piece. It's been given another run by the National and having actually witnessed the work I've absolutely no idea what the fuss was about. Morally and ethically there's nothing wrong here. Artistically, on the other hand, Richard Bean's play is on rather murkier ground.

Bean takes on a potentially (potential rather became reality in the end) offensive topic and has made a thoroughly toothless, harmless work. It's an equal opportunities offender with scattergun targets. The problem from my point of view isn't that they might be deemed racist but that most aren't terribly funny. Hardly a solid punchline all night. The first Act is a stream of sketchily painted stereotypes, none of a particularly incisive nature. To Bean's credit Act II is stronger finding a jot a of emotion if not much more humour. The cyclical structure is Bean's primary method of making his overarching point but since none of the cycles has any impact at all (but perhaps the last) the repetition grew dull and the work is far too long.

As per usual Nick Hytner has taken this dud of a play and wrapped it up in very sparkly wrapping and a top company of terrific actors. The Python-esque projections raise more laughs than the script and the slick lighting allows the very episodic narrative flow at a fair lick. The cast give it their all but not to much effect. All the actors throw themselves at a half-dozen parts each, unsurprisingly resulting in caricatures (which I suppose is what the author was going for). Sasha Dhawan and Michelle Terry play the romantic couple through the ages and it's thanks to them that at least a measure of emotion is injected amongst the poor one-liners. Trevor Laird generates a great deal of pathos in the closing stages.

After a successful first run, thanks largely to the hyped offensiveness, this run appears very badly sold (no more than half full at the performance I attended) and one has to question why it was even revived. It isn't a watershed work, merely a mediocre exploration of an important issue that will always have the potential to offend the easily-offended. You can quibble with a few of the stereotypes but the whole piece is so utterly venomless that a minor gale in a teacup is a generous description of what happened a few months ago. Not worth bothering with, give it five years and "England People Very Nice" will have, rightly, sunk without a trace.

Il Barbiere di Siviglia (Royal Opera)

On paper the cast of the Royal Opera's "Il Barbiere di Sibiglia" makes me melt a little with joy. Of course that could mean squat on stage. As it happens it did mean something, it meant an evening of some of the finest singing I've ever come across. The production has its moments and some witty shades of Gilbert and Sullivan but at times comes across a little bland; it hardly matters though when the cast are this good.

When Juan Diego-Florez sang at Covent Garden earlier in the season I thought his voice rather small for the space, as Almaviva he proves a force to be reckoned with. He has a delightful insouciance, a beautiful, silky voice; his rapid-fire coloratura brought the house down. The sustained applause after "Cessa di più resistere" demanded an encore that sadly never came. He had a worthy foil in the brilliant Joyce DiDonato. She slipped after her frankly incredible "Una voce poco fa" but soldiered on with a walking stick (and then a crutch after the interval). The line about foot cramp can never before have received such pearls of laughter. Warm and sexy, in a cast of brilliance DiDonato still shone like the gem she is. To back up this lead pair were the almost ridiculously well cast Alessandro Corbelli and Ferruccio Ferlanetto. As a double act they were beyond brilliant. Corbelli's Bartolo wasn't the despicable villain but more a misguided fool and he played the physical comedy for all it was worth. He's also one of the finest exponents of buffo style patter arias and the speed of his mouth was astounding. Furlanetto, who I'm much more used to hearing in weighty Verdi parts, showed himself a versatile singer in the comic role of Basilio. "La calunnia è un venticello" could scarcely be sung better and he managed it balancing on a chair. His confusion at being described ill was pitched perfectly. Weak link I'm afraid was the late replacement Pietro Spagnoli who would have been quite decent in the average cast but sounded exposed amongst this lot. Plenty of charm but a rather light voice that seldom excited. Changhan Lim kicked things off with a well sung Fiorello and further strength came from Jennifer Rhys-Davies touching, witty Berta.

The production has some seriously impressive moments and the almost prison-like environment has its strengths. Doors appear from sliding panels and Rosina's balcony is more like a little cage but the dull colour palette grows just that - a little dull. The Pirates of Penzance style policemen are an absolute hoot as is much of the carefully rehearsed slapstick (mainly from the two senior singers). The end of Act I is an incredible bit of engineering (very expensive I imagine) but it's also a bit messy taking the libretto a tad too literally. All in all, much of the action is meticulously dealt with but ultimately the sets are just a little grey for their own good.

An awesome night I won't soon forget. Between Florez, DiDonato, Corbelli and Furlanetto this was a cast that won't soon be bested. After a spirited account of the overture which went down a storm there were some minor disagreements between stage and pit but overall it was another fine effort from Antonio Pappano and the Royal Opera House orchestra. There are still a few tickets left and if I were you I'd do anything to get my grubby mitts on them. Fifty years down the line I suspect I'll be telling my grandchildren about this one.

Forbidden Broadway

Theatre about theatre always irritates me slightly but "Forbidden Broadway" is sufficiently knowing that despite misgivings I had a tremendous time. This is a show that is clearly aimed at suckers like me who have seen virtually every musical they lampoon but it's broad enough to appeal beyond that sphere. That said, if you don't care for Broadway style musicals, you won't care for this. It might be a satire, but it relies rather heavily on the joys of the material it rips into.

Essentially a series of one-joke sketches; it's a remarkably hit heavy show. A few scenes fall flat, one-note Eliza was an old joke some time ago (although impressive performed here), but the consistency with which the company hit their targets is fantastic (they do pick very easy targets though, musicals camp? Really?? Never heard that before). The opening number about internet chat gives a marvellous name check to fellow bloggers the West End Whingers (although this was perhaps a niche too far for the rather senior audience who didn't laugh) and takes Chicago to a totally different level. Few shows avoid at least minor mentions; both Cameron Mackintosh and Andrew Lloyd-Webber get extended features. Funniest section for me was the Les Mis spoof, a continuous whirl of rotating actors. Spring Awakening gets a witty ribbing but, considering how few people saw it, not many seemed to find this very funny. The knives really come out in regards to people more than shows, Sarah Brightman gets some harsh treatment (which she deserves) and Elton John's moment in the excruciatingly funny Billy Elliot sketch is a treat (although gay jokes about Elton John aren't exactly mindbendingly original).

It's all done on a very small scale albeit with a rapid stream of amazing costumes. Four actors split the lines with all the music delivered by a solo pianist. At the piano, Joel Fram the music director, seemed to be having a great time and it the constant enthusiasm from the whole cast that really made things fly. Of the four actors, Anna-Jane Casey proved the standout, matching a terrific voice with some very limber dancing.

This isn't the most intelligent show ever, the humour, whilst very funny, is bitchy and shallow, not a patch on the much more interesting "[Title of Show]". You've got to like musicals but the quality of the cast, especially vocally, means there is much to enjoy even if you don't get all the knowing references (zillions of them, so you're bound to get some). I never entirely got over my minor gripes about the inherent smugness of the whole exercise but it's a fun evening with more than enough gusto to fill the running time. A niche show, but a very good one.

L'Amour de Loin (English National Opera)

I might just be a soppy romantic but "L'Amour de Loin", struck a chord with me like few other contemporary operas. Its libretto is of the sort that usually sends me straight to sleep and the production is heavily directed with lots of extras to the core opera. Somehow the ethereal music and surprisingly reverent production charmed their way into my heart.

The staging, by Daniele Finzi Pasca, should be distracting, lots of flying and acrobatics which would usually amount to little more than flashy gimmicks. Here the arty talk in the programme about temporal planes proves surprisingly accurate. The soaring figures, doubling the singers, support the narrative and themes rather than getting in the way. The incredible designs are beautiful and entirely in tune with the text. Cloth is used in a truly spectacular manner, simple yet endlessly effective. The opening of the second half is eye-popping in all the right ways. As opera productions go, this is one of the most theatrically aware I've ever seen. Only the shadow puppets struck me as a directorial imposition too far, they reminded me oddly of the Blue Man Group and distracted far more than they illuminated. I'm not even sure what was happening in them although a figure appeared to vomit something at one point. The opera itself is a wonderful creation with a sweeping score by Kaija Saariaho, filled with sounds of the swelling sea and packed with haunting dissonance. The vocal writing does not seek to test the human voice to its limits like so much contemporary opera but instead serves to enhance the characters and emotions. The libretto, even in translation, is not obtusely poetic but movingly so. The combination of text and song takes the whole work to an entirely brilliant level.

The casting is top notch. Roderick Williams lost in the world but for his unseen love, offered the finest diction I've ever heard in this house (all three singers were outstandingly audible). The music doesn't stretch the voice, the parts are presumably gifts for decent singers and Williams produced a very lovely sound. Joan Rodgers produced some piercing notes that ripped straight to the heart, seldom have singers managed such total performances; her prayer at the conclusion was wonderfully portrayed. Faith Sherman was not so to my tastes vocally, I disliked (although this was no doubt deliberate) her shifting into near speech during some low passages, but it was still robust singing and she provided the solidity between the two more magical lovers.

I'm completely enamoured of this work and very sad that I won't be able to catch any further performances (as I'm abroad and it has a very short run). The tickets are incredibly cheap (which may partly account for the terrible behaviour from some in the audience, sniggering from behind me and the lady to my left actually started snoring before she received a vicious elbow from me) and it isn't sold out. Perhaps not to all tastes, this certainly isn't "La Boheme", I found myself relating to it in a very peculiar way and as a result became ensnared early on. The English National Opera have had great success with newer works this season, "Dr Atomic" was well worth hearing and this will stick with me for a long time. An amazing production of a remarkable opera. A must see.

Sutra

I was totally blown away when I saw "Sutra" in its first run last year and whilst repeat viewing inevitably removes some of the novelty it remains a startlingly brilliant piece, balancing spectacle with intelligence. I'll keep this short since my opinions have little changed since my first viewing, but a little more praise is more than deserved for this incredible collaboration.

The simple design proves a serious winner. Anthony Gormley's boxes have nothing particularly special about them but through the ingenious hands of Sidi Larbi Cherkaoui they become the most adaptable scenery imaginable. The show is highly abstract yet it's easy to read ideas in the movement, it makes for an insightful evening without seeming pretentious or over-clever. The monks are, of course, incredible athletes but it's the stillness they bring to the work that makes the biggest impression. The small boy quickly won the audience's heart. Cherkaoui doesn't try to upstage the monks, he mostly operates in the background. His lithe figure is never the less truly remarkable and an effective contrast with the more physical kung fu.

A fascinating creation that has the depth to withstand many more viewings. A truly borderless piece that should have an effect on anyone who sees it from whatever background. A thought provoking work that has enough spice from the amazing monks to appeal on many levels. Worth catching this run if you can, hopefully it'll be back at some point in the future.

The Fairy Queen (Glyndebourne Opera)

If you're going to stage Purcell's "The Fairy Queen" this is probably the way to do it. A riot of colour and excess the visuals make it difficult to grow bored. That said, everything else about this work wanted to put me straight to sleep. What little music there is (depressingly little in the first half and slightly more in the second), is very attractive and at times quite emotional but it hardly makes slogging through three hours of mutilated Shakespeare all that pleasant. I've never seen the mechanicals' play done better but otherwise this is such broad strokes drama that it wouldn't nearly pass muster outside of an opera house.

I've never claimed to love Baroque music but it's pleasant enough and with the Orchestra of the Age of the Enlightment you could hardly hear it played better. It's just as a total work this is bizarrely poor stuff. The (badly) edited Shakespeare dominates the running time. The large cast of actors give it a fair go but ultimately they're spouting a very poor script and whilst the bawdy mechanicals do fine, the young lovers just come across as silly. When the masques eventually feature they have limited connection to the drama serving only to scupper what momentum had been developing. Individually they are simply terrific, gosh "The Plaint" is wonderful, but it doesn't build towards a cohesive evening and despite the slick production I was still left completely bewildered. After a first half with only a tiny amount of music and far too much faux-Shakespeare, the second ties up the story relatively quickly and then just moves into more extended music which was infinitely preferable. Every image you could imagine is tossed on stage to eye-popping effect. The point still eludes me but it was impressive.

It's very much a company piece with lots of major acting and singing roles. Lucy Crowe is a standout; her lovely voice soars in the small Glyndebourne opera house. Carolyn Sampson who excels in the moving Plaint was a consistant presence. Few others really shone although it was a pretty decent company performance with only some weak diction and slight vocal wobbles disappointing. The actors did their best although the whole piece had a slight cut-price Royal Shakespeare Company feel, with lots of loud declaiming to little effect. The audience lapped up some of the jokes like they'd never heard "A Midsummer Night's Dream" before. Only the mechanicals strike theatrical gold. The play within the play is absolute hoot, a rolling melon one of the funniest gags I've come across in awhile. Desmond Barrit's coarse but effective Bottom the highlight of the evening.

I really don't get this. It's lovely music and the opulent production is brilliantly excessive but it never amounts to anything. A competent young cast of actors and singers battle their way through with smiles on their faces but the script just never really worked. Structurally bizarre, I spent each extended play section waiting for the next, all too brief, masque. A good number in the audience loved this so I'm clearly missing something; I've just no idea what.