Don Giovanni: Opera Holland Park, 28th June 2010

In truth, the prospect of this Don Giovanni at Opera Holland Park didn’t fill me with high expectations for several reasons; Holland Park is not a theatre, therefore no fly tower, wings or trap doors, so the Don’s descent into hell is always going to be tricky to stage; it boasts the same designer who created OHP’s recent Pelléas et Mélisande with its nondescript clunky white geometric shapes; thirdly, an English cast, supplemented by a Jamaican, a New Zealander and a Scot. In reality, I was proved gloriously wrong. Given the limitations of the performing space, this is one of the best productions of the Don I’ve seen, with neat directorial ideas, an effective set and, on the whole, good singing.

If an Englishman’s home is his castle, it made a great deal of sense, with a largely English cast, in a very English setting, for director Stephen Barlow to place the opera in late Victorian England. The designer Yannis Thavoris presents us with a central slash of chequered flooring, to the right of which is the interior of the Don’s mansion, great fireplace (guess where hell’s flames are going to come from?!), panelled walls and not one, but nineteen portraits, all identical and in variously sized frames, of an imposing looking Don Giovanni dressed in full-length crimson smoking jacket. Ominously, there is already a bloodstain on the floor.

I’m not usually a fan of stage action during an opera’s overture (unless it’s the spectacular underwater diving scene in ENO’s recent Pearl Fishers) and initially I sighed when masked couples entered to enact a ball scene. You could play a game of ‘spot the Don’ – I won. (It doesn’t require Sherlock Holmes to deduce he’d be the one wearing the mask sporting devil’s horns.) However, this dumb show served a purpose in setting up the situation for the opening scene. In the Overture’s closing bars, the Don entices one of the women away, leaving her partner alone and pathetically unsure what to do. Yes, dear reader, the Lady is none other than Donna Anna and her partner is Don Ottavio, surely the biggest wimp in all opera. With Leporello, kitted out to look like a hansom cab driver, loitering beneath a Victorian lamppost on the left of the stage, everything was in place for the start of the action proper. Here, the Commendatore challenges an unarmed Don Giovanni with a pistol which the Don turns on him to commit murder, the victim falling on the already bloodstained spot centre-stage (which various servants attempt to clean during the course of the evening).

Barlow employs some amusing ideas in his production, which highlight the humour in Mozart’s dramma giocoso. A couple of low panelled walls on the left of the stage create entrance and exit areas, the lower one acting as a hotel reception counter, when Donna Elvira ‘checks in’ with her entourage. Leporello uses the guest signing in book as the ‘catalogue’ of his master’s conquests and points out the location of these by way of Elvira’s giant European map. In Act II, Giovanni and Leporello swap clothing in the hotel lobby just as Elvira’s about to depart. Once Elvira and Leporello (as the Don) have left, Giovanni attempts to seduce Elvira’s maid who’s struggles (literally) with the trolley containing her array of luggage. The second verse of the Don’s serenade only succeeds in attracting the attentions of the smitten porter!

The ‘exterior’ area to the left of stage becomes the Red Lion for the wedding festivities of Masetto and Zerlina, their rough and ready friends joined by a British Bobby (whose presence proves ineffective at stopping the Don’s escape at the end of Act I). The on-stage band is replaced here by the new-fangled gramophone, inspiring curiosity from the plebs at the party the Don throws for Zerlina and Masetto, the real players remaining in the pit.

The standards of singing and acting were mostly very high. Singing the title role was Nicholas Garrett. Excellent in recitative and presenting an older than usual Don who’s clearly had a few years to rack up his 1003 victims, he portrayed the arrogance of the character convincingly. Giovanni has little to sing in the way of arias; the Serenade was deftly sung, if overshadowed by the amusing shenanigans with the maid and the porter, while the ‘Champagne’ aria became the ‘smoking aria’, Garrett puffing away, seated in his leather armchair, while Leporello and the cook engaged in further antics which distracted from the fine singing. Leporello was a good vocal match for Giovanni, Matthew Hargeaves being lighter-voiced than the usual bass-baritone, although his voice did not project with much power. The ‘Catalogue’ aria was cleanly sung, with pleasant variation in dynamics and insinuation. He has a natural flair for comedy, essential in this gift of a role, nowhere more so than when, disguised as his master, he attempted to mouth the Don’s wooing of Elvira in the hotel lobby.

The women were generally stronger than the men in the rest of the cast. The Donna Elvira of Laura Mitchell was wonderfully ditzy yet ultimately moving in her devotion to her one-time seducer. She has a striking voice, immediately apparent in her “Ah! chi mi dice mai”, despite a few squally top notes, with some appealing embellishments in the second verse. Giovanni has little trouble convincing Donna Anna and Don Ottavio that Elvira’s barking mad, so unhinged does she appear in her pursuit. New Zealand born soprano Ana James sang Donna Anna with imperious confidence, having a fine attack to high notes, a good pianissimo and pleasing legato phrasing in “Non mi dir, bell’idol mio”, even if her coloratura was a little tentative. She is a character who, driven by her grief, is clearly in control of the situation; it’s Anna, not Ottavio, who wields the rifle in hunting down Giovanni in Act II and you half expect her to pull the trigger.

Vocally the best moments of the evening were Zerlina’s two arias. Claire Wild sang gloriously, an appealing soprano voice, in no way smaller than the ‘Donnas’ despite her smaller stature. Initially presented as quite bookish, in glasses with hair tied up, she submits remarkably quickly to Don Giovanni’s advances; the recitative before “Là ci darem la mano” was deliciously done, her would-be seducer removing her specs and untying her hair to release her inhibitions. “Batti, batti, o bel Masetto” was tenderly sung as she gently chided her intended. There can be few venues where soprano and solo cellist can be as close to each other than here – Joely Koos rightly receiving applause for her contribution. “Vedrai, carino” was, if anything, even better, despite being punctuated by the cries of the peacocks at sunset. There is a tendency to swallow some consonants, but Wild is already a very fine singer.

Don Ottavio is a thankless role. Thomas Walker did his best to invest him with some life, although ultimately you can only do so much for a character lacking a spine. His tone seemed quite untypical for a Mozart tenor, quite dark and lacking a clean attack or grace. He struggled in “Il mio tesoro”, although it was taken at quite a lick, to nail the top notes and his embellishments were ill-judged, sounding ungainly at times. This being the Prague version of the score, there was no “Dalla sua pace” (something of a relief) or Elvira’s “Mi tradì” (definitely a matter for regret). The Masetto of Robert Winslade Anderson had plenty of brooding malevolence. His bass-baritone has quite a ‘covered’ quality and I wondered if he was reigning in his vocal resources somewhat. Masetto is clearly no idiot; he’s on to Giovanni’s intentions immediately and clearly doesn’t trust Zerlina one jot. The Commendatore of bass Simon Wilding was suitably sepulchral, his graveyard pronouncements given the amplified echo-chamber effect.

The City of London Sinfonia was, after a few dodgy moments of ensemble early on, effective in the pit. It was good to have crisp timpani playing to underpin the overture, hard sticks rightly employed. Once or twice, there were some questionable pacing from Robert Dean, most noticeably in “Or sai chi l’onore” which was flaccid in places, especially in the coda. There was some good work from the woodwinds (fluid clarinet playing in “Non, mi dir”) and the three trombones in the supper scene made a telling impact. The mandolin player, uncredited in the programme, dispatched the serenade daintily.

Overall, this was a very decent performance and an excellent production. On balmy summer evenings like this, with the humour extremely well played and the denouement so effective, is it possible to consider Don Giovanni Mozart’s best opera? Discuss.