Metropolitan Opera House, Lincoln Center, N.Y.; March 3, 2008
The penultimate scene of Benjamin Britten’s “Peter Grimes” finds the title character mad, alone and ranting, probably having caused the death of yet another young apprentice. Ostracised by the people of his hateful town, The Borough, if he wasn’t insane from the start, he was certainly damaged, and their loathing of anyone they cannot fully understand finally drives him insane. The Met’s new production, directed by John Doyle and designed by Scott Pask, sets this scene with the Borough’s floor-to-ceiling, dark wooden buildings closing in on Grimes, giving him no out. This makes psychological sense save for one thing: The entire production, from start to finish, is like that, with the same monolithic set – a wooden wall (about 50 feet high, allowing for no light to shine through it)with doors and windows on five levels that open and close to feature different characters singing or watching. (It’s vaguely reminiscent of the ‘70s TV show “Laugh-In,” but that’s another story.) The whole production’s effect is one of claustrophobia so Grimes’ terrible plight in his Mad Scene almost seems like just another day in an oppressive town. And putting his only two friends, Ellen and Balstrode, in doorways two floors upwhen they are supposed to comfort him, makes no sense whatsoever.
The opera takes place in a fishing village filled with small-minded people and lends itself to atmosphere: There’s a courtroom scene, a scene at the beach complete with storm, a rousing pub setting with drunken revelers, a scene outside a church, etc. In this new production, with the Wall of Houses omnipresent and mostly close to the front of the stage, there’s no variety – there are absolutely no props used – and not nearly enough room for movement. I have seen livelier operas-in-concert. As a great fan of Doyle’s – I thought his deconstruction of Sweeney Todd on Broadway got right to the essence of the work – I must sadly admit that he has failed to present this great opera with its powerful emotions intact. And in a final miscalculation, the last few minutes of the opera, in which the townsfolk return, look out on the water and think they see a sinking boat but dismiss it as a “rumor,” the ugly monolith disappears and all we see are the chorus, all in black , backlit against the vast Met stage. I get it – their uniform anonymity is what is so horrible about them – but it simply does not work. Britten’s music is all about the whiff of the sea and a seaside village; it’s a pity that in this opera – a physical re-enactment of what the composer writes – there exists no sea, no nets, no town, no hard-working fishermen.
But if you lean back and keep your eyes closed, the presentation is a success. Donald Runnicles leads a detailed, sensitive, and at the right times, very powerful reading of the score, and the Met Orchestra and crucial Chorus revel in it. He never overwhelms the singers and keeps Britten’s difficult counterpoint clear while still evoking the brute force of the sea and peoples’ cruelty. Anthony Dean Griffey, in the title role, had Jon Vickers’ shoes to fill for most of the Met audience, but his Grimes is very different. Not the wounded beast Vickers gave us, Griffey is almost a boy trapped in a man’s body, looking for peace and love with no idea how to find it. Victim or victimizer? The question remains, but Griffey is a big man, and when he slaps Ellen Orford, a terrible strength is revealed. His essentially lyric voice rode out the climaxes, his soft singing very effective and his accuracy in some of the role’s more difficult moments admirable. And he moves well, given the space he was allowed. Patricia Racette’s Ellen Orford is prettily sung and sympathetically acted; her diction is clearer than most. Anthony Michaels-Moore offers a sympathetic if dry-toned Balstrode; John Del Carlo’s Swallow is colorful and grand; and Teddy Tahu Rhodes deserves a larger role than that of Ned Keene. Jill Grove, Leah Partridge and Erin Morley as Auntie and her two nieces respectively were not caricatures and they and Ms Racette made beautiful music in their quartet. Felicity Palmer’s Mrs Sedley was clear and deadly. In all, a musically stunning “Grimes” lacking a worthy setting.
Robert Levine
