“Most impressive, perhaps, is that we can understand exactly what everyone is singing – something I’ve found to be an unfortunate rarity in traditional opera”
When presented with a modern undertaking of an opera, we’re so often only given a crumb of a crumb of modernity – contemporary costumes or a change of scenery perhaps. But lo and behold, when the curtains rise, it’s just the same old script, poorly disguised in trainers and a t-shirt.
Opera D’draig and the King’s Head Theatre’s shiny new take on The Elixir Of Love, directed by Hannah Noone, is not such a production. Wrenched from its original setting of 1830’s Spain, we find ourselves instead in 1980’s Barry, Wales – much better. But that’s just the start: Writers Chris Harris and David Eaton have near on chucked away Donizetti’s much lauded L’Elisir D’Amore, retaining only the key plot points and looking to their contemporary audience for inspiration rather than a bunch of tired old tropes and traditions. And what a success it is! There really is something gloriously satisfying about hearing a beautiful, soaring soprano singing ‘f*ck’.
The story itself would require a lot more meat as a straight play, but perhaps it’s the contrast of the usually conservative opera format and the unbridled irreverence of this production that makes it so compelling: We open with Adina’s caf, complete with wipe-down tables and menus, lots of big hair, shoulder pads and classic ‘80s knitwear (Amanda Mascarenhas).
Nicky (David Powton) is a wet blanket who spends all day gazing lovingly at café owner Adina (Alys Roberts) from afar. When Adina’s lover (Themba Mvula) returns from the army, Nicky becomes worried that he’ll lose his chance if he doesn’t act fast. In walks Dulcamara (Matthew Kellett), an oil slick in a suit selling various tonics to any sucker who’ll buy them. Spotting an ideal customer in Nicky he quickly persuades him to part with all his cash in exchange for an ‘elixir of love’, guaranteed to solve all his problems… And so on and so forth, with all the usual twists and misunderstandings of a comic opera.
Though this production would certainly appeal to a much wider audience who have perhaps felt alienated by opera in the past, it equally fulfils all the quality criteria of a seasoned opera-goer, with a cast of beautiful voices, Alys Roberts in particular deftly combining little flecks of Welsh dialect with rich, velvety top notes. Most impressive, perhaps, is that we can understand exactly what everyone is singing – something I’ve found to be an unfortunate rarity in traditional opera.
This is not opera as we know it. No more archaic, stodgy language and plotlines based around extinct social practices. The Elixir Of Love is gorgeously witty, furiously fast-paced and thoroughly contemporary.
“a very human story that pulls off the almost impossible feat of making you feel nostalgic for Thatcher’s Britain”
It is 1984 in London, and while Thatcher and Scargill are at loggerheads over the miner’s strike elsewhere, the city is setting the scene for its own battles in a time of cultural upheaval. There was a revolutionary spirit, partly fuelled by the property boom, that eventually found itself in the hands of the satirists. While Gordon Gekko’s “Greed is Good” speech echoed from Wall Street, our home grown “Loadsamoney” became a national catchphrase. But among the cacophony, a quieter voice, in the shape of the late writer Stephen Jeffreys, captured the mood with far more humanity and subtlety. “Valued Friends” was the play that launched Jeffreys’ career and won him the Evening Standard and Critics’ Circle Award for most Promising Playwright.
In its first major revival in thirty years, the comedy and pathos still resonate in today’s turbulent economic and political climate. Yet the beauty of Jeffreys’ writing lies in his refusal to allow the social issues to take centre stage. They are merely the backdrop to the razor-sharp depiction of the characters, which makes his writing both era specific and timeless.
In a basement flat in Earls Court, four friends in their mid-thirties are scrabbling to keep their heads above water. They are thrown unexpectedly into a battle of nerves when a young, confident property developer offers them a substantial fee to vacate their home. Spurred on by the revolutions of their time, they quickly realise that they hold all the cards in this real-life game of Monopoly and, over the course of three years, they manipulate the burgeoning property market. But much more is at stake than a few quid, and that is what the audience cares about.
“How much do you care?” asks quirky, stand-up comic Sherry in the opening line. It is the beginning of a hilarious monologue about her journey home on the Underground, one of many delivered by Natalie Casey in a spellbinding performance that is a master class in comic timing. Meanwhile Michael Marcus’ Howard, an academic writing about the corruption of capitalism, is succumbing to the attraction of the pound signs waved in front of him. Marion and Paul make up the close-knit foursome destined to be torn apart. “You used to get some really good conversation in this flat. Burning issues and moral dilemmas and things. Now all everyone talks about is money”. Sam Frenchum, as Paul, brilliantly sheds his comic mantle as the keen music journalist to become the earnest home improvement enthusiast, while Catrin Stewart’s straight-talking, pragmatic Marion manages to pull our heartstrings as she discovers that the more she gains, the more she has to lose – on a purely personal level. Ralph Davis’ meticulously pitched estate agent, Scott, is a brilliant work of satire. Far from being a Mephistophelian figure he merely dangles the carrot. But show stealer is Nicholas Tennant as Stewart, who only appears in the second act as the hilarious, surreally philosophical builder.
Michael Fentiman’s sharp direction brings out the best of the actors on Michael Taylor’s simple yet ingenious set, that transforms in time-lapse motion from a scruffy basement flat to a swish, desirable property. This is a very human story that pulls off the almost impossible feat of making you feel nostalgic for Thatcher’s Britain. Richard Hammarton’s eighties soundtrack highlights the best of the decade, just as these characters shed a warm light on the heart of the matter. It’s a skilfully written and performed piece of modern satire: you shouldn’t like these people but, in answer to the opening question of the play, you care an awful lot.
