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"KING
ARTHUR"
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t
h e a t r e
King Arthur
King Arthur, opera by Henry Purcell, verse by John Dryden
(title role, written to be spoken, not sung)
July 1986, Buxton Opera House, Buxton, Derbyshire
directed by Malcolm Fraser
Manchester Camerata conducted by Anthony Hose
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from the Observer, 27.vii.86
- Purcell's Arthurian Incidental Music
- by Peter Heyworth
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- NESTLING IN A FOLD in the Peak District, Buxton boasts one
of the most enchanting opera houses in the country. Rescued from
bingo eight years ago and lovingly restored down to the last
detial, Matcham's theatre of 1903 has a style and unity lacking
in his cumbersome Coliseum in St Martin's Lane. It provides exactly
the sort of accommodation small-scale opera needs and, in Britain
at any rate, so rarely finds.
 But Buxton not only
has a jewel of a theatre; it has a policy. Instead of picking
events like currants out of a cake, it takes a theme, around
which it builds its annual programme. This year that theme is
Arthurian legend. Did Buxton make that choice in order to perform
Purcell's King Arthur, or, having made it, did it find
this rarely staged 'dramatic opera' inescapable? Either way,
it has certainly shown courage.
- For, despite its title,
King Arthur is neither dramatic, nor is it an opera, in
the traditional use of the word. The basic problem is that its
main characters do not sing. The plot (and apretty ramshackle
affair that is) is carried by Dryden's verbiage, while the music
for the most part confines itself to providing suitable embellishment.
- That arrangement reflects
all too clearly a theatrical tradition in which, in contrast
to Italy, music plays a subordinate role. It also throws light
on the relationship between a promising young composer and an
established man of letters. Had Purcell not died at the age of
only 36, he might well have reversed the role of music in the
English theatre and in so doing establish some equivalent of
the dramma per musica that was fast developing on the
Continent. Because he failed to do so, Britain became, and until
this century remained, a musical backwater.
- In Purcell's score
one marvellous number follows another. The range of his invention
embraces battle scenes, religious ritual, love music and pastoral
numbers. But it is characteristic of the work that its celebrated
Frost Scene should have only very marginal relevance to the drama.
In an essay in the programme book Dr Curtis Price, an expert
in these matters, claims that such 'masques and entertainments
... help to shift the action of the speaking characters on to
a genuinely operatic level.' That smacks of special pleading.
In my view Purcell's contribution to King Arthur amounts
to little more than what another expert, Robert Etheridge Moore,
describes as 'aggrandised incidental music.'
- The subordinate role
of music in a play that is today no more than a lifeless artefact
presents a producer with formidable hurdles which Malcolm Farser
in the main convincingly clears at Buxton. At any rate he succeeds
in keeping the stage alive, while Fay Conway's elaborate scheme
of scrims and drops engages the eye while providing for the frequent
changes of scene. The main difficulty is that the chorus has
to dance, which it does with the obtrusive enthusiasm that always
marks the amateur on the stage. (I hasten to add that they are
not, of course amateur singers.)
- Anthony Hose draws
stylish playing from the Manchester Camerata, who, however, only
began to use their old trumpets and baroque bows convincingly
in the second half of the evening; up to that point the instrumental
performance had been wanting in polish. Among a group of 12 singers,
who serve as chorus as well as soloists, two were outstanding.
Eileen Hulse's soprano rang out with crystalline clarity; Steven
Page revealed evident musicality as well as a fine bass-baritone
voice of individual quality.
- Among the spoken roles,
Lucy Gutteridge, who brought meaning even to the most implausible
events, stood out as the heroine. As a suitably heroic king of
the Saxons, Jack Klaff made every word tell. That's more than
I can say for Alan Bates. Suffering from a damaged knee, he wandered
disconsolately around the stage as though bemused at finding
himself in such strange company.
- All told, it was a
good shot at the sort of problem work that a festival worth its
salt should sometimes tackle. I was grateful for an opportunity
to see again on the stage an historic monument that in more favourable
conditions might have laid the foundation of a British National
Opera. But I have to confess that I would not weep were I never
to see it again. |||
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