Annilese Miskimmon's new Opera Theatre Company production of Handel's Orlando seems to be attempting some kind of statement about drugs in military life. With her designer, Simon Holdsworth, she has set the opera in what seems to be a ward in a modern military hospital.
The second act takes place around a park bench dominated by poppies that dwarf the singers as thoroughly as everyday objects do the cast of a shrinking-kids movie. And in an extra twist at the end, the ward's emergency doors open to reveal a bright field of poppies from which Orlando recoils in terror.
For all its apparent moral purpose, the production is unsatisfactory. It provokes audience laughter at inopportune moments, and it has protracted flat spots, as if ideas and energy were hard to find once the basic premise had been set up.
The performance at the Helix on Tuesday cannot have been helped by the indisposition of two of the singers. The interventions of bass Jonathan Best's Zoroastro still had an imposing vocal weight. But the Medoro of counter tenor Reno Troilus (who discharged himself from hospital in order to perform) was sadly if understandably feeble.
The greatest weaknesses of the evening, however, were musical. A lot of the playing from the period-instruments band - directed from the harpsichord by Christian Curnyn - was not only ragged in ensemble and in tuning but pallid in character.
Tight co-ordination between stage and pit was not to be taken for granted, either, and there was an unnecessary freedom with the notes, which marred soprano Mary Hegarty's high-spirited Dorinda. Hegarty is a singer who always seeks to engage, and she succeeded in this regard, communicating words and meaning more consistently than any other member of the cast. But she frequently did so by stepping uncomfortably far out of the world of Handel's music. Soprano Natasha Jouhl, sometimes too fruity as an Angelica got up as a Lily Allen lookalike, also sang with real presence.
The greatest burden in Orlando falls on the eponymous hero, here the coffee-drinking, gun-toting, self-harming counter tenor William Towers. The combination of production style and voice seemed to produce a character that was generally too light. But, happily, Towers, Curnyn and the orchestral soloists all reached their peak at the same time as did Handel - for the extraordinary derangement of the mad scene in Act III, which inspired the composer to some of his most highly-charged music. - Michael Dervan
On tour until Oct 13
Feist - Tripod, Dublin
The undisputed queen of the Canadian indie scene, Leslie Feist is as refreshing as performers come. She might have smooth tunes, Busby Berkeley-esque videos and songs on iPod commercials, but it's impossible to mistake her for yet another mainstream female singer-songwriter, principally because Feist exudes quality. Her 2004 Let It Die album was a slow-burning gem that chalked up serious sales through word of mouth. This long tour is plugging new album The Reminder, which is even better than its predecessor - it surely won't be long before she outgrows venues the size of Tripod.
She starts this marvellous show by crunching into a pounding, propulsive When I Was a Young Girl, in the process sounding far closer to PJ Harvey than KT Tunstall. Her four-piece backing band, including the three Baird brothers and Julian Brown, offer suitably bluesy backing to what is a surprisingly punchy start to the show.
But there's a reason that Feist can best be described as a chanteuse.
With sparkly armband in place, she eases into her Dusty Springfield mode, varying the tempo with tracks from The Reminder such as So Sorry and The Park. She is a compelling performer - her sultry voice is perfectly matched by her sinewy form and strongly angular face. With those striking cheekbones and firm jaw, her face could be as imposing as Patti Smith's were it not for the beaming smile that so often breaks across it.
While Feist and her band regularly change the musical tempo, the temperature in the venue only goes higher, and when she launches into the irresistible One Two Three Four, the audience might well have melted, so ecstatic is the response.
Following that with Mushaboom, a true modern pop classic, should really be the high point of the evening, but the encore brings the appearance of underground Canadian film-maker and musician Bob Wiseman on piano, and the room swoons through an exhilarating rendition of the old Nina Simone standard, Sea Lion Woman. She finishes with a song by her boyfriend Kevin Drew, of Broken Social Scene fame, who will be taking to the same stage in mid-October. He'll do well to match this performance. - Davin O'Dwyer
