St Columb’s Cathedral; Guildhall; St Columb’s Theatre; all in Derry
IT'S NEARLY 20 years since Puccini's Toscawas produced for television at the locations in Rome in which it is set – the church of Sant' Andrea della Valle, the Farnese Palace, and the Castel Sant' Angelo – all filmed at times of day prescribed in the opera.
It’s clearly an idea which tempts imitation on a smaller scale. Waterford’s Theatre Royal and Spraoi presented the work in three locations in Waterford in 2006, taking the courageous decision to present the third act out of doors.
The first production by Northern Ireland’s new opera company, NI Opera, is a little more circumspect. The production is site-specific to Derry, but, the city’s famous walls notwithstanding, everything is presented indoors – at St Columb’s Cathedral, the Guildhall, and St Columb’s Theatre – with buses laid on to ferry listeners between venues in case of rain.
Oliver Mears’s production is intelligent and to the point, updated to the 20th century with all the symbols of fascist oppression, but in a way that sits easily with the original. The nave of St Columb’s Cathedral was used for head-turning entrances and exits and the escaped prisoner Angelotti managed to find a hiding place through a door into the organ case.
The orchestra was placed pretty well out of sight to the side of the action, and, though the ensemble under conductor Nicholas Chalmers was not always tight, the balances between orchestra and singers allowed the voices to shine in an acoustic which adapted surprisingly kindly to opera. The Te Deum at the end of act one, with the chorus effectively ensconced within the audience, was a real coup-de-théâtre.
This was one of those Toscasin which the villain stole the show. Paul Carey Jones's assumption of the evil Baron Scarpia was reserved rather than overt in the sense of threat he generated. Jones portrayed a man absolutely sure in his use and abuse of power, impervious to the views of the lesser mortals he saw himself manipulating. And his singing was equally sure and communicative, every word conveyed with absolute and often chilling conviction.
Giselle Allen, replete with fur coat and designer sun glasses, was a vain, passionate and possessive Tosca, for whom the mere presence of her lover, Cavaradossi, was likely to provoke a snog-fest. Jesús León's Cavaradossi, though admirably ardent, was rather less vocally appealing. Derry's Guildhall, where the Saville Inquiry into the events of Bloody Sunday sat for years, was an evocative setting for the second act, which Mears made as bloody as any I've seen, with stage gore dripping not only from the murdered Scarpia, but also from Tosca herself.
The tension of the performance had somewhat ebbed by this stage, and Chalmers’s handling of the reduced orchestra was less than gripping. But Allen’s Tosca did get to jump to her death – clambering onto a desk and out of a window – and the denouement brought the audience cheering to its feet.
Performances have now ended
