• The Devil Inside – Scottish Opera – *****

    *****
    This review appeared first at Opera Britannia

    This electric new commission from Stuart MacRae and Louise Welshsizzles with energy, even amidst its doom-laden plot. It is one of the most interesting, well sung and well produced pieces of opera that has been seen on the Scottish stage for quite a few years. Scottish Opera andMusic Theatre Wales are to be highly commended for presenting such a large scale new piece of work which perfectly justifies any who might doubt the necessity of commissioning new opera.

    The starting point for this new work is a short story by Robert Louis Stevenson. Only the basic ideas remain in Louise Welsh’s libretto. Whereas Stevenson sets his story in Hawaii, Welsh brings us firmly into the modern day and asks the audience to imagine the tyranny of getting everything they might hope for. What if you could have your heart’s desire whilst always knowing that your soul was at risk for eternity?

    The basic premise is this. There’s an imp in a bottle who will grant you riches, health, and just about anything the owner of the bottle might desire. The bottle can be bought and sold but only ever at a lower price than the purchaser originally paid for it. Anyone who dies whilst owning the bottle faces their soul being tormented in hell forever. Clearly owing a debt to the Faust legend, this retelling of the story focuses on the sheer hell that can come from getting what you want. It deals in big themes of heaven, hell, death and judgement, exploring forgiveness and love along the way.

    Stuart MacRae wastes no time with an overture in his score. A brief rhythmic nod to Shostakovich ushers the first two characters on stage, climbing up from the pit into a minimalist staging where a very few props will take second place to a stunning lighting design for the rest of the evening.

    The two characters are a pair of friends who stumble across an old man’s house by accident. When he invites them in, a glittering reveal suggests his riches simply with light shining from hundreds of silver spheres hanging at different levels across the stage. It is the first of many visual rewards that keep coming all through the evening.

    The two characters are a pair of ordinary souls – people to whom extraordinary things are about to happen. Nicholas Sharratt’s Richard is a bit of a wheeler and dealer. He wants the bottle to come his way but doesn’t want to risk his soul at first. He persuades his friend James (Ben McAteer) to buy the bottle with the promise that he’ll take it of his hands later. In fact we’ll see the bottle change hands between them and others a number of times. There’s nothing separating the two friends vocally. Each is strong, powerful and clear. This was a production when the surtitles seemed genuinely superfluous. The words are set incredibly well and though the score is complex and offers many challenges to the ear, the words shine through brilliantly throughout. The production seems a particular achievement for Ben McAteer as he is a Scottish Opera emerging artist 2015/16. This is a brilliant work to have under his belt. Like Sharratt, the strength of his singing was matched by his acting.

    The old man from whom the bottle is purchased is played by Steven Pagewho will return later on in the evening as a vagrant who buys the bottle for almost nothing. Another fabulous voice was matched by strong character acting, the scene with the first sale of the bottle being particularly striking for its weirdness.

    The fourth and final voice on the stage is also wonderful. Rachel Kellysings the part of Catherine – the love interest for James. She has some of the most heartbreaking moments – discovering at one point that she is dying and at another (once she’s been healed by the imp of all that ailed her) that she will have no children.

    MacRae’s score steps easily from tonality to atonality. For much of the time, the small orchestra of soloists drawn from Scottish Opera is setting the mood simply through rhythm and sparse simple snatched phrases. Percussion features heavily. And what’s happening down in the pit is mirrored on stage. A single note or gong matches the tiniest detail on stage that tells us confidently where we are. An intense pinprick of light shows forth a star. A projected crosshatch of a window indicates a whole house. An airplane’s silhouette crosses the stage from one side to the other and a city appears in silhouette as the sun rises at the beginning of the second scene to particularly strong orchestral writing.

    Director Matthew Richardson has worked well with designer Samal Blakand Lighting Designer Ace McCarron to conjure up from the smallest details on a black, white and grey stage a whole world in which the action takes place. This is a confident production which never loses its way.

    All the best opera makes us think about ourselves. What would we desire if we possessed the imp in the bottle? At a time when extraordinary lottery wins are in the news, this is an opera which must make us pause and question whether getting what we want will ever make us happy. The strangeness of the imp, characterised by glowing smoke swirling around the bottle and high tinkling notes from the orchestra wheedles its way into the consciousness of the audience as we realise that it represents not merely the desires of the characters but our own desires too. If we got what we wished, would we be content? Would we be happy?

    Glasgow’s Theatre Royal sits at the top of Hope Street. This production asks everyone who sees it whether they could really bear to live existentially at the top of Hope Street, gaining their every desire just by wishing for it. Like the Midas myth of old, we know even as we watch one tragedy unfold after another that despite wanting happiness, so very many of us would like to try managing unfettered and out of control riches and power, falsely believing that somehow happiness will come our way with them.

    An ambiguous ending nevertheless seemed satisfying as everyone seemed to spill out of the theatre with an opinion of what it had all meant. You can scarcely ask for more.

    This is a brilliant new work that makes you think. It is spine tingling opera that everyone involved with can be supremely proud of.

9 responses to “The Lament Question”

  1. kimberly Avatar

    ask it in the singular, and the answer is: because you’re a four.

    you’ll have me playing the funeral ikos next.

  2. kimberly Avatar

    the other answer is about possibility being revealed in limits.

  3. kelvin Avatar

    Its not just me though, and not just fours.

  4. Aaron Orear Avatar

    I think because sorrow touches the core of the human condition – we are mortal but can perceive immortality. “He has made everything suitable for its time; moreover he has put a sense of past and future into their minds, yet they cannot find out what God has done from the beginning to the end.” (Eccl. 3:11)

  5. Erp Avatar
    Erp

    I understand Aristotle talks about catharsis and various philosophers have followed up on that idea.

    Perhaps it arouses sadness both from the art itself but also from our own sources festering within and allows us to let go. We feel better for the letting go, the lessening of our own internal sadness, and so perceive the art as beautiful.

  6. RosemaryHannah Avatar
    RosemaryHannah

    Kimberly was there before me. However, even I, a nine, can sometimes see the beauty in sad things. For me they do two things (may be more but two are most obvious). The first is the catharsis thing. The second is to make me less lonely. Look, here am I weeping, but all around me people sit in the same sorrow. It is not just my sorrow – I am not alone.

    I have long thought there is another answer, one I do not properly understand but I have (I think – and who am I to think it). Deep in God there is a huge well of sorrow. Unless we experience sorrow we cannot understand God. When we sorrow we tap into that well, and become closer to him.

    And being a nice cheerful nine, I will now add that I live in hope that having sorrowed with him, we will share also and even more fully in the joy which swallows the sorrow. Delete this last paragraph from your mind on reading, it will only spoil the joy of the sorrow.

  7. Elizabeth Avatar
    Elizabeth

    Edgar Allan Poe said the most beautiful thing in the world is a beautiful, dead woman. Nice, eh?

  8. Ritualist Robert Avatar
    Ritualist Robert

    Surely it’s because the concept of beauty is independent from concepts such as ‘sadness’ and ‘happiness’ – just as a G major chord might be loud or soft, but that volume has no effect on its G major-ness.

  9. Steve Avatar
    Steve

    I remember Augustine saying (don’t ask me where) that for a picture to be beautiful it requires dark colours as well as bright.

    There is also a hint of an answer in this poem by Edwin Muir:

    Yet still from Eden springs the root
    As clean as on the starting day.
    Time takes the foliage and the fruit
    And burns the archetypal leaf
    To shapes of terror and of grief
    Scattered along the winter way.
    But famished field and blackened tree
    Bear flowers in Eden never known.

    Blossoms of grief and charity
    Bloom in these darkened fields alone.
    What had Eden ever to say
    Of hope and faith and pity and love
    Until was buried all its day
    And memory found its treasure trove?
    Strange blessings never in Paradise
    Fall from these beclouded skies.

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