This classic ‘Dream’ has lost none of its power to enchant
This was a golden evening: the real world may be fast going to pot, but here at Glyndebourne it seemed bathed in an eternal glow of pleasure. The mellow landscape of the South Downs, a ravishing sunset, a picnic on the greensward – and at the heart of the pastoral, Britten’s version of A
Midsummer Night’s Dream, staged in Peter Hall’s classic production, first seen in 1981 but still freshly enchanting in this its fifth Festival revival, crisply directed by its original choreographer, Lynne Hockney.
This is a courtly Elizabethan interpretation of Shakespeare’s comedy. In John Bury’s fabulously inventive designs, Theseus’s palace could be a great house at Knole or Charlecote, and the fairy realm is governed by an Oberon and Titania who are half lupine, half lord and lady of the manor, with winged pages as retainers. The forest is a solidly English park of oaks and elms, albeit one rich in ambiguities. The trees quiver almost as though they are laughing at the nocturnal intrigue unfolding around them, as silent but watchful dryads move around the stage covered with foliage. Paul Pyant’s lighting is simply magical.
Another strength of Hall’s approach is that the rude mechanicals aren’t crudely parodied or patronised. Instead they are presented credibly as “handicraft men”, sincere in their pathetic attempts to please their lords and keep their dignity. David Soar as Quince and Anthony Gregory in Peter Pears’s role of Flute gave particularly sympathetic performances, with Matthew Rose once again an endearingly good-natured Bottom.
Oberon and Titania were beautifully sung by Tim Mead and Kathleen Kim. Mead is a very modern sort of countertenor, much more masculine, lustrous and vibrant in tone than the reedy pioneer Alfred Deller, for whom the role was conceived in 1960. Kim was meticulous in articulating the diamantine staccati that Britten scatters over her flurries of coloratura. Were they a little too stately, dramatically? Ideally, one might like more flash of bad temper and wanton devilry.
No cavils elsewhere. The quartet of befuddled lovers – Kate Royal and Elizabeth DeShong as Helena and Hermia, Benjamin Hulett and Duncan Rock as Lysander and Demetrius – were perfectly matched and a delight, as was the immaculate Trinity Boys’ Choir as the fairy retinue.
There was joy in the pit, too: Jakub Hrusa conducted the London Philharmonic Orchestra in a marvellously robust account of a score that in lesser hands can sound a bit etiolated and dainty in terms of its texture. Here there were strong contrasts of light and shade, but nothing flat-footed.
But the undoubted star of the show didn’t sing a single note: this was the astonishing David Evans, 11 years old, I am told, and a late substitute as Puck, a part Britten left as spoken. A tiny, impish scamp, he delivered his lines with nonchalant authority, turned impressive cartwheels to boot and almost brought the house down at his curtain call.