Night at the Opera

We had a night out on Friday – the students put on Eugene Onegin. As with last year’s Magic Flute, you had to admire their enterprise. Our student productions really are student productions, with no bought in stars, and the number of good voices and competent musicians we can field in a given year is astonishing. It was not without is problems – there were as many musicians as could physically fit into the Cowdray Hall’s little orchestra pit, which translated into only one or two violins per part, and the typical Tchaikovsky massed strings came out a little vinegary as a result. The most serious problem was Onegin: he had a perfectly reasonable voice, but the plot only works if Onegin is a fatally attractive rake. The lad in question was more of a serviceable watering can, really – he sounded all right, but unless Lensky can reasonably believe that merely dancing with this fellow is sufficient to cause a woman to fall under his spell, then you can’t explain why he gets so cross. Tatyana’s inexplicable devotion is less of a problem since she’s supposed to be a fantasist anyway. Another thought which was prompted by the unfolding narrative (and thinking of other operas)  is that aristocratic life would be a damn sight easier if doting old duennas were routinely exiled to Novosibirsk, or painlessly destroyed. Apart from that, Tchaikovsky’s tendency to recycle his effects meant that there were odd moments when one expected a fleet of swans to cross the stage in profile or the guests to assemble for Aurora’s wedding. Which prompted reflections on what would have happened if they had.