Staging Handel: a Response to Ruth Smith and Brian Robins

Sandra Bowdler

In a recent issue of the Handel News, I was much stimulated and entertained by the articles by Ruth Smith (1) and Brian Robins (2) on staging Handel, the former concentrating on the oratorios, the latter on the original staging of the operas. Smith concludes that Handel’s oratorios are better in non-staged performances; Robbins argues that, with respect to the operas, ‘only by seeing them as a totality unifying sets, costumes, gesture and expressiveness that we can truly understand the nobility of this great corpus of works on its own terms’. While finding myself sympathetic to both arguments, I have reservations about realising these ideals in the context of modern opera, and oratorio, performance. My views have been influenced by a long-term interest in the wider field of opera performance and recent experiences of Handel productions at home (Australia) and abroad.

Why do opera companies or other organisations even want to stage oratorios, when Handel has left us some 40 actual operas for the purpose? This is a puzzle, and can perhaps only be answered on a case-by-case basis by directors and intendants. I can hazard a guess with respect to the Sydney opera company Pinchgut Opera. From its inception – Semele in 2002 – the company has been associated with the (excellent) choir Cantillation, and it seems that it has specifically sought works with a large choral component. I think this also applies to the more recently established ‘Handel in the Theatre’ group in Canberra, which arose out of the Canberra Choral Society with Alexander Balus in 2014; though its current name seems odd as it has only performed oratorios, including the forthcoming Susanna. This argument about work for the chorus might also I daresay be applied to Glyndebourne. But why on earth would Halle Opera choose to stage Jephtha, albeit during the annual Handel festival there? Quite apart from its turning out to be a monumental train wreck, why not stick with actual operas? Perhaps modern directors feel that Handel’s oratorios provide more familiar storylines than the very obscure personages that feature in the operas? Although these days the likes of Jephtha, Susanna, Alexander Balus etc. are hardly household names.

The other issue highlighted by Smith is the way the oratorios are staged, with the literal specificity of stage action reigning in the inherent ambiguity of the oratorios’ text and music and thus restricting the imaginative reception by the audience. There is also the fact that modern directors are trying to do things with the oratorios that not only did Handel not intend, but which also do not work in a modern operatic context. It is interesting to consider what might be called the converse.

Smith mentions Wagner. I have attended quite a few successful concert performances of Wagner operas over the years (Tristan und Isolde, Tannhäuser, Siegfried and Götterdämmerung come to mind). In Tristan in particular, staging is practically otiose: some 90% of the whole work comprises long ecstatic passages of singing during which a park and bark performance is practically obligatory. Those who love Wagner, and (like me) are drawn in by his excessively passionate, verging on decadent, music with its long unresolved passages culminating in orgiastic resolutions, see no need for stage encumbrences. The recent New York Metropolitan Opera production (available online and on DVD) has the sketchiest of sets. Regular opera-goers do not actually need elaborate settings. When it comes to Handel, however, directors and producers seem to feel the need to over-embellish.

Returning to oratorio, the recent Pinchgut production of Athalia, despite being musically outstanding, illustrated much that is wrong in staging oratorios, including some new terrible ideas. Who, outside this production, could possibly imagine that an 18th-century English oratorio needed surtitles translated into English (i.e. modern-day English)? This was almost enough to kill the whole production, with the distraction of having two sets of English words being thrown at you at once. I will not go into what might be described as directorial infelicities – I know my mentioning that there is a pretty explicit sex scene between Athalia and Mathan will be enough to have this readership running screaming from the room – but the director Lindy Hume is known for her desire to seek modern ‘relevance’. But every review I read blamed the work for its lack of dramatic cohesion, development and so on. In one case, the reviewer found that ‘Until the last 20 minutes or so of the performance, there was very little action in the story of the opera; this often made Hume’s job difficult, as she designed the protagonists’ movements on stage’ (3). Bloody Handel, making the director’s job difficult. While this might seem to justify Smith’s view, I can imagine another director taking Athalia and producing something both more like a regular modern opera production on the one hand, while on the other also preserving the underlying 18th-century sensibility. It can be done with Mozart and Wagner: why not with Handel?

In this vein, the way Robins describes modern Handel productions in his first paragraph is essentially correct, but not, to me, a bad thing. Those pared-down austere sets do exactly what Smith suggests in allowing the audience’s imagination to fill in the dark spaces; the ones that do not work so well are those forced into a more particularistic setting (e.g. Rodelinda always now seems to happen in a 20th-century police state) or one of fluffy over-embellishment without any particular regard for ‘authenticity’. I also loved his description of an historical performance, reinforced by a recent visit to the Baroque theatre in Cesky Krumlov (not alas for a performance, although the thought of sitting through four hours of opera on one of the benches is a matter of some trepidation). Someone once said to me however that were I (or any Handel fan) to sit through a full historically performed Baroque opera replete with 18th-century conventions, Gest, costume and so on, I/we would be bored stupid. Actually, I love the productions of Sigrid T’Hooft: her recent Parnasso in Festa at Bad Lauchstädt was utterly blissful, as were her Göttingen performances of Amadigi and Imeneo in recent years, all deploying the full authentic range of Baroque opera performance. But would we want all operas to be performed like that today?

The reality is that there are very few appropriate venues for such productions. Cesky Krumlov and Drottningholm are the only two surviving Baroque theatres in Europe, and presumably the world. Early 19th-century buildings like the Goethestheater at Bad Lauchstädt and the Deutschestheater in Göttingen serve well, but this is not the kind of venue in which Baroque operas can be solely performed if we have some hope of their gaining and maintaining an ongoing place in regular opera-going. Perhaps we do not want that, but if they are not performed in regular theatres they are not going to have much survival potential.

Another recent experience of mine was a performance of Tamerlano at La Scala in Milan, a heartland of the opera experience. The stage there is vast, and an ‘authentic’ performance would be lost in the shadows. What I saw was a huge modern production which relocated the scene to the Russian revolution. The mise en scène comprised an enormous train, occasionally in motion (clever back-projection of trees being rushed past) and more often stationary in the snowy wilderness, with doors opening to reveal interactions inside. Maybe Franco Fagioli as Trotsky was a bridge too far, but it was definitely a popular hit and did not, to my mind, get in the way of the story or the meanings inherent in the text and music. If we want Handel opera to survive and flourish, it needs to be performed in these 19th-century barns alongside the core operatic repertoire, together with the more privileged locations of specialised theatres in the context of festivals and informed audiences.

Notes
(1) Smith, R. (2018). Staging Handel’s oratorios: gain and loss. Handel News, 71, January, 5-10.
(2) Robbins, B. (2018). Staging Handel – now … and then. Handel News, 71, January, 10-13.
(3) Szabo, Z. (2018). Pinchgut brings yet more exciting surprises to opera with Handel’s Athalia. The Conversation, 26 June.

Rare Copy of Handel’s Suite in G Minor Turns Up in Sydney – Twice!

Graham Pont

Handel’s last royal pupil was the Princess Louisa (1724-51). For her studies at the harpsichord Handel composed his last two substantial works for the instrument, the Suites in D minor and G minor, HWV 447 and 452. Like her older sisters, Louisa became a regular supporter of her teacher: her presence at performances of Atalanta and Poro (1736) and Saul (1739) are recorded – there were doubtless many others – and she subscribed to the editions of Alexander’s Feast (1738) and the Twelve Grand Concertos (1740). In 1743 Louise married Prince Frederick of Denmark and Norway and became Queen when in 1746 her husband was crowned King. She was popular with the Danish court and admired for her accomplishments: ‘She finds pleasure in reading and music, she plays the clavichord well and teaches her daughters to sing’ (1). In 1748 she arranged for an Italian opera company to perform at the court theatre: the company included Gluck and Sarti. Louisa died from complications of childbirth in December 1751.

When Handel composed the two Suites for Louisa is not known: the Händel Handbuch suggests 1739; Otto Erich Deutsch dates them to 1736. The composer’s autographs of both Suites have survived, as well as several authorised copies, but neither work was published during Handel’s lifetime: perhaps they were considered royal property. The first edition of the Suite in G minor appeared in a rare volume entitled A Favorite Lesson for the Harpsichord Composed for Young Practitioners by George Fred: Handel Never before Printed (London: C. and S. Thompson, n.d.) (2). This edition is usually dated c.1770 but the British Library, which holds one of the only two recorded copies, gives the date as 1772. The only other known copy, in the collection of the present writer, enjoys the rare distinction of having been transported twice around the globe to Sydney.

At the top of the title page is a note in ink ‘Found in Pitt Street, Sydney, 1936’! Eighteenth-century editions of Handel are exceptionally rare in early Australian collections: how and when this volume first reached Sydney and where it lay before being thrown out on the street in 1936 is a complete mystery. There may be some hint as to its provenance in the illegible signature on the top-left corner of the title-page.

The man who found the volume and wrote the notes on the title-page was the Sydney medico Joseph Coen (1880-1955). In his second note he records that in May 1946 he presented the volume to ‘Gilbert Inglefield, for his library and in memory of many hours of Handel’. Sir Gilbert Inglefield (1909-91) was a British architect who became Lord Mayor of London in 1967-68. After Inglefield’s death his music collection was dispersed: books of his were included in sales by Christie, Manson & Woods on 11 July 1968 and 6 August 1975. I purchased this volume from Colin Coleman in 2010 and thus it returned for the second time to Sydney.

Notes
(1) See the interesting and well-illustrated article ‘Louise of Great Britain’ in Wikipedia.
(2) The Suite in G minor has been edited by Terence Best in Händel Klavierwerke III… Erste Folge (Kassel: Bärenreiter, 1970), pp.42-47. This version includes a final Gigue which Handel later added but which was omitted from the original edition.