Peter Hall’s 1981 Glyndebourne production of Britten’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream has long been regarded by many as the definitive staging of the work. Revived as part of Shakespeare 400 by its original choreographer Lynne Hockney, it remains a thing of wonder, with its slightly creepy magic and sharp if understated psychological insights.
Hall’s moonlit forest, superbly designed by John Bury, is a living entity that becomes as much a character as the fairies, lovers and mechanicals that inhabit or invade it. There’s a cruel, sexual quality to the trick Oberon plays on Tytania, and a disturbing hint of violation as he squeezes the juice of the mysterious flower into her eyes. The lovers’ quarrels, as their desires and emotions fluctuate under Puck’s influence, are as disquieting as they are funny. Theseus and Hippolyta’s baronial mansion, when we finally reach it, is a place of mundane safety after the dangers and enchantment of the preceding night. Even though we are in midsummer, log fires burn in a grate: the human world, we realise, can be a slightly chilly place.
Conducted by Jakub Hrůša, the revival is strongly cast, though it took a few moments to settle on opening night. Hrůša’s way with the score – reined in at the start, but gathering weight and emotional resonance as it progresses – meant that the opening string glissandos didn’t have quite the requisite immediacy, though excessive audience coughing at this point also blunted their impact. But the score’s beguiling if at times unsettling magic soon made itself felt as he got into his stride, and the London Philharmonic played superbly for him.
Among Hrůša’s great strengths later on was his finely paced treatment of the scenes between the lovers, which can seem protracted if not carefully handled. He was helped immeasurably, though, by one of the most consistent lineups heard for a while. Benjamin Hulett’s poetic Lysander contrasted nicely with Duncan Rock’s swaggeringly handsome Demetrius. When Elizabeth DeShong’s stroppy Hermia let fly at Kate Royal’s bewildered Helena, the atmosphere crackled with tension.
Tim Mead and Kathleen Kim play Oberon and Tytania. Mead, tall and lanky, sounds seductive and commanding throughout: I Know a Bank Where the Wild Thyme Blows is particularly ravishing. Some might prefer a warmer tone to Kim’s silvery brilliance, though there’s no mistaking the ease and accuracy of her coloratura, with all those melismas and flicked staccatos superbly negotiated. Matthew Rose’s Bottom, funny and touchingly endearing, is about as good as it gets, and David Evans makes a nicely impish Puck. Trinity Boys Choir, excellent as always, form the chorus, as they have done throughout the production’s history. The final scene, arguably the most beautiful thing Britten ever wrote, was breathtaking, as it always should be.
- At Glyndebourne until 28 August. Box office: 01273 815000.
