Power to inspire

Fidelio
Garsington

Parthenogenesis
Linbury

Beethoven’s Fidelio is one of the most moving operas in the repertoire, but I’ve usually been more moved by it in concert than on stage. The gaucheries of its plot, which include, really, hardly having any plot — we encounter, after the relatively light opening, the embodiment of noble feminine determination, then the embodiment of powerful male malevolence, and in Act II when one confronts the other the result is instant victory for the Good, thanks to the convenient intervention of an oft-invoked Providence. It is hard to credit as drama, much more evidently convincing as a cantata of celebration, in which the intensely affecting main message stands out against the quotidian bickerings. There is, admittedly, the interesting figure of the gaoler Rocco, the good-hearted elderly man who knows that you can’t get far without money, and who refuses to murder an innocent man but agrees to dig his grave, for a price. But he functions more as a musical bass-line than as a dramatically relevant character.

Yes once in a while, if Fidelio is staged with enough conviction, and without directorial attempts to round out two-dimensional figures, it retains its power to inspire, even if it doesn’t exactly persuade one that Good will Triumph. This new Garsington production of John Cox’s manages to do that, thanks to the noble simplicity with which he manages the action. Gary McCann’s designs are not exactly realistic, but they do the job: Florestan’s cell is a sewerage pipe, there is a small watch-tower with spiral staircase in the centre, and a gallery behind; and two big cisterns, from one of which the prisoners emerge for their brief moments in the fresh air in Act I. As they concluded their chorus they wandered off dazedly into the lovely garden, an extraordinarily beautiful moment.

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