La Bohème
Cock Tavern
The Enchanted Pig
Linbury Studio
Puccini’s La Bohème has oddly become the Christmas opera of choice, broadcast on BBC TV on Christmas afternoon (an especially ludicrous affair), and major opera houses dusting down their elderly versions. I doubt whether any of them will be as involving, indeed thrilling and upsetting, as OperaUpClose’s production at the Cock Tavern Kilburn, originally scheduled to run from early December to 20 January, but now extended by two full months, it is proving so popular. The Cock has seating for only 40, so that is not quite as amazing as it sounds, but given the comparative obscurity of the venue it is still impressive. The producer, Robin Norton-Hale, who also translated the text, adapting it to present-day Kilburn (and allowing herself a fair number of annoying mis-stresses), has several casts, so I can — anyway so far — only report on the one I saw on New Year’s Eve, when it provided the sole operatic fare to be had in London, if not in the UK.
The audience and the performers are a few feet from one another, which is both challenging and immediately creates a big advantage. They are accompanied on a piano, and it took me a whole act to allow for the lack of the tumescence which Puccini’s wonderful orchestration provides, as well as its creation atmosphere; besides which, the pianist played with an almost metronomic rigidity which I’d have thought was unnecessary, given his proximity to, and familiarity with, the singers. The stage is set as modest student accommodation, which means that the lads, in their opening high jinks, can banter conversationally, but this pair yelled at one another without respite. It eventually became clear that Anthony Flaum, the Rodolfo, doesn’t have much of a voice unless he is singing fortissimo; and his CV and website indicate that his home is musical theatre rather than opera. But Flaum has glamour, and acts with immense conviction, so that in the last two acts Rodolfo’s grief over Mimì’s health became tormentingly vivid, the performer himself seeming to be so moved that he was in tears as the company took their bows. The man with the voice, a true and big voice, as well as a commanding presence, was Michael Davis as Marcello. He is a natural actor, too, but it is the fullness of his baritone which most impressed. The Mimì of Rosalind Coad became more affecting as the opera progressed. As with Flaum, she doesn’t have a voice which can swell and soar in the way Act I demands, and she couldn’t do much more than any player of the role to disguise the fact that Mimì is only a pitiable figure with some wonderful tunes to sing.
For Act II we moved down from the theatre to the pub itself, a risky step but one which worked on this evening. Annabel Mountford’s Musetta is a treat, not only here but in the subsequent acts — and her voice, like Davis’s, is a truly operatic one. I haven’t space to mention everyone, but I wish I could. This company, one of many that uses the Cock, deserves every encouragement, and for anyone who has sniffy ideas about what opera-on-the-cheap can be like, I would beg them to phone the Cock and get a ticket while they can.
I have space only to say that at the Linbury The Enchanted Pig, allegedly an opera for children, receives brilliant treatment on all scores. A revival of one of Jonathan Dove’s collaborations with Alasdair Middleton, it is Sondheimish in concept and execution, and considerably too long. But there may be enough special effects to keep ‘the kids’ watching, if in some bewilderment.
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