Out of time

Aida
Royal Opera House, in rep until 16 May

Powder Her Face
Linbury Studio, in rep until 12 May

In the programme for the Royal Opera’s new production of Aida, George Hall tells us that ‘the total number of complete or substantially complete recordings of Aida, made either live or in the studio, currently stands at over 250’, a statistic that shook me, hardened discomaniac as I am. There can’t be more than one or two other operas which achieve such a tally. What adds to my surprise is that Aida is so far from being Verdi’s finest opera, and that it does urgently need seeing as well as hearing. It seems to be more of a problem, or embarrassment, for producers, too, than his other most celebrated works, judging by the short lifespan of UK productions in the post-war period: the Royal Opera has tended to rest it for long periods, and then to put on an unrevived new production.

David McVicar is the latest director to try to make something fresh out of what one can’t help feeling is an old warhorse. As one might expect, he sheds as much of the fustian as he can: there is no marching and counter-marching, no animals; it’s a kind of anti-Veronese affair. The curtain rises on a large depressing dark-grey wall, which revolves very much as the equivalent set in McVicar’s Rigoletto does, to reveal an even more lowering reverse. Any suggestion of place is resolutely abjured, and there isn’t much of time either: costumes are eclectic in style and period, with one or two vague possible approaches to Ancient Egyptian, but mainly just Primitive. The point seems to be that what we’re witnessing is something close to a rite which might be performed anywhere and anywhen, though there are no modern allusions.