Through a gauze darkly

Saturday 29 June 1996 18:02 EDT
Comments

Your support helps us to tell the story

From reproductive rights to climate change to Big Tech, The Independent is on the ground when the story is developing. Whether it's investigating the financials of Elon Musk's pro-Trump PAC or producing our latest documentary, 'The A Word', which shines a light on the American women fighting for reproductive rights, we know how important it is to parse out the facts from the messaging.

At such a critical moment in US history, we need reporters on the ground. Your donation allows us to keep sending journalists to speak to both sides of the story.

The Independent is trusted by Americans across the entire political spectrum. And unlike many other quality news outlets, we choose not to lock Americans out of our reporting and analysis with paywalls. We believe quality journalism should be available to everyone, paid for by those who can afford it.

Your support makes all the difference.

No opera is properly dressed these days without a gauze screen. In Henze's The Prince of Homburg, which opened in a much-toured production at ENO last week, the gauze stays down from start to finish. As metaphor for the plot, which begins with a dream and turns into a living nightmare, it's apt enough. As a symbol for the opera as a whole a brick wall would do better. Henze's fantastically complicated scheme, alternating 12-note serialism with what he calls "the beautiful old harmonies of yesterday" (the distinction passed me by, alas), not only defies aural comprehension but fails to lift the story above turgid melodrama. Set in 1675 at the battle of Brandenburg, a Prussian general, despite victory, is sentenced to death for military bungling. The play from which the libretto is drawn probed the hero's dilemma: whether to save his skin or admit culpability. Henze's score reduces delicate argument to tedious rant. ENO's soloists battle heroically with the one-paced see-saw of the vocal writing, but sink under Nickolaus Lenhoff's undistinguished direction. In the title role Peter Coleman-Wright signals extremes by leaping onto the nearest table; as his lover Natalie, Susan Bullock (right) squeezes lyricism of a sort from a miserable part. Static, bombastic, dour, this is "modern" opera that will send ENO's most venturesome audiences scurrying back to Strauss.

Jenny Gilbert

Join our commenting forum

Join thought-provoking conversations, follow other Independent readers and see their replies

Comments

Thank you for registering

Please refresh the page or navigate to another page on the site to be automatically logged inPlease refresh your browser to be logged in