Peter Grimes, the opera by Benjamin Britten (1945), is a very orchestral work—even apart from the famous “Sea Interludes.” It must be one of the most orchestral operas in the repertoire.
Now, what do I mean by “orchestral”? Don’t all operas have an orchestra, from Monteverdi’s Orfeo (1607) to yesterday? Yes, but Peter Grimes is especially symphonic, let us say. It can seem like an orchestral work whose instrumentation includes voices. There is no sense staging this work unless you have a good orchestra, preferably a very good one.
And the Metropolitan Opera, of course, has a very good one. It was a pleasure to hear them in Peter Grimes on Sunday afternoon. Britten puts the story in the orchestra—the human drama. He also puts the sea in it (and the sea and the drama are intimately connected). We hear the beauty and calmness of the sea. The menace and terrors of the same. In a Grimes, the orchestra had better billow. The Met’s did.
Serving as conductor was Nicholas Carter, the Australian who appeared in this house last season in Hamlet—not the nineteenth-century one by Ambroise Thomas but the new one by Brett Dean (also an Australian). On Sunday afternoon, Carter was an excellent manager of Grimes, keeping everything together, and keeping everything accurate. How those cries of “Peter Grimes!” and “Grimes!” could be so precise, I don’t know. In addition to being an excellent manager, Carter was thoroughly musical.
The Met orchestra put its best foot forward, and I think Levine would have been pleased. And reassured. The Met chorus, too, was first-rate. (The chorus master is Donald Palumbo.) I have said that Grimes is an unusually orchestral opera, but it is also an unusually choral one. The opera can sometimes seem a secular oratorio. (And a non-secular one, for that matter.)
Britten’s cast is loaded with male voices, so let me first mention a female one—that of Nicole Car, the soprano portraying Ellen Orford. Like Maestro Carter, she is an Australian. Her voice is rich but focused. Why have I put that “but” there? Because a rich voice, while sonically impressive, can be diffuse. The combination of richness and focus is a winner. Also, Ms. Car was loud without effort.
Critically, she put kindness in her voice. Her singing was kindly. Ellen is one of the kindest characters in all of opera—in a league with Desdemona. (Ellen manages to remain unmurdered, however.)
Before leaving the subject of Nicole Car, let me paste something from her Wikipedia entry:
At age 17, Car saw her first opera, Tosca, in her final year of high school in Melbourne. She then completed a Bachelor of Music at the Victorian College of the Arts, rather than the legal degree her parents had hoped for.
If she had made as good a lawyer as she is a singer, she would be a fine one indeed.
Another woman in Sunday afternoon’s cast was Denyce Graves, the American mezzo-soprano, whom many of us will remember, always, as a Carmen. In Grimes, she was Auntie—Ms. Graves is now at that stage of her career—and executed the role with credit.
Chief among the male singers in the cast is the tenor in the title role. On this occasion, he was Allan Clayton, an Englishman, who was Hamlet under Maestro Carter’s baton last season. Clayton seems to go from one tormented character to another. He conveyed Grimes’s torment effectively, and he sang with beauty and canniness.
From what I can tell, all the singers in Sunday’s cast, save one, are native English-speakers. This makes a difference. English can be a bear to sing in. Even native speakers say so. The cast at the Met sounded natural. An audience member will likely need his subtitles, regardless.
I have said “subtitles.” The Met has “seatback titles.” You can use those, with Grimes. Or you can simply keep looking at the stage, for the titles are projected onto the stage, in this production (2008) by John Doyle, a Scottish director.
What if you don’t want to see any titles at all? You’re out of luck, although I suppose you can ignore the onstage titles, for the most part.
Adam Plachetka, the Czech bass-baritone, was Captain Balstrode. His “Shoo, shoo” was maybe not perfectly idiomatic. But he handled his role well, and he would not want to hear me sing in Rusalka. Another bass-baritone in the cast was Patrick Carfizzi, portraying Swallow. He is also the Sacristan in the Met’s Tosca, currently playing. These are two very different roles, in different languages. Carfizzi excels in both.
There was very good singing in this performance, from the dozen cast members. (Singing cast members. There is a thirteenth member, the child John.) I must say, however, that, as I left the house, I heard the orchestra—particularly in those “Sea Interludes”—and I hear it still, as I write.
Let me close with a curiosity. As they were bowing, several cast members thanked the prompter. So did the conductor, as I recall. There must be a story behind this profuse thanking.