It is an oft-remarked fact that one of the great joys of concert-going in London is access to three of the world's best conservatories and a glimpse at musicians who may come to dominate our stages and halls for decades. The Royal College of Music chose for its autumn production Die Fledermaus, that most famous operetta by Johann Strauss II which has come to epitomise and define Viennese light opera, in a superb staging by John Copley.
Fledermaus is, as one character describes it, a domestic comedy, revolving around a light-hearted scheme by Dr Falke, to get revenge on his friend, Gabriel von Eisenstein for leaving him drunk on the streets dressed as a bat. Taking advantage of von Eisenstein's imminent eight-day prison sentence for disrespect to an official, Falke invites Eisenstein to a ball at Prince Orlofsky's villa with the temptation of "peaches and cream", arranging for both his chambermaid and his wife to be there, the former masquerading as an actress, the latter masked and impersonating a Hungarian countess. The operetta culminates in a delightfully Mozartian forgiveness scene and a repeat of the famous Champagne song to serenade the audience into the Viennese bars – or the English rain!
Copley's production was very much on the traditional side, which is really the way it should be for this work – too much directorial interpretation can very easily destroy it, but Copley was careful throughout to enable the work's inherent humour to shine through. I was impressed by the simple way he conveyed Warden Frank's intoxication in Act III with an animated portrait of Kaiser Franz-Josef and moving coat pegs, and he drew a particularly big laugh with a pig's head. (I shall say no more!) Stuart Hopps' choreography was superb; there was a large amount of dancing and it was performed seamlessly. The translation, done by Copley and Alistair Beaton was magnificent. Witty and relevant, it was perfectly tailored to Strauss' bubbles.
This was not a production with a weak link, but easily the most dominating figure was Rosalinde, sung on the first night by Gemma Lois Summerfield, both in voice and in stage presence. Her voice carried easily and she handled her high notes with panache. I would like to hear her sing some late Verdi, to which her voice seems particularly well suited. As an actress, her outrage was a delight to behold and she delivered some of the best comic moments of the evening, as well as offering a genuinely moving “Klänge der Heimat”. Her foil, duplicitous husband Eisenstein was sung well by the baritone Julien Van Mellaerts. His is not the most versatile of voices, but he was reliable throughout, and was particularly strong in his trio with Rosalinde and Adele in Act I.