Peter Grimes may deserve the place it has gained in the operatic canon, but it’s not a work without problems. Most of all, Montagu Slater’s libretto is really no triumph; though it might be forgiven a certain tweeness on account of its subject matter (perhaps it makes sense to imagine these quaint village people speaking in this mannered fashion), phrases such as “manly calendar” are just impossible to defend. Where this opera unequivocally succeeds is in its music; it’s the haunting, ambiguous voice of the orchestral interludes, above all, which grants Peter Grimes its curious emotive pull. And so it felt very right indeed to hear it performed in the concert hall, with the orchestra centre stage – and especially with as fine an orchestra as the London Philharmonic, under Vladimir Jurowski’s white-hot direction.
What’s more, the dramatic side of the opera received as clear, intelligent and lucid a treatment as any full staging is likely to provide, with all corners of the Royal Festival Hall stage put to excellent use by Daniel Slater. A few ropes, some chairs and a jumper are all the props needed to tell this story, and that’s all it had here in Alex Doidge-Green’s design, along with some eloquent blocking and effective, sometimes very striking lighting (the latter by Tim Mascall). This economy led to a production so effective that I didn’t even miss a full staging: the balance between the elements was, in fact, just right, with the story well told and ample room left over to focus on the music-making.
And what music-making – from all concerned. I stick by my opinion that it’s the orchestral music that really makes the opera great, but Stuart Skelton’s Peter Grimes was so utterly compelling tonight that it would have carried the performance on its own. This was an astonishing characterisation, both physically (right down to his slow, waddling walk) and musically – the variation of tone in his voice is incredible, veering from gruff and rugged, via one hell of a yell, all the way through to plaintive and gentle. And yet somehow it’s all totally believable as one character – this Grimes is every inch the complex, nuanced figure that Britten must have sensed in George Crabbe’s poem. It’s a masterpiece. He’s singing the role again with English National Opera in January. Don’t miss it.
He was well supported as well, with Alan Opie a powerful Captain Balstrode and Pamela Armstrong a tender Ellen Orford, who found the necessary compassion in the role but was perhaps limited by its material – she’s not the most three-dimensional of operatic heroines. The tavern-cum-brothel-keeper Auntie is another character who lacks depth, and Pamela Helen Stephen’s portrayal also wasn’t quite naughty enough, making those tavern scenes in which Grimes was absent drag slightly. Further vocal performances from Jean Rigby (Mrs Sedley), Michael Colvin (Bob Boles), Brindley Sherratt (Swallow) and Jonathan Veira (Hobson) all impressed, and London Voices were a passionate, alert chorus with a huge sound – but nobody distracted attention away from what was, vocally speaking, one hundred per cent Stuart Skelton’s night.