Opera Review: Billy Budd at the Brooklyn Academy of Music
This past Sunday (Feb. 9, 2013) I braved the snow to see the Glyndebourne Festivalâs revival production of Billy Budd at the Brooklyn Academy of Music. They brought the London Philharmonic Orchestra with them across the pond, along with conductor Mark Elder, who led the ensemble in a stupendous performance of one of Britten's most fraught operas.
It was nice to see an opera in Brooklyn again. Not only is it convenient, and not only is the BAM Gilman a warm, intimate venue, but itâs also nice to be able to schlep into an opera house from a snowstorm wearing jeans, a UNIQLO sweater and slushy snow boots and know even before looking that I will blend right in.
Billy Budd, despite its straightforward story of a bright-eyed, press-ganged sailor coming to a poor end, is a complex three-way tragedy. First, and most straightforwardly tragic, is Billy himself. The beautiful young seaman with a stutter, beloved by the crew, who strikes and kills his accuser when falsely charged with mutiny, and is hanged as a result.
Then thereâs his accuser, Master at Arms John Claggart, one of operaâs most brutal closet cases. Mean, domineering, and reviled equally by his shipmates and the audience, Claggart is by no means a classically tragic figure, though I think he is this operaâs most complex character. He falls hard for Billy (whom he describes as âA beauty. A jewel. The pearl of great price.â). But because Claggart cannot possess Billy his love transmutes to violence (âI will mutilate and silence the body where you dwell.â).
But Claggart possesses a powerful self-awareness, and in his aria near the end of Act I (one of the most famous bass arias in the repertoire, and one of the most blood curdling arias youâll ever hear) he shows an almost painful understanding of the mechanisms of his repression:
Would that I lived in my own world always,Â
in that depravity to which I was born.Â
There I found peace of a sort, there I established Â
an order such as reigns in Hell. But alas, alas! Â
The lights shines in the darkness comprehends Â
it and suffers. O beauty, o handsomeness, goodness
Would that I had never seen you!
When Claggartâs corpse rests at Billyâs feet in the second scene of Act II there is a palpable sense of relief, not just for the crew now freed from his sadism, but for Claggart himself.
Finally thereâs Captain Vere, an airy intellectual in command of a ship full of brawlsome sailors. In the climactic scene he has the power to save Billyâs life, but doesnât, a fact that haunts him into his dotage. Vere is our narrator, his older self bookending the opera with a self-flagellating prologue and epilogue where he bemoans his guilt.
In this spirit, the Glyndebourne production at BAM opened with Captain Vere, sung by Mark Padmore, hunched and ghostly behind a scrim. Under dim lights, Padmoreâs limpid but piercing tenor floated above the eerie violin motif of the prologue, and within seconds, the trademark Brittenesque unease suffused the house.
Unease graduates to barely suppressed menace as the prologue segues into Act I, which puts us on the deck of H.M.S. Indomitable as a chorus of swabbies scrub the deck. Their chant, âO heave! O heave away, heave! O heave!â, doubled in the strings, repeatedly jumps up and down a fifth, then up to the minor sixth and back down, all in a sweeping, staggered rhythm that conveys the rocking of the ship so well it can induce vertigo in lesser stomachs queasy (especially if they, like I, were seated in the upper balcony).
In some of the ensemble pieces that followed I had trouble with some of the articulation. Despite being in English, BAM provided subtitles, and I found myself having to rely on them more than I thought I would. Part of this is a structural issue with the opera: set aboard a Royal Navy vessel in 1797, the cast is, of course, all men, leaving a limited vocal range within which multiple voices can get mucked up. Compounding this is the scoreâs frequent (albeit thrilling) brassyness, which, especially in a smaller venue such as BAM, can obscure the singers when the orchestra breeches forte (as it often does).
As a result, and with the exception of Padmore and on other Iâll get to in a moment, it only was during the more scaled-down scenes where the vocal talent really stood out. This was most apparent for Mr. Flint, the master of sails, sung by bass-baritone David Soars. During his early ensemble scenes, his voice, to my ears, was all but lost. But below decks, in scene 2, when it is just him and Redburn (sung by the charismatic Stephen Gadd) talking down the French to Captain Vere over a sparse orchestral recitative, Soarsâs velvety, powerful timbre nearly made the walls hum.
Billy Budd himself, sung by Jacques Imbrailo, fared well enough in this regard. Imbrailoâs baritone was suitable but often characterless, especially in comparison to some of his fellow cast members. But he carried the part exceptionally well in every other respect: his dynamism, his kinetic vaulting about the stage and his gamely, fluid body language (not to mention his wide, boyishly innocent face) has probably lodged him in my brain as the default Billy Budd for a long time to come.
For my money, though, Brindley Sherratt, as Master-at-arms John Claggart, stood above an otherwise fine-borderline-exceptional cast. From his first appearance at the press gang in scene 1 Sherratt dominated the stage every moment he occupied it, even if he only silently loomed in the background. Here's the Glyndebourne publicity photo of Sherratt's Claggart:
Handsomely done, my lad. Handsome indeed...
Even from the lowest region of his range his voice punched through the orchestra as if fired from a cannon. His body language, which saw his shaved head bent over a rigid torso and carried by a seemingly unwilling pair of bowed legs, conveyed some measure of the characterâs private conflict. It was a stupendous performance. I was really surprised when, during intermission, I read Sherrattâs bio and didnât see an Alberich anywhere in it. I hope that changes soon.
Christopher Oram's stage set effectively conveyed the claustrophobic, socially constrained environment aboard the Indomitable. The set was a concave, three-level  wood construction that functioned well both as below-decks and as the ship's main deck and forecastle. Tom Roden's movement direction made maximal use of this impressive construction, as Billy and company rush up and down the deck and, in the fight scene towards the end, lurch and sway throughout it in chaotic anger.
In all, this was one of the best operas to grace Brooklyn in a long time. I hope BAM sets its sights similarly high in future seasons.