Adriana Lecouvreur

1 At the time, I felt that I could understand why the opera had been left in the cupboard, disregarded. The setting in Act 1 put me in mind of Noises Off. But in this instance there was an order, unflappingly maintained by Michonnet, the stage manager. I understood what he was doing, and I sympathised with his undeclared love for Adriana. Bustle, bustle. As the plot developed, however, so its oddness became apparent. That oddness - or Now remind me again what's going on - continued into Act 2. A lover who was playing on two pitches. And elderly princess. A room into which people hurried lest they be discovered. Ah, Act 2 of The Marriage. There'll be a quarrel, maybe, or some other way of igniting, of energising the proceedings. No, not tonight. No now,not later.

2 Alas, I was wrong. The Independent told me that I had attended a five-star production. The singing, the drama - neither was weak. Ms Gheorghiu had been super. She had been matched by the lover. I took the critique to heart. I reminded myself that the seeming waywardness of the plot had been overlaid, had been swamped by the music and singing, and by the playing. Remember, I told myself, concentrate upon the music. Recall the passion of the concluding embraces, physical and musical. I held up my arms and conceded.

3 No, come back. I was right all the time. The plot was clunkey; now whilst I didn't understand what was meant by the term, I understood from the context that I had been probably right about the plot. It was evident too from The Times that the monologue - the first time I call recall one carrying so much weight, being delivered by a principal in an opera; for that matter, the first time I can recall one in an opera - did not set aside the deficiencies which preceded and followed it. So the opera concluded, in Act 4, with the poisoning of Adriana by a bunch of violets. (The willing suspension of disbelief, you say. OK, OK. I admit I've swallowed much more in the opening minutes of Das Rheingeld. Yet a bunch of violets?) The poisoning does not prevent the dying embrace of A and the one-time lover of the Princess, she who sent the violets.) As the curtain fell, I felt that it was time to go home, that it was time to put the opera back in the cupboard.

4 Three reviews, three different reports and assessments. Of course, any one review can expose what the reader missed whilst watching the production. Three reviews can expose the extent to which different reviewers react differently to a production. It's helpful to keep a review, or three of them, as a trigger or triggers to one's own reflections as one returns to a production, soon after it or a long time after.

5 As I thought about the plot, I reminded myself that Cilea would have been thoroughly familiar with the La Traviata. He would also have been equally familiar with The Marriage. And so will be the audiences which will attend the future, few productions of Adriana L. They will have expectations about the drama, about the drives which impel behaviour, in particular conflictual behaviour. They will also have expectations about the imaginative content of a plot, a story.

6 Independent the newspaper may be, imaginative may be its front pages. On the particular matter in hand though I will stick to old Times.

The Marriage of Figaro

At a familiar opera, we were in unaccustomed seats. Well, we are unaccustomed to any seats other than those we occupy because they were empty and we beat any others who also had their eyes on them. But unaccustomed, as well, because we paid standing-ticket prices and we overlooked the orchestra. As a result, we had our eyes on the conductor. And we wished we could have had our eyes on what was happening on our side of the stage; however, we could imagine.