1 Something to be savoured. Instead of standing at the back of the stalls, the customary position, I watched the current ROH production of Rigoletto from the comfort of a seat close to the front. Instead of being in Covent Garden, I was in The Playhouse, an independent cinema in Uckfield, one of the many places to which the live production was being transmitted.
2 Because I had enjoyed a previous live performance, from the customary position, I bought my ticket for the transmission (at twice the price for the standing ticket at Covent Garden). Though I am familiar with the radio transmissions from the Metropolitan Opera, I had not taken my seat for a live transmission in a cinema. Suffice it to say that I will be attending further transmissions at that cinema in that small town in rural Sussex.
3 The whole experience was stunning. Last year I attended an open-air screening at Somerset House of Billy Budd. Oh, those close-ups of Claggart as he sung of his hatred of Billy, of the other principals. The effect of the close-ups was to strengthen the drama. In the interval, when we exchanged our impressions, we agreed that, compared with the live performance, the drama had been strengthened whilst the effect of the music had been weakened. We had seen Billy, the saintly Billy, as we had not seen him before.
4 So it was at Uckfield. I was closer to Rigoletto than ever before, to the Count, and to Gilda. I, the whole audience could see their singing as well as hear it. We could also see so clearly how the singing was being completed by their acting. And the music, you ask? Ah, there was plenty of that. I recall being gripped by the drama, by the text. I also recall my expectation of being entranced as Rigoletto, switches from being a man burdened by Monterone's curse (quel vecchio maledivami) to being a father (Ma in altr'uomo qui mi cangio) and the sublime joy when that expectation ws realised. Drama, singing, and music. On the big screen, in close-up.
5 Of course, there were the tutorials as well. Oh yes. When the director spoke about the Count (Giovin, giocondo, si possente, bello), she spoke of a 'destructive force of nature', amoral, uncaring. He gets the best tune, and he is untouched by the damage he wreaks upon others. We remember the Count as he sings (La donna è mobile) untroubled, unknowing. I also remember the conductor as, in rehearsal, he takes the Count through the stresses which are to be placed on the lines of (a part of) an aria. A careful, detailed rehearsal. I also recall the film of the Count on his way to the opera house, on a sleek, powerful motor-cycle, in matching motor-cycle kit.
6 We remember Rigoletto as he holds the dying, and dead Gilda in his arms. Though he sought to secure the death of his master, it is his nobility that we take from the opera-house or the cinema. In those last minutes on stage, he personifies the grieving father. When first we see him, he is the jester, the one who wounds. When we leave him he is every father who has to bury a daughter, an only daughter. I remember Rigoletto as a man who was cursed (quel vecchio maledivani).
7 Now is Rigoletto-on-screen a substiture for Rigoletto-on-stage or a complement to it. Think about it.
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