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I went on the last day, when, heroically, Tosca was given at 2.30 p.m. and Otello at 7.30 p.m. Josephine Barstow, a seasoned Tosca herself, directed the first of these, and did what all directors used to do, until they began to think theirs was the most important input: she made the action lucid at every point, got the singers to react to one another plausibly, and made good use of the smallish stage and few props. I haven’t seen many Toscas that were so convincing and absorbing.
The title role was taken by Lee Bisset, who made a strong impression on me as Sieglinde last year at Longborough. With a strong, steady voice, plenty of temperament, but also a sly sense of humour in the few places that permit it, she will surely soon be in the world’s leading opera houses. So, undoubtedly, will Adriano Graziani, her Cavaradossi. He flooded the theatre with golden tone, and made one regret that his part is, really, so small. The ghastly Scarpia was delivered with aristocratic relish and silky disdain by Phillip Rhodes, completing a stylish trio. The only idiosyncrasy in the production was that, at the very end, Tosca stabbed herself instead of leaping to her death — surely that is too ‘iconic’ an operatic moment to be interfered with.
The orchestral playing neglected none of Puccini’s imaginative orchestration, and the conductor Phillip Thomas paced the opera so that everyone had time to make their points, but he didn’t loiter. Apart from the thrills of the performance, what was amazing was that in ten days such an expertly polished and smoothly running show, in every respect, had been accomplished.
Otello began two hours later. If it wasn’t so unqualified a success, that is hardly surprising. Given its great popularity, it is rarely staged even in the big houses, and not only because the title role is so demanding. Dorset Opera was extraordinarily lucky to get Ian Storey for the part, a tenor whose list of roles makes exhausting reading. Actually, he wasn’t in his best voice, though at the great moments he rose to the challenges. Otello is a convulsive work: the fury of the opening storm gives way to strange quietness, until the drinking song gets under way. And Otello is required not only to have the trumpet tones of his entrance, a wonderful moment from Storey, but also to sing pppppp in the love duet. No one does it, or ever has, but when Storey cut down on volume, there and elsewhere, his voice almost disappeared.
The rate at which things happen in Otello, in the first three acts, until they are virtually immobilised for the first 20 minutes of Act IV, does mean it can give the impression of sheer mania, and that can only be avoided if there is a fair amount of mezza voce singing, not just a series of eruptions followed by dazed near-silence. Even so, Storey was moving, impressive and harrowing in his disintegration. Stephanie Corley, in the still more difficult part of Desdemona, was mainly exquisite. The love duet went beautifully, it’s a pity they didn’t spend more of it standing close together. And in the great Act III scenes, the fearful duet at the start and the huge finale, she had all the colours in her voice to convey this role’s anguish.
Iago, played by Luca Grassi, managed to be both detestable and plausible; and all the smaller roles were well taken. The chorus, which plays such a large part, was rather seriously underpowered. It must be one of the most complex scores to learn, for them, in the whole of opera. And there was some tired playing from the orchestra, under Robin Stapleton. He contented himself with holding things together. But I enjoyed Otello and was stirred by it much more than these few criticisms suggest. It was a wonderful day and, given the time frame, might well be called miraculous.
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