... about ENO's 'Carmen'

The opportunity for interactivity pressed upon audiences by the ENO may have shot them in the foot were this year’s Carmen is concerned. The review page of their mini-site is chock full of moaning, bitching and all sorts of criticism. Some is warranted, I think. Some, on the other hand, is what you get when you give the power of the pen to the masses.

If you knew that Carmen was directed by Sally Potts you would have expected some sort of cinematic bent. Likewise if you knew the ENO, you may have anticipated something a little experimental.

People have said that it was a mistake to put a film director at the helm of an opera, especially one as beloved as Bizet’s Carmen. No performance can escape the spectre of past interpretations, decades of lauded versions, reputations of iconic mezzos in the title roll. But view the ENO’s attempt with these skeletons pushed aside, and it’s not all bad.

The obvious cinematographic elements – flickering black and white film featuring shady tango dancers – are an immediate statement of the production’s modernity. This is at once confusing and intriguing. The move away from the traditional stage/audience set-up compromises the necessary chasm between spectator and performer that is the tap-root of successful theatre. The role of Potts’ superimposed screen is questionable.

The adaptation was as innovative as the translation, and equally problematic. While the English libretto mostly worked, there were words and phrases that just didn’t go – prime example being “Maserati”. Jose and his crew were security guards instead of soldiers, and the opening scenes took place behind a shabby prefab. Here came the first “huh?” moment: in a modern setting, why was Carmen tied up with a chain and not handcuffs?

The presence of the dancers was glib despite their talent. Including them seems too easy. For a director so set on evading cliché, the tacky “Latin” choreography sent her back to square one. The cringeworthy break dancing just wasn’t necessary.

The set has been much discussed for its drabness. The opera is set in the blazing heat of Seville, so to move it to dingy back alleys and motorway bridges is a brave decision. The outside of the bull-ring looked like Noah’s ark. Geographically, things aren’t clear either. Which border are they crossing? How do they get to Spain to see the bullfight?

The setting puts a spanner in the works elsewhere. If we are to believe in the modern-day timescale, surely customs officials would not be swayed from their duties by a gang of ropey fishwives with come-hither eyes. Likewise the sheer volume of would-be smugglers making up the chorus sheds further doubt on their success as border-hoppers.

The reaction of the audience at several points was startling, and probably says more about the staging than the audience’s understanding of proceedings. During the death scene (which managed to salvage most of Bizet’s soul-gnawing drama) Jose’s persistence and Carmen’s demurrals were greeted with laughter. Such was the debatable acting talent of Alice Cootes that the scene dipped into farce. Carmen is many things, but it is certainly not a farce.

Strangely, the parts that shouldn’t have worked ended up being successful. The chorus cast as chavvy Brits abroad had the potential to horrify, but it was unexpectedly enjoyable. No doubt it detracted from grandeur of the pre-corrida scene, but the two burly lager-louts cavorting in a drunken embrace, beer cans held aloft, were an authentic addition.

To the amateur reviewers who have posted on this site I would say that if you want a guaranteed slice of enjoyable entertainment, try a West End musical and not an experimental opera. The whinings of disappointed Carmen “fans” are nothing but curmudgeonly. Use the experience to spark debate instead of griping. And if you don’t expect to be challenged, spend your money somewhere else.