Opera Company's "Rape of Lucretia' (2nd review)

One of the major strengths of the Opera Company's recent Rape of Lucretia was the effectiveness of its staging. Tarquinius's ride to Rome is the most striking example. The text portrays Tarquinius as both rider and ridden, since he is driven by his lust for Lucretia; and baritone Nathan Gunn sings his powerful, raging aria while he strains against a rein that stretches across half the stage. It's one of the musical high points of the opera, and the staging and lighting multiply the frenzy of Britten's score.

Lucretia is another modern opera that mostly consists of straightforward dialogue set to music, but it includes two other notable musical moments. One is the lovely, airy vocalise Lucretia and her women sing while they pursue domestic tasks like sorting laundry. The other is the ironic aria Tarquinius sings as he circles Lucretia's bed while she sleeps. The melody and the words resemble a love ballad from a 1950s Broadway musical, complete with paeans to Lucretia's beauty. But Tarquinius is preparing to rape Lucretia, not woo her.

Lucretia is an ensemble piece, not a star turn, and the Opera Company assembled a cast that maintained a uniformly high standard of acting and singing. The soprano in the title role, Tamara Mumford, got the top spot when the company took its curtain calls, and she made an attractive, moving heroine. But soprano Karen Jesse actually carried more of the opera in her role as the female half of the two choruses who comment on the action.

Britten's perspective vs. mine

For me, the most intriguing aspect of Lucretia is the fact that the choruses comment on the story from an overt Christian perspective. Robert Zaller discusses Britten's intentions in his informative reprise of the opera's history, but I tend to look at Lucretia from a different angle.

Western civilization has been shaped by two traditions. The Judeo-Christian tradition and the classic Greco-Roman tradition have been entwined ever since the first centuries of the Christian era. Their entanglement has created a dynamic interaction that has given us clashes, cross-fertilizations and two sets of ideals and mythologies.

For most educated Western people, Hercules is just as familiar as Sampson, Moses and Saul are just as familiar as Odysseus and Achilles, and Socrates can be an appealing alternative to Christ.

Pacifism vs. military service

Some people reduce this cultural dualism to a straightforward confrontation between ideals like Faith and Reason. For me, it's an interesting and creative tension. This tension may lie at the root of the continuing American fracas over evolution, but it's also generated the useful tension between pacifism, which is essentially a Christian ideal, and the ethic of civic-minded military service we've inherited from the Greek city-states.

Western composers have exploited both traditions. Handel produced Acis and Galatea and The Choice of Hercules, for example, along with Messiah and Judas Maccabeus. Bach may be one of the most prolific religious composers in musical history, but he managed to include another version of the Hercules dilemma in his output. The Rape of Lucretia is the only musical creation I know of that places both traditions on the same stage.

Medieval monks vs. Protestant preachers

The first time I saw Lucretia, the two choruses wore monks' robes, as befits the representatives of an ancient, profound tradition. In the Opera Company's modern dress version, the male chorus sports a neat shirt-and-tie ensemble, and Tarquinius and his companion resemble a minister and choir director from one of the more socially conventional Protestant denominations. Their dress dilutes the impact of their words, but I don't think it matters. The important thing is the cultural confrontation.

If you're a committed Christian, you may nod your head in agreement when the pastor speaks. If you're a secular non-believer, like me, you may be irritated by the presence of a guy who keeps yakking about Jesus. Or you may simply be puzzled by the whole thing. However you respond, you'll be participating in a dialogue that's lasted more than 2,000 years. â—†


To read another review by Robert Zaller, click here.
To read another review by Steve Cohen, click here.