The Portrait of Manon and L’Heure Espagnole

Double Time

The Portrait of Manon

by Jules Massenet, libretto by Georges Boyer translated by Lindsay Bramley

L’Heure Espagnole

by Maurice Ravel, libretto by Franc-Nohain translated by Lindsay Bramley

Opera Alegría at the Arcola Theatre as part of the Grimeborn Festival until 26^th August

Review by Patrick Shorrock

This is a delightful evening of two French rarities, perfect fare for the discerning opera anorak.  The Portrait of Manon, Massenet’s one act sequel to his earlier five-act opera Manon,  is stuffed with musical reminisces of its predecessor, a piece full of gorgeous arias and duets that provide wonderful opportunities for the best singers, but hazards in plenty for those whose technique and vocal control is not immaculate.  I have wonderful memories of Valerie Masterson and John Brecknock – both marvellous in the ENO production of Manon in the 1980s.

In The Portrait of Manon, the bereaved Des Grieux has been transformed from young tenor to bitter ageing baritone, (Alistair Sutherland slightly over-singing in this small space) but still obsessed with the dead Manon.  Imprisoned by the past, in a study with piles of books on the floor, he is teaching a student (delightfully played by Valerie Wong).  The part was written for mezzo-soprano playing a male character in the original, but in this contemporary setting, she has become female.   Des Grieux learns of her relationship with his carer and cleaner Aurora (Naomi Kilby whose coloratura is charmingly effortless) and violently disapproves, unaware that Aurora is actually the niece of Manon.  His friend Tiberge (Christopher Killerby) manages to bring him round by dressing up Aurora in an old dress of Manon’s. 

It is a slight piece, easy to under-estimate, but, once you get over the guilt about its instant pleasurability, perhaps rather better than you might originally think.  With piano accompaniment rather than the full orchestra it was written for, it brings to mind Eric Satie and occasionally sounds like Jazz.  Lindsay Bramley’s witty and singable translation – she also plays the piano – and Benjamin Newhouse-Smith’s straightforward production enable it to make a very pleasing impact. 

Newhouse-Smith and Bramley have more fun and let their hair down with the Ravel, aided by Christopher Killerby’s inventive stylish designs, with a wall of clocks and masks with clock faces.   The plot is pure carry-on film, as Concepción, frustrated wife of clockmaker Torquemada (a boomy Ian Massa-Harris) enjoys an hour without her husband as he goes to wind up the town clock.  She finds herself entertaining two lovers at the same time, and hiding them from each other in grandfather clocks, while developing an increasing rapport with sexy muleteer Ramiro (René Bloice-Sanders) who came to get his watch repaired but finds himself carrying the clocks – with the men inside – up and down from her bedroom according to her whim.  Ravel’s pleasingly astringent score provides enough bite to save the piece from predictability.  In a nice touch, the cast played their own percussion – an important part of a piece musically obsessed with the sound of clocks. 

Instead of grandfather clocks, we have a couple of rather surreal shop dummies with clock faces placed over the heads.  When the men are hidden in the clocks, they take the place of the dummies (which are hidden behind a desk) and wear a clock mask over their face.  This makes the comedy much more vivid as we can see the men inside the clocks.  Alicia Gurney was a delicious Concepción, and, unlike the men, she doesn’t make the mistake of over-singing in this small auditorium where every wink is wonderfully visible without an orchestra pit in the way. 

This French double bill makes a delightful evening. 

Patrick Shorrock, August 2023

Photography courtesy of  Opera Alegría