OperaUpClose’s revamp of Vaughan Williams’ Riders to the Sea — ‘tis a bit boring, so it is says I.
Halfway through their tour across England, OperaUpClose’s newest production arrives in London, transporting us from the city to rugged coasts in Riders to the Sea. Based on Irish playwright J.M. Synge’s drama of the same name, this production is spun from a period tragedy into a modern study on trauma, with middling results.
This seafaring evening is, in fact, a double feature, opening with a commissioned prologue from British-Canadian composer Michael Betteridge, before Ralph Vaughan Williams’ headliner. The prologue entitled The Last Bit of Moon features a pre-recorded chorus of male and low-voice community choirs across the UK. This ‘shadow’ chorus bears ominous words for the spirit of sea-swept fisherman Bartley — performed by the bright-eyed Neil Balfour. The Moon, pre-recorded too, is sung by a magnificent Tom Lilburn. His alien trills invite the spirit of Bartley to revisit the troubled past, thus beginning the central action of the night. Betteridge’s showing is figurative and dreamy, a little airy and weakly amplified in the venue, but makes for a compelling preamble to what follows.
Vaughan Williams’ short opera is pared down, with evocative reorchestrations by Betterdge for an on-stage chamber ensemble of accordion, oboe, and clarinet — adding a folkish twang. The set is plain and arctic white, with beige, scandi-style costuming that intentionally renders the time and place indeterminate. This works handsomely for the psychological ghost story that director Flora McIntosh wishes to tell, but feels at odds with the actual opera being performed.
Synge’s libretto, for all his eye-roll-inducing exaggerations of Irish phrasing, brims with anger, the mystical, and a biting cynicism. Paddywhackery aside, to have this libretto sung with spotless elocution only deepens the chasm between the words we’re hearing and what we’re seeing. Meanwhile, Willams’ score is full of foreboding melodies, arguments that push and pull like teasing currents. These emotional depths are never truly reached owing to the staid manner of the production.
If anyone is capable of bringing us to that deluge it’s the highly magnetic Julia Mariko. Totally engaged as Bartley’s sister Cathleen, we see her strain under the burden of a cruel landscape and a resigned mother. Vocally she is powerful enough to reverberate across the room with an effortless force, without ever slipping into theatrics. She is just as easily capable of slipping into a hushed, girlish lilt. A striking talent. As the matriarch Maurya, Lauren Young is full of vitality, occasionally slipping into tutting-mammy territory, but provides an interesting new angle to a role that could so easily be relegated to the rocking chair.
Despite these glimmers of something gutsy and real, Riders to the Sea feels adrift. Lost to a tranquil sea of restraint among its icy projections and lighting. While McIntosh has some interesting ideas in leaning into the cerebral themes of the plot, this doesn’t quite engage us. But with Betteridge’s prologue and reorchestrations, and some strong performances, this gem of the British canon shows it’s still got its sea legs.