A new opera has breezed through London’s Barbican Centre. It’s a tale of arduous quests, initiation and male friendship, lyrical in its romantic sweetness, and vaguely reminiscent of the later Mozart. But Mozart’s The Magic Flute it most certainly is not.
It is always courageous to take on the opera purists, but it is not quite clear how bold the usually fearless Peter Brook has been in titling his adaptation A Magic Flute. It is scarcely a step away from the original title: just enough of a retreat to avoid comparisons to conventional productions, but not exactly a leap into the unknown.
Musically, the production is as lily-livered as the title suggests: tediously brief when stripped down to 90 minutes, there is little room for the darker undercurrents or counter-themes. Only the conclusion of Papageno’s story is left intact – with an extra aria found for his lover, Papagena, in her disguise as the Old Woman – a Greatest Hits moment so overloaded with comedy and cumbersome props it feels grossly detached from the low key feel of the rest of the production.
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