The Magic Flute

The announcement of a second lockdown gave the first night of Glyndebourne’s The Magic Flute added urgency. While the artists radiate joy at performing live for the first time in months, there is a febrile quality to their performance that never quite relaxes.

Director Donna Stirrup and conductor Leo McFall have taken Jeremy Sams’ English translation and abridged it to 90 minutes, which makes for some disorienting plot jumps.

But it hardly matters. The big numbers are mostly covered and there are moments of transcendent beauty – such as Gemma Summerfield in Pamina’s Ach, Ich Fuhl’s – and masculine swagger from Thomas Atkins as Tamino. English dialogue emphasises the bitchy banter of the Three Ladies and the dopey sweetness of Huw Montague Rendall’s Papageno.

The bare-front stage becomes the dark realm of the Queen of Night (a spite-filled delivery by Nizan Fikret) and the golden world of gravel-voiced Sarastro (David Shipley). With a few simple props such as a bagful of feathers and a gilded picture frame and a ragbag of costumes, the production has a spontaneous, improvised feel.

Jonny Venn’s unobtrusive lighting design includes a memorable moment in which the Queen’s moon, projected onto the back wall, is obliterated by Sarastro’s dazzling sun.

Led with a light touch by McFall, the orchestra sits at the back of the stage, its strings nicely supporting the voices.

The autumn tour is a chance for younger singers to take leading roles. Despite a few first-night jitters, their freshness and exuberance is a tonic and a promise of things to come.