Beethoven's opera Fidelio always reminds me of Bob Dylan's protest song Blowin' in the Wind: its sentiments are so anodyne that anyone can agree with them. Beethoven, and his librettist Sonnleithner may have thought that they were making a powerful statement about political oppression but the result is something that George W Bush and Tony Blair could quite happily sit, or sleep, through without any embarrassment. In fact, the opera is not even about political oppression, it seems to be about a feud between two men. Don Pizarro has had Florestan thrown into a dungeon and is about to kill him because, he says, that is exactly what Florestan wanted to do to him. The opera is firmly on the side of established authority because, implausibly, it is the arrival of the government minister that precipitates the release of Florestan. Stripped of its Blowin' in the Wind liberalism, all that remains of the opera is a simple story of a wife, Leonora who dresses up as a prison guard, Fidelio, in order to secure the release of her husband.
The work's political naivety could also be its most useful attribute. It could be set in Franco's Spain or in Nazi Germany, particularly with the jailer, Rocco's, protestation that he is only following orders. It could equally be set in Guantanamo Bay or Abu Ghraib prison, let us hope that even now someone like Peter Sellars is preparing such a version. This version from Covent Garden in 1990 is stodgily traditional, set in 18th century Spain. Beethoven's hymn-like score comes over well with the usual high points: the first act quartet, the soldiers' impossible march, the prisoners' release and the final chorus. Gabriela Benackova makes a rather shrill Fidelio, Josef Protschka as Florestan just does not look like someone who has been confined to a dungeon on starvation rations, Robert Lloyd is convincing as Rocco the jailer. Best of all is Monte Pederson who, as Don Pizarro, embodies evilness.
I always feel sorry for the character of Marzellina in this opera. She is Rocco's daughter and, in Act I, she is encouraged to believe that she is going to marry Fidelio. At the end of the opera she is given only one moment of shock and horror when she discovers that her lover is a woman before she has to pull herself together and join in giving thanks to God, along with the rest of the cast.
The work's political naivety could also be its most useful attribute. It could be set in Franco's Spain or in Nazi Germany, particularly with the jailer, Rocco's, protestation that he is only following orders. It could equally be set in Guantanamo Bay or Abu Ghraib prison, let us hope that even now someone like Peter Sellars is preparing such a version. This version from Covent Garden in 1990 is stodgily traditional, set in 18th century Spain. Beethoven's hymn-like score comes over well with the usual high points: the first act quartet, the soldiers' impossible march, the prisoners' release and the final chorus. Gabriela Benackova makes a rather shrill Fidelio, Josef Protschka as Florestan just does not look like someone who has been confined to a dungeon on starvation rations, Robert Lloyd is convincing as Rocco the jailer. Best of all is Monte Pederson who, as Don Pizarro, embodies evilness.
I always feel sorry for the character of Marzellina in this opera. She is Rocco's daughter and, in Act I, she is encouraged to believe that she is going to marry Fidelio. At the end of the opera she is given only one moment of shock and horror when she discovers that her lover is a woman before she has to pull herself together and join in giving thanks to God, along with the rest of the cast.