Harrison Birtwhistle’s The Mask of Orpheus is self-congratulatory drivel

I tried. Honestly, I really made an effort. I read the synopsis twice before the performance at London’s Coliseum. I know the work of English composer, Sir Harrison Birtwhistle, is “difficult”. I’ve savoured Gawain and The Minotaur in the past. So, I tried really, really hard. But I just couldn’t figure out what The Mask of Orpheus, first staged by English National Opera (ENO) in 1986, was all about.

I tried harder. I turned to Sir Harrison’s own words: “Essentially, I’m concerned with repetition, with going over and over the same event from different angles so that a multi-dimensional musical object is created, an object which contains a number of contradictions as well as a number of perspectives.” Lost me there.

I tried even harder: “I don’t create linear music, I move in circles, more precisely, I move in concentric circles”. Arriving where, precisely, Sir Harrison? Sorry, more lost.

Again: “The events I create move as the planets move in the solar system. They rotate at various speeds. Some move through bigger orbits than others and take longer to return.” Eh?

Yet again: “To find a narrative to match this way of proceeding, I had to turn to myth, for only in myth do you find narratives which are not linear.” Um… ? What in any life experience IS linear?

Revelation! I might not be getting far, but I now understood why Sir Harrison had picked the complex Orpheus legend upon which to base The Mask of Orpheus. In 1986 the cognoscenti loved it. Warning. This work is not populist.

In 1977 NASA launched the two Voyager probes, eventually destined for interstellar space. For the benefit of curious, passing aliens they each were kitted out with an etched golden disc, which extra-terrestrials could obviously slot into their universal cosmic CD players, and be enlightened by – amongst some banal pop tunes – Bach’s Brandenburg Concertos.

Hot news! The aliens got their retaliation in first. Their Birtwhistle probe made earthfall in Accrington, Lancashire in 1934 and started delivering ciphered messages as early as 1965, with its first opera, Punch and Judy.

We have been attempting to decode the probe’s prolific output in concert halls and on opera stages ever since. An uncharitable view would be that the aliens are clearly hostile – and hope to drive us mad. More charitably, we simply haven’t yet developed the correct de-encryption software. Roll on Birtwhistle 2.0.

Sir Harrison’s musical metier is to create a flood of intimidating, unsettling sound, usually grounded on a grumbling bass line, plangent with discord, reliant on disjointed rhythm, punctuated by clashing percussion and topped out with heavy, electronically synthesised sound. Often, it’s impressive. Never beautiful. There is the occasional folk allusion.

Perhaps this ENO production of The Mask of Orpheus is our most sly attempt so far at decoding the Birtwhistle. It is a glitzy, glam interpretation, which faithfully follows Sir Harrison’s fixation with concentric complexity, yet has a bit of a “larf” in its interpretation. So, when you spot a credit to “Exclusive Crystal Provider, SWAROWSKI” buried deep in the programme, it is clear that mischief is afoot. ENO tongues are perhaps as far in cheeks as Arts Council diplomacy will allow.

And, did the crystals glitter? Boy, they did, especially towards the conclusion, in the ritual of Orpheus’ funeral and entry into the underworld. (This took place in Act III, Episode 7. Please note, there are no conventional “Scenes” in this opera. Far too earthling).

The glitz was bemoaned in some reviews for infantilising the work. The meaningful, dull, profundity of the 1986 ENO production was being vandalised. I liked the sparkle. This work is certainly elliptical, but it is not particularly profound, so sparkle helped things along.

As did the graphic – often pornographic – depiction of the myths encountered along the way. Much of the sharply choreographed, gymnastic action took place in a glass cage that moved across the stage as the myths unfolded. So, we had itinerant tableaux of hangings, flagellation, the frequent rape of Eurydice and a very explicit homosexual assault featuring an alarming four-foot phallus. Corpses were dismantled and eaten. Think Dystopian Cirque Soleil and you’re getting close. As Grayson Perry would put it, “All in the best possible taste.”

So, “What’s it all about, Orpheus”? As the curtain fell, Chinese premier Zhou Enlai’s – perhaps apocryphal – response when asked about the impact of the French Revolution, sprang to mind; “It’s too early to say.”

The complexity of the plot and its labyrinthine intertwining of mythology is beyond precis – at least for those wishing to return their attention to important election coverage early next week. So, here are highlights only.

There are three versions of Orpheus – The Man, sung by tenor, Peter Hoare; The Myth/Hades, tenor, Daniel Norman; and The Hero, aerialist, Matthew Smith. Similarly, three Eurydices for your money – The Woman, mezzo-soprano, Marta Fortunans-Simmons; the Myth/Persephone, mezzo-soprano, Claire Barnett-Jones; and The Heroine, aerialist, Alfa Marks.

Aristoeus, the minor God of Beekeeping, whose sideline hobby is to graphically and repeatedly rape Eurydice, is also a triplet. So much for beekeeping being the province of kindly, country folk.

Aristoeus versions: The Man, baritone, James Cleverton; The Myth/Charon, bass-baritone, Simon Bailey; and The Hero, aerialist, Leo Hedman. Thankfully, in Episode 5 of Act III, Aristoeus The Myth rapes and murders Eurydice for the umpteenth time and is murdered yet again, but this time conclusively, by Orpheus The Myth.

The point about Sir Harrison’s fascination with concentric plot lines becomes obvious, but the dramatic purpose lying behind and driving this obsession, remains a mystery.

Along the way a number of myths are portrayed; Act I, Scene I, First Passing Cloud; the Myth of Dionysus; Scene II, Second passing Cloud; The Myth of Lycurgus; and First Allegorical Flower; The Myth of the Anemone.

After that lot – we had an interval. Phew! Who is that supping a pint in the Crush Bar? Why, it is Pandemonium, the God of Strife, sent amongst us, along with other deities, by the Gods of the ENO to mix with the mortal audience and liven up proceedings.

Pandemonium is 6ft 4ins, sheathed in a long dress, wearing a white mask and sporting magnificent orange hair constructed from sausage balloons – sexually ambiguous. “May I ask you a question? Who are you?” “Pandemonium, of course” Slurp. Silly me.

I turned to his/her gaudy companion, a lady kitted from head to toe in bullet proof tweed, bristling with an arsenal of intimidating steel jewellery, topped off with a towering scarlet-dyed Mohican haircut. Me, courteously; “And, who are you”? “I’m a Guidance teacher from Streatham.” Oops!

Act II – Orpheus is now in Hades – features no fewer than 17 Arches, each a tableau of an Orphian trial of mind-boggling complexity. After Arch 17 we are treated to the Second Allegorical Flower; The Myth of the Hyacinth, in which Apollo’s carelessly thrown disc returns and decapitates Hyacinth – who is then turned into a flower. This so upsets Orpheus the Myth that he hangs himself. I know how he felt.

Another interval. I hid from Streatham and re-read the synopsis. Still trying hard. Act III brought eight Episodes and an Exodus. We find Orpheus The Myth inexplicably revived, but remembering his betrayal by Eurydice – she had enthusiastically enjoyed at least one of Aristoeus the Beekeeper’s previous rapes – he hangs himself again. This is illustrated by Second Allegorical Flower; The Myth of the Lotus, being the transformation of Dryope into a Lotus tree, in the shade of which her husband allows her children to play. What this has to do with the plot is known only to Dryope and Sir Harrison.

In Episode 7 we move on to Third Passing Cloud; the Myth of Pentheus, in which the Maenads – cue gratuitous appearance – tear apart Pentheus and his men, then consume their flesh and bury them all. This is a totally baffling curtain raiser to the unanticipated, happy event of Orpheus and Eurydice being reborn on their beloved wedding day. They form a new language, a new species, a new way of being – and Orpheus The Man can finally sleep in peace, free of memory. So can we.

The orchestra was presided over by two conductors – Martyn Brabbins (do join my campaign to secure a well-deserved knighthood for this estimable cornerstone of British music) and James Henshaw. Whether this was to resolve, or provoke, potential musical conflict in the pit it was hard to say. But the need for two batons – when even Wagner could get by with one in The Ring – says a lot about the pretentiousness of this work.

Why does the ENO present this highfalutin, incomprehensible, self-congratulatory drivel, lending it unmerited credibility? Certainly, not to get “bums on seats”, the plaintive plea of challenged opera houses across the planet. The 2,359-seat auditorium was blessed with 900 attendees on my night out – a dire 38% occupancy rate.

When I returned to my seat in the stalls at the beginning of Act III, I found myself alone in row C. Looking round, I reckoned that no more than 300 of the audience remained, an attrition rate of 67%, higher than the worst daily British casualty rates at the Battle of the Somme.

In June 2017 ENO avoided meltdown when it was readmitted to the Arts Council England (ACE) portfolio with a grant of £12.38 million. The return to favour was achieved after herculean efforts on the part of ENO Chairman, Harry Brunjes and his team. When faced with £5m of budget cuts in 2014 he and CEO, Cressida Pollock, buckled down, turning to the hard job of cost cutting and rationalisation rather than the easier option of public whingeing. It has worked. ENO is back!

The result is a reinvigorated company, fit for the future, but with an obligation to fulfil an ACE directive to mount “challenging” works, such as those of Sir Harrison, who some see as a national treasure. No Birtwhistle, no money.

I think, finally, I should come off the fence. I didn’t really like Mask much. That said, this was a magnificently mounted production and a spectacle “worth a journey”. I loved its over the top glam.

At the end, the jewelled masks of Orpheus and Eurydice are smashed, metaphorically releasing them from their earthly chains – free to allow their new masks to ascend on a deus ex machina. Their reborn love is celebrated by a flush of flowers.

The Troupe of Ceremony/Judges of the Dead (four Judges and three Furies, no less), who had frequented the action on and off, annoyingly inquiring of anyone prepared to listen, “What is the answer? What is the answer?”, was finally silenced. Never mind the answer. What was the question? Let’s hope that’s not an opera yet to come.