Librettist David Harsent notes that there is no doubt that Judas’s betrayal
led to Christ’s death, but begs us to ask, what did Judas believe was his
‘purpose’? After all, if he had not ‘fulfilled’ this role, chosen or
predetermined, mankind would not have been saved. David Harsent professes
that his own aim was to ‘write Judas out of hell’, ‘to set him before an
audience and bring him to a new judgment’.
Beamish and Harsent purport to present the Passion story from the
perspective of Judas Iscariot, but this is not really what they do. Or
rather, at times do they seem to offer Judas’s understanding of his role,
but this is set against a single question which is reiterated and rephrased
throughout – ‘Does Judas choose, or is he chosen to betray Christ?’
Moreover, ‘Do we following the callings of our own heart – or the callings
of whatever voice we choose to name, God’s voice, or the Devil’s’?
In accordance with this ambiguity, the Devil and God sing in rhythmic
unison: countertenor Christopher Field and bass William Gaunt were
designated both roles. As Mary Magdalene relates, ‘And the Devil went into
Judas, the Devil or God’.
Indeed, ambiguity prevails. There is little to distinguish between any of
the protagonists, other than Christ, Judas and Mary Magdalene, and in fact
towards the close the former two men are intimated to be kindred. The
entire cast are dressed in black and individuals such as Peter (bass Dingle
Yandell) and the two Thieves (tenor Hugo Hymas and bass Jonathan Brown)
emerge from and are reintegrated into the Chorus (which is at times split
in two). I guess the idea is that the players in the drama could be anyone,
historic or present, involved by chance in momentous events, powerless to
change the course of mankind’s predetermined narrative.
There are no philosophical musings which might essay an answer at the posed
questions; as I’ve suggested above, at times the libretto seems to suggest
that there is no question to answer. In the opening scene, Judas is a
reluctant participant when asked to name his price for betraying Jesus: ‘I
do it because I must […] I do it because it fell to me. His hand on mine’;
words that are repeated time and again, through to the final scene. And,
unlike the other disciples who probe, ‘Is it me?’, he stays silent at the
Last Supper. God and the Devil declare in rhythmic unison, ‘He is chosen …
the man is already chosen’. In his programme article, Harsent refers to an
extant Gospel of Judas, dated at 3 or 4 CE, ‘a Gnostic text found in Middle
Egypt around 1978’ which was published in 2006 and from which he takes a
single line: when Jesus calls the disciples to him none save Jesus can hold
his gaze, ‘whereupon Jesus tells Judas: “You are the best of them, for you
will free me of the man who clothes me.”’ From this, Harsent suggest we may
infer that ‘Judas was born to the task’.
Perhaps the potential philosophical complexities cannot be satisfactorily
pursued within a simple dramatic form? Beamish’s Passion is not
really an opera, despite the involvement of a ‘stage director’, Peter
Thomson, or an oratorio; nor is it a ‘Passion’ in the mould of Bach,
despite the baroque instrumentation (strings, lute, flutes plus a very
twentieth-century percussion collection), the use of polyphonic forms
(canons, fugues) and recitative- and aria-like episodes, and the
incorporation of fragments of the St Matthew Passion.
I was at first put in mind of Britten’s Church Parables: indebted to
Japanese noh plays, they present drama and stage movement with a similar
slow-motion solemnity to that adopted by Thomson. Progressively, though,
Britten’s Rape of Lucretia seemed a closer model: it also has a
framing Male and Female Chorus – the latter role here is represented by
Mary Magdalene – who sometimes intervene in the action and present abstract
ethical and philosophical sentiments. So, Harsent’s opening male Chorus
denounce Judas, ‘Better that man had not been born who sold his soul, who
gave himself up to Satan, who bartered the Son of Man, who made a deal with
darkness’, while Britten’s Male and Female Chorus tell us that ‘We’ll view
these human passions and these years/ Through eyes which once have wept
with Christ’s own tears.’
The problem with Harsant’s libretto is that it becomes predictable, and
often seems to follow its biblical model. More imaginative engagement with
the Passion stories can be found in John Adams’ and Peter Sellars’
The Gospel According to Mary
which presents the story of the Passion through the eyes of those whose
tales are usually unheard: Mary Magadalen, her sister Martha and their
brother Lazarus. And, there are several recent literary explorations,
notably Colm TÛibÌn’s The Testament of Mary.
Moreover, though it is evocative at times, I found Beamish’s score pretty
predictable too. The writing for the chorus is largely declamatory, and
incorporates some Chassidic chanting, but there is little variety of timbre
or manner. There is effective writing for the strings – alternating glacial
ethereality with pungent chordal and pizzicato stabs – and the flutes and
lute offer delicacy and grace. But, the strident natural horns and
trumpets, as the cock crows, were all too foreseeable. Similarly, the
percussive effects, such as real hammers, whips and nails alongside
slapsticks to provide an aural complement for the text’s uncomfortable
imagery – ‘on his head a cap of thorns driven hard into the skin’; ‘with
ropes and winches and hammer and nails and flesh, They nailed him, then
hauled him up’ – and the centre-piece ‘Judas Chime’ constructed from 30
‘pieces of silver’ are pictorial but unsubtle.
The inclusion of the figure of Mary Magdalene – sung with radiance and
fierce focus by Mary Bevan – is one of the strengths of the libretto and
score. Magdalene is the only figure on stage at the close, and her final
question, ‘If he can’t be saved, who can be saved? If he can’t be forgiven,
who can be forgiven?’, is provocative and penetrating. Not only does this
inclusion of a female role provide timbral and registral contrast, but the
role of Mary Magdalene also offers a more objective, calmer perspective on
the events that we witness unfold. She comments in the past tense, as the
participants enact their roles in the present (though this effective
distinction is blurred at times, as when Mary interacts with Peter in the
denial scene).
Mary’s vocal line also incorporates expressive melisma in contradistinction
to the prevailing syllabic motion of the other parts, most effectively in
‘Who Do You Say I Am?’, when she reminds us that though the Chorus tell of
Jesus’s reputation as a ‘prophet’ and ‘man of miracles’, there were those
who called him blasphemer, fool, lawbreaker. When the Chorus accuse Christ
of ‘Blasphemy!’ and throw their shrill demands, ‘Crucify him!’, Mary
reminds us of the miracles performed.
Brendan Gunnell’s Judas pins us with a penetrating upper register that is
as captivating as his stern stare. There is a moving moment when the
angularity of the melodic intervals – ‘My face on these coins, my name on
them. For all time: my face, my name’ – gives way to the stillness of
repeated pitch, ‘his blood’. I was confused, though, as to why Judas, in
Harsent’s words, ‘in effect – stands in for Pilate’ in the scene when
Christ is brought before the Roman prefect of Judaea: Judas is, as the
syllabic chanting of his name in the opening scene reinforces, a Jew;
Pilate is not. And, why does Judas/Pilate sometimes speak his own words,
while at other times they are reported by Mary, as if retrospectively?
Roderick Williams struck the right balance between serenity and suffering,
as Jesus. It must have been quite an emotional shift taking on this role in
between his embodiment of Mozart’s bird-catcher at the
Royal Opera House
, though both dramas involve much magic and miracle. Williams’ delivery
suggested both gravitas and humanity. In the second scene, ‘The Last
Supper’, he stood at the rear, forcing the Chorus to turn towards him and
subtly implicating us as members of his audience; in ‘The Agony in the
Garden’ he stood at the front, fixing us with an intent gaze.
There are some moments of affecting dramatic intensity. Towards the close,
Jesus and Judas stand at the rear of the stage, backs turned (to indicate
their dying and death), and sing together, ‘My God, why are you lost to
me?’. But, the incisiveness of the moment is lost as Judas slips back into
what might be seen as self-justifying repetition (though, as I’ve
suggested, the ethical questions are not truly explored): ‘What I
did I was chosen to do. What I have I was asked to give. What I lost I was
told to lose. My only purpose, his death and mine.’
I felt that there was a dissipation of intellectual intensity towards the
close, as the text slipped towards sentimental abstractions. When Mary and
the Chorus sing, ‘His death … our salvation … this and only this.’, I felt
we were back in Lucretia territory – specifically Ronald Duncan’s
dreadfully woolly epilogue: ‘Is it all? Is all this suffering and pain,/ Is
it in vain? … Is this all loss? Are we lost? … Is it all? Is this it all?’
The noble Classical columns of St John’s Smith Square should have provided
the perfect setting for The Judas Passion (the work had been
premiered the previous evening in Saffron Walden), and it was pleasing to
see the church nave full for this performance of a challenging new work.
However, SJSS’s sightlines are poor and seated to the rear I struggled to
sustain my view of and engagement with Thomson’s stage action. Fortunately,
the cast’s diction was uniformly good for it was not possible to read the
libretto, usefully provided, in the dimmed lighting, and the two surtitle
screens were obscured by the imposing pillars.
At the close, the Devil and God pronounce, ‘Chosen for this: born to this:
his only purpose …’ A troubling statement, and one which Beamish and
Harsent reiterate but do not really interrogate.
Claire Seymour
Sally Beamish: The Judas Passion
Mary Magdalene – Mary Bevan, Brendan Gunnell – Judas, Roderick Williams –
Christ; Orchestra and Choir of the Age of Enlightenment: Nicholas McGegan
(conductor), Peter Thomson (stage director).
St John’s Smith Square, London; Monday 25th September 2017.
image=http://www.operatoday.com/3251-sallybeamish___credit__ashley_coombes.jpg
image_description=The Judas Passion: St John’s Smith Square
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product_title=The Judas Passion: St John’s Smith Square
product_by=A review by Claire Seymour
product_id=Above: Sally Beamish
Photo credit: Ashley Coombes