Fidelio , Beethoven's only opera, is a rousing and uplifting tale of a wife who disguises herself as a boy in order to free her husband from the jail in which he has been wrongfully imprisoned. Matters are complicated by his impending execution and further complicated by Marzelline, the jailer's daughter, falling in love with the ‘handsome young man'.
The theme of political prisoners is as relevant today as ever, so the story is easily transplanted into the twentieth century. In fact, it is only in the closing scene where proceedings are firmly ensconced in the modern age, when the freed prisoners emerge to be greeted by a panorama of tower blocks.
Although she is the titular character, Fidelio does not dominate. The action is dictated instead by the prison governor, Pizarro, portrayed here as a corrupt bureaucrat. Despite a relative lack of stage time, his heavy presence fills the prison. Even when Fidelio reveals herself to be Leonore, wife of the prisoner Florestan, she does not take centre stage. This honour goes to the newly arrived government minister, Don Fernando, who deposes Pizarro. These are the men in suits; this is where the authority lies.
While Leonore is celebrated as a brave heroine, and Florestan is acknowledged to be noble and righteous, neither has any power. It is only the timely arrival of Don Fernando that saves Florestan and Leonore from being murdered by Pizarro.
While the cast put in a strong performance, particularly Ulrich Dunnebach as jailer Rocco, the real star of the show is the set. Designed by Simon Daw for this revival and based on Stewart Laing's original it is incredibly imaginative, compartmentalising the action into a series of visual vignettes. The isolated, brightly-lit rooms create the impression that the audience is looking into a light box. The characters are almost projected onto the background; each is imprisoned in the story. The curtains guillotine across, cropping the coloured boxes until there is no space left.
The most striking of these images is a brief glimpse of Fidelio, suspended halfway down a ladder as she descends into the dungeon. The isolation is heightened by the memory of the previous scene where the prisoners crawl from the dark confines into the open daylight of the prison garden. The prison wall lifts as they stagger under it, freeing up the full stage space and they stumble out, no longer confined. Even though it is packed with bodies, the stage seems almost boundless.
This effect is twisted in the final scene, where the liberated prisoners turn on Pizarro, closing in on him as he tries to flee, but runs out of space. As they surround him, reaching for him, he vanishes from sight, a fading memory in this newly free world.
