Spearheaded by artistic director Kate Millet, BK Opera has been doing opera differently since its inception in 2016. Incorporating daring ideas on a shoestring budget, Millet has persevered through the years while applying a fresh inquiry into operatic works and proving to be a vital, alternative voice for the art form locally.
Millet’s latest project is Mozart’s two-act Don Giovanni, based on the centuries-old Spanish legend concerning the scoundrelly licentious aristocrat, Don Juan. Within its original context, an eye on egalitarian ideals might be its underlying base but sexual proclivities and morality are its framework.
Millet, however, hones in with a determination to remind her audience of the importance of sexual consent and the respectfulness of boundaries during intimacy – commendably extending contemporary attempts to educate – which play a key role in the production’s concept.
It opens in a low-lit, club-like BDSM venue (bondage, discipline, sadism and masochism for those unfamiliar with the abbreviation) where the Madam of the premises (Alison Lemoh) instructs her clientele in the rules of engagement, including the explanation that “kink is not sex”.
With this stroke of genius, Millet not only establishes her intent but, presumptively, eases any possible audience discomfort. Mozart’s music subsequently rings out and Madam’s attendees begin to explore their desires.
Even the audience feels very much in the moment, seated in two rows closeup to the action and either side of a long performance space with piano at one end and a stepped platform at the other.
A highly experienced artist, Lemoh employed her authoritative and luscious, dark chocolatey mezzo-soprano superbly and is drawn as protector of both her clientele and sexual boundaries. Millet has her cleverly replacing Mozart’s Il Commendatore, who falls victim to Don Giovanni’s (Archie Rumsam) knife attack after the in-house back room rape of Donna Anna (Phoebe Paine).
As the Don’s unscrupulous pursuits continue, most powerful of all, Millet shines a bright light on every character’s sexual makeup which feeds and is fed by the narrative to remarkable effect.
With the master-manservant relationship between Don Giovanni and Leporello (Nick Beecher), for example, a degree of sexual ambiguity is entertained. And when the petite newly-wedded Zerlina (Maya Charles Sedergreen) sweetly sings Batti, batti, o bel Masetto to her husband Masetto (Leyland Jones) – after her own unfortunate encounters with Don Giovanni – her desires to be beaten certainly reveal her fetish.
It’s a courageous project, delivered with insight and clarity and performed equally valiantly by a predominantly young cast in their early operatic development. Millet’s concept demands that, as performers themselves, respecting each other’s personal boundaries is paramount in achieving trust in order to create a safe-space for all.
In this acted-out exercise, the results are a credit to their commitment and craft, especially considering the unforgiving exposure of human form, flesh and expression being observed in a 3-dimensional field.
Corsetry, fishnet stockings, jockstraps, body-hugging leather and hoods, bunny ears, handcuffs, multi-tailed whips and studded collars populate the visual setting as part of Millet’s design concept with costumes by Oliver Hall.
Max Bowyer’s set design also succeeds well in evoking the seductive nature of the venue, featuring two oversized studded red-leather ottomans that witness much of the action and strands of tinsel above surrounding decorative pendants lights.
It’s all assisted wonderfully by Gabriel Bethune’s moody lighting, strobe effects and, in the final portion of Act 2, a backlit curtain when the statue of the deceased Madam comes alive – Lemoh giving a chilling performance that spells The Don’s demise.
Results were mixed vocally. In the arduous title role, Rumsam had his work cut out yet acquitted himself admirably, sporting the foundations of an appealing warm baritone. But, while Rumsam’s energy and application showed, The Don’s villainy and callousness could further be intensified.
Beecher’s endearing Leporello and Esther Counsel’s voluptuous Donna Elvira were the great standouts on opening night.
Beecher shaped a character of much complexity in his Leporello, with his appealing, amber-glowing and pliant baritone giving Act 1’s famous Catalogue Aria, Madamina, a long list of excellent qualities along with considered pathos.
Great reserves of power and vocal emotivity adorned Counsel’s tragically tricked Donna Elvira so the exclusion of Act 2’s soprano showcase aria, Mi tradi quell’alma ingrata, was disappointing. Counsel certainly instilled the confidence to be able to tackle it.
As Donna Anna, Paine effortlessly captured the determination to avenge her assailant, making a notably good impression in Act 2 with an affecting, mellifluously radiant Non mi dir.
Jones gave wonderful vocal muscularity and nuance to Masetto despite being a little wooden in acting. Alex Gorbatov threw himself into the role with ardency as a strapped and bare-chested Don Ottavio, Donna Anna’s fiancé, and additional members of the ensemble contributed well in making the concept compelling.
While the score’s orchestral richness suffered without the combined forces of a chamber orchestra, Kevin Tamanini worked a treat in sustaining more than two hours of music drama at the grand piano with polish and feeling. To Tamanini’s right, conductor Gloria Gamboz provided her own judicious instructions for the night, driving the score with lively momentum.
Naturally, BK Opera’s Don Giovanni won’t be for everyone, nor for everyone who purports to love opera. But for anyone willing to or excited about exploring the possibilities that opera can offer, here’s your gig. And, who knows? Even thoughts of exploring BDSM might follow.
Don Giovanni
Meat Market Stables, 2 Wreckyn Street, North Melbourne
Performance: Wednesday 25 September 2024
Season continues to 28 September 2024
Bookings: www.humantix.com
For more information, visit: www.bkopera.com.au for details.
Image: BK Opera presents Don Giovanni (supplied)
Review: Paul Selar