“… lays the rawest emotions bare and demands that you confront them…”
Cast of Peter Grimes (Photo by James Glossop)
Peter Grimes by Benjamin Britten, Leeds Grand Theatre
By Sean Sable
I’m an ugly crier. And worse yet, I absolutely love crying. There is something about just letting it all go when immersed in a good book, watching a gut-wrenching film, or pummelling myself with heartbreaking opera—it’s like scratching an itch deep in my soul. So, it is no great surprise that when my friends heard I was going to see Opera North’s newest revival of Peter Grimes that they told me to bring a tissue—or ten.
They weren’t wrong. Benjamin Britten’s Peter Grimes has earned its reputation as an emotional powerhouse since its 1945 premiere at Sadler’s Wells, when it marked both the reopening of the theatre after the war and the beginning of what many consider the renaissance of English opera. Based on George Crabbe’s poem “The Borough,” the opera tells the story of Peter Grimes, a fisherman in a small coastal village who becomes increasingly isolated after the death of his apprentice, as the villagers band together to ostracise him. When the schoolteacher Ellen Orford helps him take on a new apprentice, the community’s suspicion and hostility deepen. It’s a story about who is on the outside and who is on the inside, mob mentality and the ways communities can destroy the people they’ve decided don’t belong. This revival of Phyllida Lloyd’s production, co-directed by Karolina Sofulak and Tim Claydon, features experienced tenor John Findon in the titular role and is conducted by Opera North’s Music Director, Garry Walker.
From the first moment, the production establishes the oppressive weight of communal judgment. The opera opens not exactly in silence, but in something close to it. The performers filter onto the stage without speaking, the soundspace created entirely by the creaking of floorboards and the shushing of feet sliding across wood. That haunting quiet, punctuated only by the sound of collective movement, becomes the baseline for life in the Borough, a community defined by its ability to move as one crushing force. Slowly, the shoal is broken, and we are drawn into a courtroom proceeding where Peter is on trial for the death of his apprentice.
Anthony Ward’s set design is powerfully minimal, serving both function and theme. With such a vast chorus on and off stage, space was essential, but the openness also evoked the immensity of the sea and the seclusion of a British fishing village. A painted ocean backdrop wrapped around the upstage, its depiction deliberately ambiguous. The white crests of waves could just as easily read as clouds when we were cliffside, evoking that liminal space where the difference between sky and water disappears. In a production deeply influenced by material, the choice of wooden pallets, carried and repositioned by the performers, became the physical vocabulary of seaside life. When laid flat, they’re promenades; held upright, they’re the bar of the courtroom; and stacked high, they form pub walls. Colossal fishing nets appear throughout, draping over the chorus or creating enclosures that speak as much to human entrapment as they do to catching fish.
But it was Ben Jacobs’s lighting design that left me breathless. Instead of leaning on colour washes, the light focused on shape and shadow. Performers cast elongated shadows onto the backdrop, creating the impression that you were watching two stories unfold at the same time: the singers in front of you and their darker, looming reflections behind. In the church scene, as Peter and Ellen’s confrontation builds, a single cross on the altar splits into three through careful positioning of the light—one solid, two shadows—mirroring the three figures whose fates will be forever intertwined: Peter, Ellen, and the boy.
Cast of Peter Grimes (Photo by James Glossop)
As Peter, John Findon’s voice was equal parts haunting and hefty, and Philippa Boyle’s Ellen sang with such tenderness that I could feel it winding into my limbs. Together, they were extraordinary, their voices intertwining with an emotional intensity that felt almost uncomfortably intimate (in the best kind of way). When they sing about their hopes for a future together, the orchestra falls away, leaving just their two voices suspended in silence. The sadness of the moment is immediate and, even if you are naïve to the story, you know immediately that this is a love built from melancholy, not hope. Not even the orchestra can support their union.
The Chorus of Opera North were an impressive and oppressive force throughout, their sound building and colliding like the sea itself. I would be hard-pressed to think of a time when I have felt so physically overwhelmed by the power of so many voices in one space. Garry Walker drew a performance from the Orchestra of Opera North that leaned into the cinematic sweep of the score, and it’s easy to see why this opera has inspired so much modern composition. There are moments of strong dissonance and passages where voices layer over one another in competing rhythms, creating a driving, almost relentless momentum that you can feel in your toes. In a performance that is as much about silence as it is about sound, the relationship between the orchestra and singers in Peter Grimes feels uniquely charged.
Peter isn’t easy to like. When Ellen pleads with him not to take the boy out fishing on a Sunday, he lashes out, interpreting her concern as betrayal. He’s rough with the child, unable to show care even when you sense he’s trying. The villagers have constructed him as irredeemable (even depicting him in effigy), denying him any path to redemption. But Peter also behaves in ways that are genuinely troubling and the story asks us to sit in that cognitive dissonance, rather than resolving it.
The tragedy of Peter Grimes is slow but inevitable. In his distraction over the loss of his first apprentice and the village’s villainisation of him, Peter’s life descends into tragedy once again. When Ellen and Captain Balstrode find Peter and understand what’s happened, their version of help is devastating, and we are left to sit in silence as he accepts his fate. The ending mirrors the beginning, with the townspeople returning to that opening tableau, walking in near silence as the orchestra fades until all we hear is the gentle rocking of their feet. We end where we began. Peter’s story has come and gone, and the Borough remains entirely unchanged. The story left me with a lingering sense of injustice that is hard to describe. It’s true that small villages (any small village, be it an office or a school) breed a primal desire to craft an outsider—one built to hold all the shame and transgressions for the collective. Those who enforce this construction can live in the assurance that they are a good person because at least they are not him. And when this construction is eventually destroyed, it turns out to be meaningless. They never really cared at all.
The tears came, as promised, because Opera North’s Peter Grimes did what great opera does: it lays the rawest emotions bare and demands that you confront them. It makes you feel in a way almost no other art form can and, in a world that so often asks us to check our souls at the door, reaching for opera feels necessary.
Cast of Peter Grimes (Photo by James Glossop)
Peter Grimes plays at Leeds Grand Theatre until Saturday 21 February. Tickets are available here.
Sean Sable is a Yorkshire based freelance writer and editor specialising in Young Adult and Horror fiction, frequently at the same time. When she isn’t buried under a pile of books and manuscripts, she is looking for her keys and having extensive one-sided conversations, in Swedish, with her deaf cat. You can find her online at: www.seansable.co.uk
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