Irish National Opera premiered Powder Her Face, its inaugural production (co-produced with Northern Ireland Opera), on recently at the O’Reilly Theatre in Belvedere. The 1995 opera is an exciting choice for a first production for several reasons. Firstly, it is extremely contemporary by opera standards (the composer is still alive). Secondly, that composer is Thomas Adés, the British boy wonder whose latest opera recently opened to raves at the Met and thirdly, it was highly controversial on its premiere. Featuring what is commonly referred to as “the most explicit aria in opera”, also known as “the blowjob aria”, the opera centres on the rise and fall of Margaret Campbell, the Duchess of Argyll, also known as the “Dirty Duchess”, and the scandalous divorce case which earned her that title.
The opera spans a number of years, from the 1930s to 1990, in its nine scenes, but largely concentrates on the events leading up to and following the Duchess of Argyll’s scandalous divorce from the Duke in 1963. The centrepiece of these court proceedings was a polaroid of the Duchess fellating an unseen man, referred to as “the headless man” by media at the time. Margaret Campbell, the real-life Duchess of Argyll, led a rather busy life, having been married twice and engaged at least twice more, as well as having been the subject of numerous gossip columns and fashion magazines (Cole Porter’s lyrics to “You’re the Top” were even altered for the British premiere of Anything Goes in order to reference her).
As such, Adé’s opera, with a libretto by Philip Hensher, is necessarily choosy with the details. Perhaps Hensher should have opted for an even tighter focus, however, as the opera, which only requires a cast of four, always seems too concerned with marking plot points to allow for a proper examination of the Duchess. Her characterisation, at least in the libretto, rarely rises above the popular psychology of “needing to be loved”. The same cannot be said, though, for Adé’s score, which demonstrates a remarkable breadth of feeling in a style that moves from atonality to pastiche to more conventional operatic fare.
Mary Plazas delivers a well-sung if uninspiring Duchess. There is only the faintest character development detectable across the scenes, despite the range of years presented, until the final moments, when there is a hint of greater depth. Daire Halpin is very capable in her many smaller roles and displays a warm soprano, bringing a particular comic note to her offbeat aria as the waitress. Stephen Richardson is frankly ridiculous as the duke, although there is some blame to be laid at director Antony McDonald’s feet for the overheated direction of his scenes. However, the farcical style of the direction does suit the most penetratingly satirical aria in the score, sung during the Duchess’s court case, which neatly (if unsubtly) exposes the hypocrisy of public opinion and the male-dominated legal system. Adrian Dwyer rounds out the cast, lending a perfectly serviceable tenor to a number of bit parts.
Although McDonald’s direction rarely probes the occasionally interesting libretto and highly interesting score (his direction of a scene detailing the Duke’s affair is drawn from the most basic stereotypes of middle-aged male fantasies), his set design is inspired, using enlarged polaroids to depict the refined rooms of the upper classes. The costumes vary in quality, however, with the Duchess arriving in what looks suspiciously like a bin bag at one point.
There is an admirable attempt at relevancy by Irish National Opera with the staging of Powder Her Face. However, one leaves it suspecting that it is more titillating than genuinely controversial as a piece.
