The notion of setting Hänsel und Gretel in wartime, with gas masks, ration books and a jolly spiv of a Father (he deals in nothing more illicit than brooms so it’s hardly surprising money’s tight), makes vague sense for those pages in Act One when hunger grips the family; but thereafter Barlow has the devil of a job bending the Grimm plot to accommodate this conceit. For a start there’s the ticklish question of nationality. Are we in England? We appear to be, given the children’s drab school uniforms (I found myself peering round for an old wardrobe that might conceivably provide access to the forest), yet at the same time we do hear an awful lot of German being sung, and the Bahlsen biscuit box where the Witch lives certainly predates Britain’s modern taste for Lebkuchen.
All the more puzzling, then, that Barlow is able to transcend these self-imposed constraints and achieve some inspired moments despite them, not through them. For example, after an hour of monochrome on Paul Edwards’ oversized-living-room stage we are treated to a Technicolor Traumpantomime that brims with wit and charm, our appreciation of the moment heightened immeasurably by the colour deprivation that preceded it. The entire evening is peppered with such perceptive delights.
The principals are a joy, too. Catherine Hopper’s blond wig makes her look unnervingly like Clare Balding, but she is nonetheless the very embodiment of Hänsel. Joana Seara’s Gretel is even sweeter and subtler, and the two voices blend very well. Anne Mason is splendid as both Mother and Witch, while Donald Maxwell brings a wealth of experience to his twinkly-eyed Father, even though that burnished baritone is a little less steady than it used to be. There is fine work, too, from Pippa Goss’s bustling Dew Fairy and from the excellent New London Children’s Choir. If Katherine Allen misses the ethereal charm of the Sandman’s spell she can perhaps be forgiven, saddled as she is by a comedy moustache and an ARP warden’s helmet (don’t ask).
After some shaky first-night ensemble during the overture, for which a chill cross-wind may be to blame, the City of London Sinfonia warmed to the rich orchestration. Peter Selwyn clearly loves this score: he conducts with exemplary tempi and phrasing, and his concern for good balance ensures that none of the music’s many surges overwhelm the singers, despite the absence of a proper pit to tame Humperdinck’s dynamic extremes.
There are countless pleasures to be found in this Hänsel und Gretel, and if the director hadn’t got lost in the conceptual forest it would have been a very special evening indeed. It’s a shame he couldn’t see the wood, for his trees are terrific.
