Wainwright’s first opera was almost like the real thing

Prima Donna, Palace Theatre, Manchester International Festival

EVER heard Mozart’s first opera? Verdi’s? They are pretty average compared to what came afterwards.

Hopefully it will be the same with music’s pop/opera crossover artist, Rufus Wainwright.

Prima Donna, his first opera after several extraordinary pop albums, looks like the real thing and sounds almost like the real thing — without going that final step.

One problem is the ultra-talented songwriter can’t help putting himself into everything he writes, so Prima Donna winds up not really about great soprano Regine, holed up in her Paris apartment, planning her comeback, unable to be great again. She is Wainwright, holed up in his own talent, hoping people will like his attempt at something new.

No doubt the word “overreaching” will appear in many reviews, in that an untrained classical composer has written, composed and arranged a full-length, two-act opera on his own. But those who expected him to make a hash of it will be confounded. This is a real work for full orchestra — albeit a rather lush, old-fashionedly romantic one, full of soaring strings and a bit too end-of-the-19th century in style.

There is real beauty in places, but Prima Donna spends a lot of time hinting at depth without ever delivering it. The libretto is a rather banal affair, with Regine’s big secret a disappointment.

The opera is also slightly cold and unaffecting: the singer’s relationships aren’t very deeply delineated and at times border on the camp and slightly crass — though I suspect this has as much to do with Daniel Kramer’s production, and the occasionally weird, highly-saturated colours of designer Antony McDonald’s otherwise brilliant, faded, penthouse set, than Wainwright.

What isn’t in doubt is that the composer arranges for orchestra very well: the Opera North orchestra under Pierre Andre Valade sounds terrific. He isn’t at all kind to voices, though, putting the four main singers through some tortuously high, long phrases.

Luckily the glorious Janis Kelly is terrific as the faded Regine, and Rebecca Bottone bright-voiced and appealing as her maid.

Jonathan Summers does his best with a rather superficially-written, love-hate servant and William Joyner as Andre, Regine’s one-time paramour, is if anything given a harder vocal time than the women, which he survives.

But when Wainwright writes another opera, it will be far better than this perfectly respectable but rather average first attempt: he really is talented.