We don’t know who is doing the auditing for the Corinthia Hotel, but it quickly becomes clear that this venue’s first foray into the world of opera does not represent a viable business model. With seven classically trained singers, seven recorded musicians, a cellist, two actors, one guide and a host of backstage staff, the cast and crew of this production comfortably outnumber the audience (12 lucky if slightly bewildered punters). It’s a bit like hiring a symphony orchestra to accompany a quiet meal for two.
The opera is composed by the hotel’s fourth annual artist in residence, Emily Hall, one of those figures who straddles the world of minimalism, left-field electronica and early music. And, accordingly, this production straddles the worlds of opera, art installation and promenade theatrical event.
Audience members are escorted around this vast luxury hotel, a one-time Ministry of Defence building in between Embankment tube station and Trafalgar Square. As each act and aria of the opera unfolds you move to a different area: from reception to lounge bar, from conference room to luxury suite and – most interestingly – into the hidden “below-stairs” spaces where the catering, laundry and maintenance staff are based.
There’s a thin narrative thread linking the contents of the hotel’s lost-property room with a tale of corporate corruption and infidelity.
However, if there’s a problem here it’s that Hall’s startling and often beautiful music – medieval drones and dissonant harmonies set against the vigorous cello playing of Oliver Coates – is not only undermined by the deliberately bathetic lyrics but also drowned out by the visual clatter of the environment: the opulent dining spaces, the dramatic corridors, the spooky boiler room, the signs reminding the maids: “Don’t forget to smile!” In some ways the art is secondary to this unique experience; this is an opera where you really do come out humming the scenery.
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