One of the skills a director needs to develop is the ability, during rehearsals, to look at his or her own work with fresh eyes, pretending just for a moment to be innocent of one’s own efforts.  It isn’t as straightforward as it may sound, the temptation being to look for what you have so brilliantly directed into the piece, rather than simply see what’s there.  As one watches, one is aware of the different processes taking place inside oneself – the innocent bit one allows to be moved by events taking place on the stage; the analytical bit which watches one’s feelings and looks for deeper understanding of why one is, or isn’t, moved; the imaginative bit which is looking for new and unexpected possibilities; the craft bit which makes sure people aren’t singing upstage, or blocking other singers, at inappropriate moments, and so on. 

This is the third Puccini opera I have directed recently, and, with regards to the skill of objective viewing, there seems to be a pattern emerging. I don’t seem to be able to do it with Puccini. I watch a rehearsal run with my mind full of good and professional intentions, but by the end I am completely wrung out, the absolute picture of snivelling subjectivity. The music and the text are completely irresistible. And not just once but every time. As Greek architects discovered the golden mean, so Puccini seems to have uncovered some natural law in the composing of his operas. This unique distillation of craft reaches its peak in La bohème.

The story itself is well chosen (Puccini was extremely demanding about the quality of his source material, and wrote relatively few operas partly because of this obsessiveness), and deals with very common human experiences – the optimism and idealism of youth; the thirst for romantic encounters; friendship and loss. Fundamentally, I think, La bohème is about the end of youth. The four young men are idealistic and hopeful, each pursuing his own passion with no concern for the middle-aged, middle-class values of stability and predictability. Their poverty is a celebration of their passion, and they embrace it wholeheartedly (as, I suspect, only the temporarily poor can – suggesting that for them poverty is a choice and not an inescapable condition). They dream and wish for exciting things to happen, seeing life as an opportunity to gather anecdotes of exploits, both heroic and idiotic. Rodolfo falls for Mimì not least because it fits the bill. The educated bohemian is entranced by the truly poor, and probably working-class, survivor. As the story goes on, however, the over-excited optimism of the middle-class young men is insufficient defence against the brutal reality of Mimì’s life. She sees in Rodolfo the possibility of loving and being loved, and giving some kind of meaning to the life she already knows is going to be only too short. Her hope, aching to find expression in a life so troubled, is a desperate mirror of the youthful and optimistic striving of the young men. When she dies, so does their dream, and, in a sense, their youth. The relentless processes of life take their toll, and so we too are drawn into the loss of Mimì.

The emotionality of La bohème has a translucence, a burnished quality that feels to me a little like the feelings are being remembered – cleaned up, clarified, and distilled by the processes of memory – and we have tried to capture that to some extent in the production. Most of Garden Opera’s performances are outdoors, in the summer. La bohème is set indoors in the winter. You’ll forgive me if I pray for snow.