To the Opera for the first time in many, many years last night: Deborah Warner's staging of Benjamin Britten's Peter Grimes at the
@rbo_org.
I absolutely loved it, was transfixed, the whole thing brilliant - just until right near the end when a scene transforms the fishing village's inhabitants into a mob of nationalist bovver boys wearing khaki trousers, crew cuts, football shirts (West Ham prominent) and waving Union Jacks and Cross of St Georges.
I don't recall a single mention of England or Britain in the opera itself, let alone an attack on nations or the working class as emerged in this scene. I experienced the rest of the opera as a great tragedy. But they have to go and spoil it by clunkily crow-barring their standardised, virtue-signalling politics into it. These people just can't help themselves.
Still: overall, very good. At least now I understand Britten's genius.