Barry Gavin (video director) and Tim Avery (stage director) | Billy Budd / 1988 [video opera]

darkness, hate, and despair

 

by Douglas Messerli

 

E. M. Foster and Eric Crozier (libretto, based on the fiction by Herman Melville), Benjamin Britten (composer), Tim Avery (stage director), Barry Gavin (video director) Billy Budd / 1988 [video opera]

 

The English National Opera Orchestra and Chorus production of the opera Billy Budd of 1988, is quite different from the BBC Opera broadcast of 1966 with its open sets and above board actions and officer meetings.

    In Tim Avery’s version of this opera, the emphasis is almost entirely on the law, beginning with the Captain Vere of this production, Philip Langridge not in his library contemplating as in the earlier version in which he muses over the patriarchal laws and restrictions. The books in Tim Avery’s production appear in piles at an angular position as if it were a conveyer belt of the past that he must deal with, a symbolic reading that demand and, of course, justify, the death of anyone who challenges the situation; but it seems heavy-handed given the already lethargic and sorrowful condition of Vere. Langridge appears far leaner and more haggard than Peter Pears. In short, we see both in metaphor and in reality that this Vere has not well survived the years since his decision to destroy Billy. Vere’s justification of his acts here seem entirely empty and meaningless.

      In the work, moreover the books become even more oppressive as the opening chorus members themselves are seen with the books piled before them as we enter the world of their on-board oppression.

      On this ship there is no easy access between the lower deck where the sailors live and the above board world of the officers. They must scurry in an out of narrow slats that lead to the below deck- world much like rats. Even entry and exit is severely delimited in this world.

      The sailors, filmed in darkened and muted hues—this video is in color—are treated even more like bowing slaves than in the earlier BBC production. The oppression, as they sing the “O heave away” song becomes almost like something out of Verdi’s works involving bondage. This ship has none of the superficial legality of fairness that even Vere might have imagined, particularly when we realize they are in bondage not only to the iron batons of Claggart and his kind, but to the books themselves. The symbolism already far outweighs any possible realism in this operatic production. In a sense, Claggart becomes simply an evil personification of the system already at work, whether or not Vere is yet completely aware of it or not. It is the system that kills Billy in the end even more than Claggart or even the refusal to action of Captain Vere.

    Thomas Allen as Billy Budd arrives soon after with the other two impressed sailors, Claggart (Richard von Allan), who in this production looks a bit like how we might conceive death, finding the beautiful founding (a bit prettier than Peter Glossop in the earlier production) to be a “find in a thousand, a beauty, a jewel. The pearl of great price.” Von Allan’s Claggart is immediately ready to admit to his utter attraction to this young man, which, as we know, will be the undoing of Billy.

     But for a moment Billy Budd is “king of the birds, …king of the world!” As he gloriously climbs up the narrow stairs to the foretop singing out of his last boat and comrades, “Farewell to the rights o’ man!” which spells immediate danger to the officers of this ship which interpret such words immediately as being seditious.  

      Like the general quality of the production, however, even Allen’s glorious singing seems to be muted, tapped down before he can even enjoy the moment of his new placement among the hawks.

      Unfortunately, given the darkness and basically uninspired continuation of events. The terrible flogging of the boy leaves him unable to walk, while Claggart sings out “Let him crawl.” The cries of the boy, “I’m done for, I’m done for,” characterize this part of the film, sung in such deep darkness that we can hardly witness the actions.

      It is only with the arrival of the French ship and the failed attempt at attacks when this version of the opera seems to come to life, the color finally returns as all the military brass and the sailors are called on board and action might seem to bring their blood rushing into the bodies once again. In a glorious moment with the full cast on stage this opera suddenly seems to catch fire.

 

     The sailors dream of their own invigoration, they temporary freedom from the world of navel law as chaos seems to cling to the error. But alas, the clouds again hide the foreign ship, the calmness of order and law descends upon them, and even their excited cries are no longer heard as they are forced once again to scurry to the bowels of the ship to be called forward only for punishment and hard labor.

    The implications are that their only joy below is the company of their beautiful companion Billy. Even if they do not share his body, although the writing always opens itself up to the possibility, even his company, his beautiful singing, and simply his caring and benign mien gives there comfort and joy as opposed to the torture of Claggart and the others. In this version of Britten’s masterwork, Claggart does just look like death, he is death, the mirror of all of their fates. It is only natural, accordingly, that he should go after the fairest and purest of them all.

     Claggart’s horrific self-confession of his true vengeance against everything Budd stands for already declares the charming boy’s end:

 

                  “O beauty, o handsomeness, goodness

                   You are surely in my power tonight.

                   Nothing can defend you.”

 

     He knows that he will win, even if it means his own death. This is not just the vengeance of an evil man, this is pure hate speaking, the kind of political hate that underlines this world based on laws that have no longer taken into account just of what he sings: beauty, handsomeness, goodness—and as he might add “fairness and justice.” But, of course, those two elements lie ahead in Vere’s hands, and we quickly recognize what a true coward the imagined “Starry Vere” truly is.

     The weakness—as well as perhaps the strength—of Avery’s production is that nothing in Britten’s roiling score is left to the possibilities the music always seems to promise. The hanging of the beautiful Billy from the yardarm seems determined from the first chord of this dark opera.

     In this world there are no hawks, no stars. Billy is only a naïve dreamer. All is far too dark and determined.

 

Los Angeles, July 3, 2026

Reprinted from My Queer Cinema blog (July 2026)