We know that Aeneas is going to sail away. We know it before he arrives, before he declares his love to Dido, and certainly before the Sorceress and her witchy acolytes get all eye-of-newt about it. But when your opera house is the great hall under the Cutty Sark, and the clipper’s 200ft copper hull is rearing up over your head, it’s impossible to forget the tragedy that Purcell’s compact drama has in store.
So you have to wonder why Andrew Staples, director of the Monteverdi Choir’s semi-staging, felt the need to work quite so hard? The space is the staging. You can try to ignore it (no mean feat when the museum’s collection of antique figureheads flanks the stage in a surreal guard of honour: Florence Nightingale rubbing painted wooden shoulders with Disraeli, Sir Lancelot and a selection of buxom lovelies), but you can’t work against it; you simply won’t win.
