At 80 minutes long, Giant is an efficient piece of storytelling examining the ethics of medical advances alongside humankind’s fascination with freakery and otherness. The life of 8 foot 4 ‘Irish Giant’ Charles Byrne is fictionalised in Ross Sutherland’s libretto in which the freak-show entertainment is exploited by his manager Mr Rooker.
At the same time, Royal surgeon and anatomist John Hunter sees an opportunity for dissection and an advancement on his reputation, allying himself with the handsome giant in a bid to secure Byrne’s body after death. The secret to life lay in the bones of Charles Byrne’s skeleton, bones which are slowly growing him to death.
To secure Byrne’s corpse John Hunter despatches his obsequious assistant Howison who, having been silent for all of the opera suddenly lets rip with a chilling call to action to his bodysnatching contacts in an uncompromising monologue underpinned with a menacing rhythmic accompaniment tapped out like a ticking time-bomb. Here our present-day trust and respect in medical science is contrasted with its comparatively barbaric early days – less surgery in the clinical understanding we have of it now, more butchery. When Hunter has secured Bryne’s body for examination his hunger to learn results ends up in him scolding the body beyond its usefulness. A pungent smell hung around the Britten Studio soon after. I’ll take the smell of hospital-grade disinfectant over the notion of charred flesh any day.
Musically, ‘Giant’ combines an eclectic mix of live amplified strings, solo baroque cello and recorder, with tuned percussion, help to shift us from 18th century England to more exotic and mysterious climes. These reduced forces are utilised sparingly to create highly evocative sounds that focused attention on specific elements in the story. In this way, the sparse instrumental score had a reassuringly Britten vibe. But where Britten was using classical instruments to imitate the sounds of the characters’ world, here Angliss melds sound and notated music into one.
The intimate atmosphere of the Britten Studio (occupying around about a third of the audience of the Snape Maltings Concert Hall) helped make the storytelling more immediate. The production doesn’t demand much in terms of staging – the curtain separating Charles Byrne’s pokey bedroom was a nice design touch referencing vaudeville illusion. As a result most of the story is conveyed in the characterisation.
The cast was strong in this particular respect, drawing an emotional quality that wasn’t necessarily obvious from the libretto. The initial warmth between Byrne and Hunter was made three-dimensional when the surgeon revealed his flaws. Jonathan Gunthorpe’s Hunter was a sympathetic character, someone dedicated to his vocation but also all to sensitive to the possibility of his students and peers not taking him seriously. This made his relationship with the vulnerable Charles Byrne all the more complex.
Gweneth Ann-Rand legitimised Mr Rooker with her crystal clear melodic line. Heloise Werner brought not only her rich experience and commitment to the role but demonstrated great acting skills too – the complete package. Karim Sulayman made Byrne a man struggling not just with his condition but also fully cognisant with the dubious dealings of his manager – a giant who could potentially dominate relationships, fully aware of the way his limitations enabled unhealthy relationships.
The star of the show – there shouldn’t be one but I can’t help it – was undoubtedly Steven Beard as Howison. Aggression, intimidation and fear dripped from every word he spat out when his character finally stepped out from the shadows.
‘Giant’ deserves a much-longer run. I really hope it gets one soon. More people need to see it.
Read composer Sarah Angliss’ interview for Thoroughly Good
