Glyndebourne's summer opera festival is notable not only for its world-class opera productions, but also as a celebration of the joys of social pantomime. For many, it is a summer ritual that requires careful sartorial and culinary decisions beforehand, and a great deal of enjoyable play-acting once there. It is the 21st-century's equivalent of a Watteau fête galante, transported to the heart of the Sussex countryside.
At least, that is how one often imagines it. But those who associate Glyndebourne - or perhaps just 'opera' - with a privileged assembly of white-haired, die-hard, opera enthusiasts would have had their views challenged by the large number of young people at this performance, attracted by Glyndebourne's 'under-30' ticket offer on select performances. Understandably, the parading of finery as part of the rigmarole might have carried more appeal than the music itself for certain 'Made in Chelsea'- types, but there were many there - myself included - with more than a passing interest in the musical experience. It was certainly heartening to have it confirmed that classical music has not become, despite continual pessimism to the contrary, the reserve of the 'mature' generation.
I particularly enjoyed my visit last week to a performance of two light-hearted operas by Ravel, as an agreeable respite from the endless hype of Olympic patriotism. Only the foolhardy audience members risked the intermittent rain showers to set up their picnics in the beautifully landscaped garden (their optimism was rewarded by a dry and almost-balmy evening); most of us were jostling companionably together under the balcony, enjoying pre-show Kettle Chips and discussing wardrobe misjudgements spotted amongst the crowds.
Laurent Pelly's productions of Maurice Ravel's L'Heure Espagnole ('The Spanish Hour') and L'Enfant et les Sortilèges (usually translated as 'The Enchanted Child'), sparkle with wit and inventiveness. There is nothing profound about L'Heure's scenario, which is enacted in 60s costume; it simply details the lengths that the lusty Concepcion goes to in assuaging her powerful sexual appetite over the course of one afternoon. Its farcical libretto is saturated with overt sexual banter and innuendos about swinging clock pendulums, and Ravel's score is equally concerned with cultivating irreverent humour: amusing tongue-in-cheek idées-fixes loaded with phallic symbolism intermingle with decorative 'Spanish' dance rhythms and melodic touches redolent of Bizet's Carmen. This opera is about as far removed from the fervent romanticism of a Wagnerian music-drama as the image of a 1960s hippy in orange bell-bottoms singing trippy lyrics is from the bel canto refinement one associates with the Glyndebourne stage.
L'Enfant, by contrast, lacks all trace of such 'daring' outlandishness, and it is more musically sophisticated than its partner. But its humour is no less fresh. An artifice of charm and childishness, it presents a formidable challenge to any director with its anthropomorphism: talking trees, angry insects and singing wallpaper all feature. There are some truly magical moments: the opening of the 'garden' scene - when the enfant finds himself taunted and berated by the flora and fauna on which he has inflicted past cruelties - is musically exquisite. The London Philharmonic Orchestra, conducted by Kazushi Ono, weaves a tapestry of lush harmonies, and the curious addition of the slide-whistle (which sounds uncannily like a kazoo) lends a faintly cinematic quality to the passage. For a few moments, the score's tranquil stillness wraps us in mesmerizing awe, equivalent to the wonder felt by the little boy at his new experiences.
Glyndebourne's efforts to reach out to a younger audience, together with its wide repertoire, will continue to counter any suggestion of 'stuffiness'. Apart from performances advertised for 'under-30's, tickets for the full Glyndebourne 'experience' are not cheap, but they cost no more than one would expect to pay for a high-profile pop concert. In view of the enormous cost of mounting a single production of such calibre, the expense is far from unreasonable, especially since Glyndebourne is not subsidised from public funds. And, as a final thought, let us bear in mind the extortionate prices so many have shelled out for the past two weeks of sporting activities - about which most of us know, or care, essentially nothing.