The chamber opera “Dido” draws on two previous treatments of the classic story. The main section is based on Henry Purcell’s “Dido and Aeneas” with the prologue replaced by material compressed from Metastasio’s “Didone abbandonata” libretto and already set to music by Michael Hirsch in 2003/04. Dido the person is full of contradictions. Whilst her power over an entire North African kingdom will have made her one of a kind in the world of the Ancients, she is now seen as symbolising human deeds and human failure. Hers is a doomed love and there is no resolution on the question of whether the separation from Aeneas was brought about by her own actions or by force majeure in the form of gods or witches.

What are we expected to get out of this old tale of Dido, who lost her lover Aeneas - or maybe pushed him away - and is now moaning about it?
If you look at opera’s back catalogue of post-1600 moan fests, “Dido” rates as one of the more civilised cases. I don’t even consider the “Lamento” to be much of a lament: Dido has already reached a point where she’s processing Aeneas’s departure. She’s not without blame for him leaving and neither is she totally miserable about it. She can’t be with him and she’s ashamed of that fact. “Remember me, but forget my fate” she says at the end, meaning that she’d like posterity to think of her with affection but no one should try to emulate her actions and invite the same fate. This is all very clear at the end of an event that can definitely be described as halfway lamentable.

The fact remains, though, that Dido is in this state of lamentation from the very beginning.
I still think there’s an evolution there. The choruses, Belinda, the witches, sailors… these are all inner voices for Dido. Look at it like this: if we’re depressed, a witch appears at our bedside; if we’re only interested in sex, our thoughts turn to a sailor. And Belinda is the voice saying “Look, there is someone who loves you.” That’s the point at which her transformative process starts. Initially Dido says “No, there shall be no room for love in my life.” Even though she’s in love with Aeneas, she comes down very hard on her feeling for him. It’s a very modern take: she’s someone who has major problems with her emotions. She sees early on that she can’t dispel the feeling that Aeneas evokes in her. Another reason is that he’s very different in character to the standard heroes of antiquity. The signs are that he’s fully capable of committing to a relationship - in total contrast to Dido. And little by little he convinces her. Then suddenly an orgiastic chorus strikes up to suggest that she has switched over to utter devotion. Granted, that moment is a long time coming, but then a lot of other stuff happens culminating in her coming face-to-face with him in the end. No, it’s not true that she spends the whole time whingeing and doesn’t evolve.

The idea here is to present the story in a very special way. There’s a contemporary part, the old text, “Didone abbandonata”, set to new music by Michael Hirsch, and an adaptation by the same composer of the Purcell opera “Dido and Aeneas”, which also contains a lot of references to his brand-new composition.
You’re right, there are a lot of cooks at work here and we’re hoping the broth will be tasty at the end of it. You have Virgil’s original story, which was adapted by Baroque librettists and put to music by Purcell and has now been interpreted by Michael Hirsch. And now I’m getting to grips with it all as a director. In our attempt to fuse the various levels into an organic experience we’re getting really up close and personal to the material, the characters and also the audience. We and the audience will be occupying an auditory setting that is akin to an installation, a soundscape approaching the tones echoing within Dido. The auditorium with its sound and lighting effects will conjure up states that audience members can experience standing, sitting or lying down. In a way Michael Hirsch has already surrendered a degree of self-determination as a composer by inserting bits of music and percussion quite independent of the main action onstage. Which means he’s not fully in control of what’s going on. So we thought it was only right that we, too, surrender the reins of control! That we go about creating a piece of musical theatre that is perceived differently by each individual member of the audience.

They’re being asked to take off their shoes before entering the room. That immediately conjures up two images - alpine cabin and temple. Which is it?
If I have to choose, I’ll go for the temple. But I’m hoping we’ll have some of the fun associated with an alpine cabin, too. But seriously, in my mind the really important chorus is “Great minds against themselves conspire / and shun the cure they most desire.” In other words: movers and shakers are often their own worst enemy and, by being too cerebral in their thinking, manage to deprive themselves of the very thing they most need. It’s very intimate and very fragile, which is why in designing the set we’ve opted for a material normally used to pack delicate objects in. And that’s also the reason why we want people to enter the venue soundlessly, in their stockinged feet. We want to listen to each other. It won’t be a noisy evening; it’ll be a quiet performance featuring a few short outbursts.

Up to now we’ve only been talking about Dido, but the title of Purcell’s opera is actually “Dido and Aeneas”. What about Aeneas?
It’s true, Aeneas is always viewed through the eyes of Dido. And yet he’s definitely a likeable character. In fact, for most women he’d be a real catch and it’s hard to understand why Dido doesn’t seem to want him. “Anchises’ valour mixed with Venus’ charms.” Today we would consider him metrosexual. At the end he even says: “I’ll stay if you want me to.” And she says: “No, it’s too late now.” In those days it was already socially unacceptable for a woman to reject such an ideal man, and today it still raises eyebrows.