In short, DW Griffith was surely important, but do not fall for the notion that he was a hero.All the more reason to get yourself to the National Film Theatre in these coming weeks, for in the famous years of Griffith there was someone who stands up to historical scrutiny far better, a real artist, a fascinating man and someone whose career extends into modern times. Griffith, on the other hand, was so archaic, so restricted in his vision, that he was washed up by the late Twenties.I am talking about Victor Sj??1879-1960), only four years younger than Griffith, a poet compared with the American barnstormer, and a man whose own life would make a great movie. But it is a puzzle for others how that fond scrutiny can go on without the viewer also noting the terrible racism of the film, the monstrous sentimentality and the other effects that The Birth of a Nation had upon the USA. Griffith did help develop a grammar for film narrative in the years before the First World War. With The Birth of a Nation (1915), he persuaded the English-speaking audience to sit still for feature-length stories.And, lo and behold, there are people who can watch The Birth of a Nation and see only the edited suspense, the sensitivity of new camera angles, the isolating brilliance and emotion of close-ups, and so on.

The embarrassment is DW Griffith.
Today, just as 50 years ago, the novice who comes to film studies is told to get a good grasp of Mr Griffith, but for whom there might have been no mature, full-length pictures Well, there’s some truth in it all. The most enigmatic, absorbing score.Which leaves space only to apologise to James Holmes, conductor of Opera North’s The Seven Deadly Sins. Scintillating it certainly was, but in this case it was Holmes who scintillated and not, as stated last week, Martin Andr?Sorry.a.picard independent.co.uk’Arabella’: Royal Opera House (020 7304 4000), to 12 June; ‘Die Zauberfl?/’Pell? et M?sande’, Glyndebourne (01273 813813), to 16 July. There is an embarrassment in film history that many film buffs are shy of discussing. After all, they tend to the view that nothing must be said or done that puts the movies in a bad light Thus, it is a medium made by and for heroes.

Conducted with dark, brooding energy by Louis Langr? played with astonishing transparency by the London Philharmonic Orchestra, and sung and acted with exquisite character and colour by Marie Arnet (M?sande), Russell Braun (Pell?) and John Tomlinson (Golaud), this was another world indeed: a Freudian fantasy of otherness and assimilation acted out with ritualistic precision over designer Paul Brown’s disturbing copper-toned floor of glass-enclosed funeral flowers The most stunning and apposite set and lighting I’ve seen. On the plus side, Vladimir Jurowski’s cultivated, spicy intensity combines well with the sweet, grainy sound of the Orchestra of the Age of Enlightenment, the animals – including a lovely porcupine – are charming, Lisa Milne’s Pamina is pure and bell-like, Pavol Breslik’s Tamino clear, intelligent and bright-toned: their “Tamino mein! Pamina mein!” moment the most delicious in an otherwise so-so show.As if to illustrate what can be achieved at Glyndebourne, when conservatism and comfort are exchanged for imagination and intellectual rigour, Annilese Miskimmon’s revival of Graham Vick’s 1999 production of Pell? et M?sande opened 48 hours later. Jonathan Lemalu’s plummy, patrician Papageno appears to have been modelled on Peter Ustinov, Peter Rose’s Sarastro is stretched, and the Three Ladies unintelligible. But set against David McVicar’s 2003 Covent Garden production and Nicholas Hytner’s 1989 ENO version, Adrian Noble’s new Flute is tame and plain to the point of posing no questions about this work’s odd blend of pantomime and pathos, much less resolving them. Of the supporting cast, veterans Artur Korn and Cornelia Kallisch provide expert comedy as the Count and Countess, Diana Damrau glitters gaily through The Fiakermilli’s vocal gymnastics, Raymond Very (Matteo) suffers heroically, and Quentin Hayes, John Daszak and Iain Paterson excel as the rejected suitors, despite their Flock of Seagulls coiffure. The Masonic issues are dodged, the dialogue is indistinct, Sarastro’s priests are arranged around the auditorium like chattering choristers, the boys arrive on balloons in nehru jackets like miniature versions of Norman Parkinson, and the drip-dyed multi-coloured gauze backdrops look like scarves from the Glyndebourne gift shop.It’s all quite pretty in a middle-aged Home Counties Boho way but strangely subdued, which is surprising after Noble’s exciting and affecting Ulisse for Les Arts Florissants, and frankly disappointing after Theodora, Iphig?e or Fidelio – to pick but three recent Glyndebourne successes.

Unmissable, even with your eyes open.More rugs and pop now, though this time of the champagne picnic variety. Alas, I am unable to make any direct comparison between the two most recent Glyndebourne productions of Die Zauberfl? having missed Peter Sellars’ much-derided earlier interpretation. But Strauss and Hofmannsthal were not fools and narrative slowness aside, Arabella is never less than focused – a point not lost on conductor Christoph von Dohn?i. Regardless of the distracting dancers, the criminally unflattering costumes and Erich Wonder’s noisily aerobic set, Dohn?i has captured the chaotic vitality of this score quite perfectly. Sweet optimism crashes into despair, brittle wit into broad humour, tender eroticism into gentle teasing. The Royal Opera House orchestra respond with the fluency of an ensemble at the very top of their game. And the cast have tuned in to this heart-on-sleeve urgency with total commitment.Not a moment is less than delightful Not a moment is dull.