Love, politics, and the power of listening: director Dan Ayling on ‘Lessons in Love and Violence’

Thu 29 Oct, 2026

On 25 November 2026 at the Southbank Centre's Queen Elizabeth Hall, Edward Gardner conducts a semi-staged performance of George Benjamin & Martin Crimp's opera Lessons in Love and Violence with the London Philharmonic Orchestra and a star-studded cast of soloists. Director Dan Ayling talks about bringing the opera to the stage, its complex relationships, and why a semi-staged performance puts the focus firmly on the music and drama.

This production is described as ‘semi-staged’ – what does that mean to you?

A semi-staging, as I understand it, is about stripping things back. There’s no big set or costumes; there are minimal props and furniture. It’s about what I’d call essentialising – what is absolutely necessary in terms of movement and gesture, what serves the story and what will complement it. Hopefully, in a semi-staging, the staging gently supports the story.

Does that benefit the music too, with the orchestra on stage?

Yes. It focuses attention less on the visual world. We live in a world full of visual data – we’re bombarded with it daily – and a semi-staging brings the focus down onto the performers, the music, the text they’re singing, and the relationships on stage. In some respects, you could say it purifies the experience.

Because you’re stripping back so much of the visual and really focusing on the performers, the music and the text, you’re encouraging everybody to embrace the power of listening. And I think that’s so important. We don’t listen enough, and so we don’t properly engage with each other. The constant overwhelm of aural and visual stimuli means we just want to block it all out – we put our earbuds in and our dark glasses on and we disengage. But if you can push that away a bit and give yourself some space – actually look and listen, actually engage – it’s amazing.

To you, is Lessons in Love and Violence a love story, a political thriller, or something else?

At its heart, I think it’s a love story – but a very strange, twisted and weird love story. You look at the relationship between Gaveston and the King and think: why is the King so enamoured with him? What hold does he have over him? Is Gaveston even real? He is, of course – the other characters engage with him – but the power he seems to hold over the King is so strange. And he comes back later, too: in Scene 6 a character called the Stranger appears, played by the same performer, and you know it’s Gaveston.

It’s also about politics, and how love and politics intersect, so there’s a political-thriller aspect to it as well. I also think it’s a story about what we pass on – how our actions today impact the next generation, and what they learn from them. The title is Lessons in Love and Violence: what lessons does the young King learn throughout the piece? What do we learn about love, power, art and leadership?

Which character in the opera do you find most fascinating?

They’re all fascinating – but I’ve become really interested in Mortimer. He’s the King’s chief political advisor and is very influential at court. But he really doesn’t like Gaveston – he’s homophobic towards him, I think – and he definitely doesn’t like the effect the King’s actions are having on the country. He aligns himself with Isabel, the Queen, and they begin a relationship – but is that real or manufactured to gain more power?

He begins the story with everything but is banished by the King and has nothing. Then after he and Isabel enact a coup and have Gaveston murdered, he forces the King to relinquish the crown and there is this incredible role reversal. Having been told by the King that he is nothing, he says to the King: ‘You are nothing. You are no-one.’ So he has such a big journey in the piece.

I’m also fascinated by the ménage à trois of the King, Isabel and Gaveston. What is Isabel’s experience of all this? How is she balancing the public persona of being the wife of the country’s leader with the fact that he very publicly has another lover – who happens to be a man? That’s so potent and intense. And why does the King have this relationship? What is it that he loves so deeply about Gaveston that he’ll give up his kingdom for him? And don’t get me started on the children! What lessons is the Young King learning from all this? And will he repeat the mistakes of the past in the future?

Is there a moment in the opera that still gives you chills?

Absolutely. It’s the moment when the King has died and his spirit leaves his body. It is so calm and simple, musically very delicate and very gentle – I can feel the hairs going up on the back of my neck now. It’s something very special.

What was it that drew you to this work when you first encountered it?

The incredible detail in both the text and the music. It’s a very taut piece of drama. It goes straight to the heart of the argument and has a real intensity and rigour because of it. Martin Crimp’s text doesn’t waste anything; every word is there for a reason. The same with George’s music. And it’s the combination of George’s incredible music with Martin’s very precise words that creates something hypnotic. We almost always put the composer on a pedestal, but in this partnership, it’s the marriage of the two of them that makes the work. The text and music working together in service of the drama. It’s powerful stuff.

Dan Ayling was in conversation with Greg Felton.