To feel a carer’s compassion for this figure would, in the circumstances, put forgiveness to a stiff test. The theme recurs in The Raft of the Medusa, the play which comprises the second half of Joe Pintauro’s double-bill Salvation, which is given a wonderfully powerful English premiere by the London Gay Theatre Company at the Gate. Here, though, the questionof forgiveness is angled even more uncomfortably. Donald (Adam Levy) has just died of Aids; his lover Michael (Jonathan Arun), married and monogamous before he met Donald, has contracted the virus from him.

Donald’s unforgiven ghost haunts the group therapy session for people with HIV which Michael attends and which Pintauro presents to us in all its heart-wrenching, recrimination-ridden, and blackly comical emotional messiness.
The Gericault-derived title is high-toned but can’t disguise the fact that, for the best of reasons, Pintauro has assembled a group of characters that have the cross-sectional feel of a disaster movie cast. Valuably reminding you that Aids is not a gay disease, the participants include a hearing-and-speech-impaired drug-addicted black woman (Natasha Williams), a married straight man who doesn’t know whether he picked up the virus from an infected needle or from being gang-banged in prison, and a respectable middle-aged, middle- class woman Cora (Lolly Susi), who, thanks to her experiences, is not best disposed to bisexual or homosexual men in general.It’s an irony that the Coras of this world who would benefit from seeing The Raft of the Medusa would also be unlikely to attend a play put on by a gay theatre company. This is a shame because Raft would touch all kinds of people. There are bits that feel too conventionally plotty, but the untidy interaction between the characters’ prejudice-triggering differences and the heightened fellow-feelings fostered by their shared status is the basis for a bracingly unpious drama.Like the sketches that comprise the first half of the evening, Raft does not reach for facilely consoling answers. “What do you want?” the unforgiven ghost asks his infected lover “My life back,” comes the reply. Blame is thrown around in the play but, though it understands the urge to look back in bitterness, Raft suggests there are more creative ways to use the time left you.n `Raft of the Medusa’, Gate Theatre, W11 (071-229 0706). We are routinely told that Walton’s only full-length opera has never had the production it deserves.

This is no longer the case; if it now fails to establish itself in public esteem, the fault must lie in the work itself. The problems of Troilus and Cressida include Hassall’s worthy libretto, Walton’s symphonic indulgence, and the colossal demands of the title roles. Milder irritations – the incessant repetition of punchlines, the harp glissandi which signal emotion – retreat before the craggy fanfares, sumptuous orchestration, sweeping vocal cantilena, and post-Belshazzar choral writing, magnificently delivered by the Opera North chorus.
Neil Warmington’s designs veer between archaeological detail (armour, costumes), neo-classicism (the painted temple frieze; the massive head of a goddess) and modernism (aluminium ladders; Meccano watchtower), none of it offensive. Attention was effectively re-focused: during Act 1 from the temple to the city wall; in Act 2 from the chess table to the bed; and in Act 3 from claustrophobic encampment in thick grass to open space where Diomede comes to claim Cressida. Nick Chelton’s well-judge d lighting maps the prevailing darkness; the thunderstorm is literally a tour de force.

Matthew Warchus shows a gift for direction which the opera company will do well to exploit. He follows the grain of the music, combines ritual splendour with naturali sm, and isnot afraid to freeze the stage picture in the climactic sextet. But, since the title roles dominate the work more than ever in this version, he should have lowered the curtain during the orchestral love scene, rather than leave Troilus and Cre ssida, fortunately still clothed, to wriggle unconvincingly on the bed.The “Opera North Version” uses the shorter, 1976 score but sensibly restores the original 1954 soprano tessitura. Arthur Davies has the full range of Troilus, heroic and amorous; he cuts a noble figure, but should surely appear more vulnerable emotionally than his Greek rival, Diomede, splendidly sung by Alan Opie. Judith Howarth has great potential as Cressida, and should learn to match the emotional range of her acting with variation of these beautifully floated, limpid sounds. Here, she lacked the power to ride the orchestra and, finally, to thrill; the imminent recording should rectify the balance.The minor roles are well taken, with Yvonne Howard a manipulative Evadne and Clive Bayley a powerfully voiced Calkas.