Gone were the differing challenges of the Guild Hall and Charter Theatre, to be replaced with magnificent stonework which seemed to return the sound with interest. And what a fine sound it was.

To say singers and players rose to the occasion would be to understate their performances.

PO's chorus has been longing for a space such as this for years, and when the moments came the power and force was thrilling.
Equally, quieter moments of tender vocals were matched with a finely sensitive response from the strings.

Every Saint-Saens' challenge was met full on, and the choice proved wise as little movement was required on the minster's limited stage area. Even Samson has his locks shorn off set.

The nave was utilised for dancers and soldiers, and lighting crashed around the vaulted ceiling.

Principal performers clearly relished the sacred space.

Rebecca Chellappah was smilingly duplicitous in seducing the hirsute Samson, played by Bruce McLaren, whose revenge was to, well ... bring the house down. And David Palmer's depth of projection promised to be the perfect instrument for the surroundings until he met his untimely end far too early in the plot.

The elegiac lament at his passing induced the best from Chris Gill's talented players.

As the evening light faded and the minster lighting took glorious effect, the poor Philistines copped it again.

Mal Morris