Turandot
English National Opera at the London Coliseum
Puccini’s final (and unfinished) opera is traditionally set in Beijing’s Imperial City, with Princess Turandot’s sang froid in the face of eligible suitors being the central theme. Disconcertingly, Rupert Goold’s version opens in the dining area of a large Chinese restaurant. An eclectic set containing more than 69 characters, most of whom seem to have raided a fancy dress shop to find the most outlandish costumes, are corralled by six Chinese dominatrices, as a rare overture from Puccini ends.
What should have been a magnificent display of Sino-imperial splendour became a maelstrom of Elvises, Chelsea pensioners, drag queens, clowns, New York cops, orthodox Jews and nuns, forming a pantomime excess that only serves to diffuse the concentration. This is compounded by one character, in the form of Margaret Thatcher, who continually and disconcertingly draws the eye.
The first act, in short, is chaotic, confusing and contrived. Even James Creswell’s rich and vibrant bass tones as Timur, the exiled king, are sometimes overwhelmed by the hustle and bustle of the restaurant.
Act Two opens with Ping (Benedict Nelson), Pong (Christopher Turner) and Pang (Richard Roberts) performing in the simple and focused setting of a fire escape at the rear of the Imperial Palace restaurant, allowing their characterisations to fully emerge fully and hence add some much-needed plot. However, we soon return to the chaotic setting of the interior, with the chorus’ costumes continuing to distract with their numerous cultural references. Noteworthy are the eight dancers in Japanese Manga make-up, with their costumes contributing some much-needed élan and focus to part two of the second act.
The juxtaposition between the chaos of Act One and the minimalist set of Act Three then serves to emphasise the sheer brilliance of Puccini’s vision. The empty and quiet white-tiled functional kitchen is a potent backdrop to Gwyn Hughes Jones’ tenor in the role of Calif (Timur’s son) as he delivers Nessun Dorma in an impressive manner. The power of the aria is enhanced by the chance to focus on the vocal performance without the organised chaos that so often distracts in the first and second acts.
Amanda Echalaz as a scene-stealing Lliu, singing a beguiling version of her second aria, outperforming Kirsten Blanck’s Turandot, who never seems to dominate the performance as the central character should. Scott Handy as Goold’s superfluous addition of a writer, silently observing the action is irritating and distracting in the extreme and his eventual death (silent, of course) was most welcome.
While each of the three acts climaxes with the entire chorus on stage, each time looking more and more like the cover of Sergeant Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, at the finale, their reprise of Nessun Dorma is quite magnificent.
Goold’s production detracts from Puccini’s masterpiece rather than enhancing it and seemed pretentious, verging on the self-indulgent in parts, which may be acceptable in musical theatre, but which singularly fails to deliver here. It is a pity that a multi-talented cast of chorus and leads are not given a much better vehicle to showcase their obvious high qualities.
Tim McNamara
