Daunting death masks, ever-present uncanny and distorted monstrosities, overshadow the stage at the Royal Opera House. In ancient Peking princess Turandot has her suitors executed if they’re not able to answer her three riddles. It might not be a radical new version of Puccini’s piece but the handling of the melodramatic twists and some of the most beautiful arias in music history guarantee an opera evening of the highest standard. This is the 15th revival of Andrei Serban’s 1984 production and it rightly is a favourite.
Even after 30 years the look of the show with Sally Jacob’s design is still spectacular. Streaks of red everywhere hint at Turandot’s bloody reign in the name of self-protection. Her icy demeanour says it all – she knows that men can take women by force if they are not careful. Does she have the right to kill these men to protect herself from the same fate her predecessor experienced? This version of Puccini’s initially unfinished masterpiece explores this question in a play-in-the-play setting. The chorus are viewers of a theatrical piece themselves and are for the most part arranged around the action in a high, wooden viewing platform. In this theatre in the round we look down on a stereotyped vision of Peking of ancient times and see the love triangle between Calaf, Lui and the principessa play out. They out-riddle, woe and torture each other and it’s truly a spectacle extraordinaire.
Kate Flatt’s movement concept is based on the meditative martial arts Tai Chi and has the chorus swivelling around the main performers in light but unsettling circles. The menacing dances enforce the threat Turandot’s riddles pose to potential suitors. Ping, Pong and Pang, too, give for these character fairly uncommon physical performances but there are quieter moments beyond their teasing and cartwheeling. In their lament ‘Ho una casa nell’Honan’ the timbres of Dionysius Sourbis, David Butt Philip and Doug Jones complement each other beautifully. The henchmen long for their home but they know they won’t escape Turandot’s violent reign which they have long become complicit in.
Whereas Turandot’s initial immobility is very fitting to her cold character, Marco Berti’s expressionless Calaf undermines some of the other well-placed visually vibrant movement decisions. Vocally performed solidly by tenor Berti suitor Calaf ends up a somewhat unsympathetic player in the love triangle, dismissing the true love and obsessively pursuing a woman as a prize. Sadly Berti’s acting lacks complete conviction and so the initial conquering of Turandot at the end of the second act is devastating to watch only thanks to Lise Lundstrom losing all composure. In these scenes of mixed emotion conductor Henrik Nánási manages to delicately balance the menacing undertones of the music that always lurk under each celebratory turn. Eri Nakamura’s Liu is the true gem in this production as can be seen in her ‘Signore, ascolta!’ – her last plead for Calaf to abandon the challenge. Her voice is subtle and her performance touching.
This is a more than watchable production that ticks all the right boxes. However, if you consider other Turandot productions it all comes across as a bit well behaved. Some of the more questionable character developments and motives might need a fresh, critical directorial eye. One wonders if the London audience isn’t due a more modern and gutsy Turandot?