(Photo: ©2025 Camilla Greenwell)

I have been somewhat critical in the past of Adele Thomas’ staging of one of Verdi’s most potent works. With its painfully dark tale told in a rather insidious manner, employing the use of creepy props and actors infused with more than a generous helping of Hieronymus Bosch influence; alas, perplexingly, this time round it kind of works.

Sure, the tale doesn’t get any more palatable, no matter how you tell it: a gypsy gets burned to the stake for apparently casting an evil eye on the old Count’s infant child. Later, the remains of the said infant are discovered among the ashes of the said gypsy immolation, the baby having been apparently thrown on the fire by the daughter of the gypsy in revenge for her mother’s execution. However, it turns out that, rather than the Count’s child having been thrown on the fire, the baby was in fact the child of the vengeance seeking gypsy who killed it by mistake after having some kind of rage induced hallucination.

Reevaluating this with the opportunity to review for a second time, I’m going to cite revival director Simon Iorio and especially choreographer Emma Woods here as having a transformative effect on this production which elevates it no end, from its first showing in 2023.

The first act, “The Palace of Aljafería” in Spain, sees commander in chief Fernando recount a tale of how the castle is supposedly haunted by a witch who was burned at the stake 15 years previously, (for the aforementioned atrocity), whilst warning his army of men to be on the lookout for the present Count di Luna’s adversary, a troubadour. The soldiers in their 17th Century garments and flying-saucer shaped helmets look and act like some ancient Spanish tribute to the Keystone Cops. This is an example of precisely why this performance works where I consider the earlier version did not.

Emma Woods’s splendid choreography has the chorus enact every revelation with wonderfully exaggerated facial expressions and perfectly synchronized head tilts, gestures and movements made in perfect time with the score. This practise extends to the group of demonic, feline-like hobgoblin-esque creatures that frequent the stage, where I previously found them to be an annoying distraction, here I found them to be an asset, punctuating the dark tale and sense of foreboding with remarkable athletic leaps, twists and turns, at times seemingly threatening to fly straight off the front of the stage and into the pit.

The mighty “Anvil Chorus” sees this exhausting looking approach further intensify where the chorus members prance, dance and cavort to such an extent the stage resembles some wild, convoluted circus act.

The set is confined to a simple wooden staircase which occupies the expanse of the stage. This somehow seems to work, visually. However, it is unequivocally a challenge for the artists who not only have to try and move with a certain amount of precariousness but need to possess and preserve some levels of stamina in order for the physical exertions in navigating the stage to NOT impact their singing.

There were no issues for tenor Michael Fabiano who proved to be a real tour de force here as Manrico. His bright, wonderfully clarion tenor instrument effortlessly visited all areas of the theatre. A powerful voice with a superb, gleaming, burnished top, he can resort to a gorgeous, soft, honeyed sotto-voce. He displays superb vocal expression and emotive drive. Moreover, he is a splendid actor who moves and stands with conviction. His “Ah sì ben mio” was sublime, receiving much applause and cheer from the delighted audience. His “Di quella pira” was most assured and confident. The “Miserere” duet, where he sings offstage, was positively ethereal. His real triumph, for me, however, lay in his interactions with his “mother,” especially where his “Madre, non dormi?” was almost profoundly evocative. Unquestionably among the very finest tenors singing today, he is an astounding talent.

His nemesis and tormentor here, the Count di Luna, is performed by Russian baritone Aleksei Isaev. He sings with a majestic, rich, enveloping, beauty of tone that I could listen to all night, but I felt him to be cautious here and lacking in volume at some key moments. His “Il balen del suo sorriso” in the second act where he declares his love for Leonora was delightful enough but lacking in some conviction. In the fourth act where he realizes he has been tricked by Leonora who consumes poison in order to avoid the intimacy with which she has promised him, and subsequently discovers that by having Manrico slaughtered, he has actually killed his own brother, (did I mention this was a dark tale?), his performance was further lacking in credo in that one would assume that such a ghastly revelation surely would have elicited a far more traumatic response. I have, however, noticed this seeming lack of emotional turmoil in other singers in this role, and I am inclined to conclude that it is down to the ridiculousness of the plot rather than the inability of the performers to convincingly act.

The object of these adversaries’ desires, Leonora, is here portrayed by American soprano Rachel Willis-Sørensen. A well established and outstanding soprano of some repute, she devours this role with relish and is seemingly improving in it the more she performs it. Additionally, she appears to accrue a special stage presence just for this role, filling the empty stage with gravitas. Her full-bodied upper register slides majestically into a rich, lower; encompassing expressive and sweet pianissimos. She paints her phrases with the trills and ornaments of her coloratura. Her ‘Tacea la notte placida’, where she engages with her confidant, Ines, declaring her love for the Troubadour, is tangibly endearing. Her final act when she sings a moving, “D’amor sull’ali rosee” was positively entrancing. I have already alluded to her duet “Miserere” where she further pledges her love to Manrico beneath the tower where he is imprisoned; she sings here with delicate phrasing and restraint, allowing the distant vocals of Manrico to filter through and blend.

She was very nearly matched here, alas, by Polish mezzo-soprano Agnieszka Rehlis in the role of Manrico’s mother, the gypsy Azucena. She possesses a most exquisite instrument which shines here as a beautiful beacon, almost out of place with the darkness of the tortured soul she is portraying but still maintaining sufficient dynamics to present a woman in turmoil. She displays a wonderful, emotive lower register and her “Stride la vampa!” commands attention with its heart-rending tale. Her interactions with Fabiano proved essential in creating that intense, emotional atmosphere already alluded to in their scenes.

Riccardo Fassi plays the role of the Count’s henchman, Ferrando. He is perpetually accompanied by the devil like incarnations that leap and posture around him as he gets to set several scenes, managing to embody his stage entrances with the menace his character is designed to convey. His rich bass voice possesses a treacle dark, resonant quality, but again I had the feeling his voice was being employed with care; perhaps to reserve his stamina for the physical acrobatics he frequently performed. That said, he was engaging enough in the opening act where he sets the scene and lays the foundations.

Verdi himself knew that this story was so potentially injurious to sensitivities that it demanded an unimpeachable score, and conductor Giacomo Sagripanti gets to induce the orchestra to reproduce it beautifully. I will never stop singing the praises of this remarkable chorus, who not only sing divinely, but act here with aplomb. I will single out their work in the “Miserere” duet, where they were particularly angelic.

In conclusion, I cannot say definitively why I enjoyed this so much more than its last outing, other than to reiterate that the choreography here was exemplary. In a later act, where the stage is littered with broken ‘bodies’ after battle, I was almost convinced they were mannequins until they slowly, painfully rose, as one, to slowly exit to either side of the stage, a most stunning piece of theatre. Elsewhere, the direction and choreography bordered, just, on the right side of slapstick, creating an endearing, comedic element that resulted in a touch of pantomime that served to augment and alleviate from the bleakness of the tale.

I have no doubts that some aficionados will opine that these antics detracted from the seriousness and austerity of the story, but I prefer to think that “Il Trovatore” is a story worth detracting from, at least marginally; a story that doesn’t do to dwell on with any degree of scrutiny.

“Il Trovatore” is being performed at the Royal Ballet and Opera throughout March, and returns in July wih Riccardo Massi, Elena Stikhina, Etienne Dupuis, Clémentine Margaine and Roberto Tagliavini.