(Photo credit: © Marc Brenner/Royal Opera)

N.B. In this performance of “Tosca” Russell Thomas replaced the previously scheduled Yusif Eyvazov, who was indisposed.

Entitlement enlightens spectators on the contrasting and yet comparable personas of soprano Floria Tosca and barbaric chief of police Scarpia: spoiled brats forsaking all who block their way. Sways of a dress’s train portray the former’s annexing of space; the latter flaps his coattails before sitting. Sticking insults in each other’s sore spots, they embody the bombastic nature of both early 20^th century verismo and the natures of their trades – displaying stereotypes with a delectable aplomb.

Among the recognizable characteristics of the Royal Opera’s eighteen-year-old “Tosca” by Jonathan Kent are a Gothically-colored black and navy depiction of the Church of Sant’Andrea, Scarpia’s dimly lit abode and an innocuously starry sky accompanying Cavaradossi on his final ode. Although it seems that little has been altered, certain changes grew conspicuous in the performance of 21 July – suggesting a more minimalist décor by revival director Peter Relton. Books lined a ninth of Scarpia’s forty-five tall shelves; the fleeing Tosca slowly climbed a ramp shaped like a parapet. Clutter was amiss and the Sant’Andrea Church’s walls seemed thinner, shrinking the first act’s acoustics.

Clownish moments challenged our suspended disbelief: Cavaradossi clapped when Tosca spotted the Marchesa Attavanti in his painting; she in turn spent too long perched on Scarpia’s desk armed with the knife. Her killing was a hammy one: two stabs through multiple attempts to hack into the tyrant’s flesh. Before departing hastily she threw a crucifix upon his chest – but not one taken from the wall, as the libretto tells; instead the silver chain around her neck. This self-betrayal sabotaged both her escape and the production’s credibility.

Complete with brassy sass and swaggers oozing indignation, Sonya Yoncheva was physically Tosca realized. Hysteria in character steered the soprano sourly off course nevertheless, as many notes fell into short-of-breath diminuendo. “Oh! Innanzi la Madonna” (“[Not] before the Madonna!”) flattened its A flats; longer phrases such as Tosca’s lyrical exponents of “sea breezes throbbing in the moonlight” (“palpitate, aure marine, nel lunare albor”) waned in strength. Tenderness extended well-sustained diminuendi nonetheless – notably in “è tanto buona” (“she is so good”) – when Tosca praised the Virgin Mary in Act one.

Fast dismissals of the ruthless chief – such as the singer’s “Fu sciocca gelosia” (“It was stupid jealousy”) designed the character with vividness yet long-held notes occasionally battled with her co-stars’. Asking Scarpia if one had to lie to please him (“Dunque per compiacervi si dovrebbe mentir?”), Yoncheva sustained the “tir” throughout the start of his response. The eighth-note D on “la” of Tosca’s “Non so nulla” (“I know nothing”) in her brusque denial became a staggered whole note. Portamenti lengthened her insistence, “Egli era solo” (“He was alone,”) and Yoncheva slid up to many notes in “Vissi d’arte”, minimizing its legato. Abrupt exertions of her rage – like Tosca’s proud description of plunging the knife into Scarpia’s heart (“Io quella lama gli piantai nel cor”) – unleashed a vicious chest voice perfect for the character. But sadly these were few and far between.

The resister’s spirit tilted Russell Thomas’s Cavaradossi to the latter’s stubborn side. Deprived in large degree of vulnerability, this was a character who seemed more interested in saving Angelotti than indulging Tosca’s wishes. Such a choice made the enamored “Recondita armonia” a piece of grandstanding; a passion for painting was lost in the reference to art’s innate mystery (“l’arte nel suo mistero”). Cavaradossi’s assurance to Tosca upon her arrival – “Son qui” (“I’m here”) extended its E flat into declaratory portamento. Admitting she had captivated him (“M’avvinci nei tuoi lacci”), Mario appeared more confident than lovingly submissive.

Thomas’s best moments came in unafraid defiance – such as Act two’s jubilant reaction to the news of Melas’s escape, “Vittoria!”, which the empowered tenor sang with radiance. Strain seemed to taint the top notes in “E lucevan le stelle” however, and Cavaradossi’s prior lament, “Io lascio al mondo una persona cara” (“I’m leaving someone very dear to me behind”) emerged enfeebled.

Sculpting Scarpia with blasé sadism, baritone Aleksei Isaev produced an unapologetic aggressor. Irreverence made his performance a rare pleasure to behold. A swift handwave out of respect for his inferior Sciarrone with the brisk command to give Tosca a letter (“Le darai questo biglietto”); pointed rhythms timed his machinations as he sang of Iago’s use of a suspicious handkerchief and his a veil (“Jago ebbe un fazzoletto, ed io un ventaglio!”).

Perilous in his imperiousness, Scarpia desired Tosca for possession brutally impersonally. No more was she than a mere plaything for his after-work delights; a toy wound tightly around his finger. When Spoletta checked they were to organize a “simulated” execution for the erring painter, Scarpia interrupted him with confirmation. Molding darkness in the underbelly of his voice, the singer shaped each phrase with a delicious condescension.

Unctuousness nestled the expected creepiness into the form of Hubert Francis’s Spoletta – upping Scarpia’s portentousness with spooky tension. Germán E. Alcántara reeled the opera off with fraught bass notes reflecting Angelotti’s angst but Jeremy White’s Sacristan succumbed to some falsetto notes and pronounced “Recito l’Angelus” with a “si” in the “cito”: incorrect in Italian.

Romance entranced the orchestra at Andrea Battistoni’s baton – filling in where it was lacking in the leads. Imbuing strings’ with tremolos’ immersive shimmers, Battistoni led the section with a classical rubato optimal for “Tosca”. Punctual, Puccini leitmotif-led chords resounded with the lethal fates of his protagonists to hammer home disaster. Dread treaded Covent Garden’s boards in steps tempestuous by the brass players. Occasional mistakes took precedence: French horns exhibiting a foul tone at the start of the third act; a missing note on clarinet before “E lucevan le stelle.” But altogether the ensemble limned the tale of the libretto far more intimately than the singers.

Patchy in places, this production managed to subsist on episodes of dazzle scattered sparsely through its rendering. But chemistry between its three leads stayed in large part absent – making “Tosca” more a story about independent individuals than its doomed trio.