At the risk of repeating myself, opera should be all about the music and the voice. If I’m ever asked to quantify that statement, I readily proffer “Turandot” in support of my assertions. For here is a ridiculous, cruel, convoluted tale that is impossible to like and grasp, perpetrated by a pair of unpleasant, thoroughly dislikeable characters with, were it the REAL world, absolutely no redeeming qualities whatsoever.

Princess Turandot, like some horror movie version of Elsa from Disney’s “Frozen,” casts ice cold frigid wastelands everywhere she treads, readily orders the decapitation of all and any admiring would-be-suitors who pass through and invariably fail to correctly answer three ridiculous riddles, and justifies these psychopathic traits on account of an ancestor who was apparently wronged by a man.

The unknown prince, Calaf, who plays her “simp,” in the true urban dictionary definition of the term, whose obsession knows no bounds, and who, even after correctly becoming the first person to solve the afore-mentioned riddles STILL offers his neck to the chopping block, should the Princess discover his name, and STILL persists in idolizing her even when the one who truly loves him, Liù, kills herself in order to assist in this grotesque, proposed coupling. “With burning hands I’ll clasp the golden border of your starry cloak” he sings. They deserve each other.

Production Details

Of course, there are those who will argue that the opera represents the triumph of good over evil, and love conquering all. I prefer to ignore the story completely and focus on the visuals and the music. Did I mention opera should be all about the music? Andrei Serban’s production is over forty years old but there is, despite my above rant, much to like still. It is visually enchanting, with deep red, cascading silk streamers with four giant masks suspended from the ceiling against a backdrop of pagoda-styled tiered balconies, and tributes must be paid here to British designer, the late Sally Jacobs, who devised wonderful and inspired scenery, including tiered galleries, dragons, silk costumes and effective face masks.

Dancers weave their magical spells, displaying remarkable choreography that reproduces authentic tai-chi inspired movement, the performers showing great feats of strength and athleticism. Choreographer Kate Flatt and Choreologist Tatiana Novaes Coelho have produced a work of art in its own right here.
Subtle backlighting, cololurful keys and highlight spots, courtesy of lighting designer F. Mitchell Dana serve to promote the artists.

Puccini’s propensity for ardent orchestration is legendary, often doubling lush vocal lines in order to emphasize and strengthen melodic lines, employing strident strings and percussion, and if you have an enthusiastic conductor who reproduces the score faithfully, you frequently need a BIG voice to surmount the orchestra in order to be heard.

Stellar Cast

Turandot could have been written for Sondra Radvanovsky, the ice Princess whose resonant, incisive voice slices through the music as effectively as would her executioner’s blade, through her rejected lovers’ necks. She possesses a glorious instrument, large and often arresting, yet capable of beautifully soft utterances and evocative pianissimos. More than that, she exudes a persona and fragility, mitigating the ludicrously wicked character the role embodies, making a human out of the monster. Her “In questa Reggia” was almost convincing, such was the emotion that she injected into it, and her capitulation to Calaf in the final scenes hints at genuine vulnerability, no mean feat when one considers the character’s history. Her first venture into this role was a recorded version with Antonio Pappano, where she was able to spend some time shaping, revising and perfecting her Turandot. In 2016, she said in an interview that she felt she was still singing at her best. I took the opportunity a few days ago to ask her if she still believed she was singing at her best. She responded that she did and on the evidence of this performance, it would be hard to argue otherwise.

Her conqueror, Calaf, is here played by South Korean tenor SeokJong Baek. His rise and reputation through the principal opera houses of the world has been nothing short of meteoric. When one is fortunate enough to hear him live, that remarkable ascension becomes completely understandable. He has a veritable smorgasbord of rich, dark palettes in the middle register where his natural baritonal qualities shine, then when he ascends into the upper registers, he produces genuine squillo and an illustrious ping that reverberates into all corners of the theatre. Like Radvanovsky, he also has astonishing breath control, most evident in his final cry of “Turandot!” as he strikes the huge gong at the end of Act one. His rendition of the famous “Nessun Dorma!” brought applause, deservedly so as he inflicts a wonderful, almost guttural sob in the upper register and again, his amazing breath technique produced a truly triumphant final “Vincero!” But I preferred his heart-rending softening and inflection in “Non piangere, Liù.” More than that, he has immaculate phrasing and diction and on this showing, his ascension is sure to continue.

More Cast Highlights

The vocal majesty wasn’t just confined to the two principal performers, however, and this turned out to be a truly stellar cast. Russian soprano Anna Princeva performs as Liù, the former slave girl and carer for Calaf’s father, Timur. Here making her debut in the role, she sings exquisitely. Her aria, “Signore, ascolta!” where she pleads with Calaf not to pursue Turandot was more than sufficiently moving to counter any microscopic flaws in technique and her “Tu che di gel sei cinta” would melt the heart of any living thing, let alone the ice encapsulated Turandot.

Serving as essential narration and direction through such a preposterous tale are the three courtiers, or “ministers for fun,” delightfully, (if politically incorrectly named), Ping, Pang and Pong. Not just a welcome comedic interlude, but a masterful piece of physicality and clowning around. Hansung Yoo, as Ping, is positively stentorian in voice and produces gorgeous, mellifluous tones, especially in his second act aria “Ho una casa nell’Honan” where the trio lament their old homes and lifestyle. Pang, played by Welsh tenor Aled Hall produced, bright, gleaming lines and Pong, played by Michael Gibson must surely be destined for greater roles. He is a fine lyric tenor whose voice blends well with that of Hall. These guys have played these roles together before and have honed their skills well, performing individual feats of artistry, comedic timing and acrobatics, yet almost seemingly working as one unit.

(Literally), dropping from the skies, and seated in his throne, Paul Hopwood in the role of Princess Turandot’s father and “Son of Heaven” Emperor Altoum, sings with a nice, burnished tenor instrument whose voice seems well suited for the divine interjections he gets to deliver throughout the evening.
Polish bass Adam Palka sang assuredly with strength and conviction and gave a very good rendition of an ailing and aged Timur.

Likewise, Jette Parker member Ossian Huskinson proved to be a winner in the role of Mandarin, producing a fine, authoritive bass-baritone voice, and an utterly convincing stage presence that suggested maturity way beyond his years.

The Royal Opera chorus could never be out of sorts, such is their discipline and dedication, not to mention the expert guidance and devotion from their chorus master William Spaulding, and this was no exception, they being particularly beautiful and harmonious in those passages that require a soft and gentle approach.

The orchestra was sublime as ever in producing their gifts. Venezuelan conductor Rafael Payare frequently appeared so entrenched and entranced in the score, performing with wild, abandoned gusto in the first act. I genuinely wondered about the front row audience members’ faces such was his animated conducting. Moreover, he appeared at times to lose his orchestra and his singers, so that there was a perceptible disjointedness at times. I particularly noted some discordancy in the first part of the second act where the three ministers sing of upcoming events and even in the “Nessun Dorma” of the final act, the tempo appeared hurried and imbalanced. I put this down to opening night nerves and am sure that this will settle by the next performance.

The great maestro Puccini is said to have “poured his soul” into “Turandot,” his final opera. He was all too aware of its brutal subject matter and the almost impossible challenge of humanizing the brutal Princess. He famously died before its completion, right at the point where Liù sacrifices herself for the man she loved, and I am left wondering if Puccini simply couldn’t see a way of humanizing Turandot at all.