VoxCarnyx

Theatre Royal, Glasgow

Where Puccini envisioned “mythical ancient times” in imperialist Peking as the setting for his final opera Turandot, Sir David McVicar’s new production for Scottish Opera of the composer’s last opera assigns it to the authoritarian brutalism of fascist Italy in the 1920s. The impact is exhilarating and workable at every level, driven by a ferocious energy that never once loses its grip. 

It’s clear, from the moment music director Stuart Stratford sets in motion the cold, biting discomfort of the orchestra’s abrupt scene-setter, that Scottish Opera has a supreme hit on its hands. Charles Edwards’ set designs instantly echo the magnificence of the musical score, tempered by signs of physical and moral decay, the latter amplified by a grotesque chorus whose febrile reactions range from bloodthirsty and vengeful to terrified and oppressed. Under McVicar’s  meticulous direction every detail matters, every individual action counts.

Such is the human canvas on which the main cast embosses its vital presence, defined of course by the preeminence of its two central characters, Turandot and Calaf. No worries there. Danish soprano Trine Møller projects a refreshingly lyrical Turandot, still dark and aloof in her ruthless campaign of inviting suitors to answer three riddles and having them executed when they fail, but ravishingly transformed by Calaf’s selfless passion. 

As Calaf, tenor Victor Starsky exerts remarkable control and expressive range, literally show-stopping in a Nessun dorma that eschews showmanship in favour of its broader dramatic relevance. For both Møller and Starsky, these performances represent their Scottish Opera debuts.

The more familiar face of Hye-Youn Lee portrays the fateful Liù – cursed by her unrequited love for Calaf – with all the agonising loyalty and tender affection the role calls for, ever supportive of Calaf’s ageing father Timur, nobly sung by Insung Sim. Jamie MacDougall is impressively world weary as Turandot’s father, the Emperor Altoum.

Amid the darkness and the tragedy, Ping, Pang and Pong – a whimsically oddball trio of commedia dell’arte-style court bureaucrats – provide a welcome foil, played brilliantly by Josef Jeongmeen, Aled Hall and Luvo Maranti respectively. The choreography is wonderfully madcap, the trio’s satirical purpose well served.

McVicar and Stratford have opted for Franco Alfano’s original ending, one of two versions he wrote when asked to complete the unfinished score after Puccini’s death. The transition after Liù’s harrowing death remains audible, but the driving impetus of this staging, the ripeness of the Scottish Opera Orchestra, and the overall cohesiveness of the production’s acoustical tricks, argue the case convincingly. I challenge anyone not to feel a shiver down the back in the opera’s closing moments.

Perhaps the most telling aspect of this new Scottish Opera Turandot is its unrelenting, thought-provoking captivation. McVicar’s visceral staging, its vivid characterisations and fearless clarity, shines the focus on such issues as victimhood, authoritarianism or power-structured relationships that might seem distant, even inoffensive, in a Chinese fairytale setting, but which hit so much harder when brought nearer to home. It may be 1920s Italy, but there’s a lot happening in today’s global politics that connects us to it. 

Ken Walton

Scottish Opera’s Turandot is at the Theatre Royal, Glasgow (25,28 & 31 October), and at Edinburgh Festival Theatre (11, 14, 17, 19 & 22 November). Full information at www.scottishopera.org.uk

(Photo: Mihaela Bodlovic)