Turandot is problematic. The fact Puccini’s opera was unfinished at his death is the least of its issues. The idea that cutting off suitors’ heads ultimately leads to true love is a bit of a worry, and then there is the matter of its supposed Chinese-ness. For Opera Australia’s new production, American director and choreographer Ann Yee aims to locate it for a modern audience in a “psychological landscape”, suggesting that Turandot suffers from “profound intergenerational trauma” due to the ill treatment of her ancestor Lou-Ling (noted in the programme), which is one thing, but that she also has “a phenomenal value system” (in a newspaper interview) is a bit harder to grasp. With respect to cultural authenticity, two Chinese scholars were consulted, in what respect is not entirely clear.
In any case, Turandot is an opera, the success of which depends on suspending our disbelief by means of music, spectacle and emotional engagement, and on these scores the production is a hit. Yee elects to provide Turandot with an embodied representation of Lou-Ling, an ‘avatar’ performed by dancer Hoyori Maruo, and the curtain rises in silence to reveal her at first still, then lithely twisting in agony. Then the orchestra strikes up, the stage fills and the speaker (Puccini’s mandarin) begins his declamation.
The effective set, courtesy Elizabeth Gadsby, with few if any props, manages to look monumental on the relatively small stage; grey toned side walls have doors which open off it intermittently at different levels, and a large central modular block advances, retreats and revolves, providing niches at different heights and occasionally flights of stairs. During the first part of the opera (Acts 1 and 2 are performed before the interval), a large stylised female Asian face appears at the rear of the stage, with moving eyes. David Fleischer’s costumes range from modern day casual (Liù) to stylised Chinese (Lou-Ling) to operatic opulence (Turandot – white when first seen by Calaf, later black). The chorus and supplementary dancers are clad in shades of blue and grey. Ping, Pang and Pong, described here as “adminstrators”, seem more like tech bros, at one point dealing with what looks like a rather old-fashioned main frame computer. The Emperor is very downmarket in skivvy and slacks, especially compared to the OA’s previous production with its towering golden figure. One particularly nice touch is having Turandot flanked by six attendants in glittering blue costumes, looking like graceful animated stalagmites.
Hungarian Henrik Nánási, making his Australian debut (there are three more conductors over this season’s run), conducted with flair and authority, at no time allowing the large forces to ride over his singers. The Opera Australia Chorus sang with their usual focused discipline, if sounding a little shouty at times, but who could blame them. The Opera Australia Children’s Chorus should also be commended.
As with the conducting revolving door, so with the singers. Over the season there will be two Turandots, three Calafs and two each of Liù, Ping, Pang and Pong. On this occasion, the central trio could not be faulted. The title role was sung by Australian soprano Rebecca Nash, returning from pursuing a career in similar major roles in Europe and North America. Her large, well-upholstered voice had no problem negotiating the part vocally and she convinced dramatically, moving from icy hauteur to her final surrender to love. An indication of the emotional engagement engendered was the moment when Calaf kissed her; after a momentary hesitation, her enthusiastic response attracted cheers from the audience.
Nash was well paired with South Korean tenor Young Woo Kim as Calaf, deploying an impressively powerful voice, but not with brute force; his “Nessun dorma” was beautifully modulated. On her first visit to Australia, Italian soprano Maria Teresa Leva also impressed as a most moving Liù; her “Signore, ascolta” was exquisite, with the last high notes of crystalline impeccable purity.
Opera Australia stalwart baritone Richard Anderson was a smoothly sung and sympathetic Timur. Ping was resonantly sung by baritone Luke Gabbedy, and the ensemble numbers with Michael Petrucelli’s Pang and John Longmuir’s Pong were musically pleasing and quite touching in their melancholy. Shane Lowrencev was an authoritative Speaker and the Emperor was nicely portrayed by Gregory Brown. The final curtain was greeted with great enthusiasm.
