Did anyone hear sobbing? La bohème is one of the great operatic tear-jerkers, yet Benedict Andrews’ new production for English National Opera, previously seen in Amsterdam, left me dry-eyed. Judging by the lack of sobs and sniffles around me, I wasn’t the only one. A cold, clinical set did little to raise the emotional temperature, while stodgy conducting compromised some fine vocal performances. It’s a staging devoid of heart.
We’re asked to believe this is today’s Paris, yet Rodolfo still hammers out his reviews on a typewriter. (Even our more senior generation of critics has familiarity with the internet.) A copy of Le Figaro is the only French connection. The real problem, though, with setting Bohème in a contemporary setting is that, in Paris, people no longer die from tuberculosis. Andrews circumvents this by showing Mimì and Rodolfo shooting up heroin – that’s some first date! – and presumably her habit grows from there (Marcello inspects her wrists when he declares “You’re coughing” in Act III). It’s not an unreasonable proposition.
Mimì is no sweet innocent. She stalks Rodolfo in Act I, hovering outside, eavesdropping, waiting for him to be alone to seize her moment. They don’t use the candle for illumination – hardly necessary when over-bright moonlight beams through the frosted pane – but to prepare the heroin they both inject during “Che gelida manina”. What is one of the most romantic encounters in opera is thus rendered devoid of romance and has the audience wincing. It lends Rodolfo’s declaration that he has “a few more lines to finish” before joining his friends at Café Momus a double edge. Andrews over-eggs it when the first words in Act IV are from one of the children on the suburban swings outside: “I’m so high!”. Quite.
Act II is a sprawling mess. Johannes Schütz’s set splits apart and different sections are wheeled around for cast and chorus to clumsily negotiate. Just as we think we’ve established which sections are “inside”, a bunch of children spills through the invisible “wall” into Momus. The sparse set for Act III holds promise; a small building for the inn where Marcello and Musetta have found employment, a fire burning, snow swirling, all lit atmospherically by Jon Clark. It is then spoilt by having that building on a revolve, allowing us to peek inside at the cramped goings-on. Fair enough, but to send it on another spin during the act’s closing moments is to completely distract from Mimì and Rodolfo, who have just – amicably, regretfully – broken up. Act IV delivered springtime, all bright sunlight and leaves.