A woman is killed in the Netherlands on average every eight days, and in at least half of these cases the perpetrator is her current or former partner. Recent debates in the Dutch press about works such as Carmen have sharpened the focus on how opera stages gendered violence. Dutch National Opera even organised an evening on this societal theme, making the gratuitous physical violence in the revival of Robert Carsen’s Pagliacci and the imposition of a voyeuristic gaze upon the audience all the more striking.
Against this backdrop, this revival of Pagliacci and Cavalleria rusticana inevitably lands in a charged contemporary context. First staged at DNO in 2019, his production reverses the traditional running order by opening with Pagliacci. He transplants the raw passions of Mascagni’s Sicilian countryside into a meta-theatrical backstage world, while the chorus begins among the audience, collapsing the boundary between spectators and performers.
Radu Boruzescu’s designs amplify this dynamic: rehearsal rooms, dressing spaces and vast mirrors expose the mechanics of performance while turning spectators into part of the spectacle. Carsen’s concept hinges on the tension between observing and being observed, a tension that becomes increasingly fraught as the evening progresses. Carsen wants to make us aware of our role as spectators. But where does reflection end and exploitation begin?
The scene in which Tonio attacks Nedda and forces himself on her is brutally physical, verging on sexual assault. Even though Nedda fights back resolutely with a spray can, the moment is harsher than it needs to be. By theatrically amplifying and aestheticising this violence under the banner of ‘watching and being watched’, Carsen slips into a voyeuristic male gaze: the murder of a woman becomes theatrical spectacle once again. He should have deconstructed this patriarchal violence rather than simply putting it on repeated display.
Fortunately, the musical standard provides a powerful counterweight. The Netherlands Philharmonic Orchestra shone under Andrea Battistoni, who chose broad, controlled tempi and drew unusual warmth and depth from both scores. The lower strings simmered with tragedy, while the famous Intermezzo from Cavalleria rusticana became the orchestral high point of the evening. Its swelling violins and whispered final note made human vulnerability almost painfully tangible, and the audience rewarded the conductor with warm applause.
Corinne Winters gave Nedda a lustrous, bright and supple voice, with plenty of dramatic power. Her love scene with Silvio, sung with dark-hued elegance by Hubert Zapiór, generated rare and palpable chemistry. Visually and vocally compelling, the scene carried an unmistakable sensual charge. Yet seen through a female-gaze perspective, it is also deeply uncomfortable.
Riccardo Massi delivered “Vesti la giubba” with contained anguish and remarkable control; his vocal stamina in Battistoni’s slow tempi was awe-inspiring. Baritone Roman Burdenko returned as Tonio and Alfio, once again making a very strong impression with the sonorous lyricism of his Prologue before turning increasingly poisonous. Jacob Abrahamse (Peppe), from DNO’s Studio, completed the cast with playful ease.
In Cavalleria rusticana, South Korean tenor SeokJong Baek revealed himself as a vocal powerhouse. His Turiddu has a heroic, metallic edge, yet he can pivot instantly to a velvety, deeply felt mezza voce. In his central duet with Raehann Bryce-Davis’s Santuzza, the combination produced vocal fireworks. Bryce-Davis impressed with a powerful lower register and a robust middle voice steeped in grief. Maria Warenberg sang a fresh, sensitive Lola. Her “Fior di giaggiolo” captured Lola’s character to perfection with seductive nonchalance and vocal agility. Enkelejda Shkosa brought dignity and warmth to Mamma Lucia.
Ultimately, the evening’s greatest triumph belonged to the Chorus of Dutch National Opera, prepared by Edward Ananian-Cooper. Expanded to 80 singers, the ensemble displayed phenomenal dynamic control and immaculate diction (language coach Valentina di Taranto). From the vividly shaped “Oh oh, presto, affrettiamoci” at the beginning of the second act of Pag, to the pastoral glow of “Gli aranci olezzano” in Cav and the overwhelming Easter Hymn, the chorus showed extraordinary precision and range. When, at the close, the choristers turn from spectators into stunned witnesses to a double murder, music and drama fuse to chilling effect.
