As the curtain rises towards the end of the histrionic Rigoletto prelude, shafts of light pierce the brooding darkness from above to illuminate a tableau mort depicting Caravaggio’s sensational The Martyrdom of St Matthew. Instead of the saint, a young lady dressed in virginal white. The soldier wears a breastplate and the skull of a bull, complete with golden horns. Rigoletto, in red ruff and jester’s cap, observes. It’s a breathtaking image, gloriously lit by Fabiana Piccioli.
Last night, that dramatic prelude heralded not just the opening of a new production – Oliver Mears’ first since becoming Director of Opera – but the start of a new Royal Opera season, with a full house finally returning after the long Covid hiatus and the false starts of the last twelve months. Mears has bided his time, having taken up his post in 2017. There’s been no Kasper Holten-like scramble to instantly make his mark, so this directorial debut was keenly awaited, not just to appraise Mears’ staging, but also to get a steer on the style of production and directors he might bring to the house.
That opening tableau makes a favourable impression, although it is arguably also the single most striking visual moment of the evening. When his armour and headdress are removed, the soldier is revealed as the Duke of Mantua. The woman is Count Monterone’s daughter. She is pregnant. This Duke is a devoted art lover and collector. Titian’s Venus of Urbino is unveiled, its erotic charge reflected on the scene taking place below. By Act 2, it has been replaced by another Titian, The Rape of Europa, hanging prophetically above the door to the Duke’s bedchamber where the abducted Gilda is imprisoned.
Simon Lima Holdsworth’s set is simple but effective, the giant painting rising to reveal a cutaway which acts as Gilda’s bedroom, the walls then opening up further to become Sparafucile’s seedy tavern of Act 3. Ilona Karas’ costumes initially look Renaissance chic until Monterone bursts in wearing a modern day suit – the Duke has laid on an elaborate costume party (Gilbert Deflo did something similar in Zurich in 2006). Elsewhere, the setting is timeless, Rigoletto heads home wearing a homburg and an overcoat, the assassin Sparafucile wears denim, Gilda a simple, demure dress. It’s a production that successfully captures the “tinta” of the opera – the score’s burnt umber and sepia tones – much as its predecessor did, David McVicar's scrapheap on a revolve.