New Zealand Opera’s production of Puccini’s La bohème, directed by Bruno Ravella, impresses with its stunning set design and art direction, and its restrained emotional tone. While there were standout performances both acting-wise and vocally, these were not at a consistent level, so it was really the exquisite production and compelling conducting that truly elevated this evergreen tale of love and loss.
Ravella moves the action to the late 1940s, Tiziano Santi’s set designs an unqualified triumph. The bohemians' garret is a study in choreographed disarray, the carpet corners lifted by ropes cleverly shrinking the vast Kiri Te Kanawa Theatre stage into something intimate and lived-in. In a magical touch at the end of Act 1, Mimì and Rodolfo are transported into a snowy dreamscape, a simple but striking theatrical moment. Act 3’s snow-dusted streets, glowing under the street lamps, are equally atmospheric.
The real star of this production, however, is the art direction as a whole. Each interaction in Acts 3 and 4, in particular, unfold like a Renaissance canvas, with the principals positioned so naturally, but so intentionally, choreographed movements revealing one poignant tableau after another. Ravella’s direction is refreshingly unsentimental. Where some Bohème productions lean into melodrama or the maudlin, this one opts for restraint. The result is all the more affecting for its emotional honesty, particularly in the opera’s devastating final scene.
Unfortunately, the singing didn’t quite match the production in quality. Emma Pearson’s Musetta was the clear standout. From her first entrance, she electrified the stage. Her Waltz Song was a genuine star turn, with the action freezing around her as she commanded the scene, playful, charismatic and vocally assured, confidently filling out the music’s long lines and placing her high notes easily. She was also moving as Musetta showed her human side towards both Mimì and Marcello in the last act.
Ji-Min Park’s Rodolfo brought a voice of real size and excitement, particularly in the more impassioned moments. His scenes in Act 3, alternately lashing out in jealousy and then recounting his fears for Mimì’s health, were impactful. However, in tender passages like “Che gelida manina,” his softer singing sometimes lacked support, and the interpretation skewed more agitated than seductive. Elena Perroni’s Mimì offered pretty tone and well-shaped phrasing, but rarely projected with enough force or dramatic presence to anchor the opera’s emotional core. This meant that the famous love duet only flickered intermittently with its usual magic, salvaged mainly by the stunning snowing visuals.