Semyon Bychkov leads a musically superior Rusalka at Covent Garden

Rusalka, that most famous Czech opera, has had a chequered history at Covent Garden. This was only The Royal Opera's ninth performance – twice in concert in 2003 (a glorious vehicle for Renée Fleming, one of her finest roles) and a 2012 debacle from the Weiler and Morabito stable that rightly never saw the light of day again. Directors Ann Yee and Natalie Abrahami take up the challenge, seeing the essence of Dvořák’s tale as a conflict between humankind and nature. 

Theirs is a pretty straight retelling of the story, minus any weighty concept, but using the environmental emergency and man’s exploitation of nature as a hook. The production itself admirably employs sustainable means where possible, repurposing materials, and even extends to the ROH programme – matt finish, made from 100% recycled paper. All to the good. Their vision overreaches into virtue-signalling when it comes to rewriting the cast list though. This is a fairy tale and Ježibaba is a witch, but she’s described here as a “wise, eternal spirit”... because we don’t want to risk upsetting witches? The Foreign Princess becomes a Duchess, “the Prince’s political equal”. Enough. 

Their production, designed by Chloe Lamford, Annemarie Woods and Paule Constable, has its visually striking moments. Aerialists in the prelude depict Rusalka and the Prince diving and tumbling through the depths of the lake and Act 1 looks beautiful, framed by weeping willows (or was it pondweed?), with Rusalka and her water sprite father, Vodník, in long, flowing blue robes. Mossy wood sprites are choreographed deftly and Ježibaba has something of an eco-warrior about her. She hacks Rusalka’s watery robes away, leaving a deep scar on her back that shocks the Prince and his friends in Act 2. His white pleasure palace is decorated with foil balloons and populated by posturing guests who are smeared in oil, smoking cigarettes – a walking health warning. 

By Act 3, Rusalka’s lake is polluted with detritus from the demolished palace. At the Prince’s death, her spirit is reborn, a symbol of hope. It’s not a production that plumbs any great psychological depths, but it’s attractively done. And it’s revivable. 

It was the musical performances that made this opening night extra special. For a moment I wondered if Semyon Bychkov had actually snuck the Czech Philharmonic into the Covent Garden pit, so idiomatic did the home team orchestra sound in Dvořák’s lush score, so rich the string playing. Bychkov clearly adores this music and, although he was inclined to linger a little too long in the wood sprites’ Act 3 reveries, allowed it to bloom and flow at a natural pace. 

Asmik Grigorian is a real stage animal, inhabiting her roles completely. If her Rusalka here wasn’t as detailed or as nuanced as her Rusalka in Madrid, that's down to Christof Loy’s superior direction. Vocally, she displayed plenty of steel, tempered by softer colours in a heartfelt Song to the Moon. If anything, her Act 3 aria as Rusalka returns, pale and sad, to the lakeside, was even more moving. There’s emotional truth to everything Grigorian sings; this was no exception.  

Russian baritone Aleksei Isaev made an impressive house debut as Vodník, a little cloudy at the bottom, but with soaring power up top. His Act 2 aria, where he despairs at how his daughter is ensnared by the world of men, was sung with tremendous authority. Dame Sarah Connolly made for a compelling Ježibaba, lighter than usually cast, but still incisive in casting her spells. Emma Bell brought Wagnerian heft to her glamorous Foreign Princess and Ross Ramgobin and Hongni Wu were strong as the Gamekeeper and Kitchen Boy. The production is also blessed by Vuvu Mpofu, Gabrielė Kupšytė and Anne Marie Stanley as a lively trio of Wood Sprites. 

But it was David Butt Philip who stole the evening. The British tenor was due to sing the Prince in Tatjana Gürbaca’s new production at English National Opera in 2020, snatched away just as the Covid lockdown hit. He’s since sung the role in Madrid, but this was London’s first chance to finally hear it. This is a taxing role of Wagnerian strength – the Prince’s ecstatic declaration of love at the end of Act 1 has shades of Siegmund’s “Winterstürme” – but that didn’t stand in the way of Butt Philip, whose tenor gleamed with immense power, but also with tender beauty. It’s an astonishing voice. He’s already in demand on Europe’s great stages – Vienna loves him – but as an interview in The Times last week revealed, he has no more productions booked in the UK. Catch him while you can. Or get your passport out.