Scottish Opera: Turandot
Theatre Royal, Glasgow 22/10/26
Orchestra of Scottish Opera; Chorus and Children’s Chorus of ‘Turandot’
Stuart Stratford (conductor)
Trine Møller (soprano); Victor Starsky (tenor); Hye-Youn Lee (soprano); Insung Sim (bass); Jamie MacDougall (tenor); Josef Jeongmeen Ahn (baritone); Aled Hall, Luvo Maranti (tenors); Daniel Barrett (baritone); Max Burns (tenor); Jamie Francis (actor)
In a new co-production with Irish National Opera, Scottish Opera presents Franco Alfano’s original (and seldom seen) completion of Puccini’s final and unfinished opera ‘Turandot’. Scottish director Sir David McVicar brings a fresh and revelatory approach to the dark allegorical tale of love conquering insurmountable obstacles. With six performances in Glasgow and five in Edinburgh, from the last quarter of October through to all but the last quarter of November, even before considering the creative aspects, this is a huge production. With the Orchestra of Scottish Opera at full strength (plus an offstage band), as full a chorus as has been seen in many a year, plus an offstage children’s chorus and a full cast of principals, all conducted by Stuart Stratford, the aural experience promised is epic enough. Visually, the sumptuous sets and props designed by Charles Edwards, costumes by Doey Lüthi, lighting by Ben Pickersgill and choreography by Gareth Mole, almost completely replicate the creative team that delivered the superb ‘Il trittico’ in 2023. The opera is sung in Italian with English surtitles. A recipe, then, for something pretty special. This review covers the opening night in Glasgow on 22nd.
What is so different about David McVicar’s (and the creative team’s) vision for ‘Turandot’? I would say that the starting point has been a recognition that a fundamentally mythical and allegorical opera has had many decades of productions burdened with inessential and irrelevant “realisation”, which actually obscures the story. For example, obsessing over the “Chinese” setting has resulted in ghastly kitsch chinoiserie. There is not a shred of that in this production. “China” is evoked in the music, but the essence of the setting is “dystopia”. The “empire” is a society in decline, fixated on one person avenging an ancient insult through a bizarre gruesome ritual of 3 riddles. Another trope that has been thankfully abandoned is the character of Turandot herself as a cruel ice-maiden based on the Disney “evil queen” stereotype. Again, not a trace of that in this production. Turandot is a captive, a prisoner of her own vow. Her life is scripted: suitors come, they fail to answer the riddles, they are slain. When Calaf, for whom she experiences unfamiliar feelings, answers the riddles, she is lost. Nothing has prepared her for a life where vengeance no longer defines her; where her feelings can be expressed, so she denies them. The character of Calaf is also more rounded, still reckless and prone to risky behaviour, but it is his faith in Turandot’s capacity to recognise, experience and, finally, exercise compassion that defines him, and not just self-confidence. At last, a ‘Turandot’ where I can care about all the characters (and not just Liù?).
Danish dramatic soprano Trine Møller is Turandot. It is not until Act 2, Scene 2 that we learn the reason for her vow, in the aria ‘In questa reggia’. Back in ancient times, her ancestress ruled the kingdom wisely, resisting the domination of men. She was deposed, raped and murdered by a foreign invading prince. Turandot believes herself to be a reincarnation of her ancestress. In this production, the Princess’ ghost, in the form of a young girl played by Kirsty Durie, haunts Turandot as an alter ego. She will never submit to the domination of men. The riddles ensure that any who are foolhardy enough will die trying. She tries in vain to dissuade Calaf from continuing. Her riddles, fearsomely enunciated (‘Straniero, ascolta!’) are answered, much to her chagrin and the astonishment of the onlookers. This can’t be happening. With ‘Mi porterai con la forza?’, she appeals to Calaf’s sense of decency: surely he wouldn’t take her by force? His reply, a “double or quits” counter-riddle, to discover his name before dawn, offers her a way forward (but not out) and at least the illusion of agency. And time, he hopes, to acknowledge her feelings (if they exist).
American tenor Victor Starsky is Calaf, displaced Prince of Tartary, his identity unknown to almost all the rest of the characters until the very end of the opera. His chance arrival at the beginning just as the fate of an unsuccessful suitor (the Prince of Persia) is decided causes him to bump into an old blind man and a slave girl, knocked over by the brutal crowd-control measures. The old man is his father Timur, and Liù is caring for him. His first glimpse of Turandot is enough. Despite her refusal of clemency pleaded for by the crowd, he is smitten and resolves, against all advice, to challenge for her hand. The Act 1 finale, starting with ‘Non piangere, Liù’, is one of Puccini’s finest, building to a huge climax: the die is cast. By Act 3, his counter-riddle has the whole of Peking in a nocturnal ferment to find out his name. His big aria, ‘Nessun dorma’, captures the mood and his confidence – surely he can’t lose? The torture and death of Liù shake his confidence and he reproaches Turandot for her cruelty (‘Principessa di morte’), taking her in his arms and kissing her. She finally confesses her feelings, but nothing more. In one last throw of the dice, he tells her his name, putting his fate in her hands. The cliffhanger moment comes in the last scene, before the Emperor’s throne. “I know his name … it is ‘Love’”. Whew!
No stranger to Scottish Opera audiences, South Korean soprano Hye-Youn Lee (an excellent Micaëla in an otherwise bizarre ‘Carmen’ 2023, a fabulous Violetta in ‘La traviata’ 2024, a touching Mimì in ‘La bohème’ 2025) was our Liù, the steadfast slave girl devoted to Calaf, enduring torture rather than reveal his name. Her aria, trying in vain to dissuade him from attempting the riddles (‘Signore, ascolta!’), is very beautiful and probably my favourite in the opera, generally raising a tear. Fans of ‘Inspector Morse’ will know that I therefore share with the eponymous detective, who sheds tears only once in all 33 episodes (in ‘The Death of the Self’), when hearing the aria performed in the Arena in Verona. And yes, there was something in my eye. It is Liù’s defiant refusal under torture to divulge Calaf’s name that mystifies Turandot, and when Liù tells her that it is love and predicts that she too will melt under its power (‘Tu che di gel sei cinta’), the seeds are sown for Turandot’s transformation. Liù then grabs a soldier’s dagger and kills herself.
New to my reviews, South Korean bass Insung Sim was Timur, the deposed king of Tartary and Calaf’s father. A strong performance as a frail blind character who sees his son blinded by reckless love and his faithful servant girl commit suicide out of love for his son. By contrast, appearing more regularly than can realistically be listed, Scottish tenor Jamie MacDougall (Torquemada the clockmaker in ‘L’heure espagnole’, the Defendant in ‘Trial by Jury’, premiering caustic SpAd Sandy Hogg in ‘A Matter of Misconduct’, the Spy in ‘Marx in London!’, the pompous Mayor, Mr Upfold, in ‘Albert Herring’, and a retrospective Harry Lauder in a one-man show, to list but a handful) played Emperor Altoum, Turandot’s father. Even he is growing weary of Turandot’s vow and the bloody ritual (‘Un giuramento atroce’).
The light-relief comedic trio of reluctant ministers of state, Ping, Pang and Pong, were played respectively by Korean baritone Josef Jeongmeen Ahn (a wily Malatesta in ‘Don Pasquale’ two years ago), Welsh tenor Aled Hall, and South African tenor Luvo Maranti (SO Emerging Artist, Don Basilio and Don Curzio in ‘The Marriage of Figaro’, Hokusai’s grandson in ‘The Great Wave’, the poet Gonzalve in ‘L’heure espagnole’, office worker in last year’s Highlights Tour). They try in vain to talk some sense into the smitten Calaf (‘Fermo, che fai?’). Act 2, Scene 1 is devoted to their hankering after a quiet rural life, instead of the lot of a minister in this crazy imperial administration (‘Ho una casa nell'Honan’). Their mock “wedding ceremony” was hilariously costumed. By Act 3, they try bribery to buy Calaf off (‘Tu che guardi le stelle’) but to no avail. Their classic vaudeville triple-act, bowler-hatted and exquisitely choreographed, is “The Three Stooges minus the violence” until they are the callous proponents of torture to extract Calaf’s name.
Another Emerging Artist, Scottish baritone Daniel Barrett (Ramiro in ‘L’heure espagnole’, Grigory Stepanovich Smirnov in ‘The Bear’) was a Mandarin announcing the laws governing failure at the riddles at the beginning of the opera (‘Popolo di Pechino!’) and again in Act 2 before the riddles are asked. Clad as a top-hatted “Hooray Henry”, he cackles at the cruelty. The ill-fated Prince of Persia was played by tenor Max Burns, walking naked to his death in this production. The executioner (a non-vocal role) was played by Jamie Francis. The gruesome glint from his gleaming blade is topped (no pun intended) by another “prop”: the Prince of Persia’s severed head.
The grotesque is never far from the milieu evoked by the sets, props, costumes and choreography, but faded magnificence is always to the fore. The lighting served to underline these elements but also, occasionally, to introduce an element of hope, none more than the glow of sunrise in Act 3. The magnificent headdress worn by Turandot at her first appearance (wow!) contrasts with the skull-hugging style of the end of Act 3 – Turandot the flesh-and-blood woman. The courtiers at the Eternal Wedding Feast are dressed to (almost) impress, but their contempt for commoners is evident and their table manners are vile. The servants and waiters are almost ritually robotic in their movements. The black-clad Sapes, keepers of the scrolls with the answers to the riddles, are dignified, until they flutter the scrolls in confirmatory astonishment at Calaf’s correct answers. Thus, responsibility for delivering much of the visual elements of the production falls to the chorus. And then they have to sing too. As ever with the Chorus of Scottish Opera, trained by Susannah Wapshott, the big chorus numbers, especially the ends of the acts, were superb. The offstage singing from adults and children, piped into the auditorium via speaker, was flawless and beautiful.
The music, Puccini’s most tonally adventurous score, found a persuasive champion in Stuart Stratford. If there are “seams” between Puccini and Alfano, his shaping of the music made them imperceptible. I am fairly sure that this was my first hearing of the original full-length Alfano ending. Its case was cogently pled, musically as well as dramatically.
For many, ‘Turandot’ is an opera with a ravishing score but a problematic libretto. This production assembles a confluence of creative elements that marry the two in a way that tells a story worth telling, in a way that not only makes sense, but captivates the ear and the heart, with a spellbinding artistic endeavour greater than the sum of its parts. Powerful and unforgettable. Highly recommended.
https://www.scottishopera.org.uk/shows/turandot/
photo credit: Mihaela Bodlovic