Turandot | Opera Theatre
No doubt about it. Puccini’s Turandot is a cold, forbidding bitch. The character; not the opera. Personally, I reckon Calaf would’ve made a nobler decision in pairing off with Liu, the slave girl who selflessly nursed his elderly father. Had he done so, rather than being blinded by celebrity and the thrill of the chase, Liu might still be with us today. Or he could’ve run off with the supple dance he was offered and eschewed selflessness.
Either of these outcomes would’ve made for a more satisfying, comfortable and less perplexing ending. Turandot really didn’t deserve love and affection. OK, yes, yes, everyone does. All God’s children, yada, yada. But you know what I mean. Giacomo and collaborators came up with a musical masterpiece, but I’m not at all sure it’s a narrative one.
But the thing is, in no small measure thanks to The Three Tenors and Pavarotti in particular, Turandot features Nessun Dorma, and that’s enough. This production, of course, boasts a lot more than that. Like Graeme Murphy’s wonderful direction and choreography. Kristian Fredrickson’s stupendous set and costume design. John Drummond Montgomery’s insuperable lighting design. Arvo Volmer’s surpassing ‘conductivity’.
Nonetheless, Rosario La Spina’s rendering of that centrepiece, which wisely and sensitively steers clear of the histrionics that make it a popular stadium fave, is a moment the audience makes clear it’s been waiting for, when it comes well into the work. But the assembled was also quick to acclaim (and rightly so) American soprano Susan Foster as the icy queen. Hers is a spine-tinglingly thrilling delivery, to be sure. And I doubt anyone could sing up and out as commandingly, so it’s ideal casting.
For sheer beauty, however, it’s between homeboy La Spina and Italian Daria Masiero as the martyred Liu. They complement each other sublimely and, while there are numerous other impressive voices in this production these three are the focal, or vocal point. Other than the choruses, which have never sounded better, to my ear or recollection; a tribute to scoring and performances.
But even with such aural abundance, Murphy, Fredrickson and Montgomery’s vision demands attention and emerges as splendid. It’s a vision so grand (think epic, Biblical proportions), overwhelming, elegant and transcendent, there are moments when the sheer aesthetic depth and quality are prone to move you to tears. Virtually no words can even begin to do their realisation justice. The settings and costumes really have to be seen. Even when the scene is static, it can leave you aghast; the proportions, composition, colours, shadows and textures are so painterly, or cinematographic. Overlay Puccini’s glorious, ravishing, lovingly crafted score and those moments become melting.
Puccini, perhaps above all composers of opera, has a gift for interpolating ‘foreign’ sounds that are relative to his themes. Chinese folk songs and orchestration punctuates, pervades and peppers what is otherwise a quintessentially European score. And an elegant one: it never seems overwritten or self-indulgent, but disciplined, refined and sophisticated. Moreover, Puccini shows respect and even reverence for the sounds and sights of the Orient; there’s a humility in the taste and conservatism he’s deployed.
I hardly need underscore (no pun intended) the lush radiance of the Australian Opera and Ballet Orchestra, which responds to Volmer’s baton in a fashion and with a passion that might make Puccini sit up and take notice. Even now.
Though a longish opera, in three acts, it never really seems so. Apart from the spectacularity of the production, its fascinating as to why GP opted for such a dark heart. Why does the almost detestable sovereign win the prize? Why is Calaf so obsessed with her and how can he blithely overlook the ardent affections of Liu? Was Puccini (or librettists Guiseppe Adami and Renato Simoni) keen to reflect real life, rather than poetic justice? His own life, perhaps? Or was he influenced by, say, Freud in having Turandot exorcise cruelty perpetrated against a loved one by exercising it? It’s questions like these, without ready answers (even Gozzi’s original fable, the source, offers no explanations), that add a dimension of interest with which few operas, if any, can compete.
One could even argue an enlightened Puccini was pointing to the subjugation of women and affording an opportunity for revenge through Turandot. Nor does it suffice for Calaf to be princely, or a fearsome warrior, as in so many legends; he must rise to Turandot’s intellectual plane if he is to win her. This particular battle of the sexes is a battle of wits. Given the narcissism of both Turandot and Calaf, it’s a shame Puccini had to kill the redeemer and heroine, Liu. It’s like killing your mother.
No wonder he didn’t know how to finish the work. And died before he could. Perhaps that was the easy way out of his ongoing torment.
The cast of Turandot | Opera Theatre
The details: Turandot plays the Opera Theatre, Sydney Opera House for 17 more performances until March 19. The production moves to Melbourne for nine shows at the State Theatre beginning April 10. Tickets on the OA website.
