The Royal Opera House’s new production by Adele Thomas of Verdi’s Il trovatore evokes a medieval world of violence, madness, superstition and silly hats. This opera’s central dilemma is that its characters curse, rage and burn to incongruously jolly tunes and foot-tapping rhythms. There’s long been a type of omertà on ever mentioning this little aesthetic disconnect. Thomas, however, has tapped directly into it, in this co-production with the Zürich Opera House, by investing the action’s peripheral activities with lashings of madcap humour.
In this 15th century-set revenge saga, Leonora is caught in a triangle with a lustful count and a troubadour, Manrico, whose loyalty is divided between her and his gypsy mother, Azucena. Manrico doesn’t know that Azucena isn’t his real mum; she is grooming him for death at the hands of the count, who is really his brother, to avenge her mother whom their father had burned at the stake.
Thomas sends dancers in horned helmets to haunt the action, while the chorus becomes a disorderly rabble army. Demons grin, wave and stuff their fingers in their ears; soldiers shuffle, scuffle, punch and jest. It’s an original take with plenty of exuberance, and the imagery’s inspiration, fittingly, is Hieronymus Bosch and other medieval art, though you might have to read the programme’s small print to realise this. The noise of boots proves intrusive on Annemarie Woods’s set, a stage-filling bare staircase, and the high spirits of the production sharply contrasts with the heavy-duty, blood-and-guts drama.
But the liveliness certainly matches the music, and when the main characters are alone, their relationships come convincingly to life. Leonora’s silent heartbreak as Manrico abandons her to save his mother is particularly touching.
Leonora is the bright-edged soprano Marina Rebeka, whose voice highlights the music’s subtler bel canto side in a performance that grows with the action and has potential to grow still further.
The Italian tenor Riccardo Massi is a tender Manrico, his tone also more beautiful than hefty. As the Count di Luna, baritone Ludovic Tézier packs a tremendous punch – this is a voice for the ages – but it is Jamie Barton’s Azucena who sweeps all before her, with a riveting stage presence and a voice that seems to hold limitless colours, at its most astonishing when spitting out the curses in her darkest register.
Throughout, Sir Antonio Pappano and the ROH Orchestra blaze, bounce and sparkle, making the very best case for keeping Verdi’s opera alive and guzzling. And Thomas has proved that the staging of it can be anything but fusty.
