Simon Lima Holdsworth / Anmeldelser

As the curtain rises towards the end of the histrionic Rigoletto prelude, shafts of light pierce the brooding darkness from above to illuminate a tableau mort depicting Caravaggio’s sensational The Martyrdom of St Matthew. Instead of the saint, a young lady dressed in virginal white. The soldier wears a breastplate and the skull of a bull, complete with golden horns. Rigoletto, in red ruff and jester’s cap, observes. It’s a breathtaking image, gloriously lit by Fabiana Piccioli. Last night, that dramatic prelude heralded not just the opening of a new production – Oliver Mears’ first since becoming Director of Opera – but the start of a new Royal Opera season, with a full house finally returning after the long Covid hiatus and the false starts of the last twelve months. Mears has bided his time, having taken up his post in 2017. There’s been no Kasper Holten-like scramble to instantly make his mark, so this directorial debut was keenly awaited, not just to appraise Mears’ staging, but also to get a steer on the style of production and directors he might bring to the house. That opening tableau makes a favourable impression, although it is arguably also the single most striking visual moment of the evening. When his armour and headdress are removed, the soldier is revealed as the Duke of Mantua. The woman is Count Monterone’s daughter. She is pregnant. This Duke is a devoted art lover and collector. Titian’s Venus of Urbino is unveiled, its erotic charge reflected on the scene taking place below. By Act 2, it has been replaced by another Titian, The Rape of Europa, hanging prophetically above the door to the Duke’s bedchamber where the abducted Gilda is imprisoned. Simon Lima Holdsworth’s set is simple but effective, the giant painting rising to reveal a cutaway which acts as Gilda’s bedroom, the walls then opening up further to become Sparafucile’s seedy tavern of Act 3. Ilona Karas’ costumes initially look Renaissance chic until Monterone bursts in wearing a modern day suit – the Duke has laid on an elaborate costume party (Gilbert Deflo did something similar in Zurich in 2006). Elsewhere, the setting is timeless, Rigoletto heads home wearing a homburg and an overcoat, the assassin Sparafucile wears denim, Gilda a simple, demure dress. It’s a production that successfully captures the “tinta” of the opera – the score’s burnt umber and sepia tones – much as its predecessor did, David McVicar's scrapheap on a revolve. The stylised choral choreography feels clunky, as does the gouging of Monterone's eyes, but Mears’ direction of his principals hits home as truthful; “honest” is a word I scribbled several times during the evening. The father-daughter relationship – vital in so much Verdi – was movingly portrayed by Carlos Álvarez and Lisette Oropesa. He is a protective, oppressive father and one senses her wish to rebel, to break free from this cage he keeps her in. Her trauma after the Duke has raped her is painful, Rigoletto’s furious desire for vengeance pulsating. Both Álvarez and Oropesa are great actors. Oropesa also happens to be the finest lyric coloratura in the world today. Her soprano is quite dark lower down – hers is no tweetie-pie Gilda – and “Caro nome” revealed rock solid technique including an excellent trill. She narrowed her voice daringly fine at the top, but just within the bounds of control. Álvarez’ baritone is rough hewn, but full of emotion. He phrases sensitively and knows his limitations – interpolated high notes were eschedwed until the final cry of “maledizione” at the end. Their vendetta duet rightly raised cheers. Liparit Avetisyan was a stylish Duke, with something of the young Pavarotti about his demeanour and his Italianate tenor. His “La donna è mobile” had swagger, but there was elegance too in “Parmi veder le lagrime” – he’s a bastard, but an aristocratic bastard. Brindley Sherratt’s inky bass impressed as the tattooed Sparafucile, while Ramona Zaharia was a characterful Maddalena. Apart from a disappointingly reedy Monterone, the comprimarios were well cast. Driving Verdi’s score pungently in the pit was that dynamo, Antonio Pappano, finally conducting a full orchestra again with no social distancing (face masks for string players). Woodwinds were full of colour, the brass was secure (not always a given) and the strings plush. The loud ovation he received at the curtain call spoke volumes – a truly adored music director who will be difficult to replace when he leaves the post in three years time. So, a strong showing for an often striking production. How revivable it is will be crucial to its long term success. It gets an early chance next February.

For an opera so melodically vibrant and so much beloved by audiences across the world ever since its 1851 premiere, Rigoletto has a remarkably dark heart. None of the characters come out well: the jester is spiteful and vindictive; the Duke is unmitigatedly evil; the supposedly honest hit man Sparafucile betrays his client; his prostitute sister Maddalena incites the murder of random strangers; even the oh-so-angelic Gilda betrays her father in a fatal and improbable bout of Stockholm syndrome after her abduction and rape. Oliver Mears' new Royal Opera production receives its second cast this month, after opening last September. On a second viewing, I’m convinced that the staging is a winner. It’s hard-hitting, pulling no punches in showing us that dark heart while allowing the lyrical moments of father-daughter love to fill us with angst as to what might have been. The somewhat timeless sets and costumes avoid both period-drama kitsch and modern banality. I won’t repeat the broad outline of Mears’ staging described in Mark Pullinger’s review of the premiere. What struck me this time round is how much fine detail Mears weaves into his basic framework; everything has a dramatic purpose related to the libretto or to some other component of the visual storytelling. When Gilda settles down to her soon-to-be-interrupted sleep, she wears virginal white but is otherwise in the same pose as the giant (naked) Venus of Urbino who has festooned the Duke’s palace. Rigoletto’s removal of his white-face make-up parallels the melting away of his power over the courtiers. The appearance on stage and cruel abuse of Monterone’s daughter underlines the irony that Rigoletto is ridiculing the Count for suffering the exact tragedy that is about to fall upon himself. The stage movement of the chorus was compelling, seething like a shoal of predatory fish. Last night’s three main roles were all sung very strongly indeed. Luca Salsi has a huge, muscular baritone voice which he deployed to telling effect, especially thrilling in the ensemble passages of Act 1 and in a great “Pari siamo” as he compares himself to the assassin. The voice is never gentle, but Salsi produced many passages of legato beauty. Often, at other times, Salsi lapsed into dramatic parlando, which was effective in injecting spite and viciousness even though I thought he somewhat overused the effect. Francesco Demuro was a superb Duke. He has a naturally bright and clear tenor which can be warm when wanted, but he was also able to imbue his voice with a steely core, which was particularly effective in Act 1. He also gave us a thrilling high D at the end of the often-omitted Act 2 cabaletta “Possente amor me chiama”. Anyone disappointed at the absence of the previously advertised Javier Camarena could hardly have asked for a better replacement. Rosa Feola has firmly made the transition from “up-and-coming” to “upped-and-come”. The part of Gilda demands warmth, purity and gentleness while tackling some gymnastic coloratura. Feola met these challenges with aplomb, while staying as credibly in character as it’s possible for a Gilda to be. The sheer beauty of her singing ravished us away from the horrors of events, at least for a while. All of these singers had the rare and precious characteristic of using their vocal colours to act their roles at the same time as acting physically. Ample support was provided by Evgeny Stavinsky’s Sparafucile and Aigul Akhmetshina’s Maddalena, with even the smaller roles impressing (Giovanna only gets a few notes to sing, but Kseniia Nikolaieva made the most of them). Conducting his first Rigoletto, Stefano Montanari gave us an idiosyncratic reading of the score, choosing relatively fast basic tempi and then injecting substantial rubato to give the singers opportunities for dramatic effect. Most of the time, this worked very well in maintaining interest and forward pace, although the train very nearly came off the rails in "Cortigiani", with Salsi only just keeping up with the frenetic tempo of the opening. This wasn’t an absolutely perfect performance: the overture started with some fearfully uncertain brass playing; Salsi’s voice was way too powerful for Feola’s in their first duet; the Act 3 quartet suffered musically from having two pairs of singers a long way apart from each other on stage. But this was an exceptionally fine singing cast delivering superb vocal acting in a staging that is completely sympathetic to the work. *****

Peter Scott Drackley was a very robust and powerful tenor… which is extremely impressive at the top of the register. His climax to “Che gelida manina” is excellent as he sustains the high C in ‘Speranza’, and never gives any impression of wanting to come off the note at the earliest opportunity

With a rare combination of power and sensitivity, Peter Scott Drackley’s vocalism helps him achieve an intensely personal interpretation of Che Gelida Manina