Dvořák - Rusalka (Dublin, 2026)

Antonín Dvořák - Rusalka

Irish National Opera, 2026

Fergus Sheil, Netia Jones, Jennifer Davis, Ryan Capozzo, Ante Jerkunica, Michelle DeYoung, Giselle Allen, Rachel Croash, Sarah Richmond, Alexandra Urquiola, Benjamin Russell, Andrew Masterson, 

Bord Gáis Energy Theatre, Dublin - 22nd March 2026

I guess it's probably expected that commentators on opera should have something to say about Timothée Chalamet's views on the value and relevance of opera and ballet today, but I don't think anyone who has actually been to see an opera needs to be convinced that it is far from a dead art form, and probably in far better shape than the movie industry at the moment, certainly in terms of artistic standards and growing audiences. Every new production of an opera - even one that is centuries old - brings out something new, touches on modern day concerns, adds to our understanding of what it means to be human, have feelings and relate to the world around us. And when you have a creative team like Fergus Sheil and Netia Jones working on a production like the Irish National Opera's Rusalka... well, the mind truly is expanded.

All fairy-tales tend to have a moral or present a cautionary tale that touches on deep universal themes and Rusalka's are not difficult to identify, although it's a story that has taken on many different forms over the years in various European guises such as Undine, Melusine, Oceane and The Little Mermaid. Not only does each version or adaptation have its own take on the subject, the universality of the theme is one that each person can relate to from their own experience. As an opera Dvořák's Rusalka is perhaps richer than most, the musical score inviting many ways to interpret its meaning and draw out new ideas. Not all of them need to be as ambitiously transgressive as Martin Kušej's 2010 Bavarian State Opera production or Stefan Herheim's at La Monnaie in 2012, but this particular opera seems to invite imaginative and engaging responses in its productions.

We certainly get that in the extraordinary visual feast created by Netia Jones for the Irish National Opera's 2026 production. Jones might not have any unusual or original take on the subject - opinions will differ on that obviously depending on what expectations you bring with you to the theatre - but instead finds another way to approach and draw out the themes, seeking to make them less magically 'fairy-tale' and more rooted in reality. Being rooted in reality doesn't mean that it has to adhere to naturalistic imagery or a straightforward narrative line either, but rather she presents it in abstract terms that connect with the work's underlying sentiments. The INO production is definitely very much in the abstract and yet it does invite engagement, although there were certainly those around me in the audience who seemed to be less willing to engage with those ideas.

Despite the extravagant sets, creative lighting and stunning projection effects that I've seen Jones produce before (Philip Glass's Orphée and Brian Irvine's Least Like the Other), the INO production bases the story in simple but more familiar recognisable locations that reflect the underlying purpose of the work, if not exactly in any naturalistic fashion. Rusalka is less about being a mermaid who wants to become human than in essence being a coming-of-age story. The first scene in Act I then envisions the water nymphs as children in school uniforms, the watery element suggested by a stage-spanning network of pipes that they wrap themselves around like in a playground, monitored by the plumber/janitor Vodník. He's not so much a sinister water goblin than a man who speaks with the wisdom of age and the experience of disappointment, warning the girls not to dream of growing up too soon.

Rusalka of course refuses to listen and Jones chooses to depict her transformation through the witch Ježibaba as a surgeon employing plastic surgery so that Rusalka can fit into the glamour of the 'grown up' world that she is enchanted by (Vodník taking every opportunity to tell us and Rusalka that we should have listened to his warning). In one of the many extravagant scenes in the production (just to mention in passing the remarkable visuals of the moon in eclipse for the 'Song to the Moon' in Act I, the 3D-like projections for the scene in the forest and the impressive kitchen - all of them suitably scaled-up for the beauty and glamour of the world seen through the eyes of Rusalka), the dances that take place on a chess board reflect the young woman's inability to comprehend the sophisticated social interactions and moves that the Prince, the Foreign Princess and the other guests are able to navigate and control more easily. It's made perfectly clear that Rusalka is not ready for and does not belong to this world.

Aside from presenting jaw-dropping visuals - Netia Jones acting as director, set & costume designer and even the creation of the superb video projections - the production succeeds in establishing the right mood for each scene, allowing the drama and characters to play out within that without introducing any extraneous elements or eccentric touches. It places you within a magical world - it places you in Dvořák's magical musical world - enthralled, not feeling the need to seek to interpret what the director is trying to tell you. If you are familiar with the tale and wish to do so, you can carry over thoughts, impressions and ideas from other productions, each revealing a new facet, or you can relate it to your own impressions and experience. There is certainly the possibility of seeing the opera not only reflecting Rusalka's loss of innocence, but also the rapidly changing modern world itself being a great deal more complicated for a young person to navigate.

Essentially that's at the heart of what the work is about, or at least one main theme, and that's what came across here. It's perhaps most pointedly made in the 'plastic surgery' scene, showing Rusalka rejecting the purity of her nature and the purity of nature, for an artificial and superficial glamour world that doesn't make any sense or offer any true value. It's even reflected in the character of the Prince, who is too often presented in a superficial way, the lure by which Rusalka is drawn away from her true self and finds the truth of human nature in deceit and betrayal. In this production - perhaps something to do with the singing of Ryan Capozzo, perhaps the nostalgic tug of the score under Fergus Sheil - the prince has a more human role to play; a counterpart to Rusalka's desire to leave behind her childhood, his desire for Rusalka is an attraction to and longing for the beauty of pure innocence, but a stark warning that once lost it is impossible to regain.

The singing performances are of course key to keeping you engaged with what each of the characters are living through, and with Jennifer Davis you are with Rusalka unwaveringly all the way. The opera was sung impressively in the original Czech which is very much a part of the character and tone of the work (Davis becoming something of an Irish Dvořák specialist having sung in Armida in Wexford in 2022), but the direction plays an equally important part in the human expression of the characters. Both aspects were managed brilliantly not just by Davis but, as indicated above, allowing Ryan Capozzo to let you see another side to the Prince. Giselle Allen even lets you sympathise to an extent with the Foreign Princess - again too often merely a cipher - or at least understand where she is coming from. Sure, she has a mercenary side - a necessary survival quality in this grown-up world, but she shows some self-respect in having little time for the Prince and his equivocations - get with the programme or go to hell, she literally tells him. Likewise, the excellent Ante Jerkunica overcame the rather repetitive admonitions of Vodník to add meaning and poignancy to each utterance as the inevitability of the tragedy unfolded.

Just as vital to keeping you engaged rather than puzzled is the musical interpretation under Fergus Sheil. Rusalka has the potential to be a little bombastic if its romantic sweeps are not handled with delicacy. No mean feat reining in an orchestra of this scale, but Sheil is right at home here with his ability to marshal the vast orchestral forces for this work and gets all the moods, pace and dynamic right for this production. It's gushily romantic in places, robustly Wagnerian in others, sensitive and moody where it needs to be, hitting those punchy crescendos in the right places, working with the delivery of the singers and the visuals to achieve maximum impact. When you have such beautiful music to 'illustrate' those deep emotions, feelings and experiences, it's impossible not to be swept along. I'm sure even Timothée would have been impressed.

External links: Irish National Opera

Bizet - La tragédie de Carmen (Wexford, 2025)

Georges Bizet - La tragédie de Carmen

Wexford Festival Opera, 2025

Rebecca Warren, Nate Ben-Horin, Tom Deazley, Sarah Richmond, Dafydd Allen, Philip Kalmanovitch, Roisín Walsh, Conor Cooper, Vladimir Sima, Jonah Halton

Jerome Hynes Theatre, National Opera House, Wexford - 22nd October 2025

There comes a time surely when you don't feel the need to see another traditional Carmen. I know I reached that point a long time ago. There may also come a point also when you think that you don't need to see another attempt to rework and reinterpret Bizet's opera through a modern, feminist perspective of social commentary. Fortunately opera is a living art, and if a work is good enough there are always relevant truths and new meanings that can be explored. There ought to be a way to get back to the essence of the work, strip away all the accumulated mannerisms, old-fashioned values and imposed modern reinterpretations and just get back to the human heart of the work. Well, with Carmen there already is, and it's called La tragédie de Carmen. Proof of how effective this work can still be as an opera is made apparent in this production directed by Tom Deazley, further stripped down to its essentials as a 'Pocket opera' at Wexford Festival Opera.

La tragédie de Carmen is an unusual case. Many operas have been adapted and reworked for other media - a Broadway musical or a movie adaptation - and it's common for an opera to be drawn from an existing theatre piece, but not so common for an opera to be taken back to form a closer relationship with its source material. The history of Bizet's own experience with Carmen at the Opéra-Comique is complicated enough, but aside from going back to the original Prosper Mérimée novella, Peter Brooke and Jean-Claude Carrière's opera-theatrical reworking of the material has become a popular way of presenting a work that it has to be said has become over-familiar, to the extent that perhaps its original meaning has been obscured. If you want to assess the essence and worth of any drama, it's surely to be found in the validity of its human story. That is very much the focus of Tom Deazley’s production.

Of course individuals only behave within or in reaction to the rules society places on them, so it is important to ensure that the story has context. Carmen, by choosing to act outside the normal rules of behaviour in respectable society can be seen as proto-feminist, but how she does that in her promiscuity and criminality is hardly one that could be considered by many as much of a role model. But then with a few exceptions - and none of them men - neither are the behaviours of those who come into contact with the young woman. The saintly Michaela and Don José’s off stage mother, behaving more in line with patriarchal expectations, are hardly more realistic modern female role models.

Whether this tells us anything much about Carmen or whether it speaks of the society that imposes certain expectations of behaviour upon women and enforces the suppression of true feelings is something that can be swayed one way or the other depending on the intentions of the director. Brooke's La tragédie de Carmen allows for more scope for a director to explore such questions, but to see it purely in those terms can make the opera more of a commentary on society and risks missing the heart of Carmen, the one that is vividly described in Bizet's music: the joy of living and snatching each moment; living 'dangerously' as a 'oiseau rebelle'; the human story and indeed the tragedy of the human story.

Considering the limited options open to an independent and sexually liberated young woman from a minority (gypsy) background, Carmen's flirtations and loves can only end one way. In a typical traditional drama anyway. But that doesn't necessarily have to be the case, or at least it doesn't need to play out that way in a modern production. With a terrific central performance from the versatile and brilliant Sarah Richmond, Tom Deazley's direction manages to capture the wild sensuous swagger of Bizet, the dramatic tragedy of Mérimée, the character and social insights of Brooke, and brings another facet out of it all, which is indeed the human aspect of being caught up in it all.

As far as the traditional story of Bizet's opera goes, this version remains very familiar, but it's definitely noticeable that it is much more focussed. While you might expect more dialogue and performances in an adaptation from operatic to theatrical, instead even the original spoken dialogue parts of the original opera have been reduced to the absolute minimum and only to introduce a scene. Side stories and minor characters are largely removed, the role of Michaela significantly reduced but given tighter focus without losing her arias. More importantly, she comes across as a regular person, not the saintly figure that can often be presented as a counterpoint to Carmen.

Carmen’s problems can also be boiled down essentially not to her wild nature as much as her problems with men. There is no question she lives in a man’s world, but she refuses to bend to their desires, or in as much as she is able to. You don't have to look too far past regular current news reports to see that domestic violence against women and murders of young women still persists in society, so it's not as if the opera is taking either a traditionalist or a revisionist view. Again however, this 'issue' is acknowledged in the production without making it the focus and getting preachy about something that an opera is not going to change.

So much so that Deazley uses the idea of playing with fate as a means of showing where this is all going to lead. Carmen the gypsy deals out cards and is dealt with a hand herself she does not have the power to change. You can only gamble with fate so much before the tables turn on you. This is the tragedy of Carmen. There is a choice to be made in how that fate is depicted however, and the director admirably chooses not to serve up the violent ending that the traditional Carmen imposes, running the risk that it looks like she gets what she deserves for fooling around with the wrong men. The men in La tragédie de Carmen all pay a high price for their violent and abusive nature, including Carmen's jailbird husband appearing in this version as an additional character (and not surviving long!), so Carmen's only tragedy is that she gets mixed up with all these brutes. Deazley then leaves her fate open at the conclusion, certainly facing danger and death but not delivering the expected fatal blow. We all know how such situations are likely to end without having to see it enacted.

For a smaller scale production at the Jerome Hynes studio theatre in the National Opera House at Wexford, the production values are superb. Lisa Krügel provides an excellent all-purpose Blood Wedding style set with a classic Spanish adobe wall and an orange tree, without playing to kitsch depiction of an idealised postcard image of Spain. There is even room here to open that up to a village square with a bar. Subtle changes of lighting effectively set mood, scene and establish time as characters walk off and on again. The singing performances all contributed to the success of this interpretation. The versatile mezzo-soprano Sarah Richmond, familiar to those of us who have seen her in productions with the Belfast Ensemble and NI Opera as well as most recently in Jennifer Walshe's extraordinary MARS, gives exactly the strong charismatic performance that the opera needs while still retaining a degree of human vulnerability. Dafydd Allen's tenor had a steely menace, with excellent enunciation of the French libretto. It was a brave decision to perform this in French without surtitles and only a few words of English language dialogue, but familiarity with the story and very clear visual storytelling points put everything across. Roisín Walsh was an excellent Michaela and Philip Kalmanovitch played the role of the bullfighter Escamillo authoritatively.

Under the musical direction of Rebecca Warren and Nate Ben-Horin, with Warren playing a piano reduction of the score, the pacing seemed slower than you would expect for Carmen. Since the chouses have been removed and the opera has been stripped of its swagger in this version as La tragédie de Carmen, the more gentle touch of the piano reduction suited the refreshingly sensitive tone of the production. Carmen may need revisited now and again only rarely, but as long as there are sympathetic teams in place like this one at Wexford, it can still prove to be dramatically, musically and emotionally revealing.

External links: Wexford Festival Opera

Walshe - MARS (Dublin, 2025)

Jennifer Walshe - MARS

Irish National Opera, 2025

Elaine Kelly, Tom Creed, Jennifer Walshe, Nina Guo, Jade Phoenix, Sarah Richmond, Doreen Curran

Abbey Theatre, Dublin - 7th August 2025

It's high time that we had a full-length opera from Jennifer Walshe, internationally recognised as one of Ireland's most original contemporary musicians and performers. Working primarily with the voice, it had to be a natural progression and there were signs of her heading in that direction with her short work Libris Solar (2020) for Irish National Opera's 20 Shots of Opera and Ireland: A Dataset (2020), both presented during the COVID lockdown. Describing the latter piece as a 'radiophonic play', it was however a total musical-theatrical experience, albeit one unable to be performed before a live audience; an opera in all but name. It may not have been conventional but nothing Walshe does is conventional. MARS, her new work for Irish National Opera, employs many of the same techniques used in Ireland: A Dataset, taking a theme, exploring it from a number of angles rather than as a linear plot, and of course providing the usual injection of humour and not taking things too seriously.

Finding her voice, so to speak, at a time when there are serious wider contemporary issues to consider, the composer has worked with writer Mark O'Connell to develop a libretto for an opera on a more global scale, or perhaps one even more expansive that that. MARS takes us beyond the confines of the planet with a crew of four women astronauts in order to consider the petty problems of the world from a distance, only to find that we bring our petty problems with us. And not just the 'petty problems' but the big ones that we can see troubling us in the present day. If you think there is danger in the power being placed in the hands of a small group of wealthy individuals with authoritarian leanings and their own space programmes, imagine what will happen when other planets come within reaching distance...

As far as it concerns the four women on the Buckminster on a nine month journey to Mars, the future is under new ownership, and that includes ownership of the crew just as they are about to touch down to explore the planet for underground water supplies to support the colony that has already been established on the planet. The company or international consortium that was financing the mission have been taken over by a corporation owned by 'tech bro' Axel Parchment, who has some 'innovative' ideas for developing and expanding the colony. Sally, Valentina, Judith and Svetlana have revised orders and a new mission; Mars needs women. But, in-between sending AI assisted messages and videos back home to raise the morale and gain new recruits, the crew make an important discovery that may enable them to take control (and control over their own bodies) back again.

The situation as outlined would seem to present the opportunity for some thoughtful contemplation on the essence of humanity, on the need to explore, stretch the boundaries of what we consider to be the human experience to incorporate new developments in technology and society; and to consider what to do when things go wrong, because things always go wrong. And indeed it does in MARS and Walshe does take a realistic response to those questions, but perhaps not initially in the way you might expect; like how these four adventurers react to the critical error that occurs when the USB drive containing the complete Criterion Collection set of movies is left behind and all they have is Shrek 3 and Seasons 3 to 6 of The Housewives of Beverley Hills to get them through the isolation. It can't get much worse than that surely?

It would be a mistake to take it all too seriously, but it's more than just a joke. All too much of what happens here is recognisable in the almost unrecognisable world we are waking up to every morning, with developments in technology and AI advancing rapidly every day, distorting our familiar sense of reality, with wealthy individuals accruing more money, power and influence and exerting that control through populist appeal and dubious libertarian ideologies. Others might take a more conventional path through the challenges that face an all-woman space crew on a future expedition to Mars given this current direction of travel, but this is Jennifer Walshe and she takes the Jennifer Walshe way. Which is to say that the work is made up of a series of sketches and routines, playful in nature but with a little edge of satire.

There are some spoken work dialogues, some funny episodes, but mainly a lot of playing around with the opportunities suggested by the out of familiar world setting. Aside from the template established in Ireland: A Dataset, some sequences reminded me of Glass and Wilson's Einstein on the Beach, just simply revelling in the purity of the musical-theatrical situation with no concern of 'advancing the plot', emulating floating in zero gravity, running through wordless vocalisations and blending them with electronic sounds that also bring to mind Stockhausen's Licht, with a lament on a planetary exploration that seems to echo Ligeti's Atmosphères from 2001: A Space Odyssey. All of this is of course filtered through Walshe's sense of anarchic humour, with a few mordant swipes at popular culture and populist politics.

What is abundantly evident, even in the least serious of moments, is that Walshe has explored everything related to Mars exploration and even incorporates the sounds of space in the instrumentation through the use of synthesisers, in addition to more conventional instruments making unconventional sounds. Co-directed between Tom Creed and Walshe herself, the stage production - all credit to the incredible team that pulled this together - does exactly the same and it is genuinely groundbreaking in how the medium is also the message. Walshe has taken advantage of AI before and used it in Ireland: A Dataset, but the way the music, the sounds, the use of videos, live hand-held cameras, live distortion of voices are not just used for satire and parody, but to emphasise how much technology can be used and messages distorted. There is a lot going on and some of it just flashes by, but it all works alongside the plot and the content, an integral and equal part of the conception of the piece.

Which not to say that the human element of the work is relegated by the use of technology, otherwise that would negate the point of the work. Nina Guo, Jade Phoenix, Sarah Richmond and Doreen Curran are just superb, totally engaging in all-round performances that require acting, timing, collaboration and - despite necessarily being microphoned for mixing with the orchestra - all are experienced and brilliant opera singers that have their range fully put to the test. Those moments are used well and to terrific effect. Following its opening at Galway International Arts Festival in July and three sell-out performances at the Abbey Theatre in Dublin, don't let anyone say there isn't an appetite for challenging contemporary opera and thankfully the INO seasons are always tremendously rich and varied, including contemporary Irish works, baroque opera, popular favourites and the odd rarity.

I'll be honest and say that despite the considerable efforts that have gone into the composition and marrying it to an inventive integrated production design, MARS is very entertaining and very much of the moment, but it doesn't feel like a substantial piece. Personally, I would have preferred if Walshe had just fully indulged the scenes in her random episodic fashion and left any conclusions to be drawn without the need (by writer Mark O'Connell?) to provide a conventional plot resolution, but maybe that's just me. MARS unquestionably has many other angles that are wholly Jennifer Walshe and couldn't be anyone else, and we can't ask for more than that. And perhaps there is more to the work than I'm giving her credit for; the world is indeed becoming increasingly absurd, heading into an unknown that is genuinely frightening, and MARS offers some hope that we can navigate our way through it.

External links: Irish National Opera, Jennifer Walshe on MARS in the Guardian

Tchaikovsky - Eugene Onegin (Belfast, 2024)

Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky - Eugene Onegin (Belfast, 2024)

NI Opera, 2024

Dominic Limburg, Cameron Menzies, Yuriy Yurchuk, Mary McCabe, Norman Reinhardt, Sarah Richmond, Carolyn Dobbin, Jenny Bourke, Aaron O'Hare, Niall Anderson, Matthew Jeffrey, Seamus Brady, Anne Flanagan, Adam Ashford, Gerard Headley, Alice Johnston, Maeve McGreevy, Sean O'Neill, Mira Renilheiro, Emma Scott

Grand Opera House, Belfast - 17th September 2024

I know I have complained in the past about the Northern Ireland Opera programme being reduced to one fully staged opera a year, but if you are going to do one opera and have already got the usual suspects of Italian opera out of the way (La Bohème, La Traviata, Tosca), now is the time to be a little more adventurous. If you want to introduce the Belfast audience to a glorious work that will still please those who will be less familiar with the opera world (and one opera a year doesn't provide much opportunity), then with a little nod to the glamour of Bridgerton, Downton Abbey and the currently popularity of TV costume dramas to give the audience something familiar to latch onto, you can't do much better than Tchaikovsky’s masterpiece Eugene Onegin.

Taking on a great Russian opera however can't have been an easy decision when the more obvious route would have been Carmen or a Mozart opera, all the more so considering the current ambivalence towards some Russian artists due to the war in Ukraine. A Russian opera however brings it own artistic challenge for a relatively young opera company, singers and orchestra, not least in choosing to present the opera in the original Russian, but Eugene Onegin is worth it, the opera having all the elements to engage an audience in a heartfelt emotional, romantic and human drama. And so it proves to be in its short run of four performances at the Grand Opera House in Belfast. If not quite hitting the full range and dynamic of the work, NI Opera under the direction of Cameron Menzies delivered an impressive account of an exceptionally beautiful work that has all the deep personal engagement of the composer poured into every note.

Incredibly, aside from the role of Onegin, most the other main roles were taken by local artists and there were few weaknesses of any significance in the singing. That's quite an achievement. Usually a more mature singer, preferably of Russian or East European origin, is required for the role of Tatyana, so it's all the more astonishing that a young Northern Irish singer with limited experience of leading soprano roles can handle the demands of the role so impressively. A little more depth to the voice would add to the character, but since the larger part of the opera features Tatyana as a young and inexperienced young woman, Mary McCabe is able to make her character much more convincing. That pays dividends for the opera's final scene when the older Tatyana is assailed by doubts on her re-encounter with Onegin, her assurance crumbling as she reverts back to the emotions and circumstances of her younger self that shaped her life. It's a faultless singing performance, perhaps only let down by a lack of clear direction.

There have been many ways of bringing out the reflective nature of Tatyana’s life experience, her journey from a naive young woman in the country to a mature lady of elegance and outward assurance who nevertheless holds searing memories and past regrets. It's not unusual to see other productions relying on doubles - actors or dancers - to bridge the scope of her enthusiastic youthful bookish idealism into mature acceptance of duty and routine. And indeed, Menzies method of bringing this element out of the opera is to view the events as the revisiting of the past by an elderly lady in a wheelchair in the present day. She remains onstage almost throughout, at least in all the scenes where Tatyana appears, which suggests that it is Tatyana herself. Although she engages with her younger self on one or two occasions, it's hard however to reconcile the time discrepancy between the two periods.

More than that however, it's really not enough to bring the fullness and richness of the emotional range required here, or the complexity of the misplaced or mistimed feelings that exist in the Tatyana/Onegin relationship. Ukrainian baritone Yuriy Yurchuk sang Onegin well, but the direction here also didn't allow much space to explore the character. In the first part of the opera Onegin is somewhat arrogant, aloof and detached, in his relationship with Lensky he is apparently oblivious of any fault - although it's true that Lensky here appears to be unreasonably jealous to the minor social indiscretion of Onegin dancing with his partner - and in the final scenes all his character seems to have precipitously dissolved into him becoming a figure of regret, disappointment and disillusionment, seeking to find a way out of it by trying to return to the past.  

These are challenges that exist in the opera itself, which Tchaikovsky envisioned as seven fairly austere scenes based on Pushkin's verse novel rather than an opera with a cohesive dramatic flow. Nonetheless, what is elided is alluded to and given weight in the huge emotional undercurrent of the music score, and a production can make use of other means to bring those elements out. Set in what looks like an abandoned warehouse of concrete blocks, on one hand the director adheres to the intended austerity of the piece, the costume drama taking place within this environment highlighting the romantic ideal of the elderly woman viewing it from the sidelines. With projection on the back wall of the changing conditions of the seasons contributing to a sense of this being more of an emotional and mental representation than a physical environment, it does succeed in finding it own way of presenting the conflict of romance and tragedy, the painful memories lived afresh within the opera. Just not strongly or convincingly enough for the deeper complexities of the work.

By any standard however, the musical and singing performances gave an impressive account of the work. Aside from the two main leads, Norman Reinhardt’s rather Italianate Lensky was strong and emotionally charged. As Olga, Sarah Richmond was as ever excellent, but again without the direction sufficiently differentiating her nature from her sister Tatyana. Carolyn Dobbin was a strong Madame Larina, making an great impression particularly in her first scene and Jenny Bourke was a sympathetic Filipevna. Well done to Aaron O’Hare for a stand-out performance as a suitably flamboyant Monsieur Triquet. It can be a trivial role, but he brought real character to the part and its place in the opera. Although only appearing at the close of the opera Gremin is not an easy role to sing and usually requires a bass singer to intone the dull and serious but genuinely devoted nature of Tatyana's husband, but baritone Niall Anderson handled it well.

It was such deeper resonance that was missing here, as much in the music and singing as in the direction. There is no getting away from the impact of the key scenes that Tchaikovsky so brilliantly arranged and composed, and the sweeping tug of the melodies and dances under the direction of conductor Dominic Limburg and NI Opera Orchestra concert master Joanne Quigley was superb, but it could definitely have had a little more of the depth and impact that is usually more apparent when you have native Russians in the chorus and singing roles. You can't justifiably criticise anyone for not being Russian however, particularly these days, or NI Opera for the ambition to present such a work under current arts funding restraints.

External links: Northern Ireland Opera

Vivaldi - L'Olimpiade (Dún Laoghaire, 2024)

Antonio Vivaldi - L'Olimpiade

Irish National Opera, 2024

Peter Whelan, Daisy Evans, Gemma Ní Bhriain, Meili Li, Alexandra Urquiola, Sarah Richmond, Chuma Sijeqa, Rachel Redmond, Seán Boylan 

Pavilion Theatre, Dún Laoghaire - 7 May 2024

The last time I saw Vivaldi's setting of L'Olimpiade was in 2012 at Buxton during the summer of the London Olympics, and here we are now 12 years later with the Paris Olympics just around the corner. If there isn't one already, there really ought to be some kind of rule about performing this work every four years, or even one of the many other versions of the work (Pergolesi's version is one of the best). At least then you might have half a chance of getting your head around the complications of Metastasio’s libretto.

It's not as if you really need to follow all the twists and turns or accept all the coincidences that take place in L'Olimpiade, nor does the opera really even feature sporting events but maybe because we are in an election year (in Ireland and likely in the UK as well), it struck me that the olympiade of the opera is more about the idea of a competition to choose a winner, and our hope that that this outcome - as unpredictable as the results might be - will resolve all our troubles. This is something that the director Daisy Evans acknowledges as a factor in the choices made in this staging the work for the Irish National Opera, that it's more about renewal, rebirth and the chance of new beginnings. It shouldn't be too much of a stretch to compare the misery of lives thrown into turmoil in this opera with the reality for many people in the current cost of living crisis.

Not that this needs to be explicitly pointed out. In fact, the idea of renewal can even be felt from the very fact that a 300 year old opera that can still speak to a modern audience, that its themes and treatment can be renewed with the passing of time to reflect and connect with our own concerns about the world around us. That idea of renewal is also something that the director chooses to feed into the production, and indeed it's probably a necessity for a Baroque opera. This is something that the Irish National Opera have recognised from early on and successfully continued to apply to their progamming of such ancient works. With its references to ancient Greek drama then, the choice is made to play out L'Olimpiade on a small ampitheatre set, the Baroque period of composition acknowledged in the form of the stylised costumes, but all of it brought up to date with modern trainers and neon lighting. 

It's essential to acknowledge the Baroque character of the work in this way; not parody it, but find a way to make it relatable to a modern audience. That is never easy for a work with passages of recitative exposition and arias of various types of woe and lament, with a complicated backstory and some laughable coincidences, but Evans keeps it simple, including amusing little pantomime acted interlude scenes (with additional Vivaldi music) to help the audience understand the strange twists of a plot that you never seem to be able to get your head around, not matter how many times you read the synopsis in the programme. This succeeds wonderfully, keeping it engaging and relatively easy to follow, even if it demands a certain amount of willing credulity.

In terms of plot, well it would serve no purpose to try to unravel it here, but it's the typical Metastasio plot of star-crossed lovers separated by the whims of fate and the thoughtless self-interested actions of ruler and kings. Licida hopes to use the upcoming Olympic games to win the hand of the woman he loves, Aristea (her hand offered as a prize by the King Clistene), by getting his athletic friend Megacle to win the games for him, both of them unaware that in so doing Megacle will be giving to Licida the woman he loves and who loves him, but unable to marry because the King hates Athenians. Oh, the misery and soul searching this is going to cause. And that's not even the half of it! The complications of the opera’s plot - as improbable as they seem - do nonetheless reflect the reality of challenges we all face, even as we do our best to aim towards a favourable outcome. How can we trust our hearts and chose to believe in when there is much deceit, when people turn out not to be who they say they are, when fate throws misfortune our way? L’Olimpiade suggests that things work out for the best in the end, which might not be realistic but hope is important too.

There are a number of factors that help make this work, which you can simply and accurately summarise as just being the magic of opera. Making the plot understandable is the most obvious challenge and as noted above, the director does everything possible to ensure it works. Vivaldi however is evidently also an important factor, his music not only being characteristically invigorating and entertaining, but perfectly attuned to their emotional states, giving each of them a sympathetic hearing and with a distinct character rather than the usual generic interchangeable expressions of woe. In terms of making that work in live performance, the authenticity of the sound in the use and marvellous playing of period instruments by the Irish Baroque Orchestra, conducted with superb pacing and dynamism from the harpsichord by music director Peter Whelan, give the opera the necessary kick and drive to take you along with it.

Most importantly perhaps, vital at least in this opera for making the dramatic developments feel true, is the singing. The casting for the range of characters and voices is superb, and - like Mozart's operas - it helps that these are all fresh young fresh singers. Without in any way wishing to underplay the challenges involved in singing these roles, Vivaldi doesn't provide the usual show-offy arias, but writes for the voice in a way that brings out the underlying sentiments hidden behind the typical Metastasian nautical and meteorological metaphors (weathering the stormy seas of fate). It's more important to imbue the characters with personalities and not just ciphers with the generic feelings that are described in the libretto. That's by design of course, not chance, and it's undoubtedly the reason why this same libretto has been employed so often, first by Antonio Caldara before Vivaldi, and after that over 100 settings by Pergolesi, Scarlatti and Piccini among others in the 18th century, with even Donizetti and Beethoven having a go at it in the 19th century.

Simplicity then is the key to the presentation, trusting in the original and not over-complicating it by imposing a modern concept upon it. It will resonate with the listener itself if it is done right and that is exactly what the creative team and the singers do here. The main players are Megacle, sung by here by a mezzo-soprano Gemma Ní Bhriain and Aristea, sung by another mezzo-soprano Alexandra Urquiola. Their central importance and the quality of their performance is revealed in a beautiful Act 1 duet that combines the ecstasy of their reunion with the tragedy of what they know lies ahead for them, Megacle left with no choice but to give it up his love for the sake of his friend Licida who once saved his life. Both Ní Bhriain and Urquiola demonstrate how critical it is to bring a human element to the work, and so too do the rest of cast, each of whom get the opportunity to put their side across in arias and ariosos, each similarly inviting compassion and understanding. Licida and Aristene, the other key figures with a troubled history (to say the least), are well performed here by Meili Li and Sarah Richmond.

With this kind of treatment, attention to character, music and the efforts to make something of the plot, everything comes together and when you are able to do that with a work like this, it can be breathtaking. We know to expect this now from the INO, with this now being the third Vivaldi opera undertaken by Whelan and the Irish Baroque opera, which no doubt accounts for a 300 year old opera selling out three nights at the Pavilion theatre in Dún Laoghaire. It's also gratifying to see that it is touring more widely with no less than eight upcoming performances at the Royal Opera House's Linbury Theatre in London all already sold out as well. Audiences can still enjoy the work's spirit of renewal and continue to something new from L'Olimpiade 300 years later. Whether they get something new and hopeful in renewal of government is another matter.

Links: Irish National Opera

Production photos: Ros Kananagh

Mitchell - The Headless Soldier (Belfast, 2023)

Conor Mitchell - The Headless Soldier

The Belfast Ensemble, 2023

Tom Deering, Conor Mitchell, Ed Lyon, Sarah Richmond, Christopher Cull, Shea McDonnell

Lyric Theatre, Belfast - 9th November 2023

They weren't giving too much away about the plot or subject matter of the new opera by Conor Mitchell and Mark Ravenhill on the Belfast Ensemble website or on the website of the Lyric Theatre where the world premiere was being performed as part of the Outburst Queer Arts Festival 2023, but you could rely on The Headless Soldier being controversial, provocative and bang-up-to-the-moment contemporary. Provocative and controversial and probably offending a number of people in the process, but never just for the sake of it, and at least for a good reason. Daring to confront what is not something spoken about in polite society is what has made Mitchell and the Belfast Ensemble perhaps the most vital company in the Northern Ireland arts scene at the moment.

As it turns out, it is precisely polite society and its unwillingness to speak about and confront issues that is the target of The Headless Soldier. Or one of its targets, for it tackles a number of issues, not in a random fashion, but in a manner that is interconnected in ways that you might not think immediately obvious. Indeed, it is not even a traditional opera with a beginning middle and end, but an opera triptych of three short pieces that each build upon each other thematically and musically to add up to something ...well, something quite frightening.

The outline description of the new opera was simply that it "looks beneath the perfect lives of Helen, her husband, Thomas and their haunted son, Zach – finding a hidden, much closer war." No further plot synopsis is provided and the idea of a plot turns out to not really be the whole story anyway. In the first part of the opera, 'Intolerance', Helen introduces herself on the way to becoming a new and better person. To address the painful stomach cramps she has been suffering she has cut out caffeine from her diet in favour of health drinks, pro-biotic yoghurt, acupuncture and regression therapy, and it's really working. Except it isn't. Her intolerance is not so much in her diet as something else deeper within her that is expressed in a few violent outbursts.

In the second part of The Headless Soldier, 'Fear & Misery', we meet Helen's husband Thomas who is trying to convince his wife of a move into a gated community, partly as evidence of belonging to a select social group, but there is also fear behind this desire. His fears seem to be of external forces and dangers and a sense of protectiveness of their son Zachary, but there is something deeper inside giving rise to his fears that a gated community won't protect him from. In 'War & Peace', Zachary is indeed troubled, drawing disturbing pictures of the headless soldier that haunts him in the dark. His parents blame it on the news, which is filled with images of war, but the tensions between his parents are also clearly contributing to his problems.

It sounds like a psychological study, but written by Mark Ravenhill and with Mitchell's music playing just as important a role in what the opera says, there are other levels explored here. War features prominently, the war within the family collectively as well as individuals, fighting battles with their worst impulses and fears, but these problematic attitudes are extended out into the society we live in where other types of war rage. As is often the case with the works of the Belfast Ensemble, this is so up-to-date and relevant that it feels like Ravenhill and Mitchell have been watching the 6 o'clock news this evening and put it all up on the stage as an opera by 7:30pm. It's that 'now', it's immediate and of the moment, even if such unerring accuracy and contemporary relevance is not so much eerily prescient as depressingly inevitable.

So while the middle-class aspirational family are up there on the stage waging war with their demons and each other, Conor Mitchell's direction shows other on-screen violence projected onto screens. It's incredible to think that they have managed to reflect the current Israel-Hamas war with news footage that is fresh from our TV screens, juxtaposing it with relentless Looney Tunes cartoon violence. The conventional wisdom would suggest that desensitisation to violence through on-screen experience is having an impact on the model modern family, but the impression is that Ravenhill and Mitchell are aiming for perhaps the exact opposite - that it's the deeper human fears and failings found in this type of family unit, passed down from generation to generation, that lead to the kind of pain, suffering, hate and death that we can see taking place on a global scale in wars around the world.

That's not a safe or comforting position to take, but then that's exactly what you expect artists like Ravenhill and Mitchell to do; not pander to their audience, but challenge them. Mitchell's music takes the same line of attack, a fascinating blend of harmony, melody and jarring dissonance that reflects the subject. Everything seems very pleasant and idealised on the surface of The Headless Soldier family, but there are little Michael Nyman-esque or John Adams-like flurries of racing panic to the Turn of the Screw-like underlying menace that would threaten to explode into Béla Bartók Duke Bluebeard's Castle horror were it not for the controlled chamber orchestration of the Belfast Ensemble orchestra. Conducted by Tom Deering however, they delivered all the necessary impact. If the final door of the castle is not opened in The Headless Soldier, the score leaves you with a sense that its contents remain locked inside and festering.

Such is the nature of the score in this respect that even two experienced opera singers like Ed Lyon and Sarah Richmond had to use microphone amplification, although that's probably as much to do with the acoustics of the Lyric Theatre not being ideal for opera. That said, Ed Lyon's mic didn't seem to operate on the first night when he took to the stage as Thomas in the second part of the opera, but his delivery was strong enough that it didn't have any noticeable impact other than being out of balance with Sarah Richmond. And with Richmond's powerful delivery, he had his work cut out there. Her solo monologue performance in part one of the opera was just delightful, delivering Ravenhill's deeply acerbic text - deeply in as much as it was simmering below the surface of genteel amiability - with wonderful inflection and timing that was matched by Mitchell's complementary score. Christopher Cull had considerable challenges too for maintaining that tension throughout the final part as the agonised and terrifying apparition of the blood-soaked headless soldier. There were challenging on-stage situations for Shea McDonnell to deal with, but he was equally as impressive as Zachary.

The final part of the opera triptych might not have revealed any answers or delivered the satisfying conclusion that a theatre audience might expect, but Mitchell and Ravenhill didn't write this piece to send you home in comfortable complacency. Compounding the horror seen through the eyes of a child subjected to a bombardment from all sides, turning it into nightmare dreams of a headless soldier, the nightmare is a live and waking one still lying below the surface and ready to erupt later with the next generation. It's not the most comforting of thoughts to leave the theatre with, but its not up to the creators to tie this up neatly or tell you what to think or do. If anything, what they are doing is pointing your darker side back at you, asking you to ask yourself what it is that is really wrong in the world today, and suggesting that you don't have to look too far to find the answers.

External links: The Belfast Ensemble, Lyric Theatre

Mozart - The Magic Flute (Wexford, 2019)

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart - Die Zauberflöte

Irish National Opera, 2019

Peter Whelan, Caroline Staunton, Anna Devin, Nick Pritchard, Gavan Ring, Kim Sheenan, Lukas Jakobski, Rachel Croash, Sarah Richmond, Raphaela Mangan, Andrew Gavin, Amy Ní Fhearraigh, Padraic Rowan, Nicholas O'Neill, Seán Hughes, Oran Murphy, Fearghal Curtis, Robert McAllister, Matthew Mannion, Peter O' Reilly

National Opera House, Wexford - 17th May 2019 

You're taking a big risk if you attempt to remove the magic fairy-tale elements from The Magic Flute and downplay its Masonic underpinnings, but then Irish National Opera have been bold in their interpretation of other popular works this season (Aida, Madama Butterfly), often with impressive results. I'm not sure that their Die Zauberflöte works entirely without all the usual crowd-pleasing set pieces, and I'm not sure you can set out to make the opera work with any basis in the real world, but on the whole it's a worthwhile effort, certainly from the standpoint of the musical and singing performances.

It's certainly worth giving it a go though since, as director Caroline Staunton observes in her programme notes, Mozart's work is almost miraculous in how its compositional ideas and execution far surpasses its origins as "a dramaturgically chaotic narrative intended for a bawdy beer-hall in late 18th century Vienna". The Magic Flute has a lot more to offer than just a romp through its comedy routines and an often pompous approach to its ceremonial elements.

Inevitably, trying to tie that "dramaturgically chaotic narrative" into something real-world, meaningful and coherent is problematic, but even if it doesn't always hold together in the case of INO production, it does throw up a few good ideas and insights. Bringing an Irish element into the work in a late 19th century context means that Caroline Staunton (who has worked with Dmitri Tcherniakov and Claus Guth at the Berlin State Opera) can replace some of the fairy-tale elements with Irish folklore, but it's not simply a matter of introducing another type of fantasy, and is a little more ambitious than that.

The division is not so much the traditional one of obscurantism versus enlightenment, as much as the ordinary Irish people in opposition to the colonisation of their land by English landlords. In that context, the Queen of the Night can certainly be very much seen in terms of a banshee, her Three Ladies spreading tales of her power and danger. What is obvious to the viewer however is that these are not mythological creatures, but common people in disguise, forging stories and legend to strike fear into ordinary labourers like Papageno as to what will happen to them should they step out of line.

But it's not just to control the likes of Papageno, or indeed create a fantasy in order to get Tamino to serve their purposes. It's also to create a force of resistance against Sarastro, who likewise is not entirely what he seems to be, and certainly not the great font of wisdom that he pretends. Surrounding himself with followers and books, setting up a system that works for his own purposes, in reality all he is doing is imposing another form of outside order on the people of the land, his abduction of Pamina akin to the seizing of their inheritance.

So where do Tamino and Pamina fit into this arrangement? Well, Sarastro sees the trials as a way of conditioning both Tamino and Pamina to his way of thinking. His desire for their marriage is a way of imposing a patriarchal authority through a formal arrangement, through marriage, the wife respecting and honouring the man's position at the head of it. Pamina, in this production, isn't having any of that.

If you're used to seeing the Magic Flute in its traditional way of playing out, this revision obviously confuses how you might think you ought to feel about the work. Mozart and Schikaneder's late 18th century viewpoint was of its time and perhaps some of its views and attitudes can feel a little dated today. Perhaps Die Zauberflöte isn't meant to be taken that seriously and trying to impose a modern-day perspective on it risks distorting the true meaning of the work, but there is indeed a message of enlightenment in the work and it deserves to be given serious attention.

Rather than distort the work's thoughts on enlightened thinking overcoming myths and superstition, on male and female finding accommodation and acceptance of the roles each has to play, it's worth taking a more critical look at the values as they have been perpetuated down through the years. If this was true of the late 18th century, or the late 19th century in this production, we ought to be much further down the path to peace, love and enlightenment than we are as a society, and it's worth considering why we haven't progressed much further to achieve that balance that Mozart clearly believed in and wanted to see established.

What makes such an idea work in the INO production, despite the contradictions that it might sometimes run into, is the central performances and again the perspective on that is not the traditional one. Tamino and Pamina can appear to be rather bland figures in other productions, lacking the colour and wonder of Königin der Nacht and Sarastro (and indeed even Papageno and Papagena), but not here. It's Tamino and Pamina who have the strength to call the shots, to change direction, to find a path that doesn't peddle myths. They are rightly the true heart of the work in this production.

And if that works it's on account of two terrific performances in the Wexford opening night of this production from Nick Pritchard and Anna Devin as Tamino and Pamina. Lyrical and authoritative, they breathe personality into these characters, showing them as they ought to truly be; beacons for a new way, rejecting the ways of the past, steadfast in love above everything else. No guru, no method, no teacher, as another famous Irishman once put it, which fits with the Irish theme of the production and the references that Staunton draws with J.M. Synge and Brian Friel.

So what traditional delights do we miss by going down this route? Well, there's no giant serpent at the start, there are no birds caught by Papageno, Königin's entrance is underwhelming, there's no aged-crone version of Papagena. That means that we miss out on a lot of the glamour and comedy which is unfortunate, but how much does that really add to the work anyway? We lose the Queen of the Night's aura of mystery and majesty, we lose Sarastro's grave presence and the solemnity of the rituals of initiation, but again, it removes distraction and obscurity and allows for a more useful and meaningful employment of Mozart's music and ideas.

What we aren't short of is an impressive set design that matches the tone of the music to a more down-to-earth depiction of beauty and wisdom. There's also a warm and rich account of the marvellous score by the Irish Chamber Orchestra under Peter Whelan, and it's there more than anywhere that the brilliance and wonder of The Magic Flute really comes alive. We also have a great cast of singers - INO always impressive in their casting choices - with Gavan Ring particularly good as Papageno and Kim Sheehan impressing with her "Der Hölle Rache" as Königin der Nacht. Sung and spoken in German, with an ambitious twist to reinterpret the meaning of the work, you really can't ask for much better treatment and respect for Mozart and a great opera like this.

Links: Irish National Opera