Puccini’s verismo opera depiction of 1830’s Parisian Bohemian life was condensed to 90 minutes and updated to the nineties. Director Rachel McDonald emphasised the grittiness and grime of the world of Mimi and Rodolfo.
|Paul O'Neill (Rodolfo) and Harriet O'Shannessy (Mimi).|
Photos c John Marshall, Terriffic Pictures
Designer Robbie Harrold’s apartment set was filthy with its pizza boxes, dirty dishes, microwave popcorn and a derelict plastic Christmas tree taking me back to the student common room during my university days. The banter between Rodolfo and his three student flatmates involved food fights, beer, and bongs. Every inch of the small stage at the Camelot Theatre was used and the action often spilled into the audience. In Act 2 the theatre was transformed with a disco ball and fairy lights (Geoff Glencross) into Cafe Momus where Musetta was a singer and Rodolfo and his friends made a rowdy audience, provoking the owner and graffitiing obscenities on the chalk board. Musetta poured an entire bottle of champagne over herself during her titillating ‘Quando me’n vo’, much to the disbelieving delight of the audience and the agony of her ex-lover Marcello.
|Lachlan Lawton (Schaunard)|
Large sections of the opera were cut by music director Tommaso Pollio including the street scenes from Act 2, the orchestral opening to Act 3, the role of Alcindoro and most of the repeats within arias. But the relationships remained intact, and that is the edifice on which La Boheme hangs. Pollio performed Puccini’s condensed score from a baby grand piano, sounding clean, bright and with moments of real tenderness. I admit to being surprised by how well this worked; rather than feeling like the orchestra was missing, the piano instead enhanced the intimate cabaret/music hall feel.
Within all of this colour and energy the tumultuous relationship of Mimi and Rodolfo took centre stage thanks to immersive performances by Harriet O’Shannessy and Paul O’Neill. O’Shannessy’s Mimi was shy, sweet and sung with creamy depth, although her diction was missing some consonants. Her whisper-soft phrases in the tragic final act were golden hued. O’Neill also made great use of the intimate acoustics, reining in his quite voluptuous tenor for moments of candid vulnerability, particularly in his duet ‘O buon Marcello’. The famous tenor aria ‘Che gelida manina’ was sung with seemingly endless breath supply and magnificent lingering top notes.
Sam Roberts-Smith conveyed a tormented Marcello with a relaxed vocal delivery and mellow buttery tone. Naomi Johns was a gutsy Musetta, stealing the show in all the right ways whenever she was onstage. Paull-Anthony Keightley’s philosophical Colline was a grounding presence and foil to Lachlann Lawton’s drugged, somewhat callous Schaunard.
The cast and director took many liberties with the libretto but the condensed form and colloquial translation did the job of keeping the audience abreast of the banter and poetry unfolding onstage. And the poetic moments were heart wrenching, as out of the filth and anarchy shone humour and compassion, sung with immense beauty and committed acting. Opera at its best!
This review first published in Limelight magazine May 2017.