BY WENDY ZHANG
Turandot
Opera Australia
Joan Sutherland Theatre, Sydney Opera House, 24 January
Exotic stage design, stunning choreography punctuated by colours and movement, and brilliant cast and ensemble with a children’s choir defined Graeme Murphy’s Turandot, a work now performed 30 years after its Australian premiere. It was Puccini’s final opera and told the story of love – the constant theme in his operatic work – between the princess Turandot and Prince Calaf, set in the mystical land of ancient China.
Act I was opened with a turbulent piece of orchestral music with repetition of C sharp – the Mandarin’s theme, as he floated onto the stage with a white mask, announcing the law of the land (People of Peking!). The crowd gathered to hear the announcement, and moved and flowed in waves as they learnt the Prince of Persia was to be executed at the moon’s rising, creating stunning visual patterns on stage.
The children’s choir sang the melody of popular Chinese folk song Jasmine Flower beautifully (which, as detailed in the program, Puccini first heard through a music box an Italian diplomat gave to him), but with completely different lyrics and mood. Instead of the original cheerful song about the flower, it was here changed to dark and gloomy; Puccini having altered the words of the song to fit his opera. At this moment in the opera, Turandot was to kill the Prince of Persia; the crowd pleaded for the character to act with mercy. In this song, the traditional Chinese ribbon and fan dances were performed by the dancers, but with a change of colours and feel – white fans, instead of the usual colourful fans, highlighting a sense of death and brutality instead of the usual cheerful and happy spirit of the dance.
Act II was set at the Ministers’ Pavilion, staged against a large suspended golden phoenix and dragon sculpture screen. The three ministers – Ping, Pang, and Pong, with faces painted like actors from a Chinese opera – delivered an incredibly entertaining act as they transformed the use of their black bamboo screens into blankets, chairs, and swings; all whilst singing I have a house in Honan and reminiscing the good old days at their country homes, drawing laughter and cheers all over the audience. The orchestra played frequent pentatonic scales; and very interesting percussion sound from the 13 tuned Chinese gongs encompassed a full chromatic scale – a set of instruments in the spirit of those Puccini had originally commissioned for this purpose in his opera.
American soprano Amber Wagner appeared in Act II and her voice was so powerful, rich, and penetrating that was well suited to her fearsome princess Turandot. She was dressed in white from head to toe (the colour of death in China), standing on top of a high stand, looking down on Calaf with contempt as she sang In this palace full of power. As explained in the program, she had described how her ancestor Princess Lou Ling was ravished by a prince – and now, she sought revenge against men. However, after Calaf solved all her riddles, she finally broke down and descended from the high stand to the ground – she appeared for the first time vulnerable and fragile as she sang the hauntingly beautiful Jasmine Flower melody, frequently hitting the high notes with ease.
Andeka Gorrotxategi presented a brave, passionate, and determined Prince Calaf with his smooth and warm voice. He sang the famous Nessun Dorma in Act III, as the ground moved in spectacular blue waves to depict the emotions of this piece. His singing and acting was so beautiful and passionate that it won the hearts of the audience, as big applauds and cheers came during and after.
Mariana Hong’s performance as the slave girl Liu was magnificent. She first appeared in Act I with Calaf’s father Timur, and sang in a piercingly innocent voice as she met for the first time, and fell in love with, Calaf. Her sweet and expressive performance and singing made her stood out from the start. In Act III as she was captured by Turndaot, she sang Princess, it was love! and You who are begirdled by ice, so genuine and sad that audience wept and gasped as she fatally stabbed herself. In The Creation of Turandot, Dr Judith Armstrong wrote that – after Liu’s death scene took place at the 1926 Milan premiere – then-conductor Toscanini explained to his audience that this was the final scene Puccini wrote before “the maestro laid down his pen” and died in the hospital.
Kristian Fredrikson’s stage design, especially the metal centerpiece, really impressed me. It first appeared as a frightening black face when the Mandarin appeared to make the announcement, then became a white pale face as the Prince of Persia was to be executed. It dramatically changed to a window where Turandot appeared to let the crowd know the Prince had to die; then transformed to a gong Calaf hit to announce his entrance to the riddle challenge; and finally became an entrance to the palace Calaf opened and walked through. I was stunned by the magical and swift transformation of this centerpiece, so well thought-out and suited to the mood and atmosphere of each scene that it was unbelievable to watch.
After 30 years of its Australian arrival, Turandot is still an incredible production, and one not to be missed; especially for its amazing choreography, powerful ensemble and stage design – presenting a kaleidoscope of colour and movement that told an ancient tale and the power of love.
