Dramatic line and a fine interpolation of thegrandiose and the intimate were the hallmarks of a splendid first revival of Verdi’s Don Carlo at the Royal Opera. Semyon Bychkov conducted a performance of force and sweep, even if occasionally the vehemence got a bit all over the place at the expense of precision of phrasing and above all of transitions.
      Jonas Kaufmann in the title role sang with beautifully judged dramatic nuance and unfailing sense of purpose. He conveyed the passion, melancholy, guilelessness and idealism of his role to perfection.
      Marina Poplavskaya was moving as Elizabeth of Valois and though her voice was sometimes a little strained (and is possibly not a natural Verdi soprano) she modulated magnificently between her love for Don Carlos and her icy control in discharging her duty to her country and to the King – Carlos’s father – whom she is forced to marry.
      Marianne Cornetti as Princess Eboli moved easily between unrequited love for Don Carlos, treachery, wit and grace. Simon Keenlyside was excellently cast as Don Carlos’s faithful friend, Rodrigo: the innate tenderness and grace of his voice conspired to convince us that he is the one ethically pure character in the entire drama.
      Pure is not exactly a word that can be used of either King Philip II of Spain, Don Carlos’s father, or the Grand Inquisitor, sung respectively by Ferruccio Furlanetto and the indefatigable John Tomlinson. Both these great singers are endowed with a charisma of menace that sweeps through the auditorium the moment they come on stage. The scene in which the Grand Inquisitor visits a tormented Philip in his study to remind him of his duties to Church – and, inter alia, endorses the morality of Philip’s decision to execute his own son; indeed draws a parallel with God’s willingness to allow the death of Jesus – was a marvel of Tomlinson’s capacity (as with his singing of Hagen in The Ring) to convey lethal bigotry through a single note.
      The Royal Opera’s chorus, trained by Renato Balsadonna, exuded the cruelty of a crowd in thrall to the certainties of religious belief – and to furthering the security of their own lives – with chilling force. Their baying for death to be meted out to the hapless heretics herded before Church and public was overwhelming, both musically and dramatically.
      Here it is impossible not to add to the many reviewers who have already lauded the direction of the National Theatre’s Nicholas Hytner, the designs of Bob Crowley and, by no means least, the lighting of Mark Henderson – taken together a case study of how an opera can be staged in a manner that is imaginative and in many ways radical without, as so often seems to happen, becoming an occasion in which the production team competes with the music and ends up obstructing it.
Simon May