A bare set comprising a few curtains and a solitary chair seems an apt production for English National Opera, yet again in the news due to proposed cuts to the orchestra. Ruth Knight's revival of Peter Konwitschny’s La traviata sees Verdi’s most famous opera stripped to its very bones. The score is pruned to take the piece to under two hours and there’s no interval in which to catch one's breath. Devoid of fripperies, save for those crimson curtains steadily removed to leave an aching blackness – the void into which Violetta enters as she takes her last breath – the director places the emphasis entirely upon the singers to bring the tragedy to life; that chair stands as support, weapon and silent witness to the unfolding horrors.
The honing in on the characters is the great merit of this production, but the addition of a silent character on stage, Alfredo’s unnamed sister, is unnecessary. Konwitschny feels that the opera’s weakness is Giorgio Germont’s ease in persuading Violetta to renounce Alfredo and so Konwitschny has the father bring Mlle Germont with him to the lovers’ bolthole in the countryside as a physical instrument of persuasion. Theatrically effective as this may be – the young Summah Chandi is highly convincing – there’s a question as to whether Verdi’s legendary instincts need to be second-guessed and I am not sure that the suggestion of Germont’s brutality is easily reconciled with something of the man of honour roiling under the surface. Throwing Alfredo and others into the Stalls for the final scene has a certain impact – we are all powerless spectators – but also divides attention and the gaze.
Nicole Chevalier did the honours as Violetta, showing a big-boned, slightly steely-toned soprano with a reasonable trill at the top, though her diction was patchy. It’s a hard role in which to maintain dramatic consistency and Chevalier did not quite convince in the first act, veering towards parody. She came into her own in her confrontation with Germont in Act 2, her performance beguiling and multifaceted, giving a real sense of heartbreak and sacrifice. Jose Simerilla Romero’s geeky Alfredo just about stays the right side of the line between trainspotter and incel, but was somewhat wooden, lacking the ardent glow for which the role cries out. Diction was reasonable and there is a certain elegiac expressiveness to Romero’s tenor, but it’s a small voice and in a venue of the Coliseum’s size he struggled to make an impact.
Roland Wood’s sturdy baritone is almost sepulchral in its lower reaches, but there’s a coppery tang towards the top that makes it easy on the ear. His Germont, despite the slight clash in personality types, had a real sense of humanity which was threaded with a profound sense of understanding of the text and its articulation; not once did I need to glance at the surtitles when he sang. Among the supporting roles, Freddie Tong stood out as a particularly unpleasant Baron Douphol and Sarah-Jane Lewis was a moving Annina. The ENO Chorus was as rousing as always.
It was, though, in the pit where the opera’s hero stood. I cannot recall any recent performance of Traviata conducted with such nuance, dramatic heft and sheer thrill than that undertaken here by Richard Farnes. There was such depth in the opening of the prelude, that bizarre blend of weight and weightlessness that only a few conductors can bring. The besieged ENO Orchestra sounded galvanised, the strings velvety, the woodwinds rounded, the brass punchy: an aural delight. This alone makes the production worth seeking a ticket.
