Opera North: Andrea Chénier review – great singing and impeccably judged conducting

Not so long ago, Andrea Chénier was chiefly remembered for its soprano showpiece, La mamma morta, to which Tom Hanks performed a morbid pas-de-deux with his hospital drip in the movie Philadelphia. Yet two major UK productions in 12 months seems to indicate that Umberto Giordano’s opera, set against the background of the revolutionary terror in France, amounts to more than mere B-grade Puccini. Opera North has never presented the piece before; and though the company has had its thunder stolen somewhat by the Royal Opera’s starrier version seen at the beginning of last year, Annabel Arden’s production by no means suffers by comparison.

View image in fullscreen

Arden sensibly resists the temptation to make explicit parallels with more recent manifestations of terror in Paris; and like David McVicar’s Covent Garden production, it remains firmly within the specified period, though Joanna Parker’s dazzling costumes suggest Jean-Paul Marat by way of Jean Paul Gaultier.

The dominant image is formed by a sheer, chain-link curtain that surrounds the action, and through which the condemned poet Chénier and his beloved Maddalena must pass en route to their appointment with madame guillotine, as if disappearing into the cold store of a giant butcher’s shop. Arden prefaces each act with a recitation from Chénier’s poems, to remind us that the character was not merely a taciturn tenor engaged in an off-the-shelf Italian operatic love triangle, but a genuine historical figure.

Yet it is probably a wise decision not to labour too hard convincing us what Giordano’s opera might be about when the clear answer is that it’s about great singing. Rafael Rojas has been Opera North’s go-to verismo tenor in recent seasons, excelling in Tosca, Madame Butterfly and The Girl of the Golden West and surpassing himself here. His first act exposition on the sufferings of the poor unfolded thrillingly from lyrical pity to fulminating anger, the voice ringing clear and true in every register. Annemarie Kremer made La mamma morta a riveting musical monodrama in its own right, and ascended to the chill-inducing top B with a euphoric ease that suggested she could go even higher if she wanted to.

Oliver von Dohnányi’s impeccably judged conducting took care not to overwhelm the singers with the high-calorie content of Giordano’s orchestration. But the most captivating performance invariably came from the most interestingly written role. Robert Hayward plays the citizen despot Gérard like Scarpia with a conscience, tormented by the knowledge that, as one form of tyranny supplants another, revolutions have a tendency of coming around.