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Padrissa’s Cluttered Beijing München
Nationaltheater
06/06/2026 - & June 9, 14, 17, 30*, July 3, 6, 2026
Giacomo Puccini: Turandot
Jonas Kaufmann/Yonghoon Lee* (Calaf), Olga Maslova/Sondra Radvanovsky* (Turandot), Ermonela Jaho/Golda Schultz* (Liù), Dmitry Ulyanov/Christian Van Horn* (Timur), Armand Rabot/Vitor Bispo* (Ping), Tansel Akzeybek (Pang), Samuel Stopford (Pong, Prince of Persia), Kevin Conners (Emperor Altoum), Bálint Szabó (A mandarin)
Bayerischer Staatsopernchor, Extrachor und Kinderchor der Bayerischen Staatsoper, Christoph Heil (chorus master), Bayerisches Staatsorchester, Henrik Nánási/Andrea Battistoni* (conductor)
Carlus Padrissa/La Fura dels Baus (stage director), Roland Olbeter (sets), Chu Uroz (costumes), Franc Aleu (videography), Urs Schönebaum (lights)
(© Geoffroy Schied)
There are few operas whose theatrical success depends so completely upon spectacle as Turandot. Puccini’s final masterpiece is, after all, a fairy tale rather than a psychological drama. Its mythical Peking, inherited from Carlo Gozzi’s eighteenth-century theatrical fantasy rather than from history, is not merely a picturesque backdrop but an indispensable component of the work’s dramatic fabric. Directors who seek to strip away its exoticism in search of contemporary relevance often discover that they have simultaneously stripped away much of the opera’s enchantment. Carlus Padrissa’s production for the Bayerische Staatsoper errs in precisely the opposite direction. Instead of rejecting spectacle, it embraces it with almost reckless abandon, producing an evening that is at once visually astonishing and dramatically exhausting.
Originally conceived in 2011, Padrissa’s staging transposes the action to the year 2046, imagining a future in which China has become the world’s dominant political and economic power. It is a concept whose satirical edge has, with the passing of time, become rather less provocative than it must have appeared at its première. More problematic, however, is the production’s relentless determination never to leave the audience in peace. Every available inch of the stage is animated by projections, acrobats, dancers, video imagery and choreographed movement. The eye scarcely knows where to rest. The obligatory 3‑D glasses distributed before the performance only reinforce the impression that one is attending an immersive multimedia installation rather than an opera.
To be sure, there are moments of undeniable visual splendour. Roland Olbeter’s monumental sets possess genuine theatrical imagination, while Chu Uroz’s costumes combine traditional Chinese motifs with futuristic fantasy to striking effect. Yet the production seldom distinguishes between genuine theatrical invention and gratuitous excess. Hockey players, ice skaters, gigantic projections and dystopian imagery accumulate without evident dramatic necessity. Rather than enriching Puccini’s fairy tale, they frequently obscure it.
Ironically, the evening’s finest scene is also its simplest. During the great riddle scene, the visual distractions largely recede, allowing Puccini’s inexorable dramatic architecture to assume centre stage. It is a reminder that the composer himself requires remarkably little assistance. One left the theatre with the paradoxical conviction that Padrissa’s spectacular imagination would have profited greatly from greater restraint.
Fortunately, the musical performance proved considerably more satisfying. Most recently heard as Cherubini’s Medea in Naples, Sondra Radvanovsky remains one of the very few contemporary sopranos possessing both the vocal resources and the artistic intelligence to undertake Turandot. The role has long belonged to dramatic voices of exceptional size – from Christel Goltz and Gertrude Grob‑Prandl to Birgit Nilsson and Gwyneth Jones – and Radvanovsky’s formidable instrument comfortably fills the Nationaltheater without ever sounding forced. If her vocal personality remains fundamentally that of a bel canto singer rather than a true dramatic soprano, this very quality lends her portrayal an unusual humanity.
Her “In questa reggia” possessed overwhelming vocal authority, every climactic ascent dispatched with fearless security. Yet one occasionally wished for greater emotional variety. Turandot’s recollection of the violated ancestress Lo‑u‑Ling should oscillate between suppressed grief, incandescent rage and icy resolve; Radvanovsky tended instead towards an almost unvarying intensity. It was in the third act that her interpretation achieved genuine distinction. Here the emotional armour gradually began to crack. Her reaction to Liù’s sacrifice conveyed authentic compassion, while her interaction with Timur suggested the first awakening of a conscience long buried beneath vengeance. Since the production concludes with Liù’s death rather than Alfano’s completion, this gradual transformation became dramatically indispensable, and Radvanovsky’s committed acting rendered the unconventional ending unexpectedly convincing.
First heard six years ago as Radamès in Barcelona’s production of Aida, Yonghoon Lee confirmed himself as one of today’s finest exponents of the heroic Italian tenor repertory. Few contemporary Calafs command such effortless vocal amplitude, yet what impressed even more was the refinement that now accompanies the sheer power of his instrument. Earlier in his career one occasionally felt that he relied too heavily upon vocal force; today he colours the line with considerable subtlety and is entirely capable of genuine mezza voce. His diction has likewise improved appreciably. “Nessun dorma,” inevitably, brought the audience to its feet, though it was the quieter passages preceding it that revealed the true maturity of his artistry.
Golda Schultz offered an affecting portrayal of Liù, although the role does not entirely suit her lyrical instrument. Her singing was consistently elegant and musically refined, yet Liù ideally requires an almost instrumental legato together with floating pianissimi of extraordinary delicacy. “Signore, ascolta” consequently lacked the ethereal intimacy that makes the aria so devastating. Her final scene, however, proved considerably more successful, “Tu che di gel sei cinta” combining expressive warmth with sincere dramatic conviction. Throughout the evening her acting remained touching and entirely believable.
Christian Van Horn brought admirable dignity to Timur, his rich bass‑baritone, impeccable diction and commanding stage presence making the ageing king a figure of genuine nobility. Kevin Conners lent Altoum considerably more vocal authority than is often encountered in this comparatively brief role, while Vitor Bispo, Tansel Akzeybek and Samuel Stopford formed an engaging trio of Ping, Pang and Pong. Although Padrissa largely suppresses their commedia dell’arte origins, they nonetheless provided welcome moments of wit amid the surrounding visual and emotional intensity.
The evening’s greatest triumph ultimately belonged to Andrea Battistoni and the Bayerisches Staatsorchester. Few conductors today display such instinctive sympathy for Puccini’s late orchestral language, in which Impressionistic colour, Straussian opulence and Italian lyricism coexist in remarkable equilibrium. Battistoni revelled in the score’s luxuriant orchestral palette without ever permitting the orchestra to swamp the singers. Climaxes possessed thrilling weight, while the many passages of extraordinary transparency emerged with luminous clarity. Under his direction, the orchestra captured every facet of Puccini’s astonishing final score, from its barbaric splendour to its moments of almost Debussyan delicacy.
Indeed, it was the orchestra that ultimately reminded one why Turandot remains one of the twentieth century’s supreme operatic achievements. Padrissa’s production often mistakes excess for imagination, yet Puccini’s music requires no such embellishment. In Battistoni’s hands and through the magnificent playing of the Bayerisches Staatsorchester, the opera’s inexhaustible richness spoke eloquently enough on its own.
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