Encountering the Royal Opera’s new Queen of Spades resembles attempting to watch firecrackers show stuck behind a tall individual shooting it on their portable. The clamor is colossal; so are the sights, yet you can see them just through another person’s focal point.
The man with the telephone right now executive Stefan Herheim, and his sumptuous creation, which bewildered and energized crowds in Amsterdam in 2016, is an astute, humane, invigorating disappointment.
Here, chief of last season’s Vêpres siciliennes, here isn’t half as intrigued by the narrative of Pushkin’s novella and Tchaikovsky’s drama as he is in the tale of Tchaikovsky himself. Actually, overlook Pushkin; this is about Tchaikovsky.
The writer was the toast of melodic Russia; he was likewise a burdensome, a gay man who had a breakdown following an awful marriage, somebody who could conceivably have tanked the cholera-tainted water that slaughtered him in full mindfulness that it was polluted.
Information on this is urgent to understand the following three hours in front of an audience, and Herheim surrenders us a couple of anticipated lines of clarification at the very beginning.
The following thing we see is Tchaikovsky himself – and from that point on the arranger is once in a while far out, coordinating the move or making it down as correspondence with his plume.
Once in a while, he is encompassed by two-dozen ensemble doppelgangers, displaying glasses half brimming with brilliant cholera water.
He is played by the baritone Vladimir Stoyanov, on the grounds that this is definitely not a quiet job: Herheim has anticipated Tchaikovsky into the character of Yeletsky, the dull old ruler who offers courageous woman Liza love and security just for her to bet her respect and rational soundness on flaky wannabe Gherman.