By Erica Jeal
LONDON (The Guardian) — Who’s the hotter property in the opera world right now: Ted Huffman the librettist and director of zeitgeisty new works? Or Ted Huffman the director of streamlined, impactful productions of the classics? That second reputation is enhanced by his Royal Opera main stage debut, a new staging of Tchaikovsky’s “Eugene Onegin.”
There’s no real set to speak of in Hyemi Shin’s design, just meters of wide-open stage — a black background, a few chairs, falling snow. The village where country-mouse Tatyana grows up is clothed (by Astrid Klein) in muted pastels; then, at the city ball, penguin-suited sophisticates tango to Tchaikovsky’s polonaise while glowing white chandeliers slowly descend like synchronized jellyfish. That, though, is as fussy as this gets — the focus stays on the compelling performances Huffman has elicited from his cast and the everything-I-know-about-love story they tell.
The relationship drawn in most detail is that of the two sisters. We see more of Olga than usual: as played, vibrantly, by Avery Amereau, she hurls herself at life, clearing a path for Kristina Mkhitaryan’s shy Tatyana, and when they are together the bond between them is vividly, beautifully clear. In the letter scene, Tatyana wakes her up and drags her over to be her scribe; at the end, when Tatyana walks away from the now-repentant Onegin, it’s Auntie Olga who is distracting her two young children.
Occasionally, Huffman goes further than Tchaikovsky in imagining what Pushkin might have written. Here, there’s good reason for Lensky to be suspicious of Onegin and Olga. More controversially, he changes the duel scene in a way that might be either transformative or peripheral, depending on your point of view. It’s undeniably gripping, though. So too is the scene when Onegin rejects Tatyana: her humiliation is no easier to witness for being so clearly misspent on the narcissist manspreading next to her.
The absence of set, however, means no surfaces to bounce the sound into the auditorium, and when the singers are further back the orchestra tends to be at an advantage. But some of the key passages are sung right up next to the proscenium, which allows for some daringly quiet singing from Mkhitaryan’s gleaming, expressive Tatyana and Liparit Avetisyan’s forthright yet nuanced Lensky, the two standout performers in a strong cast. Gordon Bintner’s supple yet hard-edged baritone captures Onegin’s destructive self-importance. There are memorable cameos from Brindley Sherratt, a luxury late stand-in as Gremin, and Rhonda Browne as a comforting Filipyevna, and the chorus is on excellent form. Only Christophe Mortagne’s Triquet, here a slightly sinister outsider figure, feels at all artificial. The orchestra plays warmly and robustly for the conductor Henrik Nánási. It’s not quite as polished and detailed as what’s happening on stage, but that would be a lot to ask.
