UK Edition
Review
Bryn Terfel rules as Boris Godunov at Covent Garden
It’s over a decade since this masterpiece of Russian art was performed by the Royal Opera. Wonderful though it is to have it back, I must register my disappointment that for this new production a decision has been made (economy must have been a factor) to adopt Mussorgky’s 1869 version of the score, rather than the enlarged and enriched 1874 version used in the previous staging here, memorably directed by Andrei Tarkovsky.
This means that the “Polish” act and the climactic scene in the Kromy Forest are excluded, entailing the loss of much enthralling music, some fascinating character development and the sense of a national epic in which the soul of Mother Russia and her oppressed people dominate. Instead the focus falls much more sharply on the psychology of Boris himself - the Macbeth-like Tsar, tortured by remorse for the murder he committed to gain power. I find this an impoverishment.
But having got that off my chest, I’m not inclined to complain. On its own terms, this performance offers two uninterrupted hours of great music drama, magnificently sung, conducted and staged.
Richard Jones’s vision of the piece avoids the visual clichés of Fascist tyrants and totalitarian surveillance that directors tend to reach for nowadays: he’s not interested in drawing facile parallels with Putin or Stalin, and his crowd scenes are peopled with peasants rather than proletarians.
Miriam Buether’s set evokes the interior of an orthodox cathedral, in the upper storey of which the Tsarevitch’s murder is replayed like a nightmare ballet - its back wall opens and closes through the seven disparate tableaux, lending the action a dream-like quality.
Bryn Terfel, singing the title-role for the first time, is no monster of melodrama. From the beginning, rather, he is haunted by the sense of a tragic mistake that cannot be redeemed, and by the end he is merely desperately pathetic and vulnerable, possessed only by protective love of his son.
Terfel’s acting and singing have a gentle intensity that transcends any sentimentality: I speak no Russian and so cannot comment on his delivery of the text, but I feel he has found the heart of the character, even though some of the phrases could be filled out with more grandeur.
He is surrounded by an excellent cast in which every member etches a vivid presence. Ain Anger is nobly sonorous as Boris’s alter ego, the chronicler Pimen, and David Butt Philip is so persuasive as the impostor Dmitry that I doubly regretted the relatively small part the latter plays in this version.
Ben Knight from Tiffin School sings beautifully and is deeply touching as Boris’s son. An augmented chorus raises the roof in the opening scenes.
Keeping the electricity at high voltage throughout is Antonio Pappano, whose conducting cuts boldly into Mussorgky’s rougher edges and eccentricities. Fired by incandescent orchestral playing, this is the sort of major artistic achievement that justifies subsidy for opera.
Until 5 April. Box office 020 7304 4000, www.roh.org.uk