Thursday 15 January 2026

Review by Paul Neeson (Arts Wednesday)

Puccini wrote Madama Butterfly (1904) and Turandot (1924) at the height of Western fascination with the Orient. Artists and musicians were creating works that portrayed a stereotypical western view of the exotic cultures of the Orient, in some ways it was all about the value of individual experience. In music we had Rimsky-Korsakov’s Scheherezade (1888) and Debussy’s Estampe (1903). In art, The Visit of the Queen of Sheba to King Solomon by Poynter (1890) and Jean Léon-Gérôme’s The Snake Charmer (1879).

Puccini evokes the Orient in Turandot with his adaptation of the Chinese folk song “Mo Li Hua” for the”Jasmine Flower”, for Turandot’s theme a Chinese Imperial Hymn, and the lullaby “Sian chok” for Liu’s “Signore ascolta”. The score employs Chinese gongs and percussion, and he uses pentatonic scales and consecutive 5ths and 4ths throughout.

In director Ann Yee’s new production of Turandot for Opera Australia, it appears she is trying to expunge any suggestion of Orientalism wherever she can. As it tells us in the program notes “Turandot was not performed in China until 1996, as the opera paints a one-dimensional and not very flattering picture of China”. Obviously there’s nothing that can be altered in the music or libretto as they are sacrosanct, but the sets, the costumes and the choreography are all up for reinterpretation. After all that is the purview of an opera director.

With a background in choreography, Yee cast Hoyori Maruo as Turandot’s defiled ancestor, Lou-Ling, who performs an unaccompanied solo dance before the actual music commences. In Puccini’s score she does not appear at all, so this innovation is trying to give us a better understanding of Turandot’s (Rebecca Nash) psychology. She reappears in Act 3 when Turandot is painfully relinquishing her once steadfast and unwavering oath to her ancestor. Her costume (David Fleischer) in peacock blue creates a false expectation of colour that soon fades into costumes of the chorus and soloists in the full spectrum of monochromatic shades of drab grey. Her inspired headpiece however becomes one of the last remnants of a Chinese influence, and also a crucial part of the action in Act 3. The peacock blue returns later in the costumes of the Princess’s attendants and also in the children’s chorus.

The sets (Elizabeth Gadsby) aren’t the peaked roofs of Chinese palaces, luscious silks, rich furniture and golden columns that you might expect, but grey blocks, corridors and doorways devoid of any decoration or evocation, reminiscent of a Georgio di Chirico painting. Novelty aside it seems the set may have been designed so as not to lock the performance into a specific time or place so it becomes more about the story, the music and song, more about timeless themes and messages, but in some ways curiously, less about culture. As an aside, one could however argue it is not neutral in time or place at all, it is a post WWII almost brutalist set and the costumes almost post apocalyptic. The set while appealing to the opera buff in that it might be different, is nonetheless simply functional and at first glance devoid of character and exotic or orientalist decoration. Yee’s choreography enhances some of the more static scenes when the large chorus is onstage, but adds little to the drama (Lou-Ling’s dances aside). Andrew Thomas Huang’s avatar creation of Turandot was a masterstroke, creating strong shifts in mood and colour as required. It dominated the stage throughout, as does the presence of the all-powerful Turandot.

The colour palette is limited to red and blue achieved primarily through the lighting (Paul Jackson). The blue represents the Ice Queen (Turandot) and her cold cruel heart. The red is the fire and the warmth of Calaf’s (Young Woo Kim) love that will ultimately thaw Turandot’s heart. The costumes of Liu (Maria Teresa Leva) and Calaf have subtle hints of earthy red hues amongst the greys and whites.

The only scene that departed from this strict directive was the trio of Ping, Pong and Pang in Act 2. Lit in natural light, the set included many intricate details in a full spectrum of colours. Suddenly we were in a different world populated by the ordinary man. They were dressed as public servants (which essentially they were) but transported to the 21st century via mobile phones and laptops – an ephemeral time shift because before too long we were back in the harsh world of the Peking Palace.

The performances were exceptional, particularly Leva’s Liu and Kim’s Calaf. Leva’s “ignore ascolta” brought the house down, interrupting the orchestra for at least a minute. Nessun Dorma almost had a similar reaction, but conductor Henrik Nánási went for Puccini’s literal score where the final high B is no more than a grace note (as opposed to the Pavarotti version where it is held as long as possible to elicit an ovation), and segued quickly into the next aria halting a rapturous audience’s applause.

Overall it is the music and the drama that carries the day, but for those of us who have enjoyed this opera many times, a new interpretation is refreshing and makes us see other messages and themes in the work. In this production we get a more nuanced insight into the emotion and reasons for Turandot’s cruelty, and how the suicide of Liu and Calaf’s bravery and persistence combine to melt her heart that could otherwise seem incongruous. And it is portrayed visually minus the potential for cultural cringe of a false Oriental world. And for that we cannot thank Ann Yee and her team enough.