What to do about “Turandot”?
The resultant “Turandot” is such that one traditionally must continue suspending disbelief long after the curtain falls, tumbling through whatever mental gymnastics are required to believe that the murderous, vengeful princess of a mythical China — whose hatred of men has separated countless suitors from their heads — could be tamed by a single kiss, let alone flattened into the operatic equivalent of a heart-eyes emoji.
These days, the complications concerning just how to present “Turandot” only deepen when you consider the mishmash of the opera’s provenance, condensed far more concisely than I could manage by WNO dramaturge Kelley Rourke in her program notes: In “Turandot” we have “an Italian verismo opera about a Chinese princess based on a commedia dell’arte play that took its subject matter from a Persian story of a Russian princess, reworked by a French folklorist.”
The unmatchable pageantry of the Metropolitan Opera’s visually overwhelming Franco Zeffirelli production (onstage through June 7) has served as the standard for grand realizations of “Turandot” since its 1987 premiere. Even today, the magnificent set (and small town’s worth of performers) earns its own ovations — loud enough to drown out any discontented moans of its indulgence in tired tropes and stereotypes.
Along with the nearly 100 years that have passed since its premiere, so too have the copyright protections on “Turandot,” granting librettists and composers everywhere the liberty to tweak at will. (In the United States, “Turandot” entered the public domain in 2021, but it remains copyright-protected in other parts of the world.) Opera Delaware, for example, opens Xinxin Tang’s new production on May 17, which features a new ending composed by “Scalia/Ginsburg” composer Derrick Wang.
For WNO’s attempt at a refashioned finale to “Turandot,” Zambello tapped Grammy-winning composer Christopher Tin and playwright Susan Soon He Stanton (an Emmy winner for her work on “Succession”). The two created 18 minutes of new material, meant to emulate (but not imitate) the music that precedes it and gently bend the arc of the storyline toward a more empowering (and less ridiculous) conclusion — one that I will not spoil here.
“In this new ending,” said Tin in a statement, “we hope to create a three-dimensional Turandot whose transformation from selfish sadist to an empathetic leader and lover is not only believable but inspiring, and perhaps even sparks a dialogue about the nature of leadership in today’s society.”
Even without the new ending — and Tin’s splendid musical additions, which draw sensibly from Puccini’s score while applying an entirely new emotional finish — Zambello’s “Turandot” crackles with fresh energy and some truly extraordinary singing.
The Polish soprano Ewa Plonka delivered a thrilling (and often chilling) Turandot. Her “In questa reggia” is a shocking introduction to her rich, regal tone — and the gravitational pull of her presence onstage. She made the recitation of the riddles more than sufficiently terrifying, hurling her voice like a bolt of lightning. And her management of Tin’s new material (which requires quite the dramatic pivot from Plonka) was pleasingly seamless — and surprisingly uplifting. (Marjorie Owens will sing the role on May 24.)
Though the South Korean tenor Yonghoon Lee is an internationally recognized Calaf, he’s not my favorite. To my ears, his voice conjures more sharp-edged anger than lovestruck longing, making his unflinchingly heroic trajectory a bit one-note. These years of experience also did not prepare him for the acoustics of the Opera House — his lower register too often vanished into the stage. I also like my “Nessun dorma” stretched out like a long night; Lee’s Calaf would just as soon get on with his morning. (Jonathan Burton will sing the role on May 24.)
I won’t be ruining anything to tell you that the new ending will not satisfy anyone seeking #JusticeForLiù, but if you love a Liù who steals the show, you’ve got one in the South African soprano Masabane Cecilia Rangwanasha, making her American operatic debut. Her devastatingly beautiful Act I “Signore, ascolta!” showcased her precisely sculpted control and golden color; and she brought captivating combination of nobility and despair to her “Tu che di gel sei cinta” in Act III. See this show just to hear Rangwanasha in action — do it for Liù.
The celebrated tenor Neil Shicoff makes a welcome turn as the aged Emperor Altoum (who experiences a new ending of his own), his beleaguered pleas to Calaf betraying a voice that has retained its steely sheen. And bass Peixin Chen made a disarming and sympathetic Timur, a surprise highlight of the first act.
For Zambello’s production, the tale has been transposed into an aggressively industrial (first thought: Janet Jackson’s “Rhythm Nation”) possibly-quasi-China, branded by unfamiliar but unsettlingly evocative flags, and caged between three imposing stories of scaffolding. Set designer Wilson Chin effectively imparts a foreboding vibe, unstuck in time but steeped in stubborn history. Projections by S. Katy Tucker provide welcome depth and emotional texture — from the shower of cherry blossom petals that transforms a grim office, to the gentle moonlight that gives way to a fateful dawn.
This “Turandot” is also one of the largest productions WNO has ever staged, involving some 274 players, singers, dancers and crew onstage and off for opening night. But Zambello’s presentation is clean, crisp, fluid and remarkably uncluttered. The Washington National Opera Chorus of 60 singers, plus a children’s chorus of 20, are frequently present but seldom underfoot. Ditto the troupe of 10 dancers, whose fleeting appearances did help tighten some pockets in the pacing.
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Conductor Speranza Scappucci led the Washington National Opera Orchestra with lively, effervescent energy, and a sharp dramatic sensibility — inflating the strings when emotions called, foregrounding Puccini’s (occasionally cringey) sound effects and enveloping the chorus in a mist of sound. So gently did they sing awaiting the dawn that you might have forgotten their bloodlust.
In fact, much of the production trades on an uneasy proximity to the contemporary. The punitive groupthink of the chorus hits different in this fascist Anyplace, as do Puccini’s trio of vecchi — once known (for better or worse) as Ping, Pang and Pong. Here they are recast as suited bureaucrats, stationed at desks and identified by their titles: Chancellor (baritone Ethan Vincent), Majordomo (tenor Sahel Salam) and Head Chef (tenor Jonathan Pierce Rhodes) — character names taken directly from Puccini’s score.
Something about their longing for a past that cannot be reclaimed feels charged — or barbed, even. Though Vincent and his velvety baritone played a large part in making their nostalgic Act II trio (“Olà, Pang! — Ho una casa nell’Honan”) so unexpectedly touching. But they feel less like sages than agents: The presence of an invisibly oppressive ruling class looms as large in this vision as the blood-spattered (and presumably imported) guillotine.
But the intended takeaway, should Zambello’s gambit succeed, is the long-deferred pleasure of closure for our troubled principessa, whose mysterious past comes into clearer focus in just a few additional lines, and whose desire to be believed wryly transcends Alfano’s iffy ending. As love melts her pain, Turandot seems less like a legend and more like a woman. I love that for her.
Turandot by Washington National Opera runs at the Kennedy Center through May 25. kennedy-center.org.
