Review: Rigoletto (Royal Ballet and Opera)

Review by Isabel Benson 

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Verdi wrote his renowned opera Rigoletto in 1851, an era where women are supposedly ‘fickle’, but men are encouraged to cheat on their devout wives, where Dukes have frivolous court jesters, but where these same jesters fraternise with secret assassins? Not quite a history lesson, then - but very much the base universe Verdi revels in. In his new production, director Oliver Mears paints a Caravaggian landscape of Machiavellian drama, which, in turn, laces a deeply patriarchal realm of Mantuan madness.

Verdi’s Rigoletto is the story of the Duke of Mantua (Iván Ayón Rivas) and his court jester Rigoletto (George Petean), a womaniser, who outwardly seduces women freely via his playful and mocking demeanour. His jester, Rigoletto, is both feared and ridiculed at court, suspected of having a secret mistress who is actually his beloved daughter, Gilda (Aida Garifullina). The opera unfolds as Rigoletto’s efforts to shield Gilda from male predations are thwarted by betrayal. In a cruel twist, the very scheme Rigoletto sets in motion to punish the Duke (hiring an assassin) backfires, leading to Gilda’s death instead. The story ends in heartbreak.

Watching Rigoletto in the 21st century as a woman is often a bit of a feat. It is so simple a narrative which runs on male agency and contemporary misogyny. In fact, the central characters are ALL male apart from Gilda (the protected ‘virgin’ daughter), who is hidden away from the world and her first sighting very much follows the 19th-century ‘woman in the attack’ trope. From being hidden, to being mercilessly pursued, the only time Gilda has any choice of her own is when she chooses to be murdered in order to protect her lover and father - but this tension between powerlessness and agency is exactly what makes Rigoletto such a timeless exploration of themes we can all resonate with today - especially with the new trend of ‘yearning’, heavy in films like Wuthering Heights and Anora. Even in 1850, Verdi was taken by the heartbreak embedded thematically into the core of Victor Hugo’s play Le Roi s’amuse (later adapted into the tragedy Rigoletto). Opera and tragedy can be traced back to 1597 when Duke Ferdinand de’Medici asked Italian composer Jocopo Peri to investigate the music accompanying ancient plays of Aeschylus, Sophocles and Euripides.

Elements of Greek tragedy are undoubtedly present in this opera - starting with ‘the curse’ (‘La Maledizione’) of Montorone, the hamartia of Rigoletto and his obsession with revenge, which, in turn, makes the fate of his daughter Gilda inevitable. In my opinion, Mears marks this connection with Greek tragedy through his direction of the chorus, which seems to serve a primal function. I mean, visually, the chorus is graced by Costume Designer Ilona Karas’s spectacularly vibrant costuming. Appearing as spirit-like, ghoulish figures in the opening ensemble against the Caravaggian backdrop, they evoke spirits awakening in a provocative exhibition of the naked woman hanging above them. With contemporary, abstract choreography by movement director Anna Morrissey, the spirits follow Verdi’s orchestral stabs with unnerving, otherworldly precision, creating an immersive impression of the opening ‘orgy’. Mears should be commended for this opening scene, a masquerading spectacle of macabre serving to underpin the course of the action to follow - again, much like what Fennel does in her interpretation of Wuthering Heights (written contemporarily to Rigoletto).

One of Mears’ most interesting directions is his setting of Gilda’s famous ‘Caro Nome’. Traditionally performed with a saccharine innocence, Gilda is often portrayed wide-eyed, recounting her newfound love tentatively. Yet, in Mears’ production, we finally start to see Gilda transgressing the boundaries imposed on her as she starts to explore her own feelings and expressions of sexuality - even if it is within the confines of her own bedroom. There is a visual representation of Gilda undoing her own chastity as she undoes her dress with the Virgin Mary hanging above her bed. Aida Garifullina carries this exquisitely, balancing vocal purity with a growing sense of emotional awareness. It’s a ‘Caro Nome’ that feels less like a simple love song and more like a moment of awakening. Karas also does well to dress Gilda in raw, minimalist colours to contrast the opening chorus of debauchery. Alternatively, I also found Mears’ ending particularly engaging as the audience is plunged into an eerie, minimalist darkness - a nod to the gothic. Pathetic fallacy of the storm is brought to life by reverberating lightning flashes, executed wth startling effect by Lighting Designer Fabiana Piccioli. We end the opera just as stripped back, with Rigoletto lying in tragedy with his dead Gilda in his arms. This jarring juxtaposition against the opening frivolities works well to add tonal and dramatic contrast to the production.

I must say, as a bit of a RBO young program veteran myself, this was probably one of the most all-round stand-out casts I’ve had the honour of hearing to date. The first aria to grace the stage is the Duke’s ‘Questa o quella’, which Iván Ayón Rivas breaks into with high spirit and a powerful bite which soars through the auditorium. Liparit Avetisyan may have been the originally billed Duke, and his buttery, earnest tone is one I’ve long admired, yet Rivas was just as much a sensation. From the outset, there was no sense of him holding back; instead, he sang with the stamina of a true powerhouse, sustaining - and even intensifying - that energy right through to his final note. He even made me enjoy the famous aria ‘La donna è mobile’ as I just sat and marvelled instead of being annoyed because ‘women’ are in fact NOT ‘fickle’ (lol). George Petean did just as terrific a job, invoking pathos and a wounded humility into the complex and often unlikable protagonist Rigoletto. His Act II aria ‘Cortigiani, vil razza dannata’ was spell-binding, holding the audience in rapt silence - and perhaps most impressively, managing to quell even the serial coughers. William Thomas, as Sparafucile, was also impressive, his steamily deep bass notes holding much depth and emotional integrity.

However, I will say that Gilda, portrayed by Aida Garifullina, held a special place in my heart. Her sparkly tone is something I will preserve in my memory and could listen to endlessly. But it was not just the effortlessness with which Garifullina glided through her range, but also the charming, but not totally naive, purity with which she brought the character. She was definitely born to play Gilda - the character deeply embedded in her bones. Garifullina portrayed her character’s death with nuance, leaning into the fact that she is only granted agency when dressed as a man. By embracing this masculinity, she amplifies her ability to appear stoic as a man - in control of his (her) own fate. I found this commentary on gender particularly effective, not least because of the conviction Garifullina brings to the performance.

Ultimately, RBO’s Rigoletto dazzles in every sense: Verdi’s music soars as always, Mears’ direction turns tragedy into visceral theatre, and the cast inhabit every note and gesture with fierce intensity. With Karas’ stunning costumes and Morrissey’s haunting choreography, by the final, heart-wrenching moment, the audience is left breathless, suspended between awe and despair - a vivid, unforgettable operatic triumph.

Rigoletto plays at the Royal Ballet and Opera until April 23rd. Tickets from https://www.rbo.org.uk/tickets-and-events/rigoletto-oliver-mears-details

Photos by Marc Brenner