Thrills and chills

Lightning struck, after what must surely be one of the most dreary seasons at the Royal Opera, with a revival of Rigoletto. You never know. I haven’t been an admirer of John Eliot Gardiner, either in the pre-classical repertoire in which he made his name, or in his excursions into more recent orchestral and operatic music, for instance Puccini’s Manon Lescaut at Glyndebourne.

With the opening bars of Rigoletto, however, it was immediately clear that his tight grip on proceedings was going to have thrilling results, even though the orchestra took a little time to settle. David McVicar’s production of decrepit Mantua is itself looking pretty decrepit by now, and the opening orgy sorely needed a generous hand-out of Viagra. But the musical side of things, and the dramatic intensity of the singers, soon put all that in the shade. This was the strongest cast the production has seen, even if a couple of the singers could give still finer accounts of their roles.