Scottish Opera Turandot: A Gothic Nightmare Delivered with Brilliance

Giacomo Puccini’s Turandot has always been a gorgeously orchestrated score bolted onto a narrative puppet. At its core, it is the tale of an icy princess who executes any royal suitor failing to answer her three riddles, and the unknown prince willing to risk the executioner’s blade to claim her, dragging his destitute father and a devoted servant into the crossfire. Yet, it is neither a nuanced exploration of human frailty nor a stirring account of good vanquishing evil.

You could transport Calaf and Turandot to the 45th century, and they would still be a vapid, lust-blinded prince and an overindulged, deeply unwell psychopath—just armed with lightsabers.

Director David McVicar wrestles this flawed libretto into submission with an eccentric framing that lands somewhere between an Art Deco-influenced Korean horror flick, Francis Ford Coppola’s Dracula, and A Clockwork Orange. Turandot herself is perpetually trailed by the silent ghost of a wronged ancestress. While undeniably on the nose, it is perfectly consistent with the overarching weirdo-horror aesthetic, offering a psychological tether for the princess’s unending cruelty.

Even when the directorial vision borders on the audaciously unhinged, it is executed with Scottish Opera’s trademark high-end polish. The combined efforts of set designer Charles Edwards, costume designer Doey Lüthi, and lighting designer Ben Pickersgill ensure that the macabre decay never feels cheap, crafting a meticulously textured nightmare.

“Director David McVicar wrestles this flawed libretto into submission with an eccentric framing that lands somewhere between an Art Deco-influenced Korean horror flick, Francis Ford Coppola’s Dracula, and A Clockwork Orange.“

A Bizarre and Brilliant Spectacle

Rather than pushing the staging into the background, McVicar ensures the eccentricities bleed into every corner of the production. Jamie MacDougall fully commits to this gothic excess, delivering a brilliantly over-the-top turn as Emperor Altoum, reimagined here as a decaying vampire. Providing a much-needed counterbalance to this relentless gloom are the ministers Ping (Josef Jeongmeen Ahn), Pang (Aled Hall), and Pong (Luvo Maranti). Directed as a trio of physical comedians plucked straight from the silent film era, their nimble, Chaplin-esque clowning offers genuine levity without entirely shattering the dark spell of the court.

**Victor Starsky (Calaf) in Turandot. Credit Mihaela Bodlovic.**

But let us not labour the weirdness of the staging, because what makes this a superlative evening is the astonishing quality of the delivery. Trine Møller brings a fearsome, ringing intensity to the title role. She fully embraces the character’s psychopathy, slicing through the heavy orchestration with an authority that navigates the upper registers without ever sounding strained. It is a punishing sing, yet she handles the immense demands of the score with a chillingly detached brilliance.

Opposite her, Victor Starsky provides Calaf with enough muscular arrogance to make the prince’s reckless, suicidal wagers believable. His tenor has a robust, grounded quality that anchors their vocal sparring. Crucially, Starsky handles the monumental pressure of ‘Nessun dorma’ perfectly well. He delivers the night’s most anticipated aria with secure, unbuckling confidence, ticking the required box and earning his ovation without needing to needlessly tear down the rafters.

Emotional Anchors

The true emotional weight of the piece, however, belongs to the enslaved Liù and the deposed king Timur. They are the only relatable humans on the stage, a relief compounded by neither performer resorting to overacting. Hye-Youn Lee is magnificent as Liù, pinning the audience to their seats with her breathtaking dynamic control. She nails her pivotal arias, offering a heartbreakingly tender ‘Signore, ascolta!’ before delivering a defiant, show-stopping ‘Tu che di gel sei cinta’. Her ability to spin out quiet, sustained notes that float through the auditorium is the highlight of the night. Alongside her, Insung Sim sings the ailing king with a wonderfully rich, commanding bass that lends Timur deep dignity and immense vocal warmth.

“But let us not labour the weirdness of the staging, because what makes this a superlative evening is the astonishing quality of the delivery.“

Backing the principals, the Scottish Opera chorus is in tremendous form. They provide a lush, terrifying wall of sound that fills the vast expanse of the Festival Theatre auditorium, giving thrilling voice to a populace hungry for the next execution. Offering a vital counterpoint to this ferocity, the children’s chorus brings a layer of ethereal, lyrical magic; their pristine, ghostly refrains drift in from off-stage, cutting beautifully through the cobwebbed gloom.

In the pit, conductor Stuart Stratford and his orchestra are the ultimate heroes of the night. They wring every drop of colour and tension from Puccini’s swansong, keeping the pace brisk and ensuring the complex orchestration never overpowers the singers. Turandot will never be a great story, and this staging is undeniably strange, but when the vocal and orchestral delivery is this magnificent, you simply have to sit back and bathe in the experience.

Featured Image: Trine Møller (Turandot) in Turandot. Credit Mihaela Bodlovic