Rule No 1 of Robert Carsen’s Royal Opera production of Aida, revived for the first time since its 2022 debut: forget Egypt. No pharaonic headdresses, no pyramids, no hieroglyphs. This is an Aida with big ideas about the abuse of power and war between nations. We could be anywhere, as long as it is highly militarised. Annemarie Woods’ costumes showcase totalitarian chic; only Amneris is allowed, briefly, to stray from the grunge-for-all colour scheme with a bright red tailored number to watch the Triumphal March. Miriam Buether’s sets are a series of cavernous concrete bunkers.
Rule No 2 of Carsen’s Aida: the work’s characteristic spectacle (specifically requested by the Cairo’s Khedivial Opera House which commissioned the opera) is almost entirely suppressed. We still hear Verdi’s self-consciously “exotic” dances, but what we see is marching, saluting and table-laying. The Triumphal March becomes a military parade involving an elaborate flag-folding routine. A fleeting passage of livelier choreography to narrate a battle follows hot on the heels of yet more striding around and looks like someone has hit fast-forward on basic video-game graphics.
This is one way to deal with the problems of Aida’s ultra-Orientalism today. (Aida is, after all, the opera that eminent postcolonial scholar Edward Said once dismissed as an “embarrassment”.) Yet this commitment to abstraction introduces a serious schism between staging and score – not just in numerous details of the libretto but, more importantly, in pacing. Verdi was creating opportunities for scenic spectacle to take centre stage. Here it rarely does.
In these circumstances it was unfortunate that musically, this revival can’t match the vividness and subtlety of its original outing. The solo singing was of mixed quality. Riccardo Massi was unwell, leaving Jorge de León to step in as warrior-hero Radames – his huge voice set permanently at “intense” and driving up the volume of even his most intimate interactions with other characters. As his star-crossed lover, Anna Pirozzi’s Aida was controlled and dramatic, her soprano cutting cleanly through the densest textures, though by the final scene she sounded exhausted. Raehann Bryce-Davis made an impressive house debut as Aida’s romantic rival Amneris, by turns sensual and ferocious, her voice thrilling in its lower reaches if unable to compete, decibel-for-decibel, in the middle of her range. Amartuvshin Enkhbat (Aida’s father Amonasro) was instantly authoritative, their father-daughter duet genuinely touching.
Under Daniel Oren, the orchestral ensemble was periodically strained and the score’s many shifts of gear were managed largely by step-changes. Despite some beautifully shaped woodwind solos, many of the more delicate passages lacked polish. The Royal Opera Chorus were the stars of this show – the men’s voices exquisitely blended and superbly atmospheric in their quiet passages, barely more than murmured.
