It is not uncommon for male protagonists to perform daring feats to capture the heart of their female pursuits: Romeo commits suicide, Edmond Dantès goes on a killing spree, Jack lets go of a door. In this sense, Giacomo Puccini’s 1926 masterpiece Turandot doesn’t break any barriers, but with its complex composition and timeless characters, it stands alone.
Turandot takes place on the busy streets of Peking where the young hero, Calaf (Adam Laurence Herskowitz), stumbles upon his long-lost, decrepit father, Timur (Aaron Stegemoller), and a slave girl, Liu (Christia Starnes). These three companions arrive just in time to witness the execution of a Persian prince because of his failure to answer Princess Turandot’s (Alexandra LoBianco) three riddles. Immediately smitten with the princess, Calaf sacrifices everything in an attempt to answer the riddles, gain her hand in marriage, and end her icy, matriarchal reign.
The cast provided truly memorable performances, singing the entire opera in Italian. LoBianco’s strong-willed princess Turandot came to life in her powerful arias, and Herskowitz’ bold voice fit the bold character of Calaf perfectly, but the performance that was most captivating was Starnes’ Liu. The loving slave girl, who could arguably be considered the main character of the piece, performs soul-moving arias that held the entire audience breathless and a few wide-eyed in amazement. Starnes’ voice filled the theater with all the pain and suffering of her character, and performed the most moving parts of the piece perfectly.
The stage’s two-hour traffic was just that—traffic. With a full 16-member choir and a 10-member children’s choir, it was a little crowded on the Union Avenue stage. However, the stage director (Mark James Meier) successfully maneuvered the 30 or more actors, never detracting from the central action or voice of the piece. In addition, the full choirs gave the music a complete, powerful sound. The orchestra performed flawlessly, never overpowering the characters’ voices.
The set was not incredibly ornate, using faux marble with hints of brownish-tan detail. The architecture didn’t invoke a feeling of feudal china, or really place the viewer in the moment. However, there was elegance in its simplicity. When the full cast was on stage, there seemed a methodical decision to design the stage with its many steps and high walls. The set’s centerpiece, which was a large circle of canvas hanging above the stage, functioned as a timekeeper, changing colors between day and night, and as a gong, a symbol that Calaf has accepted Turandot’s challenge.
The most perplexing element of the evening was the costume design. Although I agree with most of the choices made, I felt that the costumes primarily teetered between realism and tourist shop trinkets. For instance, Turandot’s costume was perfectly suited for the character. It portrayed a sense of elegance, but the wild headdress invoked her as some crazed animal that could not be tamed. Although Calaf was supposed to be a foreign prince, his costume looked more like pirate garb, and where the imperial guards sported ornate, realistic armor, Ping, Pang, and Pong (the comedic relief) seemed like something purchased at a tourist shop. Perhaps that is the inherent charm; their jokes and their dress are equally laughable.
Turandot is stunning. It’s an unrelenting, fast-moving piece and an excellent example of the power behind the human voice. It exhibits compelling, dynamic characters and is as sweet as it is violent. Although at its surface it seems like a story of unwavering love, its themes of marriage, class, and loyalty cannot be denied.
