It is hard to think of a greater logistical and creative challenge than staging an opera. Wellington Opera rises admirably to the task with their latest production of A Masked Ball, displaying a cohesion and finesse across every aspect that a dramaturge might touch.

The libretto and setting of Un ballo in Maschera has gone through a lot in its time. Itself inspired by Frenchman Daniel Auber’s take on a then-recent Swedish political scandal, the opera went through censorship hurdles affected by French political upheaval, and the plot was even temporarily altered to be set in Boston. Wellington Opera’s production (Directed by Jacqueline Coats; conducted by Brian Castles-Onion) treats the original score and libretto with considerably more respect, restoring the censored parts.

The setting is also translated to a fictional location that feels grounded in the composer and librettists’ inner worlds. Costuming (Lee Williams) and set design (Michael Zaragoza) evoke a stylised version of the Italian Risorgimento period – thereby loosely tying the music’s time period and the libretto’s language to the action onstage.

Other elements of the art direction are inspired by the core of the Diana and Actaeon myth, not a version where Actaeon is caught peeking at Diana but one where his hubris lets him down. It’s a simple and effective visual hook to hang a story on: a complacent hunter becomes the hunted. Shape language evokes the remnants of an ancient Roman past in the background of the more personal action, underscoring the mythic undertones.

Lighting (Rowan McShane), sets and costume feel like the parts of speech in one design language. Lunar imagery is evoked through the tasteful deployment of slow-moving spotlights and tactically-placed gobos. The colour theory and shapes of the costuming do wonders to quickly communicate characters’ status and temperament to the audience. Modular set elements are also put to efficient use. In a three-hour production with two short intervals – a blessing for both audience and singers – tight continuity of staging and design is essential to re-immerse us in the action.

An operatic chorus is the visible face of the orchestra and, in relatively intimate venues like the Wellington Opera House, the acting of the chorus is at least as vital as its singing to add weight to group scenes. The tight-knit nature of Wellington’s orchestral music scene and the energy Orchestra Wellington and the Wellington Opera Chorus bring to the task definitely pays off. An audience member’s roving eye never fails to find an unspoken character moment among the silent chorus – giving an enemy the stink-eye, reacting to the adjacent personal drama … This is particularly crucial in conveying the character of King Gustav III.

The mana of kingship is conferred onto Jared Holt’s affably self-effacing monarch by the chorus. They give him space to explore the character. As for the orchestra’s fantastic work, this reviewer can think of no better endorsement than this: the usual smattering of politely shy New Zealand applause at the top of Act One had turned vigorously enthusiastic by the end of the second interval. In a work where both singers and instrumentalists contend with moments of suspense and the occasional dauntingly exposed solo, the orchestra hits all their marks.

Speaking of suspense, it is finally time to analyse our singers. Three supporting roles merit special mention. Samuel McKeever and Morgan Andrew-King soon establish a conspiratorial rapport with the audience in their performance as Horn and Ribbing, a pair of hawkish rebellious Counts. Their character work and the balanced interplay of two fine singing voices make them stand-outs among the supporting roles. Tenor Lila Crichton also steps up to play a Chief Justice and a couple of smaller parts. He has an interesting voice and a good sense of body language, hopefully we will see him in other productions as he continues to develop.

Kristin Darragh’s Ulrica is always a tricky character to present in an opera that otherwise tends towards the personal and quasi-historical. Well-placed set elements and a truly spectacular outfit help to lend her an air of drama. Audience opinion on opening night gave her permission to chew on the scenery rather than simply nibble it: on the other hand, Darragh’s relatively understated approach makes Ulrica arguably more interesting than the one-note stereotype she might otherwise become, and that feels like the better choice for a production of relatively intimate scale. The deployment of smoke onstage may not have been a wise choice in terms of supporting Darragh’s vocal instrument. Nevertheless, her vocal and physical interplay with Holt is excellent and her nuanced delivery carries a long scene without losing the dramatic tension.

As Oscar, Natasha Te Rupe Wilson deservedly storms up the billing and into the audience’s hearts, adding bursts of vibrancy and much-needed levity to both the story and the opera’s musical style. Oscar’s singing part and the styling of this pageboy-like character both evoke an older Bel Canto style. Te Rupe Wilson’s body language is that of a bird, scooting from vantage point to vantage point and popping up to make excited musical interjections. Despite all the movement and chaos, her projection remains absolutely on point, her enunciation crystalline. Te Rupe Wilson is clearly enjoying herself, and her enjoyment translates to the audience.

The principals bring all their focus and dedication to selling the drama of A Masked Ball‘s central love triangle. It’s a rare treat for a Wellington music lover to immerse themselves in the interplay of three well-matched voices and get lost in the emotions of an operatic scene.

Pierard’s delivery as Amelia is rock-solid; her sensitivity to musical tone, her timing and vocal flexibility evoke an instinctive bond between her and the orchestra for some highly demanding arias. Rather than leaning on the interpretive underpinnings of any previous Amelia or getting distracted by vocal acrobatics, Pierard simply embodies the core emotions and communicates them with sincerity. The results are delightful.

Holt’s Gustav is a man of many parts. Again, the technical delivery is excellent – it only gets better as the plot unfolds and Holt shows us all the little facets of his character. It speaks to the quality of Holt’s acting and the ease of his vocal delivery that this character study comes to the fore. Whether he is at the centre of a scene or quietly observing from the background, Holt is a joy to watch. The musical characterisation in different arias and passages adds an extra level of challenge to an already demanding vocal part. This interpretation of Gustav gives the impression of a fun uncle: affably cocky, sentimental and ultimately loveable.

Julien van Mellaerts has a difficult path to walk as Anckarström. His character starts out as a rather simplistic foil to King Gustav, meaning that van Mellaerts has very little to work with in Act One but needs to ramp up his delivery for blisteringly dramatic scenes later on. Therefore, both the singing and acting work starts out understated, with van Mellarts hitting his stride in mid-plot and allowing his elegant baritone to bloom. The effect turns van Mellaerts into an operatic sleeper agent: his emotional outbursts in his later scenes with Amelia come as a shock, at least to a modern audience. He does well to navigate and justify his character’s sudden emotional turn, bolstering his delivery where it’s needed to match the other two participants in the love triangle.  

This production has an overall theme of kindness: kindness to its audience, kindness and mutual respect between performers and a fantastic sense of internal cohesion and team spirit across all the supporting elements. A great deal of love has gone into its making. Many stagings of Verdi play up his dramatic set-pieces, rely on the star power of imported principals and ‘hit’ arias – or simply fall prey to hubris in the excitement of putting on a famous big-ticket opera.

Wellington Opera’s approach is more thoughtful. It invites us to feel at home; it welcomes us.

Copyright © in the review belongs to the reviewer