Dialogues des Carmélites

A story from the French Revolution in which a frightened rich girl seeks solace among a community of Carmelite nuns, only to be caught up in their mass execution, might not sound like promising material for an opera. And yet, in the hands of Francis Poulenc, this surprisingly tonal 1957 masterpiece is one of the great operas of the twentieth century. With the histrionics turned off in Robert Carsen’s minimal production and Jean Kalman’s artful lighting complementing the sumptuous, sparkling score brought sympathetically to life beneath the baton of Sir Simon Rattle, it should be faultless. But its impact is diffused by some rather bland singing that fails to find the passion and grit in this profoundly moving piece.

In Carsen’s highly atmospheric and stylised production the other-worldliness of the opera is established from the off as the silent brooding crowd marches upstage and glowers at the audience before fanning out to frame the opening scene in which the engaging baritone Thomas Allen discusses the fate of his daughter Blanche with his son. Another ROH veteran, tenor Alan Oke, also shines as the Confessor of the Convent, conveying the panic as events beyond the cloisters overtake him.

For the singing nuns – and it is difficult to distinguish who’s who when they’re in their habits – soprano Sally Matthews, while bringing much vulnerability to Blanche, seems stuck in the same gear throughout. Emma Bell (as Madame Liodine) and Deborah Polaski (the dying Prioress) raised the temperature a little, but soprano Sophie Koch is perhaps the only one truly confident singing in (her native) French.

The emphasis on the visual show occasionally gives it the feel of a slick musical rather than a tragic opera. But one is always stunned by one of the most memorable finales in opera: the nuns as a chorus singing the ‘Salve Regina’, sporadically interrupted by the whistling blade of the guillotine until only Blanche remains to sing for the short remainder of her time before discovering apparent redemption in religious martyrdom.

Like the memory of the opera itself, the shining image of that faithful nun, all in white and standing alone with her arms outstretched, burns brightly on the retina long after the lights have faded to darkness.