It’s been an intense week. Two operas, over two consecutive evenings, spent with two explosively dysfunctional onstage families. Time to decompress.

If you keep an eye on London operantics, you’ll be aware of the world première of Mark-Anthony Turnage’s ‘Festen’ (libretto by Lee Hall, directed by Richard Jones) at Royal Ballet & Opera. And if the opera had escaped your notice, you might be familiar with its source, Thomas Vinterberg’s original 1998 film. The movie is notable in its own right as the first, and possibly the most well-regarded, release to emerge from the ‘Dogme 95’ movement, started by Vinterberg with fellow Dane and self-styled loose cannon Lars von Trier.

The ethos of Dogme 95 was to strip any artifice or frippery out of film-making and go back to basics, or beyond: natural light only, no visual effects, or soundtrack (only allowing for diegetic music – that is, played within the onscreen action). The focus was purely on plot and performance. This makes ‘Festen’ – which has already been adapted for the stage in the past – a fascinating choice for an opera setting, surely the most lavish, heightened treatment for a story imaginable.

Turnage and Hall discuss this openly in the programme notes, explaining how elements of ‘Festen’ were in fact ideal for opera – for example, the single location, the choral possibilities of a huge gathering, and the dinner speeches as potential arias. (I’m reluctant to include ‘spoilers’, but it gives very little away to describe this as the blackest of comedies. What should be a celebration of patriarch Helge’s 60th birthday party, held in the hotel he owns, disintegrates as some dark family secrets are brought to light.)

All that said, I still wasn’t prepared for quite how ‘cinematic’ the production was – much more so than the original film. ‘Festen’ naturally falls into a growing number of operas that draw on movie plots (such as ‘Breaking the Waves’, ‘It’s a Wonderful Life’ or ‘The Exterminating Angel’).

But it also made me think of the impact of cinematic form and structure on recent opera, too. Clearly this is the smallest of samples, but is it coincidence that all these Royal Opera main stage productions from recent years – ‘Written on Skin’, ‘Lessons in Love and Violence’, ‘Morgen und Abend’, ‘Innocence’ and now ‘Festen’ – even if they contain multiple acts or scenes, are presented as taut, unbroken, locked-in experiences, foregrounding suspense, confronting specific, uncomfortable issues, and running to considerably less than two hours?

Perhaps, given all the opera produced all over the world, it is. After all, one act’s worth of relentless tension was enough for Strauss to fashion two early masterpieces and Bartok to scare everyone half to death – I’m not trying to suggest the idea or format is new. But to me, these recent examples have a different feel. The scores seem especially alive to their dual role as soundtrack as well as setting, and some thrillingly precise direction (such as Katie Mitchell’s ‘split-screens’ for ‘Written on Skin’ and Simon Stone’s realisation of the double timeframe through the merged buildings in ‘Innocence’) all enhance the sense of filmic illusion.

All of these qualities are dialled up to the max in ‘Festen’, making it a significantly distinct artistic statement from the film, and enabling everyone involved to operate at the peak of their powers. Turnage’s music is rich and bold, ramping up tension only to cradle certain characters and events with poignant empathy. The Orchestra blazes under Edward Gardner, so that even the silences – brilliantly deployed and exhilaratingly uncomfortable – seem deafening.

This is probably the finest Richard Jones staging I’ve seen, with every contribution from the crack production team supporting and enhancing the concept. Nicky Gillibrand’s costumes are almost queasily evocative of the late 80s timeframe; movement director Lucy Barge ensures total coherence of the party scenes as the formidable Chorus lose control to exactly the right extent; Miriam Buether’s set and Lucy Carter’s lighting allow both widescreen assaults on the senses and rigidly targeted pockets of action, simulating all the tricks we might expect from a movie camera and more. (Some directorial flourishes along these lines seem devilishly deliberate. A ‘flashback’ character makes an unforgettable ‘Ringu’-style entrance; and anyone familiar with ‘The Shining’ or ‘Repulsion’ will know the dread of a slow zoom into a photograph.)

A jaw-dropping cast make every moment from every character count. Arguably, the siblings shoulder the true weight of the piece as their past returns to haunt the present. Allan Clayton, as the damaged, insular Christian, gives an extraordinary performance combining heart-rending vocal power with a visibly pained, haunted physical presence; Stéphane Degout is a violently intimidating contrast as loose-cannon Michael; and Natalya Romaniw perfectly embodies daughter Helena’s inner strength as her voice somehow carries both heartbreak and resolve.

But Hall’s deft text, with remarkable economy, allows a far wider range of characters at least a key set piece: Gerald Finley’s Helge turns on a dime when certain truths are exposed; Rosie Aldridge exposes mother Elsa’s tragic mix of hypocrisy and loyalty; Clare Presland and Kitty Whately both shine in moving, yet spirited cameos as hotel workers who have both been burned by contact with this toxic dynasty. I’m going to stop there in the knowledge that I’m leaving a significant number of equally committed performances out, rather than try to catch everyone and fail. Each character becomes a piece in a gradually-assembled jigsaw, showing not only the present, but filling in background from the past. It is a true ensemble piece.

The night before seeing ‘Festen’, I was at the London Coliseum for the second of two English National Opera performances of ‘Mary, Queen of Scots’ – Thea Musgrave’s 1977 depiction of Mary’s return from France, straight into political and familial chaos. (The composer wrote the libretto herself, after a play by Amalia Elguera).) Stewart Laing both directed and designed the semi-staging, which placed the action slightly ‘out of time’ in an atmosphere of uncertainty and turmoil. The set consisted of a metal framework suggesting multiple uses and meanings. For part of the opera, it formed the basis for a garden marquee, evoking a time of brief celebration before both state and structure are dismantled. In its skeletal form, the scaffolding neatly created virtual rooms, dividing the cast in line with their factions and alliances.

The cast were in civvies, dressed for unrest. This was a treatment more in line with Dogme aesthetics than ‘Festen’ down the road, lending ironic grandeur to its domestic trauma. Here instead were both royals and subjects, levelled by appearance, our attention drawn to the performances – and what performances they were.

Heidi Stober, in the title role, radiated confidence, sensuality and dignity – giving way over time to anguish and terror. Rupert Charlesworth brought to Darnley a wiry energy that collapsed into disappointment and drunken delusion … while his rival – and polar opposite – Bothwell was sung with intimidating military heft by John Findon. Barnaby Rea was engaging and sympathetic as the doomed Riccio, and Alastair Miles gave a scene-stealing turn as the increasingly-exasperated voice of doom, Gordon. I was particularly struck by Alex Otterburn’s magnetic portrayal of James Stewart, Mary’s scheming brother – moving from devious debate, through insidious intimacy, to rallying rhetoric: colouring his sound to whatever version of himself he needed to be.

On the subject of stage presence, the performance gave another opportunity to experience that national treasure, the ENO Chorus, in their element. Absolutely individual in their characterisations but with a musical hive mind, they convinced as the voice of an entire country, discontent rippling through them like a wave.

The opera is a rarity and I had never heard a note of it before. I found it almost overwhelming in parts, wild and broiling with intrigue. Conductor Joana Carniero drew a similar display of dramatic brio from the ENO Orchestra as when she last appeared at the Coliseum for ‘The Handmaid’s Tale’. I was thrilled by what I can only describe as the score’s sense of argument: all the emotional and political exchanges between the characters were realised, and grounded so fluently into the music, as if they were natural, quickfire conversations – pacy, and utterly involving throughout.

The only downside was that it was here and gone so quickly. I was reminded of ENO’s production of ‘Duke Bluebeard’s Castle’ last season: again, just two sparsely but inventively presented performances. While on a much larger scale, this was another opera modestly marketed as something akin to a concert performance, but in reality a more fully-conceived and innovative experience. I wonder if these shows are as much about ENO itself, a demonstration of what can be achieved even when an ensemble is starved of funding and support, to the extent that it has to end its season in February.

I hope this superb production can be revived in future, to give a wider audience the chance to see it – or can we get Team ENO into a studio to make a recording? Both the work and company richly deserve it.

AA

Official production photos of ‘Festen’ by Marc Brennan; ‘Mary, Queen of Scots’ by Ellie Kurttz.

At the time of writing, ‘Festen’ has tickets available for its two remaining performances in this run. However, it also features in BBC Radio 3’s ‘Opera on 3’ strand on 22 March 2025 – don’t miss it!