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Aigul Akhmetshina as Carmen | credit: Marc Brenner​ 

The reach of Carmen is greater than opera itself – there are many who could hum the Habanera or whistle the Toreador song without ever having set foot in an opera house. Bizet’s rather controversial tale of a fiery gypsy woman who dared to define her own fate and say ‘no’ – that evoked audience-wide pearl-clutching at its Paris premiere in 1875 – is now a cultural phenomenon.

Director Damiano Michieletto has waived the opulence of a romanticised picture-postcard 19th century Seville and transplanted the opera into the 1970s. The first act opens with the chorus not bustling about their day, but instead they are subdued, succumbing to the blistering late afternoon heat. A large suspended light fixture that twists and looms above the stage beams directly down onto the stage – there are no shadows and nowhere to hide. This is a hostile Seville where even the environment is dangerous.

As we encounter Micaëla, Don José, and then Carmen herself, we see the people of Seville trying to survive the world they are in and only just about coming out on top. The setting creates much more recognisable ‘people’, dressed in shorts and overalls, whilst maintaining a disturbing unfamiliarity in its location.

Children's chorus | credit: Marc Brenner​ ​

It certainly doesn’t take itself too seriously (and no Carmen should) and is not without considerable charm. The children’s chorus that appears in Act 1 features throughout – particularly in the interim between acts where they hold up signs in front of the curtain to denote the passing of time: ‘two weeks later’ etc. (in French, of course). I must also say that their diction and timing on the musical front were impeccable.

In terms of singing, there are no weak links. Micaëla, played by Yaritza Véliz, has a lot of fun with what could be a rather tiresome ‘fun-sponge’ of a role. Her almost schoolgirl crush on Don José, and later threatening the crowd of gypsies with a rifle – Véliz has injected charm and vitality into the role to match that of Carmen. Her Act 3 aria Je dis que rien ne m'épouvante, sung as she hides in a tin shed, was sublime – a very full voice that doesn’t lose any clarity of tone.

Freddie De Tommaso plays a more down-to-earth Don José, whose damaged pride and maternal shame produce a man that feels very dangerous but who we still have some empathy for (until he throttles Carmen to death, that is…). Don José is an unrelenting role that requires substantial stamina, and De Tommaso takes it in his stride. It’s not a particularly showy tenor role compared to the likes of Puccini or Verdi, but De Tommaso infuses each phrase with an exciting energy.

Freddie De Tommaso as Don José | credit: Marc Brenner​ ​

And onto the eponymous gypsy herself, played here by a mezzo who is no stranger to the role (in fact she is expected to celebrate her 100th appearance as Carmen later this year). Every production of Carmen lives and dies by its leading lady, and Aigul Akhmetshina is certainly key to this production’s success. Again we see a Carmen who is often portrayed as a lively, salacious woman who is very comfortable in her own skin and who cares very little about what others may think of her. But Akhmetshina’s Carmen cuts deeper – she’s using sex to survive this world, and, like Don José, can only keep her head above water for so long. Her iconic Habanera which is a cautionary tale she directs to the children of the village, the only innocent ones left.

She has a beautiful warmth in her voice from her alto to her altissimo, but is never afraid to let Carmen's anger or desperation bleed through. She is thoroughly captivating – from seducing Don José whilst laying handcuffed on his desk to her valiant defiance of him in her fateful final moments. We have a Carmen that is damaged but who can still find moments of playfulness and innocence despite the cards she’s been dealt.

The orchestra of the Royal Opera House – the invisible 'character' – as always were on top form. Under the baton of Sir Mark Elder, they let out great roars and sighs as it propels us into Carmen’s Seville. Bizet was an excellent orchestrator, often pairing instruments such as unison oboes and trumpets to create ‘rougher’ and more ‘foreign’ timbres, and this was the best I’ve heard the score performed. Elder’s careful handling allowed a welcome freedom in the recits whilst not sacrificing momentum.

Aigul Akhmetshina as Carmen | credit: Marc Brenner​ 

This has been rather glowing thus far – if anything, the only faults were with the opera’s material itself. The more intimate realism (or even the verismo) of Michieletto’s production is sometimes at odds with the more ‘traditional’ use of the chorus singing as one in recits or just repeating the melody a principal has just sung. It feels like the old world isn’t shaken off so easily. It could be argued that a director should embrace the source material and thus these more traditional elements, rather than hoping they’ll just work – but Carmen is certainly better for its chorus, so it’s an endless discussion. Also, the opéra-comique style of dialogue distributed throughout really messes with the dramatic momentum. The original form of the opera saw much more dialogue that has subsequently been converted to the recits we hear today, which leaves us wondering why keep what dialogue there is. Especially as opera singers aren’t always as good at talking as they are singing…

I would implore Carmen-lovers to see this grittier and more confronting take on their favourite opera – I would hope they see their beloved characters in new lights, though I can see why some may disagree. But I would implore more so (or even demand) that those who have not seen an opera before to go. This production could act as a gateway drug (in a good way, of course) into the art form we all love – as not only can it entice with its enduring relevancy, but it can further enthral with its danger.