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Gazebo nation: the cast of Mary Queen of Scots at ENO | Photo: Ellie Kurttz

Ever wondered what happened to all those flimsy gazebo-type marquees that propped up pubs during the pandemic? Well, one has found a new life centre-stage at the Coliseum, where it sits throughout the entirety of Thea Musgrave's divine Mary, Queen of Scots. It's erected by hoodie-wearing stage crew as we chatter quietly, unsure whether things have started properly or not, becoming a strangely arresting backdrop for Mary's return to Scotland from France. It's still there – with flaps rolled down – as the courtly drama plays out – and, finally, laid bare with brutal strip lights, it becomes Mary's bedroom, a place for sexual assault and betrayal.  

The stage crew attending to this canvas is actually the chorus, dressed in bobble hats, anoraks and windcheaters – they could be anyone wandering around Charing Cross that chilly February night. The contemporary staging is quickly submerged in Musgrave's intricate – sometimes lush – score. As this production ran for just two nights (it is a co-production with San Francisco Opera) the setting was presumably economical in more ways than one.

Sleek swagger: Heidi Stober as Mary in the title role | Photo: Ellie Kurttz

The work was premiered by Scottish Opera at the King's Theatre in Edinburgh in 1977, before coming to London in 1980. This was not, then, as ENO suggested, the London premiere, but it is a rare resurrection of an overlooked crown jewel. Like Tippett, Musgrave follows the contemporary trend of writing her own libretto, based on work by Amalia Elguera. It's a taut story that follows Mary's politic wrestle with half-brother James, her eventual husband Danley and the untrustworthy Boswell (suitably bedecked in a Barbour jacket). Unlike much historical fiction, this Mary, Queen of Scots skips along, moving the action on by months and years at a time. 

Musgrave – now 96, and present for both performances – creates a velvety sound, often enhanced by interesting woodwind, such as the opening cor anglais solo that accompanies Mary's arrival at Leith. The Tudor dances, played by an on-stage ensemble, are woven in with intentional, confident pastiche (something similar is currently taking place in a theatre up the road, where Six – a musical about Henry VIII's wives – samples Greensleeves et al). The use of percussion and bells invokes Britten, and naturally draws comparison with that composer's Gloriana, but Musgrave's style is hers alone. Swaggering in sleek trouser suits, Heidi Stober is superb in the title role, with a powerful top range put to good use (her piercing high-pitched 'no' in the final scene is utterly chilling). 

We leave Mary as she is forced to flee, and her infant son James – a doll in a pram raised aloft – is declared King.

eno.org