Program Notes: Turandot

You know Puccini even if you don’t think you do: “Un Bel Di Vedremo” from Madama Butterfly served as the eerie motif for the Glenn Close bunny-boiler Fatal Attraction, and “O Mio Babbino Caro,” an achingly lovely aria of threatened love from Gianni Schicchi, has been used to sell champagne and Japanese sedans, among other products. This September, New Orleans Opera presents Turandot, Puccini’s last opera, which was only nearly finished at his death; thus, some performances opt for an abrupt finish, at the point where Puccini laid down his pen for good. Turandot, a lush tale drawn from ancient fables and set in a mythical China, is what we think of when we think of opera: love, death, princesses, exoticism, the allure of the far-away (and the never-was), and over it all, the music of a true master at the apex of his career. I talked to Keith Tremblay, set designer for the upcoming production, about how his work helps tell the story of this fantastic land.

“You can do a lovely production of Turandot full of idiosyncrasy, but it will languish in the warehouse and eventually get thrown away.”

Tremblay described his role, and that of the costume designer, as supporting the director’s storytelling aspirations: for all its strength, Turandot is “a creepy plot with a lot of holes,” and a masterful setting can help audiences suspend disbelief. A designer must also look at the tradition of stagings of the piece, especially since set pieces for operas in the repertoire can be rented out to other companies. (It’s not just opera; there’s a thriving niche business in producing oversized flytraps for community theatre productions of Little Shop of Horrors.) “You can do a lovely production of Turandot full of idiosyncrasy, but it will languish in the warehouse and eventually get thrown away.”

[For another look at a behind-the-scenes creative, read "Designing Woman," an interview with Theatre Baton Rouge costume designer Crystal Brown.]

Set design for an opera like Turandot must balance artistic and practical concerns. Turandot “has a reputation as a gigantic opera,” said Tremblay, “but also has intimate moments.” Practically, a set designer must provide enough avenues for ingress and egress that the chorus can come in and out as need be, while avoiding having “everyone milling around on a flat floor”: multiple levels create visual interest, allow singers to maintain visual contact with the conductor, and essentially “act like choir risers without looking like choir risers.” The production team must also address logistically complicated plot points: there’s a beheading in the first act of Turandot, and while it takes place (just) offstage, the preparations are in full view of the audience. Artistically, the audience needs to see not China but “China,” a fantasy version of an older time in a land that, at its most relatable and least mythologized, can still seem exotic to Westerners. Tremblay said that this often means evoking the Forbidden City, the ancient citadel of Peking entered only by imperial families, their officials, and the odd invader until the fall of the last emperor in 1912. Again, this evocation of place and mood involves liaison with the production’s other creatives: “Hymn to the Moon” needs a moon from the lighting designer as much as it needs a place for the singers to stand.

If you go see Turandot—and you should—let yourself be transported by the music, but also note the quieter but no less crucial artistic successes of the design.  

New Orleans Opera’s production of Turandot will be performed Friday, September 28, at 7:30 pm and Sunday, September 30, at 2:30 pm. For tickets and other information, neworleansopera.com.