David McVicar’s new “Maria Stuarda” at Madrid’s Teatro Real

Gaetano Donizetti’s Maria Stuarda, first produced at Milan’s Teatro alla Scala in 1835, like the Schiller play it draws on, demands two outstanding performers. It rises or falls on the quality of the mezzo and soprano who give form to Elizabeth I (Elisabetta) and her cousin Mary, Queen of Scots (Maria Stuarda).  David McVicar’s new staging — opening at Madrid’s Teatro Real in a coproduction with Barcelona’s Gran Teatre del Liceu, Bergamo’s Donizetti Opera Festival, La Monnaie / De Munt Brussels and the Finnish National Opera — understands the importance of emotional resonance and dramatic tension in capturing the dynamics of a relationship where self-preservation is all, and blood can be sacrificed in the name of ideology, religion or fear.

Hannah Postlewaite has designed an imposing set with the large, gilded Sovereign’s Orb suspended up above the stage, signalling the power of the Elizabethan monarchy. The back wall has an imposing metallic façade made up of panels with sculptured eyes and ears — this is a church-like court where no one knows who to trust and surveillance is a way of life. The courtiers and ladies in waiting are dressed all in black, their arched collars providing a sense of self-preservation and protection. Acrobats dressed in colourful outfits spin across the stage, giving a sense of playfulness and gaiety, but appearances can be deceptive. As Aigul Akhmetshina’s Elisabetta walks across the stage, part-gliding, part-striding, others shrink away. Her gown of silver and red twinkles, announcing her power and stature. Akhmetshina gives us a monarch not to be meddled with. Her fan of feathers is a weapon to shoo away and to keep courtiers at bay. She leans over the imposing long table that dominates her court. She may look a little coy before Ismael Jordi’s Earl of Leicester but once she realises Leicester’s loyalties and affections like with Maria, she cannot bear to look him in the eye. This is a queen who sidelines any potential enemies.

Aigul Akhmetshina as Elisabetta stands dominant at Court in Maria Stuarda. Photo Javier del Real, Teatro Real, Madrid

Lisette Oropesa’s Maria is, on the other hand, presented in more austere surroundings. The white back wall of Act 1, Scene 2’s Fotheringhay Castle is dominated by a red-brown branch on a white backdrop. Autumn leaves fall to the ground. Her black and grey attire boasts a simpler cut than that of Elisabetta. While Elisabetta cuts a lonely figure in a crowded court, Maria has her companion with her, Anna Kennedy (Elissa Pfaender) Elisabetta stands tall, Maria falls to the ground in supplication, prayers and fear. Their personalities are shaped by body language as much as song or voice.

Their meeting, the Act 1 finale, a fiction contrived by Schiller, sees Elisabetta insult Maria as a provocation. Elisabetta’s lavish cloak protects her, a shield from Maria.  They face each other as Elisabetta spits out her rage. She circles and spins and then recoils as the haughty Maria accuses her of defiling the English throne —“Figlia impura di Bolena” delivered with steely candour by Akhmetshina. Mary’s stillness provides a veritable contrast to the more animated Elisabetta.

Act 2 opens with Elisabetta being dressed; the wig being placed on her head by a lady in waiting to “create” the queen as figurehead. Elisabetta as symbol. It’s a moment of stillness that reinforces the monarch’s stature and standing, a moment of calm before the final resolve of the execution. She clenches her hands as she confronts Leicester. The giant Orb is now on the floor, it doesn’t look quite as imposing as it did in Act 1 when it hovered above the stage.

Maria dominates Act 2, a figure increasingly vulnerable, falling to the floor in fear and panic. She appears in a white veil and black dress for her execution, clutching her crucifix in desperation. As her wig is removed before she prepares to put her head on the block, she looks vulnerable and exposed — an onstage audience waiting to watch the execution. Punishment performed as a lesson to those who might opt for the Catholicism Maria represents. The removal of María’s wig is a marked contrast to the placing of the wig on Elisabetta’s head at opening of Act 2. Maria’s power is to be removed, definitively. Maria’s striking red underdress is symbolic of her continuing defiance and despair, and a symbol of the blood about to be shed. Mary makes the sign of the cross as the stage is engulfed in darkness and the executioner’s axe falls on her head.

Maria (Lisette Oropesa) awaits execution in the final moments of Maria Stuarda. Photo: Javier del Real, Teatro Real, Madrid

Brigitte Reiffenstuel’s costumes have a distinctive period feel but capture the wider dynamics of the protagonists. McVicar is renowned for his fascination with historical detail. Elisabetta’s lavish gowns contrast with the simpler cut and black tones of Maria’s dresses. Vocally, the performances are at the very highest level. Akhmetshina’s Elisabetta and Oropesa’s Maria deliver performances of extraordinary confidence and power. Both have breathtaking vocal agility.  Alongside them, tenor Ismail Jordi is assured and vibrant as Leicester. Roberto Tagliavini as Talbot sings with great charm and elegance and his Act 2 duet with Maria is both moving and honest in its simplicity and candour. There is also fine singing from the young polish baritone Andrzej Filonczyk as Cecil.  The Teatro Real Chorus directed by José Luis Basso produce a luxurious sound as the Courtiers waiting for Maria’s execution in an Act 2 finale which shows director David McVicar’s ability to create an expertly choreographed tableau, reminiscent of a fine Old Master painting. Lizzie Powell’s lighting differentiates between the cold palace of Elizabeth I and the outdoors of Maria’s Fotheringhay Castle and is particularly dramatic in the piece’s final scene. This new Maria Stuarda prioritises the emotional intensity that has been the hallmark of McVicar’s prior Donizetti stagings with two excellent central performances and a powerful sense of how the personal and the political are indelibly interwoven.

Maria Stuarda plays at Madrid’s Teatro Real 14, 16, 17, 19, 20, 23, 26, 27, 29 and 30 December 2024