Prokofiev: The Gambler

How privileged I feel to have seen two such stunning yet radically different productions of Prokofiev’s most difficult opera within a month. Richard Jones’s near-perfect Royal Opera co-ordination with Antonio Pappano wasn’t, alas, filmed; but here from Berlin we have the most convincing proof yet that Dmitri Tcherniakov has fast become to Russian-based theatre what Jones is already to the rest of Europe.

Both elicit performances of such dramatic ease and assurance from their ensemble that you forget the characters are singing – no mean feat given the insanely difficult roles of heroic-tenor gambler Alexey and neurotic-dramatic soprano Polina.

If anything charismatic Misha Didyk and the gorgeous Kristine Opolais, making scary progress from ice-maiden to nervous wreck, outshine their Covent Garden counterparts. Tcherniakov’s line is a demanding contemporary realism, giving his singer-actors detailed physical gestures so they stop trying too hard to be naturalistic.

Equally compelling is the breakdown scene of Vladimir Ognovenko’s General, delivering his plaints to a giant teddy bought by his gold-digging young Blanche (another looker, Silvia De La Muela). Stefania Toczyska’s Grandmama is old-school diva, but very imposing. I love the link between her hurling of sweets before her downfall and Alexey’s dispensation of cash at the casino, a climactic scene which delivers on all counts. 

Barenboim’s crystal-clear pacing of the score is hard-hitting rather than quicksilvery, but the payoff in the last Act is terrific, and the blue-lit look of it all – Tcherniakov designed it, too – works well, even if the camerawork is hard pressed to be in all the right places at the right time.

A shame there’s no documentary to chart the road to this amazing achievement. No wonder Barenboim and Tcherniakov try to lift each other up in the wings at the end. David Nice