Francesca Zambello's production of The Bartered Bride caused ructions when it was first seen at Sadler's Wells Theatre, London, in 1998. The Opera House was closed for refurbishment at the time. Zambello, anxious to provide the itinerant Royal Opera with a popular family show, approached Smetana's great comedy as if it were a Broadway musical, coming up with a big, rather gaudy entertainment that fell singularly short when it came to exploring the opera's emotional depths.
The production is now on its second revival, this time at Covent Garden. Time and the change of venue have improved things a bit, though some of the inequalities remain. The spectacular opening, modelled on the barn-building sequence from Peter Weir's film Witness, looks less cramped on the larger stage, where the big, if rather cutesily choreographed, routines also have more room to breathe. The whole thing looks slicker than I remember it on its first outing, though the tone is still too lightweight. An awkward air of ersatz folksiness hangs over the proceedings. Zambello doesn't always capture Smetana's vision of the grubbiness of a society that trades in human lives or the potential for emotional pain that lurks behind every bar of that glorious score. There are flashes of insight - the scene in which a gang of children taunts shy, dim-witted Vasek, for instance - but they are few and far between.
That some of the work's darker resonances emerge on this occasion is largely due to the cast and conductor. The embattled lovers, Jenik and Marenka, are played by Simon O'Neill and Susan Gritton. O'Neill is all glamorously ringing high notes and bullish charm. Gritton, who sounds glorious, is by turns stroppy and vulnerable, assertive and self-possessed in the face of public pressure, before crumpling into despair in private. Timothy Robinson's Vasek is a touching, troubling figure, who gazes at Yvette Bonner's ditsy Esmeralda with naive wonderment before rebelling against his dreadful parents with tangible glee. Peter Rose is a fine Kecal, an exploitative, urban slimeball in frock coat and top hat. He sings with unctuous beauty of tone, behind which lurk palpable hints of menace. The conductor is Charles Mackerras, who brings a lifetime's understanding of Czech music to the score, undercutting its energy with shafts of sadness. Musically, the whole evening is very special, though theatrically it still leaves much to be desired.
· Until January 20. Box office: 020-7304 4000.
